WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND

by

F. MARION CRAWFORD

Author of _Saracinesca_, _The Heart Of Rome_, etc, etc. 

With Eight Illustrations Drawn in Rome with the Author's Suggestions

by Horace T. Carpenter

1905

"Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones which believe in Me, it were better for him that a mill stone were hanged about his neck, andthat he were drowned in the depth of the sea"

[Illustration: "SUDDENLY HE HEARD AN ITALIAN VOICE VERY NEAR TO HIM, CALLING HIM BY NAME, IN A TONE OF SURPRISE"]

ILLUSTRATIONS

"Suddenly he heard an Italian voice very near to him, calling him byname, in a tone of surprise"

"'I call it the sleeping death, ' answered the Professor"

"He flushed again, very angry this time, and he moved away to leave her, without another word"

" ... The door was darkened, and the girl stood there with a large copper'conca' ... "

"He moved a step towards the bed, and then another, forcing himself togo on"

"Ercole left his home after sunset that evening"

"Regina made a steady effort, lifting fully half Aurora's weight withher"

"She sat there like a figure of grief outlined in black against themoonlight on the great wall"

CHAPTER I

When the widow of Martino Consalvi married young Corbario, people shooktheir heads and said that she was making a great mistake. Consalvi hadbeen dead a good many years, but as yet no one had thought it was timeto say that his widow was no longer young and beautiful, as she hadalways been. Many rich widows remain young and beautiful as much as aquarter of a century, or even longer, and the Signora Consalvi was veryrich indeed. As soon as she was married to Folco Corbario every one knewthat she was thirty-five years old and he was barely twenty-six, andthat such a difference of ages on the wrong side was ridiculous if itwas not positively immoral. No well-regulated young man had a right tomarry a rich widow nine years older than himself, and who had a son onlyeleven years younger than he. 

A few philosophers who said that if the widow was satisfied the matterwas nobody's business were treated with the contempt they deserved. Those who, on the contrary, observed that young Corbario had married formoney and nothing else were heard with favour, until the man who kneweverything pointed out that as the greater part of the fortune would behanded over to Marcello when he came of age, six years hence, Corbariohad not made a good bargain and might have done better. It was true thatMarcello Consalvi had inherited a delicate constitution of body, it hadeven been hinted that he was consumptive. Corbario would have donebetter to wait another year or two to see what happened, said a cynic, for young people often died of consumption between fifteen and twenty. The cynic was answered by a practical woman of the world, who said thatCorbario had six years of luxury and extravagance before him, and thatmany men would have sold themselves to the devil for less. After the sixyears the deluge might come if it must; it was much pleasanter to drownin the end than never to have had the chance of swimming in the bigstream at all, and bumping sides with the really big fish, and feelingoneself as good as any of them. Besides, Marcello was pale and thin, andhad been heard to cough; he might die before he came of age. The onlyobjection to this theory was that it was based on a fiction; for thewhole fortune had been left to the Signora by a childless relation. 

These amiable and interesting views were expressed with variations bypeople who knew the three persons concerned, and with such a keen senseof appropriate time and place as made it quite sure that none of thethree should ever know what was said of them. The caution of an old foxis rash temerity compared with the circumspection of a first-rategossip; and when the gossips were tired of discussing Folco Corbario andhis wife and her son, they talked about other matters, but they had avague suspicion that they had been cheated out of something. A cat thathas clawed all the feathers off a stuffed canary might feel just whatthey did. 

For nothing happened. Corbario did not launch into wild extravaganceafter all, but behaved himself with the faultless dulness of a modelmiddle-aged husband. His wife loved him and was perfectly happy, andhappiness finally stole her superfluous years away, and they evaporatedin the sunshine, and she forgot all about them. Marcello Consalvi, whohad lost his father when he was a mere child, found a friend in hismother's husband, and became very fond of him, and thought him a goodman to imitate; and in return Corbario made a companion of thefair-haired boy, and taught him to ride and shoot in his holidays, andall went well. 

Moreover, Marcello's mother, who was a good woman, told him that theworld was very wicked; and with the blind desire for her son's lastinginnocence, which is the most touching instinct of loving motherhood, sheentreated him to lead a spotless life. When Marcello, in the excusablecuriosity of budding youth, asked his stepfather what that awfulwickedness was against which he was so often warned, Corbario told himtrue stories of men who had betrayed their country and their friends, and of all sorts of treachery and meanness, to which misdeeds the boydid not feel himself at all inclined; so that he wondered why his motherseemed so very anxious lest he should go astray. Then he repeated to herwhat Corbario had told him, and she smiled sweetly and said nothing, andtrusted her husband all the more. She felt that he understood her, andwas doing his best to help her in making Marcello what she wished him tobe. 

The boy was brought up at home; in Rome in the winter, and in summer onthe great estate in the south, which his father had bought and which wasto be a part of his inheritance. 

He was taught by masters who came to the house to give their lessons andwent away as soon as the task was over. He had no tutor, for his motherhad not found a layman whom she could trust in that capacity, and yetshe understood that it was not good for a boy to be followed everywhereby a priest. Besides, Corbario gave so much of his time to his stepsonthat a tutor was hardly needed; he walked with him and rode with him, orspent hours with him at home when the weather was bad. There had neverbeen a cross word between the two since they had met. It was an idealexistence. Even the gossips stopped talking at last, and there was notone, not even the most ingeniously evil-tongued of all, that prophesiedevil. 

They raised their eyebrows, and the more primitive among them shruggedtheir shoulders a little, and smiled. If Providence really insisted uponmaking people so perfect, what was to be done? It was distressing, butthere was nothing to be said; they must just lead their lives, and thegossips must bear it. No doubt Corbario had married for money, since hehad nothing in particular and his wife had millions, but if ever a manhad married for money and then behaved like an angel, that man was FolcoCorbario and no other. He was everything to his wife, and all things tohis stepson--husband, father, man of business, tutor, companion, andnurse; for when either his wife or Marcello was ill, he rarely left thesick-room, and no one could smooth a pillow as he could, or hold a glassso coaxingly to the feverish lips, or read aloud so untiringly in such agentle and soothing voice. 

No ascendency of one human being over another is more complete than thatof a full-grown man over a boy of sixteen, who venerates his elder as anideal. To find a model, to believe it perfection, and to copy itenergetically, is either a great piece of good fortune, or a misfortuneeven greater; in whatever follows in life, there is the same differencebetween such development and the normally slow growth of a boy's mind asthat which lies between enthusiasm and indifference. It is true thatwhere there has been no enthusiastic belief there can be no despairingdisillusionment when the light goes out; but it is truer still that hopeand happiness are the children of faith by the ideal. 

A boy's admiration for his hero is not always well founded; sometimes itis little short of ridiculous, and it is by no means always harmless. But no one found fault with Marcello for admiring his stepfather, andthe attachment was a source of constant satisfaction to his mother. Inher opinion Corbario was the handsomest, bravest, cleverest, and best ofmen, and after watching him for some time even the disappointed gossipswere obliged to admit, though without superlatives, that he was agood-looking fellow, a good sportsman, sufficiently well gifted, and ofexcellent behaviour. There was the more merit in the admission, theymaintained, because they had been inclined to doubt the man, and hadaccused him of marrying out of pure love of money. A keen judge of menmight have thought that his handsome features were almost too still andtoo much like a mask, that his manner was so quiet as to be almostexpressionless, and that the soft intonation of his speech was almosttoo monotonous to be natural. But all this was just what his wifeadmired, and she encouraged her son to imitate it. His father had been aman of quick impulses, weak to-day, strong to-morrow, restless, ofuncertain temper, easily enthusiastic and easily cast down, capable ofsudden emotions, and never able to conceal what he felt if he had caredto do so. Marcello had inherited his father's character and his mother'sface, as often happens; but his unquiet disposition was tempered as yetby a certain almost girlish docility, which had clung to him fromchildhood as the result of being brought up almost entirely by themother he worshipped. And now, for the first time, comparing him withher second husband, she realised the boy's girlishness, and wished himto outgrow it. Her own ideal of what even a young man should be was asunpractical as that of many thoroughly good and thoroughly unworldlymothers. She wished her son to be a man at all points, and yet shedreamed that he might remain a sort of glorified young girl; she desiredhim to be well prepared to face the world when he grew up, and yet itwas her dearest wish that he might never know anything of the world'swickedness. Corbario seemed to understand her better in this than sheunderstood herself, and devoted his excellent gifts and his almostsuperhuman patience to the task of forming a modern Galahad. Herconfidence in her husband increased month by month, and year by year. 

"I wish to make a new will, " she said to her lawyer in the third year ofher marriage. "I shall leave my husband a life-interest in a part of myfortune, and the reversion of the whole in case anything should happento my son. "

The lawyer was a middle-aged man, with hard black eyes. While he waslistening to a client, he had a habit of folding his arms tightly acrosshis chest and crossing one leg over the other. When the Signora Corbariohad finished speaking he sat quite still for a moment, and thennoiselessly reversed the crossing of his legs and the folding of hisarms, and looked into her face. It was very gentle, fair, andthoughtful. 

"I presume, " answered the lawyer, "that the clause providing for areversion is only intended as an expression of your confidence in yourhusband?"

"Affection, " answered the Signora, "includes confidence. "

The lawyer raised one eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and changed hisposition a little. 

"Heaven forbid, " he said, "that any accident should befall your son!"

"Heaven forbid it!" replied the Signora. "He is very strong, " shecontinued, in the tone people use who are anxious to convince themselvesof something doubtful. "Yet I wish my husband to know that, after myson, he should have the first right. "

"Shall you inform him of the nature of your will, Signora?" inquired thelawyer. 

"I have already informed him of what I mean to do, " replied SignoraCorbario. 

Again the lawyer's eyebrow moved a little nervously, but he saidnothing. It was not his place to express any doubt as to the wisdom ofthe disposition. He was not an old family adviser, who might have takensuch a liberty. There had been such a man, indeed, but he was dead. Itwas the duty of the rich woman's legal adviser to hinder her fromcommitting any positive legal mistake, but it was not his place tocriticise her judgment of the man she had chosen to marry. The lawyermade a few notes without offering any comment, and on the following dayhe brought the will for the Signora to sign. By it, at her death, Marcello, her son, was to inherit her great fortune. Her husband, FolcoCorbario, was constituted Marcello's sole guardian, and was to enjoy alife-interest in one-third of the inheritance. If Marcello died, thewhole fortune was to go to Corbario, without any condition orreservation whatsoever. 

When the will was executed, the Signora told her husband that she haddone what she intended. 

"My dear, " said Corbario, gently, "I thank you for the true meaning ofit. But as for the will itself, shall we talk of it thirty years hence, when Marcello's children's children are at your knee?"

He kissed her hand tenderly. 

CHAPTER II

Marcello stood at an open window listening to the musical spring rainand watching the changing lights on the city below him, as thedove-coloured cloud that floated over Rome like thin gauze was drawn upinto the sunshine. Then there were sudden reflections from distantwindows and wet domes, that blazed like white fires for a little while, till the raindrops dried and the waves of changing hues that had surgedup under the rain, rising, breaking, falling, and spreading, subsidedinto a restful sea of harmonious colour. 

After that, the sweet smell of the wet earth came up to Marcello'snostrils. A light breeze stirred the dripping emerald leaves, and thelittle birds fluttered down and hopped along the garden walks and overthe leaves, picking up the small unwary worms that had been enjoying abath while their enemies tried to keep dry under the ilex boughs. 

Marcello half closed his eyes and drank the fragrant air with partedlips, his slim white hands resting on the marble sill. The sunshine madehis pale face luminous, and gilded his short fair hair, casting theshadow of the brown lashes upon his delicate cheeks. There was somethingangel-like in his expression--the look of the frescoed angels of Melozzoda Forli in the Sacristy of St. Peter's. They are all that is left ofsomething very beautiful, brought thither broken from the Church of theHoly Apostles; and so, too, one might have fancied that Marcello, standing at the window in the morning sunshine, belonged to a world thathad long passed away--fit for a life that was, fit for a life to comehereafter, perhaps, but not fit for the life that is. There are rare andbeautiful beings in the world who belong to it so little that it seemscruelty and injustice to require of them what is demanded of us all. They are born ages too late, or ages too soon; they should not have beenborn now. Their very existence calls forth our tenderest sympathy, as weshould pity a fawn facing its death among wolves. 

But Marcello Consalvi had no idea that he could deserve pity, and lifelooked very bright to him, very easy, and very peaceful. He could hardlyhave thought of anything at all likely to happen which could darken thefuture, or even give him reasonable cause for anxiety. There was noimaginative sadness in his nature, no morbid dread of undefined evil, nomelancholy to dye the days black; for melancholy is more often anaffliction of the very strong in body or mind than of the weak, or ofaverage men and women. Marcello was delicate, but not degenerate; heseemed gentle, cheerful, and ready to believe the world a very goodplace, as indeed it is for people who are not too unlike theirneighbours to enjoy it, or too unlucky to get some of its good things, or too weak to work, fight, and love, or too clever to be as satisfiedwith themselves as most men are. For plain, common, everyday happinessand contentment belong to plain, average people, who do what others doand have a cheerfully good opinion of themselves. Can a man make a goodfight of it if he does not believe himself to be about as good as hisadversary?

It had never occurred to Marcello that he might have to fight foranything, and if some one had told him on that spring morning that hewas on the very verge of a desperate struggle for existence againstoverwhelming odds, he would have turned his bright eyes wonderingly tothe prophet of evil, asking whence danger could come, and trying tothink what it might be like. 

At the first appearance of it he would have been startled into fear, too, as many a grown man has been before now, when suddenly brought faceto face with an unknown peril, being quite untried: and small shame tohim. He who has been waked from a peaceful sleep and pleasant dreams tofind death at his throat, for the first time in his life, knows themeaning of that. Samson was a tried warrior when Delilah first rousedhim with her cry, "The Philistines are upon thee!"

Marcello was no youthful Samson, yet he was not an unmanly boy, for allhis bringing up. So far as his strength would allow he had beenaccustomed to the exercises and sports of men: he could ride fearlessly, if not untiringly; he was a fair shot; he had hunted wild boar with hisstepfather in the marshy lands by the sea; he had been taught to fenceand was not clumsy with weapons, though he had not yet any great skill. He had always been told that he was delicate and must be careful, and heknew that he was not strong; but there was one good sign in that hisweakness irritated him and bred at least the desire for strength, instead of the poor-spirited indolence that bears bodily infirmity assomething inevitable, and is ready to accept pity if not to ask for it. 

The smell of the damp earth was gone, and as the sun shone out the airwas filled with the scent of warm roses and the faintly sweet odour ofwistaria. Marcello heard a light footstep close to him, and met hismother's eyes as he turned. 

Even to him, she looked very young just then, as she stood in the light, smiling at him. A piece of lace was drawn half over her fair hair, andthe ends went round her throat like a scarf and fell behind her. Itscreamy tints heightened the rare transparency of her complexion by faintcontrast. She was a slight woman and very graceful. 

"I have looked for you everywhere, " she said, and she still smiled, asif with real pleasure at having found him. 

"I have been watching the shower" Marcello answered, drawing her to thewindow. "And then the earth and the roses smelt so sweet that I stayedhere. Did you want me, mother?"

"I always like to know where you are. "

She passed her arm through his with a loving pressure, and looked outof the window with him. The villa stood on the slope of the Janiculum, close to the Corsini gardens. 

"Do I run after you too much?" the mother asked presently, as if sheknew the answer. "Now that you are growing up, do I make you feel as ifyou were still a little boy? You are nearly nineteen, you know! Isuppose I ought to treat you like a man. "

Marcello laughed, and his hand slipped into hers with an almost childishand nestling movement. 

"You have made a man of me, " he answered. 

Had she? A shadow of doubt crossed her thoughtful face as she glanced athis. He was so different from other young men of his age, so delicatelynurtured, so very gentle; there was the radiance of maidenly innocencein his look, and she was afraid that he might be more like a girl than aman almost grown. 

"I have done my best, " she said. "I hope I have done right. "

He scarcely understood what she meant, and his expression did notchange. 

"You could not do anything that was not right, " he answered. 

Perhaps such a being as Marcello would be an impossibility anywhere butin Italy. Modern life tears privacy to tatters, and privacy is the veilof the temple of home, within which every extreme of human developmentis possible, good and bad. Take privacy away and all the strangelycompound fractions of humanity are soon reduced to a commondenomination. In Italy life has more privacy than anywhere else west ofAsia. The Englishman is fond of calling his home his castle, but it is athoroughfare, a market-place, a club, a hotel, a glass house, comparedwith that of an average Italian. An Englishman goes home to escaperestraint: an Italian goes out. But the northern man, who lives much inpublic, learns as a child to conceal what he feels, to be silent, towear an indifferent look; whereas the man of the south, who hidesnothing when the doors of his house are shut, can hide but little whenhe meets his enemy in the way. He laughs when he is pleased, and scowlswhen he is not, threatens when he is angry, and sheds tears when he ishurt, with a simplicity that too often excites the contempt of menaccustomed to suffer or enjoy without moving a muscle. 

Privacy favours the growth of individual types, differing widely fromeach other; the destruction of it makes people very much alike. Marcello's mother asked herself whether she had done well in rearing himas a being apart from those amongst whom he must spend his life. 

And yet, as she looked at him, he seemed to be so nearly the ideal ofwhich she had dreamt throughout long years of loving care that she wascomforted, and the shadow passed away from her sweet face. He hadanswered that she could do nothing that was not right; she prayed thathis words might be near the truth, and in her heart she was willing tobelieve that they were almost true. Had she not followed every goodimpulse of her own good heart? Had she not tried to realize literallyfor him the most beautiful possibilities of the Christian faith? That, at least, was true, and she could tell herself so without any mistakenpride. How, then, had she made any mistake? The boy had the face of ayoung saint. 

"Are you ready, my dear?" she asked suddenly, as a far-off clock struck. 

"Yes, mother, quite ready. "

"I am not, " she answered with a little laugh. "And Folco is waiting, andI hear the carriage driving up. "

She slipped from Marcello's side and left the room quickly, for theywere going to drive down to the sea, to a little shooting-lodge thatbelonged to them near Nettuno, a mere cottage among the trees by theRoman shore, habitable only in April and May, and useful only then, whenthe quail migrate along the coast and the malarious fever is not yet tobe feared. It was there that Marcello had first learned to handle a gun, spending a week at a time there with his stepfather; and his mother usedto come down now and then for a day or two on a visit, sometimesbringing her friend the Contessa dell' Armi. The latter had been veryunhappy in her youth, and had been left a widow with one beautiful girland a rather exiguous fortune. Some people thought that it was odd thatthe Signora Corbario, who was a saint if ever there was one, should havegrown so fond of the Contessa, for the latter had seen stormy days inyears gone by; and of course the ill-disposed gossips made up theirminds that the Contessa was trying to catch Marcello for her daughterAurora, though the child was barely seventeen. 

This was mere gossip, for she was quite incapable of any such scheme. What the gossips did not know was something which would have interestedthem much more, namely, that the Contessa was the only person in Romewho distrusted Folco Corbario, and that she was in constant fear lestshe should turn out to be right, and lest her friend's paradise shouldbe suddenly changed into a purgatory. But she held her tongue, and herquiet face never betrayed her thoughts. She only watched, and noted frommonth to month certain small signs which seemed to prove her right; andshe should be ready, whenever the time should come, by day or night, tohelp her friend, or comfort her, or fight for her. 

If Corbario guessed that the Contessa did not trust him, he never showedit. He had found her installed as his wife's friend, and had acceptedher, treating her with much courtesy and a sort of vicarious affection;but though he tried his best he could not succeed in reaching anythinglike intimacy with her, and while she seemed to conceal nothing, he feltthat she was hiding her real self from him. Whether she did so out ofpride, or distrust, or jealousy, he could never be sure. He was secretlyirritated and humiliated by her power to oppose him and keep him at adistance without ever seeming to do so; but, on the other hand, he wasvery patient, very tenacious of his purpose, and very skilful. He knewsomething of the Contessa's past, but he recognised in her the naturethat has known the world's worst side and has done with it for ever, andis lifted above it, and he knew the immense influence which thespectacle of a blameless life exercises upon the opinion of a good womanwho has not always been blameless herself. Whatever he had been beforehe met his wife, whatever strange plans had been maturing in his brainsince he had married her, his life had seemed as spotless from that dayas the existence of the best man living. His wife believed in him, andthe Contessa did not; but even she must in time accept the evidence ofher senses. Then she, too, would trust him. Why it was essential thatshe should, he alone knew, unless he was merely piqued by her quietreserve, as a child is when it cannot fix the attention of a grown-upperson. 

The Contessa and her daughter were to be of the party that day, and thecarriage stopped where they lived, near the Forum of Trajan. Theyappeared almost directly, the Contessa in grey with a grey veil andAurora dressed in a lighter shade, the thick plaits of her auburn hairtied up short below her round straw hat, on the theory that she wasstill a school-girl, whose skirt must not quite touch the ground, whoought not to wear a veil, and whose mind was supposed to be a sensitiveblank, particularly apt to receive bad impressions rather than goodones. In less than a year she would be dancing all night with men shehad scarcely heard of before, listening to compliments of which she hadnever dreamt--of course not--and to declarations which no right-mindedgirl one day under eighteen could under any circumstances be thought toexpect. Such miracles as these are wrought by the eighteenth birthday. 

Corbario's eyes looked from the mother to the daughter, as he andMarcello stood on the pavement to let them get in. The Contessa touchedhis outstretched hand without restraint but without cordiality, smilingjust as much as was civil, and less readily than would have beenfriendly. Aurora glanced at him and laughed prettily without anyapparent reason, which is the privilege of very young girls, becausetheir minds are supposed to be a blank. Also because her skirt must notquite touch the ground, one very perfect black silk ankle was distinctlyvisible for a moment as she stepped into the carriage. Note that fromthe eve of her eighteenth birthday till she is old enough to be reallywicked no well-regulated young woman shows her ankles. This also is oneof the miracles of time. 

Marcello blushed faintly as he sat down beside Aurora. There were nowfive in the big carriage, so that she was between the two men; andthough there was enough room Marcello felt the slight pressure of herarm against his. His mother saw his colour change, and looked away andsmiled. The idea of marrying the two in a few years had often crossedher mind, and she was pleased whenever she saw that Marcello felt alittle thrill of emotion in the girl's presence. As for Aurora, shelooked straight before her, between the heads of the two elder women, and for a long time after they had started she seemed absorbed inwatching the receding walls of the city and the long straight road thatled back to it. The Contessa and her friend talked quietly, happy to betogether for a whole day. Corbario now and then looked from one to theother, as if to assure himself that they were quite comfortable, and hisstill face wore an unchanging look of contented calm as his eyes turnedagain to the sunlit sweep of the low Campagna. Marcello looked steadilyaway from Aurora, happily and yet almost painfully aware that her armcould not help pressing against his. The horses' hoofs beat rhythmicallyon the hard high road, with the steady, cheerful energy which would tella blind man that a team is well fed, fresh from rest, and altogether fitfor a long day's work. The grey-haired coachman sat on his box like anold dragoon in the saddle; the young groom sat bolt upright beside himwith folded arms, as if he could never tire of sitting straight. Thewhole party looked prosperous, harmonious, healthy, and perfectly happy, as if nothing in the least unpleasant could possibly happen to them, still less anything terrible, that could suddenly change all theirlives. 

One of fate's favourite tricks is to make life look particularly gay andenjoyable, and full of sunshine and flowers, at the very moment whenterror wakes from sleep and steps out of the shadow to stalk abroad. 

The cottage where the party were going to spend the next few daystogether was built like an Indian bungalow, consisting of a single storysurrounded by a broad, covered verandah, and having a bit of lawn infront. It was sheltered by trees, and between it and the beach a bankof sand from ten to fifteen feet high ran along the shore, the work ofthe southwest gales during many ages. In many places this bank wascovered with scrub and brushwood on the landward side. 

A little stream meandered down to the sea on the north side of thecottage, ending in a pool full of tall reeds, amongst which one couldget about in a punt. The seashore itself is very shelving at that place, and there is a bar about a cable's length out, over which the sea breakswith a tremendous roar during westerly storms. Two hundred yards fromthe cottage, a large hut had been built for the men-servants and for thekitchen; near by it there was a rough coach-house and a stable with roomfor a dozen horses. The carriage usually went back to Rome on the dayafter every one had arrived, and was sent for when wanted; but therewere a number of rough Campagna horses in the stable, such as are riddenby the cattle herders about Rome, tough little beasts of fairly goodtemper and up to a much heavier weight than might be guessed by astranger in the country. In the morning the men of the party usuallywent shooting, if the wind was fair, for where quail are concerned muchdepends on that. Dinner was in the middle of the day, and every one wassupposed to go to sleep after it. In the late afternoon the horses weresaddled, and the whole party went for a gallop on the sands, or up toclassic Ardea, or across the half-cultivated country, coming back tosupper when it was dark. A particularly fat and quiet pony was kept forMarcello's mother, who was no great rider, but the Contessa and Aurorarode anything that was brought them, as the men did. To tell the truth, the Campagna horse is rarely vicious, and, even when only half broken, can be ridden by a lady if she be an average horsewoman. 

Everything happened as usual. The party reached the cottage in time fora late luncheon, rested afterwards, and then rode out. But the SignoraCorbario would not go. 

"Your pony looks fatter and quieter than ever, " said Maddalena dell'Armi with a smile. "If you do not ride him, he will turn into afixture. "

"He is already a very solid piece of furniture, " observed Folco, lookingat the sleek animal. 

"He is very like the square piano I practise on, " said Aurora. "He hassuch a flat back and such straight thick legs. "

"More like an organ, " put in Marcello, gravely. "He has a curious, half-musical wheeze when he tries to move, like the organ in the churchat San Domenico, when the bellows begin to work. "

"It is a shame to make fun of my horse, " answered the Signora, smiling. "But really I am not afraid of him. I have a little headache from thedrive, that is all. "

"Take some phenacetine, " said Corbario with concern. "Let me make youquite comfortable before we start. "

He arranged a long straw chair for her in a sheltered corner of theverandah, with cushions and a rug and a small table beside it, on whichMarcello placed a couple of new books that had been brought down. ThenFolco went in and got a little glass bottle of tablets from his wife'stravelling-bag and gave her one. She was subject to headaches and alwayshad the medicine with her. It was the only remedy she ever carried orneeded, and she had such confidence in it that she felt better almost assoon as she had swallowed the tablet her husband gave her. 

"Let me stay and read to you, " he said. "Perhaps you would go to sleep. "

"You are not vain of your reading, my dear, " she answered with a smile. "No, please go with the others. "

Then the Contessa offered to stay, and the good Signora had to use agood deal of persuasion to make them all understand that she would muchrather be left alone. They mounted and rode away through the treestowards the beach, whence the sound of the small waves, breaking gentlyunder the afternoon breeze, came echoing softly up to the cottage. 

The two young people rode in front, in silence; Corbario and theContessa followed at a little distance. 

"How good you are to my wife!" Folco exclaimed presently, as theyemerged upon the sand. "You are like a sister to her!"

Maddalena glanced at him through her veil. She had small and classicfeatures, rather hard and proud, and her eyes were of a dark violetcolour, which is very unusual, especially in Italy. But she came fromthe north. Corbario could not see her expression, and she knew it. 

"You are good to her, too, " she said presently, being anxious to bejust. "You are very thoughtful and kind. "

Corbario thought it wiser to say nothing, and merely bent his head alittle in acknowledgment of what he instinctively felt to be anadmission on the part of a secret adversary. Maddalena had never said somuch before. 

"If you were not, I should never forgive you, " she added, thinkingaloud. 

"I don't think you have quite forgiven me as it is, " Folco answered morelightly. 

"For what?"

"For marrying your best friend. "

The little speech was well spoken, so utterly without complaint, orrancour, or suggestion of earnestness, that the Contessa could onlysmile. 

"And yet you admit that I am not a bad husband, " continued Folco. "Should you accept me, or, say, my exact counterpart, for Aurora, in ayear or two?"

"I doubt whether you have any exact counterpart, " Maddalena answered, checking the sharp denial that rose to her lips. 

"Myself, then, just for the sake of argument?"

"What an absurd question! Do you mind tightening the girth for me alittle? My saddle is slipping. "

She drew rein, and he was obliged to submit to the check. As hedismounted he glanced at Aurora's graceful figure, a hundred yardsahead, and for one instant he drew his eyelids together with a verystrange expression. He knew that the Contessa could not see his face. 

Marcello and Aurora had been companions since they were children, andjust now they were talking familiarly of the place, which they had notseen since the previous year. All sorts of details struck them. Here, there was more sand than usual; there, a large piece of timber had beenwashed ashore in the winter gales; at another place there was a newsand-drift that had quite buried the scrub on the top of the bank; thekeeper of the San Lorenzo tower had painted his shutters brown, thoughthey had always been green; here was the spot where Aurora had tumbledoff her pony when she was only twelve years old--so long ago! Andhere--they looked at each other and then quickly at the sea, for it washere that Marcello, in a fit of boyish admiration, had once suddenlykissed her cheek, telling her that she was perfectly beautiful. Evennow, he blushed when he thought of it, and yet he longed to do it again, and wondered inwardly what would happen if he did. 

As for Aurora, though she looked at the sea for a moment, she seemedquite self-possessed. It is a strange thing that if a boy and a girl arebrought up in just the same way, by women, and without many companions, the boy should generally be by far the more shy of the two whenchildhood is just past. 

"You are very fond of your stepfather, are you not?" asked Aurora, sosuddenly that Marcello started a little and hesitated slightly before heanswered. 

"Yes, " he said, almost directly, "of course I am! Don't you like him, too?"

"I used to, " answered Aurora in a low voice, "but now his eyes frightenme--sometimes. For instance, though he is a good way behind, I am surehe is looking at me now, just in that way. "

Marcello turned his head instinctively, and saw that Folco had justdismounted to tighten the girth of the Contessa's saddle. It was exactlywhile Aurora was speaking that he had drawn his eyelids together withsuch a strange expression--a mere coincidence, no doubt, but one thatwould have startled the girl if she could have suddenly seen his face. 

They rode on without waiting for the others, at an even canter over thesand. 

"I never saw anything in Folco's eyes that could frighten anybody, "Marcello said presently. 

"No, " answered Aurora. "Very likely not. "

Marcello had always called Corbario by his first name, and as he grew upit seemed more and more natural to do so. Folco was so young, and helooked even younger than he was. 

"It must be your imagination, " Marcello said. 

"Women, " said Aurora, as if she were as near thirty as any young womanwould acknowledge herself, "women have no imagination. That is why wehave so much sense, " she added thoughtfully. 

Marcello was so completely puzzled by this extraordinary statement thathe could find nothing to say for a few moments. Then he felt that shehad attacked his idol, and that Folco must be defended. 

"If you could find a single thing, however small, to bring against him, it would not be so silly to say that his eyes frighten you. "

"There!" laughed Aurora. "You might as well say that because at thismoment there is only that one little cloud near the sun, there is nocloud at all!"

"How ridiculous!" Marcello expressed his contempt of such girlishreasoning by putting his rough little horse to a gallop. 

"Men always say that, " retorted Aurora, with exasperating calm. "I'llrace you to the tower for the first choice of oranges at dessert. Theyare not very good this year, you know, and you like them. "

"Don't be silly!" Marcello immediately reined his horse back to a walk, and looked very dignified. 

"It is impossible to please you, " observed Aurora, slackening her paceat once. 

"It is impossible, if you abuse Folco. "

"I am sure I did not mean to abuse him, " Aurora answered meekly. "Inever abuse anybody. "

"Women never do, I suppose, " retorted Marcello, with a little snort ofdissatisfaction. 

They were little more than children yet, and for pretty nearly fiveminutes neither spoke a word, as their horses walked side by side. 

"The keeper of the tower has more chickens this year, " observed Aurora. "I can see them running about. "

This remark was evidently intended as an overture of reconciliation. Itacted like magic upon Marcello, who hated quarrelling, and was moreovermuch more in love with the girl than he knew. Instinctively he put outhis left hand to take her right. They always made peace by taking hands. 

But Aurora's did not move, and she did not even turn her head towardshim. 

"Take care!" she said quickly, in a low tone. "They are watching us. "

Marcello looked round and saw that the others were nearer than he hadsupposed, and he blushed foolishly. 

"Well, what harm would there be if you gave me your hand?" he asked. "Ionly meant--"

"Yes, I understand, " Aurora answered, in the same tone as before. "And Iam glad you like me, Marcello--if you really do. "

"If I do!" His tone was full of youthful and righteous indignation. 

"I did not mean to doubt it, " she said quickly. "But it is getting to bedifferent now, you know. We are older, and somehow everything meansmore, even the little things. "

"Oh!" ejaculated Marcello. "I begin to see. I suppose, " he added, withwhat seemed to him reckless brutality, "that if I kissed you now youwould be furious. "

He glanced uneasily at Aurora's face to note the effect of thisterrible speech. The result was not exactly what he had expected. Afaint colour rose in her cheeks, and then she laughed. 

"When you do, " she said, "I would rather it should not be beforepeople. "

"I shall try to remember that, " answered Marcello, considerablyemboldened. 

"Yes, do! It would be so humiliating if I boxed your ears in thepresence of witnesses. "

"You would not dare, " laughed Marcello. 

From a distance, as Aurora had guessed, Folco was watching them while hequietly talked to the Contessa; and as he watched, he understood what achange had taken place since last year, when he had seen Marcello andAurora riding over the same stretch of sand on the same little horses. He ventured a reflection, to see what his companion would answer. 

"I daresay many people would say that those two young people were madefor each other. "

Maddalena looked at him inquiringly and then glanced at her daughter. 

"And what do you say?" she asked, with some curiosity. 

"I say 'no. ' And you?"

"I agree with you. Aurora is like me--like what I was. Marcello wouldbore her to death in six months, and Aurora would drive him quite mad. "

Corbario smiled. 

"I had hoped, " he said, "that women with marriageable daughters wouldthink Marcello a model husband. But of course I am prejudiced. I havehad a good deal to do with his bringing up during the last four years. "

"No one can say that you have not done your duty by him, " Maddalenaanswered. "I wish I could feel that I had done as well by Aurora--indeedI do!"

"You have, but you had quite a different nature to deal with. "

"I should think so! It is my own. "

Corbario heard the little sigh as she turned her head away, and being awise man he said nothing in answer. He was not a Roman, if indeed hewere really an Italian at all, but he had vaguely heard the Contessa'sstory. She had been married very young to a parliamentary high-light, who had made much noise in his day, had spent more than half of herfortune after getting rid of his own, and had been forgotten on themorrow of his premature death. It was said that she had loved anotherman with all her heart, but Corbario had never known who it was. 

The sun was almost setting when they turned homeward, and it was darkwhen they reached the cottage. They found an unexpected arrivalinstalled beside the Signora in the doorway of the sitting-room. 

"Professor Kalmon is here, " said the Signora's voice out of the gloom. "I have asked him to stay till to-morrow. "

The Professor rose up in the shadow and came forward, just as a servantbrought a lamp. He was celebrated as a traveller, and occupied the chairof comparative physiology in the University of Milan. He belonged tothe modern type of scientific man, which has replaced the one of fiftyyears ago, who lived in a dressing-gown and slippers, smoked a longpipe, and was always losing his belongings through absence of mind. Themodern professor is very like other human beings in dress andappearance, and has even been known to pride himself on the fit of hiscoat, just like the common people. 

There were mutual greetings, for the Professor knew all the party, andeverybody liked him. He was a big man, with a well-kept brown beard, avery clear complexion, and bright brown eyes that looked as if theywould never need spectacles. 

"And where have you been since we last saw you?" asked Corbario. 

"Are your pockets full of snakes this time?" asked Aurora. 

The Professor looked at her and smiled, realising that she was no longerthe child she had been when he had seen her last, and that she was verygood to look at. His brown eyes beamed upon her benevolently. 

"Ah, my dear young lady, I see it is all over, " he said. "You will neverpull my beard again and turn my pockets inside out for specimens when Icome back from my walks on the beach. "

"Do you think I am afraid of you or your specimens?" laughed Aurora. 

"I have got a terrible thing in my waistcoat pocket, " the Professoranswered. "Something you might very well be afraid of. "

"What is it? It must be very small to be in your waistcoat pocket. "

"It is a new form of death. "

He beamed on everybody with increasing benevolence; but somehow nobodysmiled, and the Signora Corbario shivered and drew her light cloak moreclosely round her, as the first gust of the night breeze came up fromthe rustling reeds that grew in the pool below. 

"It is time to get ready for supper, " said Folco. "I hope you are nothungry, Kalmon, for you will not get anything very elaborate to eat!"

"Bread and cheese will do, my dear fellow. "

When Italians go to the country they take nothing of the city with them. They like the contrast to be complete; they love the total absence ofrestraint; they think it delightful to dine in their shooting-coats andto eat coarse fare. If they had to dress for dinner it would not be thecountry at all, nor if dinner had to begin with soup and end with sweetsjust as it does in town. They eat extraordinary messes that would make aFrenchman turn pale and a German look grave. They make portentouspasties, rich with everything under the sun; they eat fat boiled beef, and raw fennel, and green almonds, and vast quantities of cream cheese, and they drink sour wine like water; and it all agrees with themperfectly, so that they come back to the city refreshed and rested aftera gastronomic treatment which would bring any other European to death'sdoor. 

The table was set out on the verandah that evening, as usual in spring, and little by little the Professor absorbed the conversation, for theyall asked him questions, few of which could be answered shortly. He wasone of those profoundly cultivated Italians who are often to be metnowadays, but whose gifts it is not easy to appreciate except in acertain degree of intimacy. They are singularly modest men as a rule, and are by no means those about whom there is the most talk in theworld. 

The party sat in their places when supper was over, with cloaks andcoats thrown over them against the night air, while Kalmon talked of allsorts of things that seemed to have the least possible connection witheach other, but which somehow came up quite naturally. He went from thelast book on Dante to a new discovery in chemistry, thence to Japanesemonks and their beliefs, and came back smiling to the latest developmentof politics, which led him quite naturally to the newest play, labourand capital, the German Emperor, and the immortality of the soul. 

"I believe you know everything!" exclaimed Marcello, with an admiringlook. "Or else I know nothing, which is really more probable!" The boylaughed. 

"You have not told us about the new form of death yet, " said Aurora, leaning on her elbows and burying her young hands in her auburn hair asshe looked across the table at Kalmon. 

"You will never sleep again if I tell you about it, " answered theProfessor, opening his brown eyes very wide and trying to look terrible, which was quite impossible, because he had such a kindly face. "You donot look frightened at all, " he added, pretending to be disappointed. 

"Let me see the thing, " Aurora said. "Perhaps we shall all befrightened. "

"It looks very innocent, " Kalmon answered. "Here it is. "

He took a small leather case from his pocket, opened it, and drew out ashort blue glass tube, with a screw top. It contained half a dozen whitetablets, apparently just like those in common use for five-grain dosesof quinine. 

A little murmur of disappointment went around the table. The new form ofdeath looked very commonplace. Corbario was the only one who showed anyinterest. 

"May I see?" he asked, holding out his hand to take the tube. 

Kalmon would not give it to him, but held the tube before his eyes underthe bright light of the lamp. 

"Excuse me, " he said, "but I make it a rule never to let it go out of myhands. You understand, don't you? If it were passed round, some onemight lay it down, it might be forgotten, somebody might take it forsomething else. "

"Of course, " said Folco, looking intently at the tube, as though hecould understand something about the contents by mere inspection. "Youare quite right. You should take no risks with such things--especiallyas they look so innocent!"

He leaned back in his chair again, as if satisfied, and his eyes met theContessa's at the same moment. There was no reason why she should nothave looked at him just then, but he rested one elbow on the table andshaded his eyes from the light. 

"It is strange to reflect, " said Kalmon, looking at the tubethoughtfully, "that one of those little things would be enough to put aHercules out of misery, without leaving the slightest trace whichscience could discover. "

Corbario was still shading his eyes from the light. 

"How would one die if one took it?" asked Aurora. "Very suddenly?"

"I call it the sleeping death, " answered the Professor. "The poisonedperson sinks into a sweet sleep in a few minutes, smiling as if enjoyingthe most delightful dreams. "

"And one never wakes up?" inquired Marcello. 

"Never. It is impossible, I believe. I have made experiments on animals, and have not succeeded in waking them by any known means. "

"I suppose it congests the brain, like opium, " observed Corbario, quietly. 

"Not at all, not at all!" answered Kalmon, looking benevolently at thelittle tube which contained his discovery. "I tell you it leaves notrace whatever, not even as much as is left by death from an electriccurrent. And it has no taste, no smell, --it seems the most innocentstuff in the world. "

Corbario's hand again lay on the table and he was gazing out into thenight, as if he were curious about the weather. The moon was justrising, being past the full. 

"Is that all you have of the poison?" he asked in an idle tone. 

"Oh, no! This is only a small supply which I carry with me forexperiments. I have made enough to send all our thirty-three millions ofItalians to sleep for ever!"

Kalmon laughed pleasantly. 

"If this could be properly used, civilisation would make a giganticstride, " he added. "In war, for instance, how infinitely pleasanter andmore æsthetic it would be to send the enemy to sleep, with the mostdelightful dreams, never to wake again, than to tear people to pieceswith artillery and rifle bullets, and to blow up ships with hundreds ofpoor devils on board, who are torn limb from limb by the explosion. "

"The difficulty, " observed the Contessa, "would be to induce the enemyto take your poison quietly. What if the enemy objected?"

"I should put it into their water supply, " said Kalmon. 

"Poison the water!" cried the Signora Corbario. "How barbarous!"

"Much less barbarous than shedding oceans of blood. Only think--theywould all go to sleep. That would be all. "

[Illustration: "'I CALL IT THE SLEEPING DEATH, ' ANSWERED THE PROFESSOR"]

"I thought, " said Corbario, almost carelessly, "that there was no longerany such thing as a poison that left no traces or signs. Can you notgenerally detect vegetable poisons by the mode of death?"

"Yes, " answered the Professor, returning the glass tube to its case andthe latter to his pocket. "But please to remember that although we canprove to our own satisfaction that some things really exist, we cannotprove that any imaginable thing outside our experience cannot possiblyexist. Imagine the wildest impossibility you can think of; you will notinduce a modern man of science to admit the impossibility of it asabsolute. Impossibility is now a merely relative term, my dear Corbario, and only means great improbability. Now, to illustrate what I mean, itis altogether improbable that a devil with horns and hoofs and a fierytail should suddenly appear, pick me up out of this delightful circle, and fly away with me. But you cannot induce me to deny the possibilityof such a thing. "

"I am so glad to hear you say that, " said the Signora, who was areligious woman. 

Kalmon looked at her a moment and then broke into a peal of laughterthat was taken up by the rest, and in which the good lady joined. 

"You brought it on yourself, " she said at last. 

"Yes, " Kalmon answered. "I did. From your point of view it is better toadmit the possibility of a mediæval devil with horns than to have noreligion at all. Half a loaf is better than no bread. "

"Is that stuff of yours animal, vegetable, or mineral?" asked Corbarioas the laughter subsided. 

"I don't know, " replied the Professor. "Animal, vegetable, mineral?Those are antiquated distinctions, like the four elements of thealchemists. "

"Well--but what is the thing, then?" asked Corbario, almost impatiently. "What should you call it in scientific language?"

Kalmon closed his eyes for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. 

"In scientific language, " he began, "it is probably H three C seven, parenthesis, H two C plus C four O five, close parenthesis, HC three O. "

Corbario laughed carelessly. 

"I am no wiser than before, " he said. 

"Nor I, " answered the Professor. "Not a bit. "

"It is much simpler to call it 'the sleeping death, ' is it not?"suggested the Contessa. 

"Much simpler, for that is precisely what it is. "

It was growing late, according to country ideas, and the party rose fromthe table and began to move about a little before going to bed. The moonhad risen high by this time. 

Marcello and Aurora, unheeded by the rest, went round the verandah tothe other side of the house and stood still a moment, looking out at thetrees and listening to the sounds of the night. Down by the pool a frogcroaked now and then; from a distance came the plaintive, oftenrepeated cry of a solitary owlet; the night breeze sighed through thelong grass and the low shrubbery. 

The boy and girl turned to each other, put out their hands and thentheir arms, and clasped each other silently, and kissed. Then theywalked demurely back to their elders, without exchanging a word. 

"We have had to give you the little room at the end of the cottage, "Corbario was saying to Kalmon. "It is the only one left while theContessa is here. "

"I should sleep soundly on bare boards to-night, " Kalmon answered. "Ihave been walking all day. "

Corbario went with him, carrying a candle, and shielding the flame fromthe breeze with his hand. The room was furnished with the barestnecessities, like most country rooms in Italy. There were wooden pegs onwhich to hang clothes instead of a wardrobe, an iron bedstead, a dealwash-stand, a small deal table, a rush-bottomed chair. The room had onlyone window, which was also the only door, opening to the floor upon theverandah. 

"You can bolt the window, if you like, " said Corbario when he had biddenthe Professor good-night, "but there are no thieves about. "

"I always sleep with my windows open, " Kalmon answered, "and I have novaluables. "

"No? Good-night again. "

"Good-night. "

Corbario went out, leaving him the candle, and turned the corner of theverandah. Then he stood still a long time, leaning against one of thewooden pillars and looking out. Perhaps the moonlight falling throughthe stiff little trees upon the long grass and shrubbery reminded him ofsome scene familiar long ago. He smiled quietly to himself as he stoodthere. 

Three hours later he was there again, in almost exactly the sameattitude. He must have been cold, for the night breeze was stronger, andhe wore only his light sleeping clothes and his feet were bare. Heshivered a little from time to time, and his face looked very white, forthe moon was now high in the heavens and the light fell full upon him. His right hand was tightly closed, as if it held some small object fast, and he was listening intently, first to the right, whence he had come, then to the left, and then he turned his ear towards the trees, throughwhich the path led away towards the hut where the men slept. But therewas no sound except the sighing of the wind. The frog by the pool hadstopped croaking, and the melancholy cry of the owlet had ceased. 

Corbario went softly on, trying the floor of the verandah with his barefeet at each step, lest the boards should creak a little under hisweight. He reached the window door of his own room, and slipped into thedarkness without noise. 

Kalmon cared little for quail-shooting, and as the carriage was goingback to Rome he took advantage of it to reach the city, and took hisdeparture about nine o'clock in the morning. 

"By the way, how did you sleep?" asked Corbario as he shook hands atparting. "I forgot to ask you. "

"Soundly, thank you, " answered the Professor. 

And he drove away, waving his felt hat to his hosts. 

CHAPTER III

Marcello coughed a little as he and Corbario trudged home through thesand under the hot May sun. It was sultry, though there were few clouds, and everything that grew looked suddenly languid; each flower and shrubgave out its own peculiar scent abundantly, the smell of last year'srotting leaves and twigs all at once returned and mingled with theodours of green things and of the earth itself, and the heavy air wasover-rich with it all, and hard to breathe. By and by the clouds wouldpile themselves up into vast grey and black fortresses, far away beyondRome, between the Alban and the Samnite hills, and the lightning woulddart at them and tear them to pieces in spite, while the thunder roaredout at each home-thrust that it was well done; and then the spring rainwould sweep the Campagna, by its length and breadth, from the mountainsto the sea, and the world would be refreshed. But now it was near noonand a heavy weariness lay upon the earth. 

"You are tired, " said Corbario, as they reached the shade of some trees, less than half a mile from the cottage. "Let us sit down for a while. "

They sat down, where they could see the sea. It was dull and glassyunder the high sun; here and there, far out, the sluggish currents madedark, irregular streaks. 

Corbario produced cigarettes and offered one to Marcello, but the boywould not smoke; he said that it made him cough. 

"I should smoke all the time, if I were quite well, " he said, with asmile. 

"And do many other things that young men do, I daresay, " laughedCorbario. "Ride steeplechases, play cards all night, and drink champagneat breakfast. "

"Perhaps. " Marcello was amused at the picture. "I wonder whether I evershall, " he added. 

Corbario glanced at him curiously. There was the faintest accent oflonging in the tone, which was quite new. 

"Why not?" Folco asked, still smiling. "It is merely a question ofhealth, my dear boy. There is no harm in steeplechases if you do notbreak your neck, nor in playing cards if you do not play high, nor indrinking a glass of champagne now and then--no harm at all, that I cansee. But, of course, so long as your lungs are delicate, you must becareful. "

"Confound my lungs!" exclaimed Marcello with unusual energy. "I believethat I am much stronger than any of you think. "

"I am sometimes inclined to believe it too, " Corbario answeredencouragingly. 

"And I am quite sure that it would do me good to forget all about themand live as if there were nothing the matter with me. Don't you think soyourself?"

Corbario made a gesture of doubt, as if it were possible after all. 

"Of course I don't mean dissipation, " Marcello went on to say, suddenlyassuming the manner of an elderly censor of morals, simply because hedid not know what he was talking about. "I don't mean recklessdissipation. "

"Of course not, " Folco answered gravely. "You see, there are two sortsof dissipation. You must not forget that. The one kind means dissipatingyour fortune and your health; the other merely means dissipatingmelancholy, getting rid of care now and then, and of everything thatbores one. That is the harmless sort. "

"What they call 'harmless excitement'--yes, that is what I should likesometimes. There are days when I feel that I must have it. It is as ifthe blood went to my head, and my nerves are all on edge, and I wishsomething would happen, I don't know what, but something, something!"

"I know exactly what you mean, my dear boy, " said Corbario in a tone ofsympathy. "You see I am not very old myself, after all--barelythirty--not quite, in fact. I could call myself twenty-nine if it werenot so much more respectable to be older. "

"Yes. But do you mean to say that you feel just what I do now and then?"Marcello asked the question in considerable surprise. "Do you reallyknow that sensation? That burning restlessness--that something like whatthe earth must feel before a thunderstorm--like the air at this moment?"

Not a muscle of Folco's still face moved. 

"Yes, " he answered quietly. "I know it very well. It is nothing but thesudden wish for a little harmless excitement, nothing else in the world, my dear boy, and it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. It does notfollow that it is at all convenient to yield to it, but we feel itbecause we lead such a very quiet life. "

"But surely, we are perfectly happy, " observed Marcello. 

"Perfectly, absolutely happy. I do not believe that there are anyhappier people in the world than we three, your mother, you, and I. Wehave not a wish unfulfilled. "

"No, except that one, when it comes. "

"And that does not count in my case, " answered Folco. "You see I havehad a good deal of--'harmless excitement' in my life, and I know justwhat it is like, and that it is quite possible to be perfectly happywithout it. In fact, I am. But you have never had any at all, and it isas absurd to suppose that young birds will not try to fly as that youngmen will not want amusement, now and then. "

"I suppose that women cannot always understand that, " said Marcello, after a moment. 

"Women, " replied Folco, unmoved, "do not always distinguish quiteclosely between excitement that is harmless for a man and excitementwhich is not. To tell the truth, " he added, with a laugh, "they hardlyever distinguish at all, and it is quite useless to talk to them aboutit. "

"But surely, there are exceptions?"

"Not many. That is the reason why there is a sort of freemasonry amongmen of the world, a kind of tacit agreement that women need not be toldwhat goes on at the clubs, and at men's dinners, and late at night whenold friends have spent an evening together. Not that there is any harmin it all; but women would not understand. They have their innocentlittle mysteries which they keep from us, and we have harmless littlesecrets which we do not let them know. "

Folco laughed softly at his own way of putting it, and perhaps becauseMarcello so easily accepted his point of view. 

"I see, " said the boy. "I wonder whether my mother would not understandthat. It seems so simple!"

"She will, when the time comes, no doubt, " answered Corbario. "Yourmother is a great exception, my dear boy. On the other hand, she is soanxious about your health just now, that, if I were you, I would not sayanything about feeling the want of a little excitement. Of course yourlife is monotonous. I know it. But there is nothing more monotonous thangetting well, is there? The best part of it is the looking forward towhat one will do when one is quite strong. You and I can talk of that, sometimes, and build castles in the air; but it is of no use to giveyour mother the idea that you are beating your wings against the bars ofyour cage, is it?"

Folco was quite lyric that day, but the words made exactly theimpression he wished. 

"You are right, " Marcello said. "You always are. There is nobody likeyou, Folco. You are an elder brother to me, and yet you don't preach. Ioften tell my mother so. "

This was true, and what Marcello told her added to her happiness, ifanything could do that, and she encouraged the two to go off together asmuch as possible. She even suggested that they should go down to SanDomenico for a fortnight, to look after the great Calabrian estate. 

They rose and began to walk toward the cottage. The shooting had beengood that morning, as quail-shooting goes, and the man who acted askeeper, loader, gardener, and general factotum, and who went out withany one who wanted to shoot, had gone on to the cottage with the bag, the two guns, and the animal which he called his dog. The man's name wasErcole, that is to say, Hercules; and though he was not a giant, hecertainly bore a closer resemblance to the hero than his dog did to dogsin general. 

"He was born in my house, " Ercole said, when any one asked questions. "Find a better one if you can. His name? I call him Nino, short forJohn, because he barks so well at night. You don't understand? It is the'voice of one crying in the wilderness. ' Did you never go to Sundayschool? Or do you call this place a garden, a park, a public promenade?I call it a desert. There are not even cats. "

When an Italian countryman says of a place that even cats will not stayin it, he considers that he has evoked a picture of ultimate desolationthat cannot be surpassed. It had always been Ercole's dream to live inthe city, though he did not look like a man naturally intended for townlife. He was short and skinny, though he was as wiry as a monkey; hisface was slightly pitted with the smallpox, and the malaria of manysummers had left him with a complexion of the colour of cheap leather;he had eyes like a hawk, matted black hair, and jagged white teeth. Heand his fustian clothes smelt of earth, burnt gunpowder, goat's cheese, garlic, and bad tobacco. He was no great talker, but his language waspicturesque and to the point; and he feared neither man nor beast, neither tramp nor horned cattle, nor yet wild boar. He was no respecterof persons at all. The land where the cottage was had belonged to agreat Roman family, now ruined, and when, the land had been sold, he hadapparently been part of the bargain, and had come into the possession ofthe Signora Corbario with it. In his lonely conversations with Nino, hehad expressed his opinion of each member of the family with frankness. 

"You are a good dog, Nino, " he would say. "You are the consolation of mysoul. But you do not understand these things. Corbario is an assassin. Money, money, money! That is all he thinks of from morning till night. Iknow it, because he never speaks of it, and yet he never gives awayanything. It is all for himself, the Signora's millions, the boy'smillions, everything. When I look at his face, a chill seizes me, and Itremble as when I have the fever. You never had the malaria fever, Nino. Dogs don't have it, do they?"

At the question Nino turned his monstrous head to one side and lookedalong his muzzle at his master. If he had possessed a tail he would havewagged it, or thumped the hard ground with it a few times; but he hadnone. He had probably lost it in some wild battle of his stormy youth, fought almost to death against the huge Campagna sheep-dogs; or perhapsa wolf had got it, or perhaps he had never had a tail at all. Ercole hadprobably forgotten, and it did not really matter much. 

"Corbario is an assassin, " he said. "Remember that, Nino. As for hispoor lady, she is a little lacking, or she would never have married him. But she is a saint, and what do saints want with cleverness? They go toparadise. Does that need much sense? We should all go if we could. Whydo you cock your head on one side and look at me like a Christian? Areyou trying to make me think you have a soul? You are made of nothing butcorn meal and water, and a little wool, poor beast! But you have moresense than the Signora, and you are not an assassin, like her husband. "

At this, Nino threw himself upon his back with his four legs in the airand squirmed with sheer delight, showing his jagged teeth and the roofof a very terrible mouth, and emitting a series of wolfish snorts; afterwhich he suddenly rolled over upon his feet again, shook himself tillhis shaggy coat bristled all over his body, walked sedately to the opendoor of the hut, and sat down to look at the weather. 

"He is almost a Christian, " Ercole remarked under his breath, as if hewere afraid the dog might hear the compliment and grow too vain. 

For Ercole was a reticent man, and though he told Nino what he thoughtabout people, he never told any one else. Marcello was the only personto whom he ever showed any inclination to attach himself. He regardedeven the Contessa with suspicion, perhaps merely because she was awoman; and as for Aurora, girls did not count at all in his cosmogony. 

"God made all the other animals before making women, " he observedcontemptuously one day, when he had gone out alone with Marcello. 

"I like them, " laughed the boy. 

"So did Adam, " retorted Ercole, "and you see what came of it. "

No answer to this argument occurred to Marcello just then, so he saidnothing; and he thought of Aurora, and his mother, and the sad-eyedContessa, and wondered vaguely whether they were very unlike otherwomen, as Ercole implied. 

"When you know women, " the man vouchsafed to add presently, "you willwish you were dead. The Lord sent them into the world for an afflictionand for the punishment of our sins. "

"You were never married, were you?" asked Marcello, still smiling. 

Ercole stopped short in the sand, amongst the sea-thistles that grewthere, and Nino trotted up and looked at him, to be ready if anythinghappened. Marcello knew the man's queer ways, and waited for him tospeak. 

"Married?" he snorted. "Married? You have said it!"

This seemed enigmatical, but Marcello understood the words to convey anaffirmation. 

"Well?" he asked, expecting more. 

"Well? Well, what?" growled Ercole. "This is a bad world. A man falls inlove with a pretty little caterpillar; he wakes up and finds himselfmarried to a butterfly. Oh, this is a very bad world!"

Marcello was struck by the simile, but he reflected that Aurora lookedmuch more like a butterfly than a caterpillar, a fact which, if it meantanything, should signify that he knew the worst beforehand. Ercoledeclined to enter into any account of his conjugal experiences, andmerely shrugged his shoulders and went on through the sand. 

With such fitting and warning as this to keep him out of trouble, Marcello was to face life: with his saintly mother's timid allusions toits wickedness, with Corbario's tempting suggestions of harmlessdissipation, with an unlettered peasant's sour reflections on the worldin general and women in particular. 

In the other scale of the balance fate set his delicate and high-strungnature, his burning desire for the great unknown something, the stingingimpatience of bodily weakness, and the large element of recklessness heinherited from his father, besides a fine admixture of latent boyishvanity for women to play upon, and all the ordinary weaknesses of humannature in about the same proportion as every one has them. 

Given a large fortune and ordinary liberty, it might be foreseen thatthe boy would not reach the haven of maturity without meeting a storm, even if the outward circumstances of chance were all in his favour, evenif no one had an interest in ruining him, even if Folco Corbario did notwant all for himself, as poor Ercole told his dog that he did in thesolitude of his hut. 

Marcello had a bad chance at the start, and Maddalena dell' Armi, whoknew the world well in all its moods, and had suffered by it and sinnedfor it, and had shed many tears in secret before becoming what she wasnow, foresaw danger, and hoped that her daughter's fate might not bebound up with that of her friend's son, much as she herself liked thegentle-hearted boy. She wondered how long any one would call him gentleafter he got his first taste of pleasure and pain. 

CHAPTER IV

It was very early morning, and there was no shooting, for asouthwesterly gale had been blowing all night, and the birds passed farinland. All along the beach, for twenty-five miles in an unbroken line, the surf thundered in, with a double roar, breaking on the bar, thengathering strength again, rising grey and curling green and crashingdown upon the sand. Then the water opened out in vast sheets of crawlingfoam that ran up to the very foot of the bank where the scrub began togrow, and ran regretfully back again, tracing myriads of tiny channelswhere the sand was loose; but just as it had almost subsided, anotherwave curled and uncurled itself, and trembled a moment, and flung itswhole volume forwards through a cloud of unresisting spray. 

It had rained a little, too, and it would rain again. The sky was of aneven leaden grey, and as the sun rose unseen, a wicked glare came intoit, as if the lead were melting; and the wind howled unceasingly, thesoft, wet, southwest wind of the great spring storms. 

Less than a mile from the shore a small brigantine, stripped to a lowertopsail, storm-jib, and balance-reefed mainsail, was trying to claw offshore. She had small chance, unless the gale shifted or moderated, forshe evidently could not carry enough sail to make any way against thehuge sea, and to heave to would be sure destruction within two hours. 

The scrub and brushwood were dripping with raindrops, and the salt spraywas blown up the bank with the loose sand. Everything was wet, grey, anddreary, as only the Roman shore can be at such times, with thatunnatural dreariness of the south which comes down on nature suddenlylike a bad dream, and is a thousand times more oppressive than the sterndesolation of any northern sea-coast. 

Marcello and Aurora watched the storm from a break in the bank whichmade a little lee. The girl was wrapped in a grey military cloak, ofwhich she had drawn the hood over her loose hair. Her delicate nostrilsdilated with pleasure to breathe the salt wind, and her eyelids droopedas she watched the poor little vessel in the distance. 

"You like it, don't you?" asked Marcello, as he looked at her. 

"I love it!" she answered enthusiastically. "And I may never see it allagain, " she added after a little pause. 

"Never?" Marcello started a little. "Are you going away?"

"We are going to Rome to-day. But that is not what I mean. We havealways come down every year for ever so long. How long is it, Marcello?We were quite small the, first time. "

"It must be five years. Four or five--ever since my mother bought theland here. "

"We were mere children, " said Aurora, with the dignity of a grownperson. "That is all over. "

"I wish it were not!" Marcello sighed. 

"How silly you are!" observed Aurora, throwing back her beautiful head. "But then, I am sure I am much more grown up than you are, though youare nineteen, and I am not quite eighteen. "

"You are seventeen, " said Marcello firmly. 

"I shall be eighteen on my next birthday!" retorted Aurora with warmth. "Then we shall see who is the more grown up. I shall be in society, andyou--why, you will not even be out of the University. "

She said this with the contempt which Marcello's extreme youth deserved. 

"I am not going to the University. "

"Then you will be a boy all your life. I always tell you so. Unless youdo what other people do, you will never grow up at all. You ought to beamong men by this time, instead of everlastingly at home, clinging toyour mother's skirts!"

A bright flush rose in Marcello's cheeks. He felt that he wanted to boxher ears, and for an instant he wished himself small again that he mightdo it, though he remembered what a terrible fighter Aurora had beenwhen she was a little girl, and had preserved a vivid recollection ofher well-aimed slaps. 

"Don't talk about my mother in that way, " he said angrily. 

"I'm not talking of her at all. She is a saint, and I love her verymuch. But that is no reason why you should always be with her, as ifyou were a girl! I don't suppose you mean to begin life as a saintyourself, do you? You are rather young for that, you know. "

"No, " Marcello answered, feeling that he was not saying just the rightthing, but not knowing what to say. "And I am sure my mother does notexpect it of me, either, " he added. "But that is no reason why youshould be so disagreeable. "

He felt that he had been weak, and that he ought to say something sharp. He knew very well that his mother believed it quite possible for a boyto develop into saintship without passing through the intermediate stateof sinning manhood; and though his nature told him that he was not ofthe temper that attains sanctity all at once, he felt that he owed tohis mother's hopes for him a sort of loyalty in which Aurora had madehim fail. The reasonings of innocent sentiment are more tortuous thanthe wiles of the devil himself, and have amazing power to torment theunfledged conscience of a boy brought up like Marcello. 

Aurora's way of thinking was much more direct. 

"If you think I am disagreeable, you can go away, " she said, with ascornful laugh. 

"Thank you. You are very kind. " He tried to speak sarcastically, but itwas a decided failure. 

To his surprise, Aurora turned and looked at him very quietly. 

"I wonder whether I shall like you, when you are a man, " she said in atone of profound reflection. "I am rather ashamed of liking you now, because you are such a baby. "

He flushed again, very angry this time, and he moved away to leave her, without another word. 

She turned her face to the storm and took no notice of him. She thoughtthat he would come back, but there was just the least doubt about it, which introduced an element of chance and was perfectly delightful whileit lasted. Was there ever a woman, since the world began, who did notknow that sensation, either by experience or by wishing she might tryit? What pleasure would there be in angling if the fish did not try toget off the hook, but stupidly swallowed it, fly and all? It might aswell crawl out of the stream at once and lay itself meekly down in thebasket. 

And Marcello came back, before he had taken four steps. 

"Is that what you meant when you said that you might never come hereagain?" he asked, and there was something rough in his tone that pleasedher. 

"No, " she answered, as if nothing had happened. "Mamma talked to me along time last night. "

"What did she say?"

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes. "

"There is no reason why I should not tell you. She says that we must notcome here after I go into society, because people will think that she istrying to marry me to you. "

She looked at him boldly for a moment, and then turned her eyes to thesea. 

"Why should she care what people think?" he asked. 

"Because it would prevent me from marrying any one else, " answeredAurora, with the awful cynicism of youth. "If every one thought I wasengaged to you, or going to be, no other man could ask for me. It'ssimple enough, I'm sure!"

"And you wish other men to ask you to marry them, I suppose?"

Marcello was a little pale, but he tried to throw all the contempt hecould command into his tone. Aurora smiled sweetly. 

"Naturally, " she said. "I'm only a woman. "

"Which means that I'm a fool to care for you!"

"You are, if you think I'm not worth caring for. " The girl laughed. 

This was so very hard to understand that Marcello knit his smooth youngbrow and looked very angry, but could find nothing to say on the spur ofthe moment. All women are born with the power to put a man into such aposition that he must either contradict himself, hold his tongue, or flyinto a senseless rage. They do this so easily, that even after theexperience of a life-time we never suspect the trap until they pull thestring and we are caught. Then, if we contradict ourselves, woman uttersan inhuman cry of triumph and jeers at our unstable purpose; if we loseour tempers instead, she bursts into tears and calls us brutes; andfinally, if we say nothing, she declares, with a show of reason, that wehave nothing to say. 

[Illustration: "HE FLUSHED AGAIN, VERY ANGRY THIS TIME, AND HE MOVEDAWAY TO LEAVE HER, WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD. "]

Marcello lost his temper. 

"You are quite right, " he said angrily. "You are not worth caring for. You are a mere child, and you are a miserable little flirt already, andyou will be a detestable woman when you grow up! You will lead men on, and play with them, and then laugh at them. But you shall not laugh atme again. You shall not have that satisfaction! You shall wish me back, but I will not come, not if you break your silly little heart!"

With this terrific threat the boy strode away, leaving her to watch thestorm alone in the lee of the sandbank. Aurora knew that he really meantto go this time, and at first she was rather glad of it, since he was insuch a very bad temper. She felt that he had insulted her, and if he hadstayed any longer she would doubtless have called him a brute, thatbeing the woman's retort under the circumstances. She had not theslightest doubt of being quite reconciled with him before luncheon, ofcourse, but in her heart she wished that she had not made him angry. Ithad been very pleasant to watch the storm together, and when they hadcome to the place, she had felt a strong presentiment that he would kissher, and that the contrast between the kiss and the howling gale wouldbe very delightful. 

The presentiment had certainly not come true, and now that Marcello wasgone it was not very amusing to feel the spray and the sand on herface, or to watch the tumbling breakers and listen to the wind. Besides, she had been there some time, and she had not even had her littlebreakfast of coffee and rolls before coming down to the shore. Shesuddenly felt hungry and cold and absurdly inclined to cry, and shebecame aware that the sand had got into her russet shoes, and that itwould be very uncomfortable to sit down in such a place to take them offand shake it out; and that, altogether, misfortunes never come singly. 

After standing still three or four minutes longer, she turned away witha discontented look in her face, all rosy with the wind and spray. Shestarted as she saw Corbario standing before her, for she had not heardhis footsteps in the gale. He wore his shooting-coat and heavy leatherngaiters, but he had no gun. She thought he looked pale, and that therewas a shade of anxiety in his usually expressionless face. 

"We wondered where you were, " he said. "There is coffee in the verandah, and your mother is out already. "

"I came down to look at the storm, " Aurora answered. "I forgot all aboutbreakfast. "

They made a few steps in the direction of the cottage. Aurora felt thatCorbario was looking sideways at her as they walked. 

"Have you seen Marcello?" he asked presently. 

"Did you not meet him?" Aurora was surprised. "It is not five minutessince he left me. "

"No. I did not meet him. "

"That is strange. "

They went on in silence for a few moments. 

"I cannot understand why you did not meet Marcello, " Aurora saidsuddenly, as if she had thought it over. "Did you come this way?"

"Yes. "

"Perhaps he got back before you started. He walks very fast. "

"Perhaps, " Corbario said, "but I did not see him. I came to look for youboth. "

"Expecting to find us together, of course!" Aurora threw up her head alittle disdainfully, for Marcello had offended her. 

"He is generally somewhere near you, poor boy, " answered Corbario in atone of pity. 

"Why do you say 'poor boy' in that tone? Do you think he is so much tobe pitied?"

"A little, certainly. " Corbario smiled. 

"I don't see why. "

"Women never do, when a man is in love!"

"Women"--the flattery was subtle and Aurora's face cleared. Corbario wasa man of the world, without doubt, and he had called her a woman, in amost natural way, as if she had been at least twenty years old. It didnot occur to her to ask herself whether Folco had any object in wishingto please her just then, but she knew well enough that he did wish to doso. Even a girl's instinct is unerring in that; and Corbario furtherpleased her by not pursuing the subject, for what he had said seemed allthe more spontaneous because it led to nothing. 

"If Marcello is not in the cottage, " he observed, as they came near, "he must have gone off for a walk after he left you. Did you not seewhich way he turned?"

"How could I from the place where I stood?" asked Aurora in reply. "Assoon as he had turned behind the bank it was impossible to say which wayhe had gone. "

"Of course, " assented Folco. "I understand that. "

Marcello had not come home, and Aurora was sorry that she had teased himinto a temper and had then allowed him to go away. It was not good forhim, delicate as he was, to go for a long walk in such weather withoutany breakfast, and she felt distinctly contrite as she ate her roll insilence and drank her coffee, on the sheltered side of the cottage, under the verandah. The Signora Corbario had not appeared yet, but theContessa was already out. As a rule the Signora preferred to have hercoffee in her room, as if she were in town. For some time no one spoke. 

"Had we not better send Ercole to find Marcello?" the Contessa asked atlast. 

"I had to send Ercole to Porto d'Anzio this morning, " Corbario answered. "I took the opportunity, because I knew there would be no quail withthis wind. "

"Marcello will come in when he is hungry, " said Aurora, rather sharply, because she really felt sorry. 

But Marcello did not come in. 

Soon after eight o'clock his mother appeared on the verandah. Folcodropped his newspaper and hastened to make her comfortable in herfavourite chair. Though she was not strong, she was not an invalid, butshe was one of those women whom it seems natural to help, to whom menbring cushions, and with whom other women are always ready tosympathise. If one of Fra Angelico's saints should walk into a moderndrawing-room all the men would fall over each other in the scramble tomake her comfortable, and all the women would offer her tea and ask herif she felt the draught. 

The Signora looked about, expecting to see her son. 

"Marcello has not come in, " said Folco, understanding. "He seems to havegone for a long walk. "

"I hope he has put on his thick boots, " answered the Signora, in athoughtful tone. "It is very wet. "

She asked why Folco was not with him shooting, and was told that therewere no birds in such weather. She had never understood the winds, northe points of the compass, nor why one should see the new moon in thewest instead of in the east. Very few women do, but those who live muchwith men generally end by picking up a few useful expressions, a littlephrase-book of jargon terms with which men are quite satisfied. Theyfind out that a fox has no tail, a wild boar no teeth, a boat no prow, and a yacht no staircase; and this knowledge is better than none. 

The Signora accepted the fact that there were no birds that morning, andbegan to talk to Maddalena. Aurora got a book and pretended to read, butshe was really listening for Marcello's footsteps, and wonderingwhether he would smile at her, or would still be cross when he came in. Corbario finished his paper and went off to look at the weather from theother side of the house, and the two women talked in broken sentences asold friends do, with long intervals of silence. 

The wind had moderated a good deal, but as the sun rose higher the glarein the sky grew more yellow, the air was much warmer, and the trees andshrubs and long grass began to steam as if they had been half boiled. All manner of tiny flies and gnats chased each other in the lurid light. 

"It feels as if there were going to be an earthquake, " said Maddalena, throwing back the lace from her grey hair as if even its light weightoppressed her. 

"Yes. "

The women sat in silence, uneasy, their lips a little parted. Not thatan earthquake would have disturbed them much, for slight ones are commonenough in Italy, and could do no harm at all to a wooden cottage; it wasa mere physical breathlessness that they felt, as the gale suddenlydropped and the heavy air became quite still on the sheltered side ofthe cottage. 

Aurora threw aside her book impatiently and rose from her chair. 

"I am going to look for Marcello, " she said, and she went off withoutturning her head. 

On the other side of the cottage, as she went round, she found Folcositting on the steps of the verandah, his elbows on his knees and hischin resting on his folded hands, apparently in deep thought. He had acigar between his teeth, but it had gone out. 

"I am going to look for Marcello, " said Aurora, as she passed closebeside him. 

He said nothing, and hardly moved his head. Aurora turned and looked athim as she stepped upon the path. 

"What is the matter?" she asked, as she saw his face. "Is anythingwrong?"

Corbario looked up quickly, as if he had been in a reverie. 

"Anything the matter? No. Where did you say you were going?"

"To find Marcello. He has not come in yet. "

"He has gone for a walk, I suppose. He often walks alone on off days. Hewill be back before luncheon, and you are not going to town till theafternoon. "

"Will you come with me?" Aurora asked, for she was in a good humour withFolco. 

He rose at once. 

"I'll go with you for a stroll, " he said, "but I don't think it is ofany use to look for Marcello near the house. "

"It can do no harm. "

"And it will do us good to walk a bit. "

They went down the path and through the trees towards the break in thebank. 

"The sand was very wet this morning, even inside the bank, " Aurorasaid. "I daresay we shall find his footsteps and be able to guess whichway he went. "

"Very likely, " Folco answered. 

He pushed back his tweed cap a little and passed his handkerchief acrosshis smooth brow. Aurora noticed the action, because he did not usuallyget warm so easily. 

"Are you hot?" she asked carelessly. 

"A little, " he answered. "The air is so heavy this morning. "

"Perhaps you are not quite well, " said Aurora. "You are a little pale. "

Apparently something in her youthfully patronising tone came as nearirritating him as anything ever could. 

"What does it matter, whether I am hot or not?" he asked, almostimpatiently, and again he passed his handkerchief over his forehead. 

"I did not mean to annoy you, " Aurora answered with uncommon meekness. 

They came near the break in the bank, and she looked at the sand on eachside of her. She thought it seemed smoother than usual, and that therewere not so many little depressions in it, where there had beenfootsteps on previous days, half obliterated by wind and rain. 

"I cannot see where you and I passed an hour ago, " she said, in somesurprise. 

"The wind draws through the gap with tremendous strength, " Folcoexplained. "Just before the gale moderated there was a heavy squall withrain. "

"Was there? I did not notice that--but I was on the lee side of thehouse. The wind must have smoothed the sand, just like a flat-iron!"

"Yes. " Corbario answered indifferently and gazed out to sea. 

Aurora left his side and looked about, going to a little distance fromthe gap, first on one side and then on the other. 

"It is as if the wind had done it on purpose!" she cried impatiently. "It is as smooth as if it had all been swept with a gardener's broom. "

Corbario turned, lighted his extinguished cigar, and watched her, as shemoved about, stooping now and then to examine the sand. 

"I don't believe it is of any use to look here, " he said. "Besides, hewill be back in time for luncheon. "

"I suppose so, " answered Aurora. "Why do you look at me in that way?"she asked, standing upright and meeting his eyes suddenly. 

He laughed softly and took his cigar from his mouth. 

"I was watching you. You are very graceful when you move. "

She did not like his expression. 

"I wish you would think less about me and more about finding Marcello, "she said rather sharply. 

"You talk as if he were lost. I tell you he will surely come back beforelong. "

"I hope so. "

But Marcello did not come back, and after Aurora had returned to thecottage and was seated in her chair again, with her book, she grewrestless, and went over in her memory what had passed in the morning. Itwas not possible that Marcello should really mean to carry out histhreat, to go away without a word, to leave her, to leave his mother;and yet, he was gone. A settled conviction came over her that he wasreally gone, just as he was, most probably back to Rome. She had teasedhim, and he had been very angry, absurdly angry; and yet she was perhapsresponsible, in a way, for his disappearance. Presently his mother wouldgrow anxious and would ask questions, and then it would all come out. Itwould be better to be brave and to say at once that he had been angrywith her; she could confess the truth to her mother, to the Signora, ifnecessary, or even to both together, for they were women and wouldunderstand. But she could not tell the story before Corbario. That wouldbe out of the question; and yet, anything would be better than to letthem all think that something dreadful had happened to Marcello. He hadgone to Rome, of course; or perhaps only to Porto d'Anzio, in which casehe would meet Ercole coming back. 

The hours wore on to midday, and Signora Corbario's uneasiness grew intoreal anxiety. The Contessa did her best to soothe her, but was anxiousherself, and still Aurora said nothing. Folco was grave, but assuredevery one that the boy would soon return, though the Signora would notbelieve it. 

"He will never come back! Something dreadful has happened to him!" Andtherewith she broke down completely and burst into tears. 

"You must go and look for him, " said Maddalena quietly to Corbario. 

"I think you are right, " he answered. "I am going to find him, " he saidsoftly, bending down to his wife as she lay in her chair, trying tocontrol her sobs. "I will send some of the men towards Porto d'Anzio andwill go towards Nettuno myself. "

She loved him and believed in him, and she was comforted when she sawhim go away and heard him calling the men from their hut. 

Aurora was left alone with the two women. 

"I am afraid Marcello is gone to Rome, " she said, with an effort. 

The Signora raised herself in her long chair and stared hard at thegirl. The Contessa looked at her in surprise. 

"What do you know about it?" cried the Signora. "Why have you notspoken, if you know anything? Don't you see that I am half mad withanxiety?"

Aurora had never seen the good lady in such a state, and was almostfrightened; but there was nothing to be done now, except to go on. Shetold her little story timidly, but truthfully, looking from her motherto the Signora while she spoke, and wondering what would happen when shehad finished. 

"He said, 'You shall wish me back, but I will not come. ' I think thosewere his last words. "

"You have broken my boy's heart!" cried the Signora Corbario, turningher face away. 

Maddalena, whose heart had really been broken long ago, could not helpsmiling. 

"I am sure I did not mean to, " cried Aurora, contritely. "And after all, though I daresay it was my fault, he called me a miserable little flirt, and I only called him a baby. "

Maddalena would have laughed if her friend had not been in such realdistress. As for Aurora, she did not know whether she would have laughedor cried if she had not felt that her girl's dignity was at stake. As itwas, she grew preternaturally calm. 

"You have driven him away, " moaned the Signora piteously. "You havedriven away my boy! Was he not good enough for you?"

She asked the question suddenly and vehemently, turning upon poor Aurorawith something like fury. She was quite beside herself, and the Contessamotioned the girl away. Aurora rose and disappeared round the corner ofthe house. 

Alone with her friend, Maddalena did her best to comfort her. There werearguments enough: it was barely noon, and Marcello had not been gonefour hours; he was used to taking long walks, he had probably gone asfar as the tower, and had rested there before coming back; or he hadgone to meet Ercole on the road to Porto d'Anzio; or he had gone offtowards the Nettuno woods to get over his anger in solitude; it wasnatural enough; and after all, if he had gone to Rome as Aurorathought, no harm could come to him, for he would go home, and wouldsurely send a telegram before evening. It was unlike him, yes; but justat his age boys often did foolish things. 

"Marcello is not foolish!" objected the Signora indignantly. 

She could by no means listen to reason, and was angry because her friendtried to argue with her. She rose with an energy she seldom displayed, and began to walk up and down the verandah. Her face was very pale, herlip quivered when she spoke, and there was an unnatural light in hereyes. There was room for much moderate affection in her gentle nature;she had loved her first husband; she loved Corbario dearly; but thepassion of her life was her son, and at the first presentiment of realdanger to him the dominant preoccupation of her heart took violentpossession of everything else in her, regardless of reason, friendship, consideration for others, or common sense. 

Maddalena walked up and down beside her, putting one arm affectionatelyround her waist, and doing the best she could to allay the tempest. 

It subsided suddenly, and was followed by a stony silence thatfrightened the Contessa. It was time for luncheon, and Aurora came back, hoping to find that she had been forgiven during her absence, but theSignora only looked at her coldly once or twice and would not speak. None of the three even pretended to have an appetite. 

"I shall not go back to Rome to-day, " said the Contessa. "I cannotleave you in such anxiety. "

"Folco will take care of me, " answered the Signora in a dull tone. "Donot change your plans on my account. The carriage is ordered at threeo'clock. "

She spoke so coldly that Maddalena felt a little pardonable resentment, though she knew that her friend was not at all herself. 

"Very well, " she answered quietly. "If you had rather that I should notstay with you we will go back this afternoon. "

"It will be much better. "

When the carriage appeared neither Folco nor any of the men hadreturned. The Signora made an evident attempt to show a little of herhabitual cordiality at parting, and she even kissed Aurora coldly on theforehead, and embraced Maddalena with something like her usualaffection. The two looked back as they drove away, calling out a lastgood-bye, but they saw that the Signora was not even looking after them;she was leaning against one of the wooden supports of the verandah, gazing towards the trees, and pressing one hand to her forehead. 

"Do you think it was my fault, mamma?" asked Aurora, when they were outof sight of the cottage. 

"No, dear, " answered Maddalena. "Something has happened, I wish I knewwhat!"

"I only told him he was a baby, " said Aurora, settling herself in thecorner of the carriage, and arranging her parasol behind her so that itrested on the open hood; for the weather had cleared and the sun wasshining brightly after the storm. 

So she and her mother went back to Rome that afternoon. But when theSignora was alone, she was sorry that her friend was gone, and was allat once aware that her head was aching terribly. Every movement she madesent an agonizing thrill through her brain, and her hand trembled fromthe pain, as she pressed her palm to her forehead. 

She meant to go down to the beach alone, for she was sure that she couldfind Marcello, and at least she would meet the men who were searchingfor him, and have news sooner than if she stayed in the cottage. But shecould not have walked fifty steps without fainting while her headachelasted. She would take five grains of phenacetine, and in a little whileshe would be better. 

She found the glass tube with the screw cap, and swallowed one of thetablets with a little water. Then she sat down on the edge of her longchair in the verandah to wait for the pain to pass. She was very tired, and presently, she scarcely knew how it was, she was lying at fulllength in her chair, her head resting comfortably against the cushion. 

The sunlight fell slanting across her feet. Amongst the trees two orthree birds were twittering softly; it was warm, it was dreamy, she wasforgetting Marcello. She tried to rouse herself as the thought of himcrossed her mind, and she fancied that she almost rose from the chair;but she had hardly lifted one hand. Then she saw his face close beforeher, her lips relaxed, the pain was gone, she smiled happily, and shewas asleep. 

Half an hour later her maid came quietly out to ask whether she neededanything, and seeing that she was sleeping peacefully spread a lightshawl over her feet, placed the silver handbell within easy reach on thetable, and went away again. 

Towards evening Folco came back and then the men, straggling in on theirtired little horses, for they had ridden far and fast. Marcello was notwith them. 

Corbario came in alone, and saw his wife lying in her chair in theevening light. He stood still a moment, and then came over and bent nearher, looking earnestly into her quiet face. 

"Already, " he said aloud, but in a very low voice. 

His hand shook as he laid it on her heart, bending low. Then he startedviolently and stood bolt upright, as an unearthly howl rent the air. 

Nino, Ercole's queer dog, was close beside him, his forepaws planted onthe upper step of the verandah, his head thrown up, his half-open jawsshowing his jagged teeth, his rough coat bristling like spikes ofbearded barley. 

And Ercole, still a hundred yards away amongst the trees, shook his headand hurried forward as he heard the long-drawn note of brute terror. 

"Somebody is dead, " he said to himself. 

CHAPTER V

For a few weeks all Italy was profoundly interested in the story ofMarcello Corbario's disappearance and of his mother's almostunaccountable death. It was spoken of as the "double tragedy of theCampagna, " and the newspapers were full of it. 

The gates of the beautiful villa on the Janiculum were constantlyassailed by reporters; the servants who came out from time to time werebribed, flattered, and tempted away to eat sumptuous meals and drink theoldest wine in quiet gardens behind old inns in Trastevere, in the hopethat they might have some information to sell. But no one gainedadmittance to the villa except the agents of the police, who came dailyto report the fruitless search; and the servants had nothing to tellbeyond the bare truth. The young gentleman had gone for a walk near thesea, down at the cottage by the Roman shore, and he had never been heardof again. His mother had been suffering from a bad headache, had laindown to rest in a cane chair on the verandah, and had been found dead, with a smile on her face, by her husband, when he came back from hisfirst attempt to find Marcello. The groom who always went down with thecarriage could describe with greatest accuracy the spot where theSignorina Aurora had last seen him; the house servants gave the mostminute details about the cane chair, the verandah, and the position inwhich the poor lady had been found; but that was all, and it was not atall what the reporters wanted. They had all been down to the cottage, each with his camera and note-book, and had photographed everything insight, including Nino, Ercole's dog. What they wanted was a clue, astory, a scandal if possible, and they found nothing of the sort. 

Folco Corbario's mourning was unostentatious and quiet, but none of thefew persons who saw him, whether detectives or servants, could doubtthat he was profoundly affected. He grew paler and thinner every day, until his own man even began to fear that his health was failing. He haddone, and continued to do, everything that was humanly possible. He hadbrought his wife's body to Rome, and had summoned the very highestauthorities in the medical profession to discover, if possible, thecause of her death. They had come, old men of science, full of theexperience of years, young men of the future, brimming with theories, experts in chemistry, experts in snake poisons; for Folco had evensuggested that she might have been bitten by a viper or stung by avenomous spider, or accidentally poisoned by some medicine or somethingshe had eaten. 

But the scientific gentlemen were soon agreed that no such thing hadhappened. Considerably disappointed, and with an unanimity which is sounusual in the confraternity as to be thought absolutely conclusive whenit is observed, they decided that the Signora Corbario had died ofcollapse after intense excitement caused by the disappearance of herson. Thereafter she was buried out at San Lorenzo, with the secret, ifthere were any; masses were said, the verdict of the doctors waspublished, with the signatures of the most eminent practitioners andspecialists in Italy; and the interest of the public concentrated itselfupon the problem of Marcello's mysterious removal, or abduction, orsubduction, or recession, or flight, from the very bosom of his family. 

This problem had the merit of defying solution. In a comparatively opencountry, within a space of time which could certainly be limited to fiveminutes, at a place whence he should have been clearly seen by FolcoCorbario as soon as Aurora dell' Armi could no longer see him, the boyhad been spirited away, leaving not even the trace of his footsteps inthe sand. It was one of the most unaccountable disappearances on record, as Folco insisted in his conversations with the Chief of Police, whowent down with him to the cottage and examined the spot most carefully, with several expert detectives. Folco showed him exactly where Aurorahad stood, and precisely the direction he himself had followed inapproaching the gap, and he declared it to be almost a physicalimpossibility that Marcello should have become suddenly invisible justthen. 

The official thought so too, and shook his head. He looked at thedetectives, and they shook their heads, also. And then they all lookedat Corbario and expressed the opinion that there was some mistake aboutthe length of time supposed by Aurora to have elapsed between themoment when Marcello left her and the instant of Folco's appearancebefore her. She had not looked at her watch; in fact, she had notcarried a watch. The whole story therefore depended upon her more orless accurate judgment of time. It might have been a quarter of an hourinstead of five minutes, in which case Corbario had not yet left thecottage, and Marcello would have had ample leisure to disappear in anydirection he pleased. Ercole had been away at Porto d'Anzio, the men hadbeen all at the hut; if Folco had not been on the path precisely at thetime guessed by Aurora, everything could be accounted for. 

"Very well, " Corbario answered. "Let us suppose that my stepson had timeto get away. In that case he can be found, alive or dead. Italy is notChina, nor Siberia, and I can place unlimited funds at your disposal. Find him for me; that is all I ask. "

"We shall find him, never fear!" answered the Chief of Police with aconfidence he did not feel. 

"We shall find him!" echoed the three detectives in chorus. 

Ercole watched the proceedings and listened to what was said, for heconsidered it his duty to attend on such an occasion, his dog at hisheels, his gun slung over his shoulder. He listened and looked from oneto the other with his deep eyes and inscrutable parchment face, shrivelled by the malarious fever. But he said nothing. The Chief ofPolice turned to him at last. 

"Now what do you think about it?" asked the official. "You know thecountry. Had there been any suspicious characters about, fellows whocould have carried off the boy?"

"Such people would ask a ransom, " answered Ercole. "You would soon hearfrom them. But I saw no one. There have been no brigands about Rome formore than twenty years. Do you dream that you are in Sicily? Praise beto Heaven, this is the Roman Campagna; we are Christians and we liveunder King Victor! Where are the brigands? They have melted. Or elsethey are making straw hats in the galleys. Do I know where they are?They are not here. That is enough. "

"Quite right, my friend, " answered the Chief of Police. "There are nobrigands. But I am sorry to say that there are thieves in the Campagna, as there are near every great city. "

Ercole shrugged his angular shoulders contemptuously. 

"Thieves would not carry a man away, " he answered. "You know that, youwho are of the profession, as they say. Such ruffians would have knockedthe young gentleman on the head to keep him quiet, and would have madeoff. And besides, we should have found their tracks in the sand, andNino would have smelt them. "

Nino pricked up one ragged ear at the sound of his name. 

"He does not look very intelligent, " observed the official. "A cleverdog might have been used to track the boy. "

"How?" inquired Ercole with scorn. "The footsteps of the young gentlemanwere everywhere, with those of all the family, who were always comingand going about here. How could he track them, or any of us? But hewould have smelt a stranger, even if it had rained. I know this dog. Heis the head dog on the Roman shore. There is no other dog like him. "

"I daresay not, " assented the Chief of Police, looking at Nino. "Infact, he is not like any animal I ever saw. "

The detectives laughed at this. 

"There is no other, " said Ercole without a smile. "He is the only son ofa widowed mother. I am his family, and he is my family, and we live ingood understanding in this desert. If there were no fever we should belike the saints in paradise--eating our corn meal together. And I willtell you another thing. If the young gentleman had been wounded anywherenear here, Nino would have found the blood even after three days. As fora dead man, he would make a point for him and howl half a mile off, unless the wind was the wrong way. "

"Would he really?" asked Corbario with a little interest. 

Ercole looked at him and nodded, but said no more, and presently thewhole party of men went back to Rome, leaving him to the loneliness ofthe sand-banks and the sea. 

Then Ercole came back to the gap and stood still a little while, andhis dog sat bolt upright beside him. 

"Nino, " he said at last, in a rather regretful tone, "I gave you a goodcharacter. What could I say before those gentlemen? But I tell you this, you are growing old. And don't answer that I am getting old too, forthat is my business. If your nose were what it was once, we should knowthe truth by this time. Smell that!"

Ercole produced a small green morocco pocket-book, of the sort made tohold a few visiting cards and a little paper money, and held it toNino's muzzle. 

Nino smelt it, looked up to his master's face inquiringly, smelt itagain, and then, as if to explain that it did not interest him, lay downin the sand with his head on his forepaws. 

"You see!" growled Ercole. "You cannot even tell whether it belonged tothe boy or to Corbario. An apoplexy on you! You understand nothing! Illbefall the souls of your dead, you ignorant beast!"

Nino growled, but did not lift his head. 

"You understand that, " said Ercole, discontentedly. "If you were aChristian you would stick a knife into me for insulting your dead! Yetyou cannot tell whose pocket-book this is! And if I knew, I should knowsomething worth knowing. "

The pocket-book disappeared in the interior recesses of Ercole'swaistcoat. It was empty and bore no initial, and he could not rememberto have seen it in Corbario's or Marcello's hands, but he was quitesure that it belonged to one of them. He was equally sure that if heshowed it to Corbario the latter would at once say that it wasMarcello's, and would take it away from him, so he said nothing aboutit. He had found it in the sand, a little way up the bank, during hisfirst search after Marcello's disappearance. 

Ercole's confidence in the good intentions of his fellow-men was notgreat; he was quite lacking in the sort of charity which believeth allthings, and had a large capacity for suspicion of everybody andeverything; he held all men to be liars and most women to be somethingworse. 

"Men are at least Christians, " he would say to Nino, "but a female isalways a female. "

If he took a liking for any one, as for Marcello, he excused himself forthe weakness on the ground that he was only human after all, and in hisheart he respected his dog for snarling at everybody withoutdiscrimination. There was no doubt, however, that he felt a sort ofattachment for the boy, and he admitted the failing while he deploredit. Besides, he detested Corbario, and had felt that his own commonsense was insulted by the fact that Folco seemed devoted to Marcello. The suspicion that Folco had got rid of his stepson in order to get hisfortune was therefore positively delightful, accompanied as it was bythe conviction that he should one day prove his enemy a murderer. Perhaps if he could have known what Folco Corbario was suffering, hemight have been almost satisfied, but he had no means of guessing that. In his opinion the man knew what had become of Marcello, and could bemade to tell if proper means were used. At night Ercole put himself tosleep by devising the most horrible tortures for his master, such as nofortitude could resist, and by trying to guess what the wretched manwould say when his agony forced him to confess the truth. 

He was almost sure by this time that Marcello was dead, though how Folcocould have killed him, carried off his body to a great distance andburied him, without ever absenting himself from the cottage, was morethan Ercole could imagine. He paid Corbario's skill the compliment ofbelieving that he had not employed any accomplice, but had done the deedalone. 

How? That was the question. Ercole knew his dog well enough, and wasperfectly sure that if the body had been concealed anywhere within amile of the cottage Nino would have found it out, for the dog and hismaster had quartered every foot of the ground within three days afterMarcello had been lost. It was utterly, entirely impossible that Folco, without help, could have dragged the dead boy farther. When he had goneon his pretended search he had not been alone; one of the men had riddenwith him, and had never lost sight of him, as Ercole easily ascertainedwithout seeming to ask questions. Ercole had obtained a pretty fairknowledge of Corbario's movements on that day, and it appeared that hehad not been absent from the cottage more than half an hour at any timebefore he went to look for Marcello. 

"If Corbario himself had disappeared in that way, " said Ercole tohimself and Nino, "it would be easy to understand. We should know thatthe devil had carried him off. "

But no such supernatural intervention of the infernal powers could besupposed in Marcello's case, and Ercole racked his brains to no purpose, and pondered mad schemes for carrying Corbario off out of Rome to aquiet place where he would extract the truth from him, and he growled atthe impossibility of such a thing, and fell to guessing again. 

In the magnificent library of the villa on the Janiculum, Folco wasguessing, too, and with no better result. But because he could not guessright, and could get no news of Marcello, his eyes were growing hollowand his cheeks wan. 

The lawyers came and talked about the will, and explained to him thatall the great property was his, unless Marcello came back, and that inany case he was to administer it. They said that if no news of the boywere obtained within a limited time, the law must take it for grantedthat he had perished in some unaccountable way. Folco shook his head. 

"He must be found, " he said. "I have good nerves, but if I do not findout what has become of him I shall go mad. "

The lawyers spoke of courage and patience, but a sickly smile twistedFolco's lips. 

"Put yourself in my place, if you can, " he answered. 

The lawyers, who knew the value of the property to a farthing, wishedthey could, though if they had known also what was passing in his mindthey might have hesitated to exchange their lot for his. 

"He was like your own son, " they said sympathetically. "A wife and a songone on the same day! It is a tragedy. It is more than a man can bear. "

"It is indeed!" answered Corbario in a low voice and looking away. 

Almost the same phrases were exchanged each time that the two men cameto the villa about the business, and when they left they never failed tolook at each other gravely and to remark that Folco was a person of thedeepest feeling, to whom such an awful trial was almost worse thandeath; and the elder lawyer, who was of a religious turn of mind, saidthat if such a calamity befell him he would retire from the world, butthe younger answered that, for his part, he would travel and see theworld and try to divert his thoughts. In their different ways they werehard-headed, experienced men; yet neither of them suspected for a momentthat there was anything wrong. Both were honestly convinced that Folcohad been a model husband to his dead wife, and a model father to herlost son. What they could not understand was that he should not findconsolation in possessing their millions, and they could only accountfor the fact by calling him a person of the deepest feeling--a feeling, indeed, quite past their comprehension. 

Even the Contessa dell' Armi was impressed by the unmistakable signs ofsuffering in his face. She went twice to see him within three weeksafter her friend's death, and she came away convinced that she hadmisjudged him. Aurora did not go with her, and Corbario barely askedafter her. He led Maddalena to his dead wife's room and begged her totake some object that had belonged to the Signora, in memory of theirlong friendship. He pressed her to accept a necklace, or a bracelet, orsome other valuable ornament, but Maddalena would only take a simplelittle gold chain which she herself had given long ago. 

Her own sorrow for her friend was profound but undemonstrative, as hernature had grown to be. Aurora saw it, and never referred to it, speaking only now and then of Marcello, to ask if there were any news ofhim. 

"He is not dead, " the girl said one day. "I know he will come back. Hewent away because I called him a baby. "

Her mother smiled sadly and shook her head. 

"Did you love him, dear?" she asked softly. 

"We were children then, " Aurora answered. "How do I know? I shall knowwhen he comes back. "

It was true that the girl had changed within a few weeks, and her mothersaw it. Her smile was not the same, and her eyes were deeper. She hadbegun to gather her hair in a knot, closer to her head, and that alteredher expression a little and made her look much older; but there was morethan that, there was something very hard to describe, something onemight call conviction--the conviction that the world is real, whichcomes upon girlhood as suddenly as waking on sleep, or sleep on waking. She had crossed the narrow borderland between play and earnest, and shehad crossed it very soon. 

"He will come back, " she said. "He went away on that little ship thatwas tossing in the storm. I know it, though I cannot tell how he got outto it through the breaking waves. "

"That is perfectly impossible, child, " said Maddalena with certainty. 

"Never mind. If we knew what ship that was, and where she is now, wecould find Marcello. I am as sure of it as I am sure of seeing you atthis moment. You know you often say that my presentiments come true. Assoon as we knew he was gone I thought of the little ship. "

It was natural, perhaps. The picture of the small brigantine, fightingfor existence, had graved itself in her memory. With its crew so neardeath, it had been the only thing within sight that suggested human lifeafter Marcello was gone. The utter impossibility of a man's swimming outthrough the raging sea that broke upon the bar was nothing compared withAurora's inward conviction that the little vessel had borne away thesecret of his disappearance. And she had not been wrecked: Aurora knewthat, for a wreck anywhere on the Roman shore would have been spoken ofat once. They are unfortunately common enough, and since her childhoodAurora had more than once seen a schooner's masts sticking up out ofthe treacherous water a cable's length from the shore. The brigantinehad got away, for the gale had moderated very suddenly, as spring galesdo in the Mediterranean, just when the captain was making up his mind tolet go both anchors and make a desperate attempt to save his vessel byriding out the storm--a forlorn hope with such ground tackle as he hadin his chain lockers. And then he had stood out, and had sailed away, one danger more behind him in his hard life, and one less ahead. He hadsailed away--whither? No one could tell. Those little vessels, built inthe south of Italy, often enough take salt to South America, and aresold there, cargo and all; and some of the crew stay there, and some getother ships, but almost all are dispersed. The keeper of the San Lorenzotower, who had been a deep-water man, had told Aurora about it. Hehimself had once gone out in a Sicilian brigantine from Trapani, and hadstayed away three years, knocking about the world in all sorts of craft. 

Yet this one might have been on a coastwise trip to Genoa andMarseilles. That was quite possible. If one could only find out hername. And yet, if she had put into a near port Marcello would have comeback; for Aurora was quite sure that he had got on board her somehow. Itwas all a mystery, all but the certainty she felt that he was stillalive, and which nothing could shake, even when every one else had givenhim up. Aurora begged her mother to speak to Corbario about it. With hisexperience and knowledge of things he would know what to do; he couldfind some way of tracing the vessel, wherever she might be. 

The Contessa was convinced that the girl's theory was utterly untenable, and it was only to please her that she promised to speak of it if shesaw Corbario again. Soon afterward she decided to leave Rome for thesummer, and before going away she went once more to the villa. It wasnow late in June, and she found Folco in the garden late in theafternoon. 

He looked ill and tired, but she thought him a little less thin thanwhen she had seen him last. He said that he, too, meant to leave Romewithin a few days, that he intended to go northward first to see an oldfriend of his who had recently returned from South America, and that heshould afterwards go down to Calabria, to San Domenico, and spend theautumn there. He had no news of Marcello. He looked thoughtfully down athis hands as he said this in a tone of profound sorrow. 

"Aurora has a fixed idea, " said Maddalena. "While she was talking withMarcello at the gap in the bank there was a small ship tossing about notfar from the shore. "

"Well?" asked Corbario. "What of it?"

As he looked up from the contemplation of his hands Maddalena was struckby his extreme pallor and the terrible hollowness of his eyes. 

"How ill you look!" she exclaimed, almost involuntarily. "The sooner yougo away the better. "

"What did Aurora say about the brigantine?" he asked earnestly, by wayof answer. 

Maddalena knew too little about the sea to understand that he must havenoticed the vessel's rig to name it correctly, as he did, and withouthesitation. 

"She is convinced that Marcello got on board of her, " she answered. 

Corbario's face relaxed a little, and he laughed harshly. 

"That is utterly absurd!" he answered. "No swimmer that ever lived couldhave got to her, nor any boat either! There was a terrific surf on thebar. "

"Of course not, " assented Maddalena. "But you saw the ship, too?"

"Yes. Aurora was looking at her when I reached the gap. That is why Inoticed the vessel, " Corbario added, as if by an afterthought. "She wasa Sicilian brigantine, and was carrying hardly any sail. If the gale hadlasted she would probably have been driven ashore. Her only chance wouldhave been to drop anchor. "

"You know all about ships and the sea, don't you?" asked Maddalena, witha very little curiosity, but without any particular intention. 

"Oh, no!" cried Corbario, as if he were protesting against something. "Ihave made several long voyages, and I have a knack of remembering thenames of things, nothing more. "

"I did not mean to suggest that you had been a sailor, " Maddalenaanswered. 

"What an idea! I, a sailor!"

He seemed vaguely amused at the idea. The Contessa took leave of him, after giving him her address in the north of Italy, and begging him towrite if he found any clue to Marcello's disappearance. He promisedthis, and they parted, not expecting to meet again until the autumn. 

In a few days they had left Rome for different destinations. The littleapartment near the Forum of Trajan where the Contessa and her daughterlived was shut up, and at the great villa on the Janiculum the solemnporter put off his mourning livery and dressed himself in brown linen, and smoked endless pipes within the closed gates when it was not too hotto be out of doors. The horses were turned out to grass, and thecoachman and grooms departed to the country. The servants opened thewindows in the early morning, shut them at ten o'clock against the heat, and dozed the rest of the time, or went down into the city to gossipwith their friends in the afternoon. It was high summer, and Rome wentto sleep. 

CHAPTER VI

"What do we eat to-day?" asked Paoluccio, the innkeeper on the Frascatiroad, as he came in from the glare and the dust and sat down in his ownblack kitchen. 

"Beans and oil, " answered his wife. 

"An apoplexy take you!" observed the man, by way of mild comment. 

"It is Friday, " said the woman, unmoved, though she was of a distinctlyapoplectic habit. 

The kitchen was also the eating-room where meals were served to thewine-carters on their way to Rome and back. The beams and walls wereblack with the smoke of thirty years, for no whitewash had come nearthem since the innkeeper had married Nanna. It was a rich, crusty black, lightened here and there to chocolate brown, and shaded off again to thetint of strong coffee. High overhead three hams and half a dozen hugesausages hung slowly curing in the acrid wood smoke. There was an openhearth, waist high, for roasting, and having three square holes sunk init for cooking with charcoal. An enormous bunch of green ferns had beenhung by a long string from the highest beam to attract the flies, whichswarmed on it like bees on a branch. The floor was of beaten cement, well swept and watered. Along three of the walls there were heavytables of rough-hewn oak, with benches, polished by long and constantuse. A trap-door covered the steps that led down to the deep cellar, which was nothing but a branch of those unexplored catacombs thatundermine the Campagna in all directions. The place was dim, smoky, andold, but it was not really dirty, for in his primitive way the Romanwine-carter is fastidious. It is not long since he used to bring his ownsolid silver spoon and fork with him, and he will generally rinse aglass out two or three times before he will drink out of it. 

The kitchen of the inn was cool compared with the road outside, andthough it smelt chiefly of the stale smoke of green wood, this waspervaded and tempered by odours of fern, fresh cabbages, goats'-milkcheese, and sour red wine. The brown earthen pot simmered over one ofthe holes in the hearth, emitting little clouds of steam; but boilingbeans have no particular smell, as everybody knows. 

Paoluccio had pushed his weather-beaten soft hat back on his head, andsat drumming on the oak table with his knotty fingers. He was a strongman, thickset and healthy, with grizzled hair and an intensely blackbeard. His wife was fat, and purple about the jaws and under the ears. She stood with her back to the hearth, looking at him, with a woodenspoon in her hand. 

"Beans, " she said slowly, and she looked up at the rafters and downagain at her husband. 

"You have told me so, " he growled, "and may the devil fly away withyou!"

"Beans are not good for people who have the fever, " observed Nanna. 

"Beans are rather heavy food, " assented the innkeeper, apparentlyunderstanding. "Bread and water are better. Pour a little oil on thebread. "

"A man who has the fever may die of eating beans, " said Nannathoughtfully. "This is also to be considered. "

"It is true. " Paoluccio looked at his wife in silence for a moment. "Buta person who is dead must be buried, " he continued, as if he haddiscovered something. "When a person is dead, he is dead, whether hedies of eating beans or--"

He broke off significantly, and his right hand, as it lay before him, straightened itself and made a very slight vibrating motion, with thefingers all close together. It is the gesture that means the knife amongthe southern people. Nanna instantly looked round, to be sure that noone else was in the room. 

"When you have given that medicine, you cannot send for the doctor, " sheobserved, lowering her voice. "But if he eats, and dies, what can anyone say? We have fed him for charity; it is Friday and we have given himbeans. What can we know? Are not beans good food? We have nothing else, and it is for charity, and we give what we have. I don't think theycould expect us to give him chickens and French wine, could they?"

Paoluccio growled approval. 

"It is forty-seven days, " continued Nanna. "You can make the account. Chickens and milk and fresh meat for forty-seven days! Even the breadcomes to something in that time, at least two soldi a day--two fortieseighty, two sevens fourteen, ninety-four--nearly five francs. Who willgive us the five francs? Are we princes?"

"There is the cow, " observed Paoluccio with a grin. 

"Imbecile, " retorted his wife. "It has been a good year; we bought thewine cheap, we sell it dear, without counting what we get for nothingfrom the carters; we buy a cow with our earnings, and where is themiracle?"

The innkeeper looked towards the door and the small window suspiciouslybefore he answered in a low voice. 

"If I had not been sure that he would die, I would not have sold thewatch and chain, " he said. "In the house of my father we have alwaysbeen honest people. "

"He will die, " answered Nanna, confidently and with emphasis. "The girlsays he is hungry to-day. He shall eat beans. They are white beans, too, and the white are much heavier than the brown. "

She lifted the tin cover off the earthen pot and stirred the contents. 

"White beans!" grumbled Paoluccio. "And the weather is hot. Do you wishto kill me?"

"No, " answered Nanna quietly. "Not you. "

"Do you know what I say?" Paoluccio planted a huge finger on the oakenboard. "That sick butterfly upstairs is tougher than I am. Forty-sevendays of fever, and nothing but bread and water! Think of that, my Nanna!Think of it! You or I would be consumed, one would not even see ourshadows on the floor! But he lives. "

"If he eats the white beans he has finished living, " remarked Nanna. 

A short silence followed, during which Paoluccio seemed to bemeditating, and Nanna began to ladle the beans out into four deepearthenware bowls, roughly glazed and decorated with green and brownstripes. 

"You are a jewel; you are the joy of my heart, " he observedthoughtfully, as Nanna placed his portion before him, covered it withoil, and scattered some chopped basil on the surface. 

"Eat, my love, " she said, and she cut a huge piece from a coarse loafand placed it beside him on a folded napkin that looked remarkably cleanin such surroundings, and emitted a pleasant odour of dried lavenderblossoms. 

"Where is the girl?" asked Paoluccio, stirring the mess and blowing uponit. 

As he spoke, the door was darkened, and the girl stood there with alarge copper "conca, " the water-jar of the Roman province, balanced onher head--one of the most magnificent human beings on whom the sun ofthe Campagna ever shone. She was tall, and she bent her knees withoutmoving her neck, in order to enter the door without first setting downthe heavy vessel. 

[Illustration: " ... THE DOOR WAS DARKENED, AND THE GIRL STOOD THEREWITH A LARGE COPPER 'CONCA' ... "]

Her thick dark hair grew low on her forehead, almost black, save forthe reddish chestnut lights where a few tiny ringlets curled themselvesabout her small and classic ears. Straight black eyebrows outlined thesnow-white forehead, and long brown lashes shaded the fearless eyes, that looked black too. She smiled a little, quite unconsciously, as shelowered herself with the weight and gracefully rose to her height againafter she had entered. One shapely brown hand steadied the conca above, the other gathered her coarse skirt; then she stood still, lifted theload from her head with both hands and without any apparent effort, andset it down in its place on a stone slab near the hearth. Most womenneed a little help to do that. 

She laid aside the twisted cloth on which the conca had rested while shecarried it, and she smoothed her hair carelessly. 

"There are beans, " said Nanna, giving the girl one of the bowls. "Thereis the bread. While they are cooling take the other portion upstairs. "

The girl looked at the bowl, and at Nanna, and then at Paoluccio, andstood stock still. 

"Hey, there!" the man cried, with a rough laugh. "Hey! Reginella! Areyou going to sleep, or are you turning into a statue?"

"Am I to give him the beans to eat?" asked Regina, looking hard at theinnkeeper. 

"You said he was hungry. That is what there is for dinner. We give himwhat we have. "

Regina's dark eyes lightened; her upper lip rose in a curve and showedher closed teeth, strong and white as those of a young animal. 

"Do as you are told, " added Paoluccio. "This is charity. When youexamine your conscience at Easter you can say, 'I have fed the hungryand cared for the sick. ' The beans are mine, of course, but that makesno difference. I make you a present of them. "

"Thank you!"

"Welcome, " answered Paoluccio, with his mouth, full. 

Regina took the fourth bowl and a piece of bread and went out. The stepsto the upper part of the house were on the outside, as is common in thehouses of the Campagna. 

"How old is she?" Paoluccio asked when she was gone. 

"She must be twenty, " answered Nanna. "It must be ten years since hermother died, and her mother said she was ten years old. She has eatenmany loaves in this house. "

"She has worked for her food, " said the innkeeper. "And she is an honestgirl. "

"What did you expect? That I should let her be idle, or make eyes at thecarters? But you always defend her, because she is pretty, you uglyscamp!"

Nanna uttered her taunt in a good-natured tone, but she glancedfurtively at her husband to see the effect of her words, for it was notalways safe to joke with Paoluccio. 

"If I did not defend her, " he answered, "you would beat the life out ofher. "

"I daresay, " replied Nanna, and filled her mouth with beans. 

"But now, " said Paoluccio, swallowing, "if you are not careful she willbreak all your bones. She has the health of a horse. "

So the couple discussed matters amiably, while Regina was out of theway. 

In a garret that had a small unglazed window looking to the north, thegirl was bending over a wretched trestle-bed, which was literally theonly piece of furniture in the room; and on the coarse mattress, stuffedwith the husks and leaves of maize, lay all that the fever had left ofMarcello Consalvi, shivering under a tattered brown blanket. There waslittle more than the shadow of the boy, and his blue eyes stared dullyup at the girl's face. But there was life in him still, thanks to her, and though there was no expression in his gaze, his lips smiled faintly, and faint words came from them. 

"Thank you, " he said, "I am better to-day. Yes, I could eat something. "

Regina bent lower, smiling happily, and she kissed the boy's face threetimes; she kissed his eyes and dry lips. And he, too, smiled again. 

Then she left the bedside and went to a dark corner, where shecautiously moved aside a loose board. From the recess she took a commontumbler and a bottle of old wine and a battered iron spoon. She crouchedupon the floor, because there was no table; she took two fresh eggs outof the folds of the big red and yellow cotton handkerchief that coveredher shoulders and was crossed over her bosom, and she broke them intothe glass, and hid the empty shells carefully in the folds again, sothat they should not be found in the room. For she had stolen these forMarcello, as usual, as well as the old wine. She poured a little of thelatter into the glass and stirred the eggs quickly and softly, makinghardly any noise. From the recess in the wall she got a little sugar, which was wrapped up in a bit of newspaper brown with age and smoke, andshe sweetened the eggs and wine and stirred again; and at last she cameand fed Marcello with the battered spoon. She had put off her coarseslippers and walked about in her thick brown woollen stockings, lest sheshould be heard below. She was very quiet and skilful, and she hadstrangely small and gentle hands for a peasant girl. Marcello's head waspropped up by her left arm while she fed him. 

She had kept him alive six weeks, and she had saved his life. She hadfound him lying against the door of the inn at dawn, convulsed with agueand almost unconscious, and had carried him into the house like a child, though he had been much heavier then. Of course the innkeeper had takenhis watch and chain, and his jacket and sleeve-links and studs, to keepthem safe, he said. Regina knew what that meant, but Paoluccio hadordered her to take care of him, and she had done her best. Paolucciofelt that if the boy died it would be the will of heaven, and that heprobably would not live long with such care and such nourishment as hewould get up there in the attic. When he was dead, it would be timeenough to tell the carabineers who passed the house twice everytwenty-four hours on their beat; they would see that a sick boy had beentaken in, and that he had died of the fever, and as they need never knowhow long he had been in the inn, the whole affair would redound toPaoluccio's credit with them and with customers. But as long as he wasalive it was quite unnecessary that any one should know of hisexistence, especially as the watch and chain had been converted intomoney, and the money into a fine young cow. That Marcello could get wellon bread and water never entered Paoluccio's head. 

But he had counted without Regina; that is to say that he had overlookedthe love and devotion of an intensely vital creature, younger, quicker, and far cleverer that he, who would watch the sick boy day and night, steal food and wine for him, lose sleep for him, risk blows for him, andbreathe her strong life into his weak body; to whom the joy of savinghim from death would be so much greater than all fatigue, that therewould be no shadow under her eyes, no pallor in her cheek, no wearinessin her elastic gait to tell of sleepless nights spent by his bedside insoothing his ravings, or in listening for the beat of his heart when helay still and exhausted, his tired head resting on her strong white arm. And when he seemed better and at ease she often fell asleep beside him, half sitting, half lying, on the pallet bed, her cheek on the strawpillow, her breath mingling with his in the dark. 

He was better now, and she felt the returning life in him, almost beforehe was sure of it himself; and while her heart was almost bursting withhappiness, so that she smiled to herself throughout her rough work allday long, she knew that he could not stay where he was. Paoluccioexpected him to die, and was beginning to be tired of waiting, and sowas Nanna. If he recovered, he would ask for his watch and other things;he was evidently a fine young gentleman to whom some strange accidenthad happened, and he must have friends somewhere. Half delirious, he hadspoken of them and of his mother, and of some one called Aurora, whomRegina already hated with all her heart and soul. The innkeeper and hiswife had never come near him since the former had helped the girl tocarry him upstairs, but if they suspected that he was recovering shewould not be able to prevent them from seeing him; and if they did, sheknew what would happen. They would send her on an errand, and when shecame back Marcello would be dead. She might refuse to go, but they werestrong people and would be two to one. Brave as Regina was, she did notdare to wait for the carabineers when they came by on their beat and totell them the truth, for she had the Italian peasant's horror and dreadof the law and its visible authority; and moreover she was quite surethat Paoluccio would murder her if she told the secret. 

"If I could only take you to Rome!" she whispered, bending over himwhen he had swallowed the contents of the glass. "You could tell mewhere your friends are. "

"Rome?" he repeated, with a vacant questioning. 

She nodded and smiled, and then sighed. She had long been sure that thefever had affected his memory, and she had tried many times to awakenit. 

She loved him because he had the face of an angel, and was fair-haired, and seemed so gentle and patient, and smiled so sweetly when she kissedhim. That was all. He could thank her; he could tell her that he wasbetter or worse; he could speak of what he saw; he could even tell herthat she was beautiful, and that was much. He was Marcello, he had toldher that, but when she asked what other name he had, he looked at herblankly at first, and then an expression of painful effort came over hisface, and she would not disturb him any more. He could not remember. Hedid not know how he had come to the inn door; he had been walking in theCampagna alone and had felt tired. He knew no more. 

If only she could get him to Rome. It was not more than seven or eightmiles to the city, and Regina had often been there with Nanna. She hadbeen to Saint John Lateran's at midsummer for the great festival, andshe knew where the hospital was, in which famous professors cured everyill under the sun. If she could bring Marcello to them, he would getwell; if he stayed much longer at the inn, Paoluccio would kill him;being a woman, and a loving one, Regina only regarded as possible whatshe wished, where the man she loved was concerned. 

She made up her mind that if it could not be done by any other means shewould carry Marcello all the way. During his illness she had oftenlifted him from his bed like a little child, for he was slightly builtby nature and was worn to a shadow by the fever. Even Aurora could haveraised him, and he was a featherweight in the arms of such a creature asRegina. But it would be another matter to carry such an awkward burdenfor miles along the highroad; and besides, she would meet thecarabineers, and as she would have to go at night, they would probablyarrest her and put her in prison, and Marcello would die. She must findsome other way. 

She laid his head tenderly on the pillow and left him, promising to comeback as soon as she could. For safety she had brought the dish of beanswith her, lest Nanna should follow her, and she took it with her, justas it was; but at the foot of the outer stairs she ran along the back ofthe house to the pig-sty, and emptied the mess into the trough, carefully scraping the bowl with the spoon so that it looked as if someone had eaten the contents. Then she went back to the kitchen. 

"Has he eaten?" inquired Nanna, and Paoluccio looked up, too. 

"You see, " answered Regina, showing the empty bowl. 

"Health to him!" answered Paoluccio. "He has a good appetite. "

"Eat your own, " said Nanna to the girl. 

She suspected that Regina might have eaten the beans meant for Marcello, but her doubt vanished as she saw how the hungry young thing devouredher own portion. 

"Are there any more left?" Regina asked when she had finished, for sheunderstood perfectly what was going on in the minds of the other two. 

She looked into the earthen cooking-pot which now stood on the corner ofthe hearth. 

"Not even the smell of any more, " answered Nanna. "There is bread. "

Regina's white teeth crushed the hard brown crust as if she had noteaten for a week. There could be no doubt but that the sick boy hadeaten the beans; and beans, especially white ones, are not good forpeople who have the fever, as Nanna had justly observed. 

"On Sunday he shall have a dish of liver and cabbage, " she said, in acheerful tone. "There is much strength in liver, and cabbage is good forthe blood. I shall take it to him myself, for it will be a pleasure tosee him eat. "

"The beans were soon finished, " said Regina, with perfect truth. 

"I told you how it would be, " Paoluccio answered. 

But Regina knew that the time had come to get Marcello away from the innif he ever was to leave it alive, and in the afternoon, when Nanna wasdozing in her chair in the kitchen and Paoluccio was snoring upstairs, and when she had smoothed Marcello's pillow, she went out and sat downin front of the house, where there was shade at that hour, though theglare from the dusty road would have blinded weaker eyes than hers. Shesat on the stone seat that ran along the house, and leaned against therough wall, thinking and scheming, and quite sure that she should find away. 

At first she looked about, while she thought, from the well-knownmountains that bounded her world to the familiar arches of the distantaqueduct, from the dry ditch opposite to the burning sky above and thegreyish green hillocks below Tivoli. But by and by she looked straightbefore her, with a steady, concentrated stare, as if she saw somethinghappening and was watching to see how it would end. 

She had found what she wanted, and was quite sure of it; only a fewdetails remained to be settled, such as what was to become of her aftershe left the inn where she had grown up. But that did not trouble hermuch. 

She was not delicately nurtured that she should dread the great world ofwhich she knew nothing, nor had Nanna's conversation during ten yearsdone much to strengthen her in the paths of virtue. Her pride had donemuch more and might save her wherever she went, but she was very wellaware of life's evil truths. And what would her pride be compared withMarcello, the first and only being she had ever loved? To begin with, she knew that the handsome people from the country earned money byserving as models for painters and sculptors, and she had not theslightest illusion about her own looks. Since she had been a childpeople who came to the inn had told her that she was beautiful; and notthe rough wine-carters only, for the fox-hunters sometimes came thatway, riding slowly homeward after a long run, and many a fine gentlemanin pink had said things to her which she had answered sharply, but whichshe remembered well. She had not the slightest doubt but that she wasone of the handsomest girls in Italy, and the absolute certainty of theconviction saved her from having any small vanity about her looks. Sheknew that she had only to show herself and that every one would standand look at her, only to beckon and she would be followed. She did notcrave admiration; a great beauty rarely does. She simply defiedcompetition, and was ready to laugh at it in a rather good-natured way, for she knew what she had, and was satisfied. 

As for the rest, she was merely clever and fearless, and her moralinheritance was not all that might be desired; for her father had lefther mother in a fit of pardonable jealousy, after nearly killing her andquite killing his rival, and her mother had not redeemed her characterafter his abrupt departure. On the contrary, if an accident had notcarried her off suddenly, Regina's virtuous parent would probably havesold the girl into slavery. Poor people are not all honest, any morethan other kinds of people are. Regina did not mourn her mother, andhardly remembered her father at all, and she never thought of either. 

She owed Paoluccio and Nanna nothing, in her opinion. They had fed hersufficiently, and clothed her decently for the good of the house; shehad done the work of two women in return, because she was strong, andshe had been honest, because she was proud. Even the innkeeper and hiswife would not have pretended that she owed them much gratitude; theywere much too natural for that, and besides, the girl was too handsome, and there might be some scandal about her any day which would injure thecredit of the inn. Nanna thought Paoluccio much too fond of watchingher, as it was, and reflected that if she went to the city she would bewell out of the way, and might go to the devil if she pleased. 

Regina's plan for taking Marcello was simple, like most plans whichsucceed, and only depended for its success on being carried outfearlessly. 

The wine-carters usually came to the inn from the hills between nine andeleven o'clock at night, and the carts, heavy-laden with wine casks, stood in a line along the road, while the men went into the kitchen toeat and drink. They generally paid for what they consumed by giving ameasure or two of wine from the casks they were bringing, and which theyfilled up with water, a very simple plan which seems to have been in usefor ages. It has several advantages; the owner of the wine does notsuffer by it, since he gets his full price in town; the man who buys thewine in Rome does not suffer, because he adds so much water to the winebefore selling it that a little more or less makes no difference; thepublic does not suffer, as it is well known that wine is much better forthe health when drunk with plenty of water; and the carters do notsuffer, because nobody would think of interfering with them. Moreover, they get food and drink for nothing. 

While the men were having supper in the inn, their carts were guarded bytheir little woolly dogs, black, white, or brown, and always terriblywide-awake and uncommonly fierce in spite of their small size. 

Now, just at this time, there was one carter who had none, and Reginaknew it, for he was one of her chief admirers. He was thehardest-drinking ruffian of all the men who came and went on theFrascati road, and he had been quite willing to sell his dog in thestreet to a gentleman who admired it and offered him fifty francs forit, though that is a small price for a handsome "lupetto. " But Mommohappened to be deeper in debt than usual, took the money, and cast aboutto steal another dog that might serve him. So far he had not seen one tohis liking. 

It is the custom of the wine-carters, when they have had plenty to eatand drink, to climb to their seats under the fan-like goat-skin hoods oftheir carts, and to go to sleep, wrapped in their huge cloaks. Theirmules plod along and keep out of the way of other vehicles without anyguidance, and their dogs protect them from thieves, who might stealtheir money; for they always carry the sum necessary to pay the octroiduty at the city gates, where every cart is stopped. As they are on theroad most of their lives, winter and summer, they would not get muchsleep if they tried to keep awake all night; and they drink a good deal, partly because wine is really a protection against the dangerous fever, and partly because their drink costs them nothing. Some of them dranktheir employers' wine at supper, others exchanged what they brought forPaoluccio's, which they liked better. 

They usually got away about midnight, and Mommo was often the last togo. It was a part of Regina's work to go down to the cellar and draw thewine that was wanted from the hogsheads when the host was too lazy to godown himself, and being quite unwatched she could draw a measure fromthe oldest and strongest if she chose. Mommo could easily be made alittle sleepier than usual, after being tempted to outstay the others. 

And so it turned out that night. After the necessary operation oftapping one of his casks and filling it up with water, he lingered onbefore a measure of the best, while Nanna and Paoluccio dozed in theirchairs; and at last all three were asleep. 

Then Regina went out softly into the dark summer night, and climbed thestairs to the attic. 

"I am going to take you to Rome to-night, " she whispered in Marcello'sear. 

"Rome?" he repeated vaguely, half asleep. 

She wrapped him in the tattered blanket as he was, and lifted himlightly in her arms. Down the stairs she bore him, and then lifted himupon the tail of the cart, propping him up as best she could, andpassing round him the end of one of the ropes that held the casks inplace. He breathed more freely in the open air, and she had fed himagain before the carters came to supper. 

"And you?" he asked faintly. 

"I shall walk, " she whispered. "Now wait, and make no noise, or theywill kill you. Are you comfortable?"

She could see that he nodded his head. 

"We shall start presently, " she said. 

She went into the kitchen, waked Mommo, and made him swallow the rest ofhis wine. He was easily persuaded that he had slept too long, and mustbe on the road. The innkeeper and Nanna grumbled a good-night as he wentout rather unsteadily, followed by Regina. A moment later the mules'bells jingled, the cart creaked, and Mommo was off. 

Paoluccio and his wife made their way to the outer stairs and to bed, leaving Regina to put out the lights and lock up the kitchen. She lostno time in doing this, ran up the steps in the dark, hung the key on itsnail in the entry, and went to her attic, making a loud noise with herloose slippers, so that the couple might hear her. She came down againin her stockings almost at once, carrying the slippers and a smallbundle containing her belongings. She made no noise now, though it wasalmost quite dark, and in another instant she was out on the road toRome. It had all been done so quickly that she could still hear thejingling of Mommo's mule bells in the distance. She had only a fewhundred yards to run, and she was walking at the tail of the cart withone hand resting on Marcello's knee as he lay there wrapped up in theragged blanket. 

CHAPTER VII

It was clear dawn, and there was confusion at the Porta San Giovanni. Mommo had wakened, red-eyed and cross as usual, a little while beforereaching the gate, and had uttered several strange noises to quicken thepace of his mules. After that, everything had happened as usual, for alittle while; he had stopped inside the walls before the guard-house ofthe city customs, had nodded to the octroi inspectors, and had got hismoney ready while the printed receipt was being filled out. Then theexcitement had begun. 

"You have a passenger, " said one, and Mommo stared at him, notunderstanding. 

"You have a dead man on behind!" yelled a small boy, standing at safedistance. 

Mommo began to swear, but one of the inspectors stopped him. 

"Get down, " said the man. "The carabineers are coming. "

Mommo finished his swearing internally, but with increased fervour. Thesmall boy was joined by others, and they began to jeer in chorus, andperform war-dances. 

"There is a tax on dead men!" they screamed. "You must pay!"

"May you all be butchered!" shouted Mommo, in a voice of thunder. "Mayyour insides be fried!"

"Brute beast, without education!" hooted the biggest boy, contemptuously. 

"I'll give you the education, and the instruction too, " retorted thecarter, making at them with his long whip. 

They scattered in all directions, like a flock of cawing jackdaws thatfly a little way in tremendous haste, and then settle again at adistance and caw louder than before. 

"Animal!" they yelled. "Animal! Animal and beast!"

By this time a crowd had collected round the cart, and two carabineershad come up to see what was the matter, quiet, sensible men inextraordinary cocked hats and well-fitting swallow-tailed uniforms ofthe fashion of 1810. The carabineers are quite the finest corps in theItalian service, and there are a good many valid reasons why theirantiquated dress should not be changed. Their presence means law andorder without unnecessary violence. 

Mommo was surly, but respectful enough. Yes, it was his cart, and he wasa regular carter on the Frascati road. Yes, this was undoubtedly a sickman, who had climbed upon the cart while Mommo was asleep. Of course hehad slept on the road, all carters did, and he had no dog, else no onewould have dared to take liberties with his cart. No, he had never seenthe sick man. The carabineers might send him to penal servitude forlife, tear out his tongue, cut off his ears and nose, load him withchains, and otherwise annoy him, but he had never seen the sick man. Ifhe had seen him, he would have pulled him off, and kicked him all theway to the hospital, where he ought to be. What right had such brigandsas sick men to tamper with the carts of honest people? If the fellow hadlegs to jump upon the cart, he had legs to walk. Had Mommo ever doneanything wrong in his life, that this should be done to him? Had hestolen, or killed anybody, or tried to evade the octroi duty? No. Thenwhy should an ugly thief of a sick man climb upon his cart? The wretchhad hardly clothes enough to cover him decently--a torn shirt and a pairof old trousers that he must have stolen, for they were much too shortfor him! And so on, and so forth, to the crowd, for the carabineers paidno more attention to him after he had answered their first questions;but the crowd listened with interest, the small boys drew near again, the octroi inspectors looked on, and Mommo had a sympathetic audience. It was the general opinion that he had been outrageously put upon, andthat some one had murdered the sick man, and had tied the body to thecart in order that Mommo should be accused of the crime, it being highlylikely that a murderer should take so much unnecessary trouble to carryhis victim and the evidence of his crime about with him in such a verypublic manner. 

"If he were dead, now, " observed an old peasant, who had trudged in witha bundle on his back, "you would immediately be sent to the galleys. "

This was so evident that the crowd felt very sorry for Mommo. 

"Of course I should, " he answered. "By this time to-morrow I should havechains on my legs, and be breaking stones! What is the law for, I shouldlike to know?"

Meanwhile, the carabineers had lifted Marcello very gently from the cartand had carried him into the octroi guard-house, where they set him in achair, wrapped the ragged blanket round his knees and waist, and poureda little wine down his throat. Seeing that he was very weak, and havingascertained that he had nothing whatever about him by which he could beidentified, they sent for the municipal doctor of that quarter of thecity. 

While they were busy within, one of the inspectors chanced to look atthe closed window, and saw the face of a handsome girl pressed againstthe pane outside, and a pair of dark eyes anxiously watching what wasgoing on. The girl was so very uncommonly handsome that the inspectorwent out to look at her, but she saw him coming and moved away, drawingher cotton kerchief half across her face. Regina's only fear was thatMommo might recognise her, in which case she would inevitably bequestioned by the carabineers. It was characteristic of the class inwhich she had been brought up, that while she entertained a holy dreadof being cross-questioned by them, she felt the most complete convictionthat Marcello was safe in their hands. She had meant that he shouldsomehow be taken off the cart at the gate, probably by the inspectors, and conveyed at once to the great hospital near by. She knew nothingabout hospitals, and supposed that when he was once there, she might beallowed to come and take care of him. It would be easy, she thought, toinvent some story to account for her interest in him. But she could donothing until Mommo was gone, and he might recognise her figure even ifhe could not see her face. 

Finding that nothing more was wanted of him, and that he was in noimmediate danger of penal servitude for having been found with a sickman on his cart, Mommo started his mules up the paved hill towards thechurch, walking beside them, as the carters mostly do within the city. The crowd dispersed, the small boys went off in search of fresh matterfor contemptuous comment, and Regina went boldly to the door of theguard-house. 

"Can I be of any use with the sick man?" she asked of the inspector whohad seen her through the window. 

The inspector prided himself on his gallantry and good education. 

"Signorina, " he said, lifting his round hat with a magnificent gesture, "if you were to look only once at a dying man, he would revive and livea thousand years. "

He made eyes at her in a manner he considered irresistible, and replacedhis hat on his head, a little on one side. Regina had never been called"Signorina" before, and she was well aware that no woman who wears akerchief out of doors, instead of a hat, is entitled to be addressed asa lady in Rome; but she was not at all offended by the rank flattery ofthe speech, and she saw that the inspector was a good-natured youngcoxcomb. 

"You are too kind, " she answered politely. "Do you think I can be of anyuse?"

"There are the carabineers, " objected the inspector, as if that were asufficient answer. "But you may look in through the door and see thesick man. "

"I have seen him through the window. He looks very ill. "

"Ah, Signorina, " sighed the youth, "if I were ill, I should pray thesaints to send you--"

He was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, who asked him what wasthe matter, and was at once led in by him. Regina withdrew to a littledistance in the direction of the church and waited. The doctor had comein a cab, and in a few moments she saw Marcello carried out and placedin it. Then she walked as fast as she could towards the church, quitesure that the cab would stop at the door of the hospital, and anxious tobe within sight of it. Everything had turned out well, even beyond herexpectations. The cab passed her at a brisk pace before she reached thetop of the hill, and though she walked as fast as she could, it was nolonger there when she had gone far enough to see the door. The doctor, who was a busy man, had handed Marcello over to the men on duty at theentrance, with an order he had pencilled on his card while driving up, and had gone on at once. But Regina was convinced that Marcello wasthere, as she hurried forward. 

A man in blue linen clothes and a laced cap stopped her on the steps andasked what she wanted. 

"A young man has just been brought here, very ill, " she explained, "andI want to see him. "

"A very young man? Fair? Thin? From the Campagna? In rags?"

"Yes. I want to see him. "

"You can see him to-morrow, if he is alive, " answered the orderly in abusiness-like tone. 

"To-morrow?" repeated Regina, in a tone of profound disappointment. 

"To-morrow is Sunday. Friends and relatives can visit patients onSundays between nine and four. "

"But he has no other friends, " pleaded Regina. "Please, please let me goto him!"

"To-morrow between nine and four. "

"No, no--to-day--now--he knows me--my name is Regina. "

"Not if you were the Queen of the world, " answered the orderly, jestingwith perfect calm. "You must have a written order from theSuperintendent. "

"Yes, yes! Let me see him!"

"You can see him on Mondays between ten and twelve. "

"The day after to-morrow?" cried Regina in despair. 

"Yes, between ten and twelve, the day after to-morrow. "

"But I may come to-morrow without an order?"

"Yes. Friends and relatives can visit patients on Sundays between nineand four. "

The man's imperturbability was exasperating, and Regina, who was notpatient, felt that if she stayed any longer she should try to take himby the collar, shake him, and force her way in. But she was much toosensible to do anything so rash. There was no choice but to go away. 

"Thank you, " she said, as she turned to go down the steps. 

"You are welcome, " the man answered very civilly, for he was watchingher and was reflecting that he had never seen such a face and figurebefore. 

Some hours later, when the police communicated with the Superintendent, and when he found that a woman had come to the door who said that sheknew the waif, and had been sent away, he called the orderly who hadbeen on duty several hard names in his heart for having followed therule of the hospital so scrupulously. He was an antediluvian, he was acase of arrested mental development, he was an ichthyosaurus, he was anew kind of idiot, he was a monumental fool, he was the mammoth assreported to have been seen by a mediæval traveller in the desert, thatwas forty cubits high, and whose braying was like the blast of tenthousand trumpets. The Superintendent wished he had time to select morechoice epithets for that excellent orderly, but the police seemed soparticularly curious about the new patient that he had no leisure forthinking out what he wanted. 

Nevertheless, the man had done his duty and nothing more nor lessaccording to the rules, and Regina was forced to go away discomfited. 

She walked a hundred yards or more down the hill, towards San Clemente, and then stood still to think. The sun had risen, and Marcello was safe, though she could not see him. That was something. She stood there, young, strong, beautiful, and absolutely penniless; and Rome was beforeher. 

For the first time since the previous evening she asked herself what wasto become of her, and how she was to find bread for that day and for thenext, and for all the days afterwards. She would have robbed a church tofeed Marcello, but she would sooner have lost her right hand than stealso much as a crust for herself. As for begging, she was too proud, andbesides, no one would have given her anything, for she was the pictureof health, her rough clothes were whole and clean, she had tiny goldearrings in her ears, and the red and yellow cotton kerchief on her headwas as good as new. Nobody would believe that she was hungry. 

Meanwhile Marcello was made comfortable in one of the narrow white bedsof an airy ward in the San Giovanni hospital. The institution isintended for women only, but there is now a ward for male patients, whoare admitted when too ill to be taken farther. The doctor on duty hadwritten him down as much reduced by malarious fever and wandering in hismind, but added that he might live and get well. It was wonderful, thedoctor reflected for the thousandth time in his short experience, thathumanity should bear so much as it daily did. 

The visiting physician, who was a man of learning and reputation, camethree hours later and examined Marcello with interest. The boy had notsuffered much by sleeping on the tail of the cart in the warm summer'snight, and was now greatly refreshed by the cleanliness and comparativeluxury of his new surroundings. He had no fever now and had sleptquietly for two hours, but when he tried to remember what had happenedto him, where he had been, and how he had come to the place where hewas, it all grew vague and intricate by turns, and his memories fadedaway like the dreams we try to recall when we can only just recollectthat we have had a dream of some sort. He knew that he was calledMarcello, but the rest was gone; he knew that a beautiful creature hadtaken care of him, and that her name was Regina. How long? How many daysand nights had he lain in the attic, hot by day and cold at night? Hecould not guess, and it tired him to try. 

The doctor asked two or three questions while he examined him, and thenstood quite still for a few seconds, watching him intently. The twoyoung house surgeons who accompanied the great man kept a respectfulsilence, waiting for his opinion. When he found an interesting case hesometimes delivered a little lecture on it, in a quiet monotonous tonethat did not disturb the other patients. But to-day he did not seeminclined to talk. 

"Convalescent, " he said, "at least of the fever. He needs good foodmore than anything else. In two days he will be walking about. "

He passed on, but in his own mind he was wondering what was the matterwith the young man, why he had lost his memory, and what accident hadbrought him alone and friendless to one of the city hospitals. For thepresent it would be better to let him alone rather than tire him by athorough examination of his head. There was probably a small fracturesomewhere at the back of the skull, the doctor thought, and it would beeasy enough to find it when the patient was strong enough to sit up. 

The doctor had not been long gone when an elderly man with a grizzledmoustache and thoughtful eyes was led to Marcello's bedside by theSuperintendent himself. The appearance of the latter at an unusual hourwas always an event in the ward, and the nurses watched him withcuriosity. They would have been still more curious had they known thatthe elderly gentleman was the Chief of the Police himself. TheSuperintendent raised his hand to motion them away. 

"What is your name, sir?" asked the Chief, bending down and speaking ina low voice. 

"Marcello. "

"Yes, " replied the other, almost in a whisper, "you are Marcello. Butwhat else? What is your family name? It is very important. Will you tellme?"

The vague look came into Marcello's eyes, and then the look of pain, andhe shook his head rather feebly. 

"I cannot remember, " he answered at last. "It hurts me to remember. "

"Is it Consalvi?" asked the officer, smiling encouragement. 

"Consalvi?" Marcello's eyes wandered, as he tried to think. "I cannotremember, " he said again after an interval. 

The Chief of Police was not discouraged yet. 

"You were knocked down and robbed by thieves, just after you had beentalking with Aurora, " he said, inventing what he believed to havehappened. 

A faint light came into Marcello's eyes. 

"Aurora?" He repeated the name almost eagerly. 

"Yes. You had been talking to Signorina Aurora dell' Armi. You rememberthat?"

The light faded suddenly. 

"I thought I remembered something, " answered Marcello. "Aurora? Aurora?No, it is gone. I was dreaming again. I want to sleep now. "

The Chief stood upright and looked at the Superintendent, who looked athim, and both shook their heads. Then they asked what the visitingdoctor had said, and what directions he had given about Marcello'streatment. 

"I am sure it is he, " said the Chief of Police when they were closetedin the Superintendent's office, five minutes later. "I have studied hisphotograph every day for nearly three months. Look at it. "

He produced a good-sized photograph of Marcello which had been takenabout a year earlier, but was the most recent. The Superintendentlooked at it critically, and said it was not much like the patient. Theofficial objected that a man who was half dead of fever and had lainstarving for weeks, heaven only knew where, could hardly be quitehimself in appearance. The Superintendent pointed out that this wasprecisely the difficulty; the photograph was not like the sick man. Butthe Chief politely insisted that it was. They differed altogether onthis point, but quarrelled over it in the most urbane manner possible. 

The Superintendent suggested that it would be easy to identify MarcelloConsalvi, by bringing people who knew him to his bedside, servants andothers. The official answered that he should prefer to be sure ofeverything before calling in any one else. The patient had evidentlylost his memory by some accident, and if he could not recall his ownname it was not likely that he could recognise a face. Servants wouldswear that it was he, or not he, just as their interest suggested. Mostof the people of his own class who knew him were out of town at thepresent season; and besides, the upper classes were not, in the Chief'sopinion, a whit more intelligent or trustworthy than those that servedthem. The world, said the Chief, was an exceedingly bad place. That thiswas true, the Superintendent could not doubt, and he admitted the fact;but he was not sure how the Chief was applying the statement of it inhis own reasoning. Perhaps he thought that some persons might have aninterest in recognising Marcello. 

"In the meantime, " said the Chief, rising to go away, "we will put himin a private room, where we shall not be watched by everybody when wecome to see him. I have funds from Corbario to pay any possible expensesin the case. "

"Who is that man?" asked the Superintendent. "There has been a greatdeal of talk about him in the papers since his stepson was lost. Whatwas he before he married the rich widow?"

The Chief of Police did not reply at once, but lit a cigarettepreparatory to going away, smoothed his hat on his arm, and flicked atiny speck of dust from the lapel of his well-made coat. Then he smiledpleasantly and gave his answer. 

"I suppose that before he married Consalvi's widow he was a gentleman ofsmall means, like many others. Why should you think that he was everanything else?"

To this direct question the Superintendent had no answer ready, nor, infact, had the man who asked it, though he had looked so very wise. Thenthey glanced at each other and both laughed a little, and they parted. 

Half an hour later, Marcello was carried to an airy room with greenblinds, and was made even more comfortable than he had been before. Heslept, and awoke, and ate and slept again. Twice during the afternoonpeople were brought to see him. They were servants from the villa on theJaniculum, but he looked at them dully and said that he could notremember them. 

"We do not think it is he, " they said, when questioned. "Why does henot know us, if it is he? We are old servants in the house. We carriedthe young gentleman in our arms when he was small. But this youth doesnot know us, nor our names. It is not he. "

They were dismissed, and afterwards they met and talked up at the villa. 

"The master has been sent for by telegraph, " they said one to another. "We shall do what he says. If he tells us that it is the young gentlemanwe will also say that it is; but if he says it is not he, we will alsodeny it. This is the only way. "

Having decided upon this diplomatic course as the one most likely toprove advantageous to them, they went back to their several occupationsand amusements. But at the very first they said what they reallythought; none of them really believed the sick youth at the hospital tobe Marcello. An illness of nearly seven weeks and a long course ofprivation can make a terrible difference in the looks of a very youngperson, and when the memory is gone, too, the chances of his beingrecognised are slight. 

But the Chief of Police was not disturbed in his belief, and after hehad smoked several cigarettes very thoughtfully in his private office, he wrote a telegram to Corbario, advising him to come back to Rome atonce. He was surprised to receive an answer from Folco late that night, inquiring why he was wanted. To this he replied in a second telegram ofmore length, which explained matters clearly. The next morning Corbariotelegraphed that he was starting. 

The visiting physician came early and examined Marcello's head with thegreatest minuteness. After much trouble he found what he was lookingfor--a very slight depression in the skull. There was no sign of a woundthat had healed, and it was clear that the injury must have been eitherthe result of a fall, in which case the scalp had been protected by astiff hat, or else of a blow dealt with something like a sandbag, whichhad fractured the bone without leaving any mark beyond a bruise, now nolonger visible. 

"It is my opinion, " said the doctor, "that as soon as the pressure isremoved the man's memory will come back exactly as it was before. Wewill operate next week, when he has gained a little more strength. Feedhim and give him plenty of air, for he is very weak. "

So he went away for the day. But presently Regina came and demandedadmittance according to the promise she had received, and she wasimmediately brought to the Superintendent's office, for he had givenvery clear instructions to this effect in case the girl came again. Hehad not told the Chief of Police about her, for he thought it would beamusing to do a little detective work on his own account, and heanticipated the triumph of finding out Marcello's story alone, and ofthen laying the facts before the authorities, just to show what ordinarycommon sense could do without the intervention of the law. 

Regina was ushered into the high cool room where the Superintendent satalone, and the heavy door closed behind her. He was a large man withclose-cropped hair and a short brown beard, and he had kind brown eyes. Regina came forward a few steps and then stood still, looking at him, and waiting for him to speak. He was astonished at her beauty, and atonce decided that she had a romantic attachment for Marcello, andprobably knew all about him. He leaned back in his chair, and pointed toa seat near him. 

"Pray sit down, " he said. "I wish to have a little talk with you beforeyou go upstairs to see Marcello. "

"How is he?" asked Regina, eagerly. "Is he worse?"

"He is much better. But sit down, if you please. You shall stay with himas long as you like, or as long as it is good for him. You may comeevery day if you wish it. "

"Every day?" cried Regina in delight. "They told me that I could onlycome on Sunday. "

"Yes. That is the rule, my dear child. But I can give you permission tocome every day, and as the poor young man seems to have no friends, itis very fortunate for him that you can be with him. You will cheer himand help him to get well. "

"Thank you, thank you!" answered the girl fervently, as she sat down. 

A great lady of Rome had been to see the Superintendent about a patienton the previous afternoon; he did not remember that she moved with moredignity than this peasant girl, or with nearly as much grace. Reginaswept the folds of her short coarse skirt forward and sideways a little, so that they hid her brown woollen ankles as she took her seat, and withthe other hand she threw back the end of the kerchief from her face. 

"You do not mind telling me your name?" said the Superintendent in aquestioning tone. 

"Spalletta Regina, " answered the girl promptly, putting her family namefirst, according to Italian custom. "I am of Rocca di Papa. "

"Thank you. I shall remember that. And you say that you know this pooryoung man. Now, what is his name, if you please? He does not seem ableto remember anything about himself. "

"I have always called him Marcello, " answered Regina. 

"Indeed? You call him Marcello? Yes, yes. Thank you. But, you know, welike to write down the full name of each patient in our books. Marcello, and then? What else?"

By this time Regina felt quite at her ease with the pleasant-spokengentleman, but in a flash it occurred to her that he would think it verystrange if she could not answer such a simple question about a young manshe professed to know very well. 

"His name is Botti, " she said, with no apparent hesitation, and givingthe first name that occurred to her. 

"Thank you. I shall enter him in the books as 'Botti Marcello. '"

"Yes. That is the name. " She watched the Superintendent's pen, thoughshe could not read writing very well. 

"Thank you, " he said, as he stuck the pen into a little pot ofsmall-shot before him, and then looked at his watch. "The nurse isprobably just making him comfortable after the doctor's morning visit, so you had better wait five minutes, if you do not mind. Besides, itwill help us a good deal if you will tell me something about hisillness. I suppose you have taken care of him. "

"As well as I could, " Regina answered. 

"Where? At Rocca di Papa? The air is good there. "

"No, it was not in the village. " The girl hesitated a moment, quicklymaking up her mind how much of the truth to tell. "You see, " shecontinued presently, "I was only the servant girl there, and I saw thatthe people meant to let him die, because he was a burden on them. So Iwrapped him in a blanket and carried him downstairs in the night. "

"You carried him down?" The Superintendent look at her in admiration. 

"Oh, yes, " answered Regina quietly. "I could carry you up and downstairs easily. Do you wish to see?"

The Superintendent laughed, for she actually made a movement as if shewere going to leave her seat and pick him up. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I quite believe you. What a nurse you would make!You say that you carried him down in the night--and then? What did youdo?"

"I laid him on the tail of a cart. The carter was asleep. I walkedbehind to the gate, for I was sure that when he was found he would bebrought here, and that he would have care, and would get well. "

"Was it far to walk?" inquired the Superintendent, delighted with theresult of his efforts as a detective. "You must have been very tired!"

"What is it to walk all night, if one carries no load on one's head?"asked Regina with some scorn. "I walk as I breathe. "

"You walked all night, then? That was Friday night. I do not wish tokeep you, my dear child, but if you would tell me how long Botti hasbeen ill--" he waited. 

"This is the forty-ninth day, " Regina answered at once. 

"Dear me! Poor boy! That is a long time!"

"I stole eggs and wine to keep him alive, " the girl explained. "Theytried to make me give him white beans and oil. They wanted him to die, because he was an expense to them. "

"Who were those people?" asked the Superintendent, putting the questionsuddenly. 

But Regina had gained time to prepare her story. 

"Why should I tell you who they are?" she asked. "They did no harm, after all, and they let him lie in their house. At first they hoped hewould get well, but you know how it is in the country. When sick peoplelinger on, every one wishes them to die, because they are in the way, and cost money. That is how it is. "

"But you wished him to live, " said the Superintendent in an encouragingtone. 

Regina shrugged her shoulders and smiled, without the slightestaffectation or shyness. 

"What could I do?" she asked. "A passion for him had taken me, the firsttime that I saw him. So I stole for him, and sat up with him, and didwhat was possible. He lay in an attic with only one blanket, and myheart spoke. What could I do? If he had died I should have thrown myselfinto the water below the mill. "

Now there had been no mill within many miles of the inn on the Frascatiroad, in which there could be water in summer. Regina was perfectlysincere in describing her love for Marcello, but as she was a cleverwoman she knew that it was precisely when she was speaking with thegreatest sincerity about one thing, that she could most easily throw aman off the scent with regard to another. The Superintendent mentallynoted the allusion to the mill for future use; it had created an imagein his mind; it meant that the place where Marcello had lain ill hadbeen in the hills and probably near Tivoli, where there is much waterand mills are plentiful. 

"I suppose he was a poor relation of the people, " said theSuperintendent thoughtfully, after a little pause. "That is why theywished to get rid of him. "

Regina made a gesture of indifferent assent, and told something likethe truth. 

"He had not been there since I had been servant to them, " she answered. "It must have been a long time since they had seen him. We found himearly in the morning, lying unconscious against the door of the house, and we took him in. That is the whole story. Why should I tell you whothe people are? I have eaten their bread, I have left them, I wish themno harm. They knew their business. "

"Certainly, my dear, certainly. I suppose I may say that Marcello Botticomes from Rocca di Papa?"

"Oh, yes, " answered Regina readily. "You may say that, if you like. "

As a matter of fact she did not care what he wrote in his big book, andhe might as well write one name as another, so far as she was concerned. 

"But I never saw him there, " she added by an afterthought. "There aremany people of that name in our village, but I never saw him. Perhapsyou had better say that he came from Albano. "

"Why from Albano?" asked the Superintendent, surprised. 

"It is a bigger place, " explained Regina quite naturally. 

"Then I might as well write 'Rome' at once?"

"Yes. Why not? If you must put down the name of a town in the book, youhad better write a big one. You will be less likely to be found out ifyou have made a mistake. "

"I see, " said the Superintendent, smiling. "I am much obliged for youradvice. And now, if you will come with me, you shall see Botti. He has aroom by himself and is very well cared for. "

The orderlies and nurses who came and went about the hospital glancedwith a little discreet surprise at the handsome peasant girl whofollowed the Superintendent, but she paid no attention to them andlooked straight before her, at the back of his head; for her heart wasbeating faster than if she had run a mile uphill. 

Marcello put out his arms when he saw her enter, and returning life senta faint colour to his emaciated cheeks. 

"Regina--at last!" he cried in a stronger and clearer tone than she hadever heard him use. 

A splendid blush of pleasure glowed in her own face as she ran forwardand leaned over him, smoothing the smooth pillow unconsciously, andlooking down into his eyes. 

The Superintendent observed that Marcello certainly had no difficulty inrecalling the girl's name, whatever might have become of his own duringhis illness. What Regina answered was not audible, but she kissedMarcello's eyes, and then stood upright beside the bed, and laughed alittle. 

"What can I do?" she asked. "It is a passion! When I see him, I seenothing else. And then, I saved his life. Are you glad that Regina savedyour life?" She bent down again, and her gentle hand played withMarcello's waving fair hair. "What should you have done without Regina?"

"I should have died, " Marcello answered happily. 

With much more strength than she had been used to find in him, he threwhis arms round her neck and drew her face down to his. 

The Superintendent spoke to the nurse in a low tone, by the door, andboth went out, leaving the two together. He was a sensible man, and akind-hearted one; and though he was no doctor, he guessed that thepeasant girl's glorious vitality would do as much for the sick man asany medicine. 

CHAPTER VIII

Corbario reached Rome in the afternoon, and the footman who stoodwaiting for him on the platform was struck by the change in hisappearance. His eyes were hollow and bright, his cheeks were sunken, hislips looked dry; moreover, he moved a little nervously and his footslipped as he got out of the carriage, so that he nearly fell. In thecrowd, the footman asked his valet questions. Was he ill? What hadhappened to him? Was he consuming himself with grief? No, the valetthought not. He had been much better in Paris and had seen some oldfriends there. What harm was there in that? A bereaved man neededdiversion. The change had come suddenly, when he had decided to returnto Rome, and he had eaten nothing for thirty-six hours. The valet askedif the youth at the hospital, of whom Corbario had told him, were reallyMarcello. The footman answered that none of the servants thought so, after they had all been taken to see him. 

Having exchanged these confidences in the half-dumb language whichservants command, they reached the gate. The footman rushed out to callthe carriage, the valet delivered the tickets and followed the footmanmore slowly, carrying Corbario's bag and coat, and Corbario lighted acigar and followed his man at a leisurely pace, absorbed in thought. 

Until the moment of passing the gate he had meant to drive directly tothe hospital, which is at some distance from the station in a directionalmost opposite to that of the Janiculum. He could have driven there inten minutes, whereas he must lose more than an hour by going home firstand then coming back. But his courage failed him, he felt faint andsick, and quite unable to bear any great emotion until he had rested andrefreshed himself a little. A long railway journey stupefies some men, but makes others nervous and inclined to exaggerate danger or trouble. During the last twelve hours Corbario had been forcing himself to decidethat he would go to the hospital and know the worst at once, but nowthat the moment was come he could not do it. 

He was walking slowly through the outer hall of the station when a largeman came up with him and greeted him quietly. It was Professor Kalmon. Corbario started at the sound of his voice. They had not met sinceKalmon had been at the cottage. 

"I wish I had known that you were in the train, " the Professor said. 

"So do I, " answered Corbario without enthusiasm. "Not that I am verygood company, " he added, looking sideways at the other's face andmeeting a scrutinising glance. 

"You look ill, " Kalmon replied. "I don't wonder. "

"I sometimes wish I had one of those tablets of yours that send peopleto sleep for ever, " said Corbario, making a great effort to speaksteadily. 

But his voice shook, and a sudden terror seized him, the abject frightthat takes hold of a man who has been accustomed to do something verydangerous and who suddenly finds that his nerve is gone at the verymoment of doing it again. 

The cold sweat stood on Folco's forehead under his hat; he stopped wherehe was and tried to draw a long breath, but something choked him. Kalmon's voice seemed to reach him from a great distance. Then he feltthe Professor's strong arm under his own, supporting him and making himmove forward. 

"The weather is hot, " Kalmon said, "and you are ill and tired. Comeoutside. "

"It is nothing, " Corbario tried to say. "I was dizzy for a moment. "

Kalmon and the footman helped him into his low carriage, and raised thehood, for the afternoon sun was still very hot. 

"Shall I go home with you?" Kalmon asked. 

"No, no!" cried Corbario nervously. "You are very kind. I am quite wellnow. Good-bye. Home!" he added to the footman, as he settled himselfback under the hood, quite out of sight. 

The Professor stood still in the glaring heat, looking after thecarriage, his travelling-bag in his hand, while the crowd poured out ofthe station, making for the cabs and omnibuses that were drawn up inrows, or crossing the burning pavement on foot to take the tram. 

When the carriage was out of sight, Kalmon looked up at the hot sky anddown at the flagstones, and then made up his mind what to do. 

"To the hospital of San Giovanni, " he said, as he got into a cab. 

He seemed to be well informed, for he inquired at the door about acertain Marcello Botti, who was in a private room; and when he gave hisname he was admitted without even asking permission of theSuperintendent, and was at once led upstairs. 

"Are you a friend of his, sir?" asked Regina, when he had looked a longtime at the patient, who did not recognise him in the least. 

"Are you?" Kalmon looked at her quietly across the bed. 

"You see, " she answered. "If I were not, why should I be here?"

"She has saved my life, " said Marcello suddenly, and he caught her handin his and held it fast. "As soon as I am quite well we shall bemarried. "

"Certainly, my dear boy, certainly, " replied Kalmon, as if it were quitea matter of course. "You must make haste and get well as soon aspossible. "

He glanced at Regina's face, and as her eyes met his she shook her headalmost imperceptibly, and smiled. Kalmon was not quite sure what shemeant. He made a sign to her to go with him to the window, which was atsome distance from the bed. 

"It may be long before he is well, " he whispered. "There must be anoperation. "

She nodded, for she knew that. 

"And do you expect to marry him when he is recovered?"

She shook her head and laughed, glancing at Marcello. 

"He is a gentleman, " she whispered, close to Kalmon's ear. "How could hemarry me?"

"You love him, " Kalmon answered. 

Again she nodded, and laughed too. 

"What would you do for him?" asked Kalmon, looking at her keenly. 

"Die for him!"

She meant it, and he saw that she did. Her eyes shone as she spoke, andthen the lids drooped a little and she looked at him almost fiercely. Heturned from her and his fingers softly tapped the marble window-sill. Hewas asking himself whether he could swear to Marcello's identity, incase he should be called upon to give evidence. On what could he basehis certainty? Was he himself certain, or was he merely moved by thestrong resemblance he saw, in spite of long illness and consequentemaciation? Was the visiting surgeon right in believing that the littledepression in the skull had caused a suspension of memory? Such thingshappened, no doubt, but it also happened that doctors were mistaken andthat nothing came of such operations. Who could prove the truth? The boyand girl might have a secret to keep; she might have arranged to get himinto the hospital because it was his only chance, but the rest of thestory, such as it was, might be a pure invention; and when Marcello wasdischarged cured, they would disappear together. There was thecoincidence of the baptismal name, but men of science know how deceptivecoincidences can be. Besides, the girl was very intelligent. She mighteasily have heard about the real Marcello's disappearance, and she wasclever enough to have given her lover the name in the hope that he mightbe taken for the lost boy at least long enough to ensure him a greatdeal more comfort and consideration in the hospital than he otherwisewould have got; she was clever enough to have seen that it would be amistake to say outright that he was Marcello Consalvi, if she waspractising a deception. Kalmon did not know what to think, and he wishedthe operation could be performed before Corbario came; but that wasimpossible. 

Regina stood beside him, waiting for him to speak again. 

"Do you need money?" he asked abruptly, with a sharp look at her face. 

"No, thank you, sir, " she answered. "He has everything here. "

"But for yourself?" He kept his eyes on her. 

"I thank you, sir, I want nothing. " Her look met his almost coldly asshe spoke. 

"But when he is well again, how shall you live?"

"I shall work for him, if it turns out that he has no friends. We shallsoon know, for his memory will come back after the operation. Thedoctors say so. They know. "

"And if he has friends after all? If he is really the man I think heis, what then? What will become of you?"

"I do not know. I am his. He can do what he likes with me. "

The Professor did not remember to have met any one who took quite suchan elementary view of life, but he could not help feeling a sort ofsympathy for the girl's total indifference to consequences. 

"I shall come to see him again, " he said presently, turning back towardsthe bed and approaching Marcello. "Are you quite sure that you never sawme before?" he asked, taking the young man's hand. 

"I don't remember, " answered Marcello, wearily. "They all want me toremember, " he added almost peevishly. "I would if I could, if it wereonly to please them!"

Kalmon went away, for he saw that his presence tired the patient. Whenhe was gone Regina sat down beside the bed and stroked Marcello's hand, and talked soothingly to him, promising that no one should tease him toremember things. By and by, as she sat, she laid her head on the pillowbeside him, and her sweet breath fanned his face, while a strange lightplayed in her half-closed eyes. 

"Heart of my heart, " she sighed happily. "Love of my soul! Do you knowthat I am all yours, soul and body, and earrings too?" And she laughedlow. 

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, " Marcello answered. "Ilove you!"

She laughed again, and kissed him. 

"You love me better than Aurora, " she said suddenly. 

"Aurora?"

"Yes, for you have forgotten her. But you will not forget Regina now, not even when you are very, very old, and your golden hair is all grey. You will never forget Regina, now!"

"Never!" echoed Marcello, like a child. "Never, never, never!"

"Not even when your friends try to take me away from you, love, not evenif they try to kill me, because they want you to marry Aurora, who is arich girl, all dressed with silk and covered with jewels, like the imageof the Madonna at Genazzano. I am sure Aurora has yellow hair and blueeyes!"

"I don't want any one but you, " answered Marcello, drawing her facenearer. 

So the time passed, and it was to them as if there were no time. Thenthe door opened again, and a very pale man in deep mourning was broughtin by the Superintendent himself. Regina rose and drew back a little, sothat the shadow should not fall across Marcello's face, and she fixedher eyes on the gentleman in black. 

"This is the patient, " said the Superintendent in a low voice. 

Corbario laid his hand nervously on his companion's arm, and stood stillfor a moment, holding his breath and leaning forward a little, his gazeriveted on Marcello's face. Regina had never before seen a mantransfixed with fear. 

He moved a step towards the bed, and then another, forcing himself to goon. Then Marcello turned his head and looked at him vacantly. Reginaheard the long breath Corbario drew, and saw his body straighten, as ifrelieved from a great burden. He stood beside the bed, and put out hishand to take Marcello's. 

"Do you know me?" he asked; but even then his voice was unsteady. 

Instead of answering, Marcello turned away to Regina. 

"You promised that they should not tease me any more, " he saidquerulously. "Make them go away! I want to sleep. "

Regina came to his side at once, and faced the two men across the bed. 

"What is all this for?" she asked, with a little indignation. "You knowthat he cannot remember you, even if he ever saw you before. Cannot youleave him in peace? Come back after the operation. Then he will rememberyou, if you really know him. "

"Who is this girl?" asked Corbario of the Superintendent. 

"She took care of him when he had the fever, and she managed to get himhere. She has undoubtedly saved his life. "

At the words a beautiful blush coloured Regina's cheeks, and her eyeswere full of triumphant light; but at the same words Corbario's stillface darkened, and as if it had been a mask that suddenly becametransparent, the girl saw another face through it, drawn into anexpression of malignant and devilish hatred. 

[Illustration: "HE MOVED A STEP TOWARDS THE BED, AND THEN ANOTHER, FORCING HIMSELF TO GO ON. "]

The vision only lasted a moment, and the impenetrable pale features werethere once more, showing neither hate nor fear, nor any feeling oremotion whatever. Corbario was himself again, and turned quietly to theSuperintendent. 

"She is quite right, " he said. "His memory is gone, and we shall onlydisturb him. You tell me that the doctors have found a very slightdepression in his head, as if from a blow. Do you think--but it willannoy him--I had better not. "

"What do you mean?" asked the other, as he hesitated. 

"It is such a strange case that I should like to see just where it is, out of pure curiosity. "

"It is here, " said Regina, answering, and setting the tip of onestraight finger against her own head to point out the place. 

"Oh, at the back, on the right side? I see--yes--thank you. A little onone side, you say?"

"Here, " repeated Regina, turning so that Corbario could see exactlywhere the end of her finger touched her hair. 

"To think that so slight an injury may have permanently affected theyoung man's memory!" Corbario appeared much impressed. "Well, " hecontinued, speaking to Regina, "if we ever find out who he is, hisrelations owe you a debt of gratitude quite beyond all payment. "

"Do you think I want to be paid?" asked Regina, and in her indignationshe turned away and walked to the window. 

But Marcello called her back. 

"Please, Regina--please tell them to go away!" he pleaded. 

Corbario nodded to the Superintendent, and they left the room. 

"There is certainly a strong resemblance, " said Folco, when they wereoutside, "but it really cannot be my poor Marcello. I was almost toomuch affected by the thought of seeing him again to control myself whenwe first entered, but when I came near I felt nothing. It is not he, Iam sure. I loved him as if he were my own son; I brought him up; we werealways together. It is not possible that I should be mistaken. "

"No, " replied the Superintendent, "I should hardly think it possible. Besides, from what the girl has told me, I am quite sure that he lay illnear Tivoli. How is it possible that he should have got there, all theway from the Roman shore?"

"And with a fractured skull! It is absurd!" Corbario was glad to findthat the Superintendent held such a strong opinion. "It is not Marcello. The nose is not the same, and the expression of the mouth is quitedifferent. "

He said these things with conviction, but he was not deceived. He knewthat Marcello Consalvi was living and that he had seen him, risen fromthe dead, and apparently likely to remain among the living for sometime. The first awful moment of anxiety was past, it was true, andFolco was able to think more connectedly than he had since he hadreceived the telegram recalling him from Paris; but there was to beanother. The doctors said that his memory would return--what would heremember? It would come back, beginning, most probably, at the verymoment in which it had been interrupted. For one instant he would fancythat he saw again what he had seen then. What had he seen? That was thequestion. Had he seen anything but the sand, the scrubby bushes, and thetrees round the cottage in the distance? Had he heard anything but thehowling of the southwest gale and the thundering of the big surf overthe bar and up the beach? The injury was at the back of his head, but itwas a little on one side. Had he been in the act of turning? Had heturned far enough to see before the blow had extinguished memory? Howfar was the sudden going out of thought really instantaneous? Whatfraction of a second intervened between full life and what was so likedeath? How long did it take a man to look round quickly? Much less thana second, surely! Without effort or hurry a man could turn his head allthe way from left to right, so as to look over each shoulderalternately, while a second pendulum swung once. A second was a muchlonger time than most people realised. Instruments made for scientificphotography could be made to expose the plate not more thanone-thousandth of a second. Corbario knew that, and wondered whether aman's eye could receive any impression in so short a time. He shudderedwhen he thought that it might be possible. 

The question was to be answered sooner than he expected. The doctors hadreported that a week must pass before Marcello would be strong enough toundergo the operation, but he improved so quickly after he reached thehospital that it seemed useless to wait. It was not considered to be avery dangerous operation, nor one which weakened the patient much. 

Regina was not allowed to be present, and when Marcello had been wheeledout of his room, already under ether, she went and stood before thewindow, pressing down her clasped hands upon the marble sill with allher might, and resting her forehead against the green slats of theblind. She did not move from this position while the nurse madeMarcello's bed ready to receive him on his return. It was long to wait. The great clock in the square struck eleven some time after he had beentaken away, then the quarter, then half-past. 

Regina felt the blood slowly sinking to her heart. She would have givenanything to move now, but she could not stir hand or foot; she was cold, yet somehow she could not even shiver; that would have been a relief;any motion, any shock, any violent pain would have been a thousand timesbetter than the marble stillness that was like a spell. 

Far away on the Janiculum Folco Corbario sat in his splendid libraryalone, with strained eyes, waiting for the call of the telephone thatstood on the polished table at his elbow. He, too, was motionless, andlonged for release as he had never thought he could long for anything. Astill unlighted cigar was almost bitten through by his sharp frontteeth; every faculty was tense; and yet it was as if his brain hadstopped thinking at the point where expectation had begun. He could notthink now, he could only suffer. If the operation were successful therewould be more suffering, doubt still more torturing, suspense moreagonising still. 

The great clock over the stables struck eleven, then the quarter, thenhalf-past. The familiar chimes floated in through the open windows. 

A wild hope came with the sound. Marcello, weak as he was, had diedunder ether, and that was the end. Corbario trembled from head to foot. The clock struck the third quarter, but no other sound broke thestillness of the near noon-tide. Yes, Marcello must be dead. 

Suddenly, in the silence, came the sharp buzz of the instrument. Heleapt in his seat as if something had struck him unawares, and then, instantly controlling himself, he grasped the receiver and held it tohis ear. 

"Signor Corbario?" came the question. 

"Yes, himself. "

"The hospital. The operation has been successful. Do you hear?"

"Yes. Go on. "

"The patient has come to himself. He remembers everything. "

"Everything!" Corbario's voice shook. 

"He is Marcello Consalvi. He asks for his mother, and for you. "

"How--in what way does he ask for me? Will my presence do him good--orexcite him?"

The moment had come, and Folco's nerve was restored with the sense ofdanger. His face grew cold and expressionless as he waited for theanswer. 

"He speaks most affectionately of you. But you had better not come untilthis afternoon, and then you must not stay long. The doctors say he mustrest quietly. "

"I will come at four o'clock. Thank you. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

The click of the instrument, as Folco hung the receiver on the hook, andit was over. He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his armshanging by his sides as if there were no strength in them, and his headfalling forward till his chin rested on his chest. He remained so for along time without moving. 

But in the room at the hospital Marcello lay in bed with his head boundup, his cheek on the pillow, and his eyes fixed on Regina's face, as sheknelt beside him and fanned him slowly, for it was hot. 

"Sleep, heart of my heart, " she said softly. "Sleep and rest!"

There was a sort of peaceful wonder in his look now. Nothing vacant, nothing that lacked meaning or understanding. But he did not answer her, he only gazed into her face, and gazed and gazed till his eyelidsdrooped and he fell asleep with a smile on his lips. 

CHAPTER IX

Two years had passed since Marcello had been brought home from thehospital, very feeble still, but himself again and master of his memoryand thoughts. 

In his recollection, however, there was a blank. He had left Aurorastanding in the gap, where the storm swept inland from the sea; then thelight had gone out suddenly, in something violent which he could notunderstand, and after that he could remember nothing except that he hadwandered in lonely places, trying to find out which way he was going, and terrified by the certainty that he had lost all sense of direction;so he had wandered on by day and night, as in a dark dream, and had atlast fallen asleep, to wake in the wretched garret of the inn on theFrascati road, with Regina kneeling beside him and moistening his lipsfrom a glass of water. 

He remembered that and other things, which came back to him uncertainly, like the little incidents of his early childhood, like the first wordshe could remember hearing and answering, like the sensation of being onhis mother's knee and resting his head upon her shoulder, like the smellof the roses and the bitter-orange blossoms in the villa, like the firstsensation of being set upon a pony's back in San Domenico, whileCorbario held him up in the saddle, and tried to make his little handshold the bridle. The inn was quite as far away as all that, and but forRegina he might have forgotten it altogether. 

She was "Consalvi's Regina" now; half Rome called her that, and she wasfamous. Naples and Florence and Milan had heard of her; she had beenseen at Monte Carlo, and even in Paris and London her name was notunknown in places where young men congregate to discuss the wickedworld, and where young women meet to compare husbands, over the secretand sacrificial teapot which represents virtue, or the less sacredbridge-table which represents vice. Smart young dandies who had neverexchanged a word with her spoke of her familiarly as "Regina "; smarterand older men, who knew her a little, talked of her as "the Spalletta, "not without a certain respect; their mothers branded her as "thatcreature, " and their wives, who envied her, called her "Consalvi'sRegina. "

When people remonstrated with Folco Corbario for allowing his stepsontoo much liberty, he shook his head gravely and answered that he didwhat he could to keep Marcello in the right way, but that the boy'sintellect had been shaken by the terrible accident, and that he hadundoubtedly developed vicious tendencies--probably atavistic, Folcoadded. Why did Folco allow him to have so much money? The answer wasthat he was of age and the fortune was his. But why had Folco let himhave it before he was twenty-one, ever since he was found and broughthome? He had not had much, was the reply; at least it had not been muchcompared with the whole income he now enjoyed one could not bring up theheir of a great estate like a pauper, could one? So the questionersdesisted from questioning, but they said among themselves that, althoughFolco had been an admirable husband and stepfather while his wife hadlived, he had not shown as much good sense after her death as they hadbeen led to expect. Meanwhile, no one had any right to interfere, andMarcello did as he pleased. 

Children instinctively attach themselves to whichever of their parentsgives them the most liberty. It is sheer nonsense to deny it. Marcellohad loved his mother dearly, but she had always been the one to hinderhim from doing what he wished to do, because she had been excessivelyanxious about his bodily health, and over-desirous of bringing him up tomanhood in a state of ideal moral perfection. Folco, on the other hand, had been associated with all the boy's sports and pleasures, and hadalways encouraged him to amuse himself, giving as a reason that therewas no medicine like healthy happiness for a boy of delicateconstitution. Corbario, like Satan, knew the uses of truth, which arenumerous and not all good. Though Marcello would not have acknowledgedit to himself, his stepfather had been nearer to him, and more necessaryto him, than his mother, during several years; and besides, it was lesshard to bear the loss of which he learned when he recovered, because ithad befallen him during that dark and uncertain period of his illnessthat now seemed as if it had lasted for years, and whereby everythingthat had been before it belonged to a remote past. 

Moreover, there was Regina, and there was youth, and there was liberty;and Corbario was at hand, always ready to encourage and satisfy hisslightest whim, on the plea that a convalescent must be humoured at anycost, and that there would be time enough to consider what should bedone with Regina after Marcello was completely recovered. After all, Corbario told him, the girl had saved his life, and it was only right tobe grateful, and she should be amply rewarded for all the trouble shehad taken. It would have been sheer cruelty to have sent her away to thecountry; and what was the cost of a quiet lodging for her in Trastevere, and of a few decent clothes, and of a respectable middle-agedwoman-servant to take care of her? Nothing at all; only a few francs, and Marcello was so rich! Regina, also, was so very unusuallywell-behaved, and so perfectly docile, so long as she was allowed to seeMarcello every day! She did not care for dress at all, and was quitecontented to wear black, with just a touch of some tender colour. Corbario made it all very easy, and saw to everything, and he seemed toknow just how such things were arranged. He was so fortunate as to finda little house that had a quiet garden with an entrance on anotherstreet, all in very good condition because it had lately been used by afamous foreign painter who preferred to live in Trastevere, away fromthe interruptions and distractions of the growing city; and by a verysimple transaction the house became the property of the minor, MarcelloConsalvi, to do with as he thought fit. This was much more convenientthan paying rent to a tiresome landlord who might at any time turn histenant out. Corbario thought of everything. Twice a week a gardenercame, early in the morning, and soon the garden was really pretty; andthe respectable woman-servant watered the flowers every evening justbefore sunset. There was a comfortable Calcutta chair for Marcello in ashady corner, the very first time he came there, and Regina had learnedhow to make tea for him; for the respectable woman-servant knew how todo all sorts of things belonging to civilised life. She was so intenselyrespectable and quiet that Marcello was almost afraid of her, until itoccurred to him that as she took so much trouble, he ought to give her apresent of money; and when he had done this twice, he somehow becameaware that she was his devoted slave--middle-aged and excessivelyrespectable. Folco was really a very good judge of character, Marcellothought, since he could at once pick out such a person from the greathorde of the unemployed. 

Her name was Settimia, and it was wonderful to see how she quietlytransformed Regina into a civilised creature, who must attract attentionby her beauty and carriage, but who might have belonged to amiddle-class Roman family so far as manners and dress were concerned. Itis true that the girl possessed by nature the innate dignity of theRoman peasant, with such a figure and such grace as any aristocrat mighthave envied, and that she spoke with the Roman accent which almost allother Italians admire; but though her manners had a certain repose, theywere often of an extremely unexpected nature, and she had anastonishingly simple way of calling things by their names whichsometimes disconcerted Marcello and sometimes amused him. Settimiacivilised her, almost without letting her know it, for she was quick tolearn, like all naturally clever people who have had no education, andshe was imitative, as all womanly women are when they are obliged toadapt themselves quickly to new surroundings. She was stimulated, too, by the wish to appear well before Marcello, lest he should ever beashamed of her. That was all. She never had the least illusion aboutherself, nor any hope of raising herself to his social level. She wasfar too much the real peasant girl for that, the descendant of thirty ormore generations of serfs, the offspring of men and women who had feltthat they belonged body and soul to the feudal lord of the land on whichthey were born, and had never been disturbed by tempting dreams ofliberty, equality, fraternity, and the violent destruction of ladies andgentlemen. 

So she lived, and so she learned many things of Settimia, and lookedupon herself as the absolute property of the man she loved and hadsaved; and she was perfectly happy, if not perfectly good. 

"When I am of age, " Marcello used to say, "I shall buy a beautifullittle palace near the Tiber, and you shall live in it. "

"Why?" she always asked. "Are we not happy here? Is it not cool insummer, and sunny in winter? Have we not all we want? When you marry, your wife will live in the splendid villa on the Janiculum, and when youare tired of her, you will come and see Regina here. I hope you willalways be tired of her. Then I shall be happy. "

Marcello would laugh a little, and then he would look grave andthoughtful, for he had not forgotten Aurora, and sometimes wondered whatshe was doing, as a young man does who is losing his hold upon himself, and on the things in which he has always believed. He who has neverlived through such times and outlived them, knows neither the world norhimself. 

Marcello wondered whether Aurora would ever meet Regina face to face, and what would happen if he were called upon to choose between the two. He would choose Regina, he said to himself, when he was going down thesteep way from the villa to the little house, eager for her touch, hervoice, her breath, and feeling in his pocket the key that opened thegarden gate. But when the hours had passed, and he slowly walked up theroad under the great plane-trees, in the cool of the late evening, glancing at the distant lights of Rome beyond the Tiber, and dimlyconscious that something was still unsatisfied, then he hesitated and heremembered his boyish love, and fancied that if he met Aurora in the waythey would stand still, each finding the other in the other's eyes, andsilently kiss, as they had kissed long ago. Yet, with the thought, hefelt shame, and he blushed, alone there under the plane-trees. 

But Aurora had never come back to Rome, and the small apartment thatoverlooked the Forum of Trajan had other tenants. It was strange thatthe Contessa and her daughter should not have returned, and sometimesMarcello felt a great longing to see them. He said "them" to himself atsuch times, but he knew what he meant. 

So time went on. Corbario said that he himself must really go to SanDomenico, to look after the Calabrian property, but added that it wouldbe quite useless for Marcello to go with him. Marcello could stay inRome and amuse himself as he pleased, or he might make a little journeyto the north, to Switzerland, to the Tyrol--there were so many places. Settimia would take care of Regina, and perhaps Regina herself hadbetter make a little trip for a change. Yes, Settimia had travelled agood deal; she even knew enough French to travel in a foreign country, if necessary. Corbario said that he did not know where she had learnedFrench, but he was quite sure she knew it tolerably well. Regina wouldbe safe under her care, in some quiet place where the air would do hergood. 

Thereupon Corbario went off to the south, leaving Marcello plentifullysupplied with money and promising to write to him. They partedaffectionately. 

"If you wish to go away, " Corbario said, as he was leaving, "it might beas well to leave your next address, so that you may get letters. Butplease don't fancy that I want to know everything you do, my dear boy. You are quite old enough to take care of yourself, and quite sensibleenough, too. The only thing you had better avoid for a few years ismarriage!"

Folco laughed softly as he delivered this piece of advice, and lit acigar. Then he looked critically at Marcello. 

"You are still very pale, " he observed thoughtfully. "You have not gotback all your strength yet. Drink plenty of champagne at luncheon anddinner. There is nothing like it when a man is run down. And don't situp all night smoking cigarettes more than three times a week!"

He laughed again as he shook hands and got into the carriage, andMarcello was glad when he was gone, though he was so fond of him. It wasa bore to be told that he was not strong, because it certainly was true, and, besides, even Folco was sometimes a little in the way. 

In a week Marcello and Regina were in Venice; a month later they were inParis. The invaluable Settimia knew her way about, and spoke French witha fluency that amazed Marcello; she even taught Regina a few of thosephrases which are particularly useful at a dressmaker's and quiteincomprehensible anywhere else. Marcello told her to see that Regina wasperfectly dressed, and Settimia carried out his instructions with tasteand wisdom. Regina had arrived in Paris with one box of modestdimensions; she left with four more, of a size that made the railwayporters stagger. 

One day Marcello brought home a string of pearls in his pocket, andtried to fasten it round her throat; but she would not let him do it. She was angry. 

"Keep those things for your wife!" she said, with flashing eyes andstanding back from him. "I will wear the clothes you buy for me, becauseyou like me to be pretty and I don't want you to be ashamed of me. But Iwill not take jewels, for jewels are money, just as gold is! You can buya wife with that stuff, not a woman who loves you!"

Her brows were level and stern, her face grew whiter as she spoke, andMarcello was suddenly aware, for the first time in his life, that he didnot understand women. That knowledge comes sooner or later to almostevery man, but many are spared it until they are much older than he was. 

"I did not mean to offend you, " he said, in a rather injured tone, as heslipped the pearls into his pocket. 

"Of course not, " she answered. "But you do not understand. If I thoughtyou did, I would go back to the inn and never see you again. I shoulddie, but it would not matter, for I should still respect myself!"

"I only wished to please you, " said Marcello apologetically. 

"You wish to please me? Love me! That is what I want. Love me as much asyou can, it will always be less than I love you, and as long as you can, it will always be less long than I shall love you, for that will bealways. And when you are tired of me, tell me so, heart of my heart, andI will go away, for that is better than to hang like a chain on a youngman's neck. I will go away, and God will forgive me, for to love you isall I know. "

His kisses closed her flashing eyes, and her lips parted in a faint, expectant smile, that was not disappointed. 

So time passed, and Marcello heard occasionally from Corbario, and wroteto him once or twice, when he needed money. Folco never alluded toRegina, and Marcello wondered whether he guessed that she had left Rome. He was never quite sure how much Folco knew of his life, and Folco wascareful never to ask questions. 

But the existence Marcello was leading was not calculated to restore hisstrength, which had never been great, even before his illness. ThoughRegina did not understand the language, she grew very fond of thetheatre, for Marcello translated and explained everything; and it wassuch a pleasure to give her pleasure, that he forgot the stifling airand the late hours. Moreover, he met in Paris a couple of acquaintancesa little older than himself, who were only too glad to see something ofthe beautiful Regina, so that there were often supper-parties after theplay, and trips in motorcars in the morning, horse races in theafternoon, and all manner of amusements, with a general tendency to lookupon sleep as a disease to be avoided and the wish to rest as a foolishweakness. It was true that Marcello never coughed, but he was very thin, and his delicate face had grown perfectly colourless, though hefollowed Corbario's advice and drank a good deal of champagne, not tomention other less harmless things, because the quick stimulant was aspleasant as a nap and did not involve such a waste of time. 

As for Regina, the life suited her, at least for a while, and her beautywas refined rather than marred by a little bodily weariness. Thesplendid blush of pleasure rarely rose in her cheeks now, but the clearpallor of her matchless complexion was quite as lovely. The constitutionof a healthy Roman peasant girl does not break down easily under acourse of pleasure and amusement, and it might never have occurred toRegina that Marcello was almost exhausted already, if her eyes had notbeen opened to his condition by some one else. 

They were leaving the Théâtre Français one evening, intending to go homeon foot as the night was fine and warm. They had seen _Hernani_, andRegina had naturally found it hard to understand the story, even withMarcello's explanations; the more so as he himself had never seen theplay before, and had come to the theatre quite sure that it must beeasily comprehensible from the opera founded on it, which he had heard. Regina's arm was passed through his, and as they made their way throughthe crowd, under the not very brilliant lights in the portico, Marcellowas doing his best to make the plot of the piece clear, and Regina waslooking earnestly into his face, trying to follow what he said. Suddenlyhe heard an Italian voice very near to him, calling him by name, in atone of surprise. 

"Marcello!"

He started, straightened himself, turned his head, and faced theContessa dell' Armi. Close beside her was Aurora, leaning forward alittle, with an expression of cold curiosity; she had already seenRegina, who did not withdraw her hand from Marcello's arm. 

"You here?" he cried, recovering himself quickly. 

As he spoke, the Contessa realised the situation, and at the same momentMarcello met Aurora's eyes. Regina felt his arm drop by his side, as ifhe were disowning her in the presence of these two smart women who werefriends of his. She forgave him, for she was strangely humble in someways, but she hated them forthwith. 

The Contessa, who was a woman of the world, nodded quietly and smiled asif she had seen nothing, but she at once began to steer her daughter ina divergent direction. 

"You are looking very ill, " she said, turning her head back as she movedaway. "Come and see us. "

"Where?" asked Marcello, making half a step to follow, and looking atthe back of Aurora's head and at the pretty hat she wore. 

The Contessa named a quiet hotel in the Rue Saint Honoré, and was gonein the crowd. Marcello stood quite still for a moment, staring after thetwo. Then he felt Regina's hand slipping through his arm. 

"Come, " she said softly, and she led him away to the left. 

He did not speak for a long time. They turned under the arches into thePalais Royal, and followed the long portico in silence, out to the RueVivienne and the narrow Rue des Petits Champs. Still Marcello did notspeak, and without a word they reached the Avenue de l'Opéra. The lightwas very bright there, and Regina looked long at Marcello's face, andsaw how white it was. 

"She said you were looking very ill, " said she, in a voice that shook alittle. 

"Nonsense!" cried Marcello, rousing himself. "Shall we have supper atHenry's or at the Café de Paris? We are near both. "

"We will go home, " Regina answered. "I do not want any supper to-night. "

They reached their hotel. Regina tossed her hat upon a chair in thesitting-room and drew Marcello to the light, holding him before her, andscrutinising his face with extraordinary intensity. Suddenly her handsdropped from his shoulders. 

"She was right; you are ill. Who is this lady that knows your facebetter than I?"

She asked the question in a tone of bitterness and self-reproach. 

"The Contessa dell' Armi, " Marcello answered, with a shade ofreluctance. 

"And the girl?" asked Regina, in a flash of intuition. 

"Her daughter Aurora. " He turned away, lit a cigarette, and rang thebell. 

Regina bit her lip until it hurt her, for she remembered how often hehad pronounced that name in his delirium, many months ago. She couldnot speak for a moment. A waiter came in answer to the bell, andMarcello ordered something, and then sat down. Regina went to her roomand did not return until the servant had come back and was gone again, leaving a tray on the table. 

"What is the matter?" asked Marcello in surprise, as he caught sight ofher face. 

She sat down at a little distance, her eyes fixed on him. 

"I am a very wicked woman, " she said, in a dull voice. 

"You?" Marcello laughed and filled the glasses. 

"I am letting you kill yourself to amuse me, " Regina said. "I am a very, very wicked woman. But you shall not do it any more. We will go away atonce. "

"I am perfectly well, " Marcello answered, holding out a glass to her;but she would not take it. 

"I do not want wine to-night, " she said. "It is good when one has alight heart, but my heart is as heavy as a stone. What am I good for?Kill me. It will be better. Then you will live. "

"I should have died without you long ago. You saved my life. "

"To take it again! To let you consume yourself, so that I may see theworld! What do I care for the world, if you are not well? Let us go awayquickly. "

"Next week, if you like. "

"No! To-morrow!"

"Without waiting to hear Melba?"

"Yes--to-morrow!"

"Or Sarah Bernhardt in Sardou's new play?"

"To-morrow! To-morrow morning, early! What is anything compared withyour getting well?"

"And your new summer costume that Doucet has not finished? How aboutthat?"

Marcello laughed gaily and emptied his glass. But Regina rose and kneltdown beside him, laying her hands on his. 

"We must go to-morrow, " she said. "You shall say where, for you knowwhat countries are near Paris, and where there are hills, and trees, andwaterfalls, and birds that sing, where the earth smells sweet when itrains, and it is quiet when the sun is high. We will go there, but youknow where it is, and how far. "

"I have no doubt Settimia knows, " laughed Marcello. "She knowseverything. "

But Regina's face was grave, and she shook her head slowly. 

"What is the use of laughing?" she asked. "You cannot deceive me, youknow you cannot! I deceived myself and was blind, but my eyes are opennow, and I can only see the truth. Do you love me, Marcello?"

His eyes looked tired a moment ago, even when he laughed, but the lightcame into them now. He breathed a little faster and bent forward to kissher. She could feel the rising pulse in his thin hands. But she leanedback as she knelt, and pressed her lips together tightly. 

"Not that, " she said, after they had both been motionless ten seconds. "I don't mean that! Love is not all kisses. There is more. There aretears, but there is more too. There is pain, there is doubting, there isjealousy, and more than that! There is avarice also, for a woman wholoves is a miser, counting her treasure when others sleep. And she wouldkill any one who robbed her, and that is murder. Yet there is more, there are all the mortal sins in love, and even then there is worse. Forthere is this. She will not count her own soul for him she loves, no, not if the saints in Paradise came down weeping and begging her to thinkof her salvation. And that is a great sin, I suppose. "

Marcello looked at her, thinking that she was beautiful, and he saidnothing. 

"But perhaps a man cannot love like that, " she added presently. "So whatis the use of my asking you whether you love me? You love Aurora too, Idaresay! Such as your man's love is, and of its kind, you have enoughfor two!"

Marcello smiled. 

"I do not love Aurora now, " he said. 

"But you have, for you talked to her in your fever, and perhaps you willagain, or perhaps you wish to marry her. How can I tell what you think?She is prettier than I, for she has fair hair. I knew she had. I hatefair women, but they are prettier than we dark things ever are. All menthink so. What does it matter? It was I that saved your life when youwere dying, and the people meant you to die. I shall always have thatsatisfaction, even when you are tired of me. "

"Say never, then!"

"Never? Yes, if I let you stay here, you will not have time to be tiredof me, for you will grow thinner and whiter, and one day you will bebreathing, and not breathing, and breathing a little again, and then notbreathing at all, and you will be lying dead with your head on my arm. Ican see how it will be, for I thought more than once that you were dead, just like that, when you had the fever. No! If I let that happen youwill never be tired of me while you are alive, and when you are deadAurora cannot have you. Perhaps that would be better. I would almostrather have it so. "

"Then why should we go away?" asked Marcello, smiling a little. 

"Because to let you die would be a great sin, much worse than losing mysoul for you, or killing some one to keep you. Don't you see that?"

"Why would it be worse?"

"I do not know, but I am sure it would. Perhaps because it would belosing your soul instead of mine. Who knows? It is not in the catechism. The catechism has nothing about love, and I never learned anything else. But I know things that I never learned. Every woman does. How? The heartsays them, and they are true. Where shall we go to-morrow?"

"Do you really want to leave Paris?"

To impress upon him that she was in earnest Regina squeezed his handstogether in hers with such energy that she really hurt him. 

"What else have I been saying for half an hour?" she asked impatiently. "Do you think I am playing a comedy?" She laughed. "Remember that Ihave carried you up and down stairs in my arms, " she added, "and I coulddo it again!"

"If you insist on going away, I will walk, " Marcello answered with alaugh. 

She laughed too, as she rose to her feet. He put out his hand to fillhis glass again, but she stopped him. 

"No, " she said, "the wine keeps you awake, and makes you think you arestronger than you are. You shall sleep to-night, and to-morrow we willgo. I am so glad it is settled!"

She could do what she would with him, and so it turned out that Marcelloleft Paris without going to see the Contessa and Aurora; and when he wasfairly away he felt that it was a relief not to be able to see them, since it would have been his duty to do so if he had stayed another day. Maddalena dell' Armi had not believed that he would come, but shestopped at home that afternoon on the bare possibility. Aurora made upher mind that if he came she would shut herself up in her own room. Sheexpected that he would certainly call before the evening, and wasstrangely disappointed because he did not. 

"Who was that lady with him last night?" she asked of her mother. 

"I do not know that--lady, " answered the Contessa, with a very slighthesitation before pronouncing the last word. 

But they had both heard of Regina already. 

CHAPTER X

The Contessa wrote to Corbario two days later, addressing her letter toRome, as she did not know where he was. It was not like her to meddle inthe affairs of other people, or to give advice, but this was a specialcase, and she felt that something must be done to save Marcello; for shewas a woman of the world, with much experience and few illusions, andshe understood at a glance what was happening to her dead friend's son. She wrote to Folco, telling him of the accidental meeting in the porticoof the Théâtre Français, describing Marcello's looks, and saying prettyclearly what she thought of the extremely handsome young woman who waswith him. 

Now Paris is a big city, and it chanced that Corbario himself was thereat that very time. Possibly he had kept out of Marcello's way for somereason of his own, but he had really not known that the Contessa wasthere. Her letter was forwarded from Rome and reached him four daysafter it was written. He read it carefully, tore it into several dozenlittle bits, looked at his watch, and went at once to the quiet hotel inthe Rue Saint Honoré. The Contessa was alone, Aurora having gone outwith her mother's maid. 

Maddalena was glad to see him, not because she liked him, for she didnot, but because it would be so much easier to talk of what was on hermind than to write about it. 

"I suppose you are surprised to see me, " said Folco, after the firstconventional greeting. 

"No, for one may meet any one in Paris, at any time of the year. When Iwrote, I thought Marcello must be alone here--I mean, without you, " sheadded. 

"I did not know he had been here, until I heard that he was gone. Heleft three or four days ago. I fancy that when you wrote your letter hewas already gone. "

"Do you let him wander about Europe as he pleases?" asked the Contessa. 

"He is old enough to take care of himself, " answered Corbario. "There isnothing worse for young men than running after them and prying intotheir affairs. I say, give a young fellow his independence as soon aspossible. If he has been brought up in a manly way, with a feeling ofself-respect, it can only do him good to travel alone. That is theEnglish way, you know, and always succeeds. "

"Not always, and besides, we are not English. It is not 'succeeding, ' asyou call it, in Marcello's case. He will not live long, if you let himlead such a life. "

"Oh, he is stronger than he looks! He is no more threatened withconsumption than I am, and a boy who can live through what happened tohim two years ago can live through anything. "

Not a muscle of his face quivered as he looked quietly into theContessa's eyes. He was quite sure that she did not suspect him ofhaving been in any way concerned in Marcello's temporary disappearance. 

"Suppose him to be as strong as the strongest, " Maddalena answered. "Putaside the question of his health. There is something else that seems tome quite as important. "

"The moral side?" Corbario smiled gravely. "My dear lady, you and I knowthe world, don't we? We do not expect young men to be saints!"

Maddalena, who had not always been a saint, returned his look coldly. 

"Let us leave the saints out of the discussion, " she said, "unless wespeak of Marcello's mother. She was one, if any one ever was. I believeyou loved her, and I know that I did, and I do still, for she is veryreal to me, even now. Don't you owe something to her memory? Don't youknow how she would have felt if she could have met her son the othernight, as I met him, looking as he looked? Don't you know that it wouldhave hurt her as nothing else could? Think a moment!"

She paused, waiting for his answer and watching his impenetrable face, that did not change even when he laughed, that could not change, shethought; but she had not seen him by Marcello's bedside at the hospital, when the mask had been gone for a few seconds. It was there now, in allits calm stillness. 

"You may be right, " he answered, almost meekly, after a little pause. "I had not looked at it in that light. You see, I am not a verysensitive man, and I was brought up rather roughly. My dear wife went tothe other extreme, of course. No one could really be what she wished tomake Marcello. He felt that himself, though I honestly did all I couldto make him act according to his mother's wishes. But now that she isgone--" he broke off, and was silent a moment. "You may be right, " herepeated, shaking his head thoughtfully. "You are a very good woman, andyou ought to know. "

She leaned back in her chair, and looked at him in silence, wonderingwhether she was not perhaps doing him a great injustice; yet his voicerang false to her ear, and the old conviction that he had never lovedhis wife came back with increased force and with the certainty that hehad been playing a part for years without once breaking down. 

"I will join Marcello, and see what I can do, " he said. 

"Do you know where he is?"

"Oh, yes! He keeps me informed of his movements; he is very good aboutwriting. You know how fond of each other we are, too, and I am sure hewill be glad to see me. He is back in Italy by this time. He was goingto Siena. We were to have met in Rome in about a month, to go down toSan Domenico together, but I will join him at once. "

"If you find that--that young person with him, what shall you do?"

"Send her about her business, of course, " answered Folco promptly. 

"Suppose that she will not go, what then?"

"It can only be a question of money, my dear lady. Leave that to me. Marcello is not the first young fellow who has been in a scrape!"

Still Maddalena did not trust him, and she merely nodded with an air ofdoubt. 

"Shall I not see Aurora?" he asked suddenly. 

"She is out, " answered the Contessa. "I will tell her that you askedafter her. "

"Is she as beautiful as ever?" inquired Folco. 

"She is a very pretty girl. "

"She is beautiful, " Folco said, with conviction. "I have never seen sucha beautiful girl as she was, even when she was not quite grown up. Noone ever had such hair and such eyes, and such a complexion!"

"Dear me!" exclaimed Maddalena with a little surprise. "I had no ideathat you thought her so good-looking!"

"I always did. As for Marcello, we used to think he would never haveeyes for any one else. "

"Young people who have known each other well as children rarely fall inlove when they grow up, " answered Maddalena. 

"So much the better, " Folco said. "Aurora and Marcello are not at allsuited to one another. "

"That is true, " answered the Contessa. 

"And besides, he is much too young for her. They are nearly of the sameage. "

"I never thought of their marrying, " replied Maddalena, with a littleemphasis, "and I should certainly not choose this time to think of it!"

"I fancy few men can look at your daughter without wishing that theymight marry her, my dear lady, " said Corbario, rising to go away. "Praypresent my homage to her, and tell her how very sorry I am not to haveseen her. "

He smiled as if he were only half in earnest, and he took his leave. Hewas scarcely gone when Aurora entered the sitting-room by another door. 

"Was it Marcello?" she asked quietly enough, though her voice sounded alittle dull. 

"No, dear, " answered her mother. "It was Folco Corbario. I wrote to himsome days ago and he came to see me. Marcello has left Paris. I did notknow you had come home. "

Aurora sat down rather wearily, pulled out her hatpins, and laid her haton her knee. Then she slowly turned it round and round, examining everyinch of it with profound attention, as women do. They see things in hatswhich we do not. 

"Mamma--" Aurora got no further, and went on turning the hat round. 

"Yes? What were you going to say?"

"Nothing--I have forgotten. " The hat revolved steadily. "Are we going tostay here long?"

"No. Paris is too expensive. When we have got the few things we want wewill go back to Italy--next week, I should think. "

"I wish we were rich, " observed Aurora. 

"I never heard you say that before, " answered her mother. "But afterall, wishing does no harm, and I am silly enough to wish we were richtoo. "

"If I married Marcello, I should be very rich, " said Aurora, ceasing toturn the hat, but still contemplating it critically. 

Maddalena looked at her daughter in some surprise. The girl's face wasquite grave. 

"You had better think of getting rich in some other way, my dear, " saidthe Contessa presently, with an asperity that did not escape Aurora, butproduced no impression on her. 

"I was only supposing, " she said. "But if it comes to that, it would bemuch better for him to marry me than that good-looking peasant girl hehas picked up. "

The Contessa sat up straight and stared at her in astonishment. Therewas a coolness in the speech that positively horrified her. 

"My dear child!" she cried. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"Regina, " answered Aurora, looking up, and throwing the hat upon thetable. "I am talking about Marcello's Regina. Did you suppose I hadnever heard of her, and that I did not guess that it was she, the othernight? I had a good look at her. I hate her, but she is handsome. Youcannot deny that. "

"I do not deny it, I'm sure!" The Contessa hardly knew what to say. 

"Very well. Would it not be much better for Marcello if he married methan if he let Regina marry him, as she will!"

"I--possibly--you put it so strangely! But I am sure Marcello will neverthink of marrying her. "

"Then why does he go about with her, and what is it all for?" Auroragazed innocently at her mother, waiting for an answer which did notcome. "Besides, " she added, "the girl will marry him, of course. "

"Perhaps. I daresay you are right, and after all, she may be in lovewith him. Why should you care, child?"

"Because he used to be my best friend, " Aurora answered demurely. "Is itwrong to take an interest in one's friends? And I still think of him asmy friend, though I have never had a chance to speak to him since thatday by the Roman shore, when he went off in a rage because I laughed athim. I wonder whether he has forgotten that! They say he lost his memoryduring his illness. "

"What a strange girl you are! You have hardly ever spoken of him in allthis time, and now"--the Contessa laughed as if she thought the ideaabsurd--"and now you talk of marrying him!"

"I have seen Regina, " Aurora replied, as if that explained everything. 

The Contessa returned no answer, and she was rather unusually silent andpreoccupied during the rest of that day. She was reflecting that ifAurora had not chanced to meet Marcello just when Regina was with himthe girl might never have thought of him again, except with ahalf-amused recollection of the little romantic tenderness she had oncefelt for the friend and playfellow of her childhood. Maddalena was awise woman now, and did not underestimate the influence of little thingswhen great ones were not far off. That is a very important part ofworldly wisdom, which is the science of estimating chances in a game ofwhich love, hate, marriage, fortune, and social life and death may bethe stakes. 

Her impulse was to prevent Aurora from seeing Marcello for a long time, for the thought of a possible marriage had never attracted her, andsince the appearance of Regina on the scene every instinct of her naturewas against it. Her pride revolted at the idea that her daughter mightbe the rival of a peasant girl, quite as much as at the possibility ofits being said that she had captured her old friend's son for the sakeof his money. But she remembered her own younger years and she judgedAurora by herself. There had been more in that little romantictenderness for Marcello than any one had guessed, much of it hadremained, it had perhaps grown instead of dying out, and the sight ofRegina had awakened it to something much stronger than a girlish fancy. 

Maddalena remembered little incidents now, of which the importance hadescaped her the more easily because the loss of her dearest friend hadmade her dull and listless at the time. Aurora had scarcely asked aboutMarcello during the weeks that followed his disappearance, but she hadoften looked pale and almost ill just then. She had been better afterthe news had come that he had been found, though she had barely saidthat she was glad to hear of him. Then she had grown more restless thanshe used to be, and there had sometimes been a dash of hardness in thethings she said; and her mother was now quite sure that Aurora hadintentionally avoided all mention of Marcello. To-day, she had suddenlymade that rather startling remark about marrying him. All this provedclearly enough that he had been continually in her thoughts. When veryyoung people take unusual pains to ignore a certain subject, and thenunexpectedly blurt out some very rough observation about it, the chancesare that they have been thinking of nothing else for a long time. 

A good deal had happened on that afternoon, for what Corbario had saidabout Aurora, half playfully and half in earnest, had left Maddalenaunder the impression that he had been trying a little experiment on hisown account, to feel his way. Aurora had more than once said in thepreceding years that she did not like his eyes and a certain way he hadof looking at her. He had admired her, even then, and now that he was awidower it was not at all unlikely that he should think of marrying her. He was not much more than thirty years old, and he had a singularlyyouthful face. There was no objection on the score of his age. He wasrich, at least for his life-time. He had always been called a modelhusband while his wife had been alive, and was said to have behavedwith propriety since. Maddalena tried to look at the matter coolly anddispassionately, as if she did not instinctively dislike him. Why shouldhe not wish to marry Aurora? No one of the Contessa's acquaintanceswould be at all surprised if he did, and most people would say that itwas a very good match, and that Aurora was fortunate to get such ahusband. 

This was precisely what Folco thought; and as it was his nature to thinkslowly and act quickly, it is not impossible that he may have revolvedthe plan in his mind for a year or two while Aurora was growing up. Thefinal decision had perhaps been reached on that evening down by theRoman shore, when Professor Kalmon had held up to his eyes the suremeans of taking the first step towards its accomplishment; and it hadbeen before him late on the same night when he had stood still in theverandah holding the precious and terrible little tablet in the hollowof his hand; and the next morning when he had suddenly seen Marcelloclose before him, unconscious of his presence and defenceless. He hadrun a great risk in vain that day, since Marcello was still alive, arisk more awful than he cared to remember now; but it had been safelypassed, and he must never do anything so dangerous again. There was afar safer and surer way of gaining his end than clumsy murder, and fromwhat the Contessa had told him of the impression she had received theaccomplishment was not far off. She had said that Marcello had lookedhalf dead; his delicate constitution could not bear such a life muchlonger, and he would soon be dead in earnest. 

Marcello did not write as regularly as Folco pretended, but the latterhad trustworthy and regular news of him from some one else. Twice aweek, wherever he might be, a square envelope came by the post addressedin a rather cramped feminine hand, the almost unmistakable writing of awoman who had seen better days and had been put to many shifts in orderto keep up some sort of outward respectability. The information conveyedwas tolerably well expressed, in grammatical Italian; the only namescontained in the letters were those of towns, and hotels, and the like, and Marcello was invariably spoken of as "our dear patient, " and Reginaas "that admirable woman" or "that ideal companion. " The writer usuallysaid that the dear patient seemed less strong than a month ago, or aweek ago, and expressed a fear that he was slowly losing ground. Sometimes he was better, and the news was accompanied by a conventionalword or two of satisfaction. Again, there would be a detailed account ofhis doings, showing that he had slept uncommonly little and had noappetite, and mentioning with a show of regret the sad fact that helived principally on cigarettes, black coffee, and dry champagne. Theideal companion seemed to be always perfectly well, showed no tendencyto be extravagant, and gave proof of the most constant devotion. Thewriter always concluded by promising that Corbario's instructions withregard to the dear patient should be faithfully carried out in future asthey had been in the past. 

This was very reassuring, and Folco often congratulated himself on thewisdom he had shown in the selection of Settimia as a maid for Regina. The woman not only did what was required of her with the utmostexactitude; she took an evident pleasure in her work, and looked forwardto the fatal result at no very distant time with all the satisfactionwhich Corbario could desire. So far everything had gone smoothly. 

CHAPTER XI

It was high summer again, and the Roman shore was feverish. In the hotafternoon Ercole had tramped along the shore with his dog at his heelsas far as Torre San Lorenzo to have a chat with the watchman. They satin the shade of the tower, smoking little red clay pipes with longwooden stems. The chickens walked about slowly, evidently oppressed bythe heat and by a general lack of interest in life, since not a singlegrain of maize from the morning feed remained to be discovered on thedisused brick threshing-floor or in the sand that surrounded it. Fromsome dark recess came the occasional grunt of the pig, attending insolitude to the business of getting fat before October. Now and then thewatchman's wife moved a chair in the lower room of the tower, or made alittle clatter with some kitchen utensils, and the sounds came out tothe solitude sharply and distinctly. 

There had been a flat calm for several days. Forty yards below the towerthe sea lay along the sandy beach like a strip of glistening whiteglass, beyond which was a broader band of greenish blue that did notglitter; and beyond that, the oily water stretched out to westward in anunending expanse of neutral tints, arabesqued with current streaks andstruck right across by the dazzling dirty-white blaze of the August sun. 

Swarms of flies chased each other where the two men sat, settled ontheir backs and dusty black hats, tried to settle on their faces andwere brushed away, crawled on the ground, on the walls, even on thechickens, and on the rough coat of Nino, the dog. He followed themotions of those he saw before him with one bloodshot eye; the otherseemed to be fast asleep. 

From time to time the men exchanged a few words. Ercole had apparentlycome over to enjoy the novelty of seeing a human being, and PadreFrancesco, the watchman, was glad to talk with some one besides hiswife. He enjoyed the title of "Padre, " because he had once been masterof a small martingane that traded between Cività Vecchia and the south. In still earlier days he had been in deep water and had been boatswainof a square-rigger, yet there was nothing about his appearance now toshow that he had been a sailor man. It was ten years since he had leftthe sea, and he had turned into a peasant. 

Ercole had told Padre Francesco that the second hay crop had been halfspoilt by thunderstorms; also that the price of wine in Ardea had goneup, while the price of polenta had remained the same; also that a wildboar had broken out of the king's preserves near Nettuno and wassupposed to be wandering in the brush not far away; also that if Ercoleand Nino found him they would kill him, and that there would be a feast. Padre Francesco observed that his wife understood the cooking of wildboar with vinegar, sugar, pine-nuts, and sweet herbs, and that hehimself knew how to salt the hams; he had also salted the flesh ofporpoises at sea, more than once, and had eaten pickled dog-fish, whichhe considered to be nothing but young sharks, in the West Indies. Thisdid not interest Ercole much, as he had heard it before, and he smokedin silence for a while. So did Padre Francesco; and both brushed awaythe flies. Nino rolled one bloodshot eye at his master, every time thelatter moved; and it grew excessively hot, and the air smelt ofchickens, rotten seaweed, and the pig. Yet both men were enjoyingthemselves after a fashion, though Ercole distrusted Padre Francesco, ashe distrusted all human beings, and Padre Francesco looked upon Ercoleas a person having no knowledge of the world, because he had never eatenpickled dog-fish in the West Indies. 

After a time, Padre Francesco remembered a piece of news which he hadnot yet told, cleared his throat, stirred the contents of his pipe withthe point of a dangerous-looking knife, and looked at his companion fora full minute. 

"Speak, " said Ercole, who understood these premonitory signs. 

"There has been one here who asked after you, " Padre Francesco began. 

"What species of Christian?" inquired Ercole. 

"He was at the cottage when the blessed soul of the Signora departed, orjust before that. It is a big gentleman with a brown beard and brighteyes. He looks for things in the sand and in the bushes and amongst theseaweed. Who knows what he looks for? Perhaps he looks for gold. "

"Or the souls of his dead, " suggested Ercole with fine irony. "But Iknow this Signore who was at the cottage, with the brown beard and thebright eyes. He sometimes came to shoot quail. He also killed some. Heis a professor of wisdom. "

"He asked if I knew you, but of course I said I did not. Why should heask? How could I know what he wanted of you. I said that I had neverheard of you. "

"You did well. Those who have business with me know where to find me. What else did he say?"

"He asked if I had seen the young gentleman this year, and he told methat he had not seen him since the night before he was lost. So then Iknew that he was a gentleman of some kind, since he had been at thecottage. I also asked if your masters were never coming to the Romanshore again. "

"What did he answer?" inquired Ercole, with an air of utterindifference. 

"He said an evil thing. He said that your young gentleman had gone offto foreign countries with a pretty peasant from Frascati, whose name wasRegina; that it was she who had nursed him when he was ill, in some inn, and that out of gratitude, and because she was very pretty, he hadgiven her much money, and silk dresses and earrings. That is what hesaid. "

Ercole gazed down at Nino's bloodshot eye, which was turned to him justthen. 

"A girl called Regina, " Ercole grumbled, in a tone even harsher thanusual. 

"That is what he said. Why should he tell me one thing for another? Hesaid that your young gentleman would perhaps come back when he was tiredof Regina. And he laughed. That is all. "

A low growl from Nino interrupted the conversation. It was very low andlong and then rose quickly and ended in a short bark, as the doggathered his powerful hindquarters suddenly and raised himself, bristling all over and thrusting his sinewy forepaws out before him. Then the growl began again, but Ercole touched him lightly with the toeof his hob-nailed boot, and the dog was instantly silent. Both menlooked about, but no one was to be seen. 

"There is a boat on the beach, " said Padre Francesco, who had caught thefaint soft sound of the keel running upon the sand. 

They both rose, Ercole picking up his gun as he did so; Nino, seeingthat his master was on the alert, slunk to his heels without growlingany more. A moment later a man's voice was heard calling on the otherside of the tower. 

"Hi! Watchman of the tower! A favour! Watchman of the tower! Hi!"

Padre Francesco turned the corner, followed by Ercole. A sailor inscanty ragged clothes and the remains of a rush hat was standingbarefoot in the burning sand, with an earthen jug in his hand. Abattered boat, from which all traces of paint had long sincedisappeared, was lying with her nose buried in the sand, not moving inthe oily water. Another man was in her, very much like the first inlooks. 

On seeing Nino at Ercole's heels, the man who was ashore drew back withan exclamation, as if he were going to run away, but Ercole spoke in areassuring tone. 

"Be not afraid, " he said. "This dog does not eat Christians. He getsenough to eat at home. He is not a dog, he is a lamb, and mostaffectionate. "

"It is an evil beast, " observed the sailor, looking at Nino. "I amafraid. "

"What do you desire?" inquired Padre Francesco politely. "Is it waterthat you wish?"

"As a favour, " answered the man, seeing that the dog did not fly at him. "A little water to drink. We have been pulling all day; it is hot, andwe have drunk what we had. "

"Come with me, " said Padre Francesco. "Where is your vessel?"

"At Fiumicino. The master sent us on an errand to Porto d'Anzio lastnight and we are going back. "

"It is a long pull, " observed the watchman. "Tell the other man to comeashore and rest in the shade. I also have been to sea. The water is notvery good here, but what there is you shall have. "

"Thank you, " said the man gratefully, and giving Nino a very wide berthas he followed Padre Francesco. "We could have got some water at theIncastro creek, but it would have been the same as drinking the fever. "

"May the Madonna never will that you drink of it, " said Padre Francesco, as they reached the shady side of the tower. "I see that you know theRoman shore. "

"It is our business, " replied the man, taking off his ragged rush hat, and rubbing his still more ragged blue cotton sleeve over his wetforehead. "We are people of the sea, bringing wine and lemons to CivitàVecchia and taking charcoal back. Evil befall this calm weather. "

"And when it blows from the west-southwest we say, evil befall this timeof storm, " said Padre Francesco, nodding wisely. "Be seated in theshade. I will fetch water. "

"And also let us drink here, so that we may take the jug away full. "

"You shall also drink here. " The old watchman went into the tower. 

"The last time I passed this way, it was in a west-southwest gale, " saidthe man, addressing Ercole, who had sat down in his old place with hisdog at his feet. 

"It is an evil shore, " Ercole answered. "Many vessels have been losthere. "

"We were saved by a miracle that time, " said the sailor, who seemedinclined to talk. "I was with a brigantine with wine for Marseilles. That vessel was like a rock in the sea, she would not move with lessthan seven points of the wind in fair weather. We afterwards went to RioJaneiro, and it was two years before we got back. "

"So it was two years ago that you passed?" inquired Ercole. 

"Two years ago May or the beginning of June. She was so low in the waterthat she would have swamped if we had tried to carry on sail, and withthe sail she could carry she could make no headway; so there we were, hove to under lower topsail and balance-reefed mainsail and storm-jib, with a lee shore less than a mile away. We recommended ourselves to thesaints and the souls of purgatory, and our captain said to us, 'My finesons, unless the wind shifts in half an hour we must run her ashore andsave the cargo!' That is what he said. But I said that I knew this Romanshore from a boy, and that sometimes there was no bar at the mouth ofthe Incastro, so that a vessel might just slip into the pool where thereeds grow. You certainly know the place. "

"I know it well, " said Ercole. 

"Yes. So I pointed out the spot to our captain, standing beside him, andhe took his glasses and looked to see whether the sea was breaking onthe bar. "

"The bar has not been open since I came here, " said Padre Francesco, returning with water. "And that is ten years. "

The men drank eagerly, one after the other, and there was silence. Theone who had been speaking wiped his mouth with the back of his hand anddrew a long breath of satisfaction. 

"No, I daresay not, " he said at last. "The captain looked all along theshore for a better place. Then he saw a bad thing with his glasses; forthey were fine glasses, and though he was old, he had good sight. And Istood beside him, and he told me what he saw while he was looking. "

"What did he see?" asked Ercole, watching the man. 

"What did he see? I tell you it was a bad sight! Health to us all, asmany as are here, he saw one man kill another and drag his body intosome bushes. "

"Apoplexy!" observed Ercole, glancing at Padre Francesco. "Are therebrigands here?"

"I tell you what the captain said. 'There are two men, ' said he, 'andthey are like gentlemen by their dress. ' 'They shoot quail, ' said I, knowing the shore. 'They have no guns, ' said he. Then he cried out, keeping his glasses to his eyes and steadying himself by the weathervang. 'God be blessed, ' he cried--for he never said an evil word, thatcaptain, --'one of those gentlemen has struck the other on the back ofthe head and killed him! And now he drags his body away towards thebushes. ' And he saw nothing more, but he showed me the place, wherethere is a gap in the high bank. Afterwards he said he thought he hadseen a woman too, and that it must have been an affair of jealousy. "

Ercole and Padre Francesco looked at each other in silence for a moment. 

"Did you hear of no murder at that time?" asked the sailor, taking upthe earthen jar full of water. 

"We heard nothing, " said Ercole promptly. 

"Nothing, " echoed Padre Francesco. "The captain was dreaming. He sawtrees moving in the wind. "

"Don Antonino had good eyes, " answered the sailor incredulously. 

"What was the name of your vessel?" asked Padre Francesco. 

"The _Papa_" replied the sailor without a smile. "She was called_Papa_. "

Ercole stared at him a moment and then laughed; and he laughed so rarelythat it distorted the yellow parchment of his face as if it must crackit. The sound of his laughter was something like the creaking of a cartimitated by a ventriloquist. But Padre Francesco knit his bushy brows, for he thought the sailor was making game of him, who had been boatswainon a square-rigger. 

"I went to sea for thirty years, " he said, "but I never heard of avessel called the _Papa_. You have said a silly thing. I have given youwater to drink, and filled your jar. It is not courtesy to jest at menolder than you. "

"Excuse me, " answered the man politely. "May it never be that I shouldjest at such a respectable man as you seem to be; and, moreover, youhave filled the jar with your own hands. The brigantine was called as Isay. And if you wish to know why, I will tell you. She was built by tworich brothers of Torre Annunziata, who wished much good to their papawhen he was old and no longer went to sea. Therefore, to honour him, they called the vessel the _Papa_. This is the truth. "

Lest this should seem extravagantly unlikely to the readers of thistale, I shall interrupt the conversation to say that I knew the _Papa_well, that "she" was built and christened as the sailor said, and thather name still stood on the register of Italian shipping a few yearsago. She was not a brigantine, however, but a larger vessel, and she wasbark-rigged; and she was ultimately lost in port, during a hurricane. 

"We have learned something to-day, " observed Ercole, when the man hadfinished speaking. 

"It is true, " the man said. "And the name of the captain was DonAntonino Maresca. He was of Vico. "

"Where is Vico?" inquired Ercole, idly scratching his dog's back withthe stock of his gun. 

"Near Castellamare, " answered Padre Francesco, willing to show hisknowledge. 

"One sees that you are a man of the sea, " said the sailor, meaning toplease him. "And so we thank you, and we go. "

Ercole and the old watchman saw the two ragged sailors put off in thebattered boat and pull away over the bar; then they went back to theshade of the tower and sat down again and refilled their pipes, and weresilent for a long time. Padre Francesco's old wife, who had not shownherself yet, came and stood in the doorway, nodded to Ercole, fannedherself with her apron, counted the chickens in sight, and observed thatthe weather was hot. Then she went in again. 

"It is easy to remember the name of that ship, " said Ercole at last, without glancing at his companion. 

"And the master was Antonino Maresca of Vico, " said Padre Francesco. 

"But the truth is that it is none of our business, " said Ercole. 

"The captain was mistaken, " said Padre Francesco. 

"He saw trees moving in the wind, " said Ercole. 

Then they looked at each other and nodded. 

"Perhaps the Professor was mistaken about the girl, and the silk dressand the gold earrings, " suggested Padre Francesco, turning his eyesaway. 

"He was certainly mistaken, " asserted Ercole, watching him closely. "Andmoreover it is none of our business. "

"None whatever. "

They talked of other things, making remarks at longer and longerintervals, till the sun sank near the oily sea, and Ercole took hisdeparture, much wiser in regard to Marcello's disappearance than when hehad come. He followed the long beach for an hour till he came to the gapin the bank. There he stopped, and proceeded to examine the placecarefully, going well inside it, and then turning to ascertain exactlywhere Marcello must have been when he was struck, since at that momenthe must have been distinctly visible from the brigantine. The gap was sonarrow that it was not hard to fix upon the spot where the deed had beendone, especially as the captain had seen Marcello dragged quickly awaytowards the bushes. Every word of the sailor's story was stamped withtruth; and so it came about that when Corbario believed himself at lastquite safe, a man in his own pay suddenly discovered the whole truthabout the attempted crime, even to the name of the principal witness. 

It was only in the quail season, when there were poachers about, duringApril, May, and early June, that Ercole lived in his straw hut, a littleway from the cottage. He spent the rest of the year in a small stonehouse that stood on a knoll in sight of Ardea, high enough to betolerably safe from the deadly Campagna fever. Every other day an oldwoman from the village brought him a copper conca full of water; once amonth she came and washed for him. When he needed supplies he went toArdea for them himself. His dwelling was of elementary simplicity, consisting of two rooms, one above the other, with grated windows andheavy shutters. In the lower one he cooked and ate, in the upper chamberhe slept and kept his few belongings, which included a plentiful supplyof ammunition, his Sunday clothes, his linen, and his papers. The latterconsisted of a copy of his certificate of birth, his old militarypass-book, showing that he had served his time in an infantry regiment, had been called in for six weeks' drill in the reserve, had been anumber of years in the second reserve, and had finally been dischargedfrom all military service. This booklet serves an Italian throughoutlife as a certificate of identity, and is necessary in order to obtain apassport to leave the country. Ercole kept his, with two or three otheryellow papers, tied up in an old red cotton handkerchief in the bottomof the chest that held his clothes. 

When he got home after his visit to Padre Francesco he took the packageout, untied the handkerchief, and looked through all the papers, one byone, sitting by the grated window in the twilight. He could read, andhad once been able to write more or less intelligibly, and he knew byheart the contents of the paper he wanted, though he had not unfolded itfor years. He now read it carefully, and held it some time open in hishand before he put it back with the rest. He held it so long, while helooked out of his grated window, that at last he could see the littlelights twinkling here and there in the windows of Ardea, and it wasalmost dark in the room. Nino grew restless, and laid his grim head onErcole's knee, and his bloodshot eyes began to glow in the dark likecoals. Then Ercole moved at last. 

"Ugly animal, do you wish me well?" he asked, rubbing the dog's headwith his knotty hand. "If you are good, you shall go on a journey withme. "

Nino's body moved in a way which showed that he would have wagged histail if he had possessed one, and he uttered a strange gurgling growl ofsatisfaction. 

The next morning, the old woman came before sunrise with water. 

"You need not bring any more, till I let you know, " Ercole said. "I amgoing away on business for a few days, and I shall shut up the house. "

"For anything that is in it, you might leave the door open, " grumbledthe hag, who was of a sour temper. "Give me my pay before you go. "

"You fear that I am going to America, " retorted Ercole, producing an oldsheepskin purse from the inside of his waistcoat. "Here is your money. Four trips, four pennies. Count them and go in peace. "

He gave her the coppers, and she carefully tied them up in a corner ofher ragged kerchief. 

"And the bread?" she asked anxiously. 

Ercole went to the blackened cupboard, took out the remains of a staleloaf, drew a big clasp-knife from his pocket, and cut off a moderateslice. 

"Eat, " he said, as he gave it to her. 

She went away grumbling, and Nino growled after her, standing on thedoor-step. When she was a hundred yards from the house, he lay down withhis jaw on his forepaws and continued to watch her till she was out ofsight; then he gave a snort of satisfaction and immediately went tosleep. 

Ercole left his home after sunset that evening. He locked both the upperand lower doors and immediately dropped the huge key into a crevice inthe stone steps, from which one might have supposed that it would notbe easy to recover it; but he doubtless knew what he was about. He mighthave had one of the little horses from the farm if he had wanted one, for he was a privileged person, but he preferred to walk. To a man ofhis wiry frame thirty or forty miles on foot were nothing, and he couldeasily have covered the distance in a night; but he was not going sofar, by any means, and a horse would only have been in the way. Hecarried his gun, from force of habit, and he had his gun-licence in hispocket, with his other papers, tied up in the old red handkerchief. There was all that was left of the stale loaf, with the remains of somecheese, in a canvas bag, he had slung over his shoulder, and he hadplenty of money; for his wages were good, and he never spent more thanhalf of what he received, merely because he had no wants, and nofriends. 

Under the starlight he walked at a steady pace by familiar paths andbyways, so as to avoid the village and strike the highroad at somedistance beyond it. Nino followed close at his heels and perfectlysilent, and the pair might have been dangerous to any one inclined toquarrel with them. 

When Ercole was in sight of Porta San Sebastiano it was past midnight, and he stood still to fill and light his little clay pipe. Then he wenton; but instead of entering the gate he took the road to the rightagain, along the Via Appia Nuova. Any one might have supposed that hewould have struck across to that highroad some time before reaching thecity, but it was very long since Ercole had gone in that direction;many new roads had been opened and some old ones had been closed, and hewas simply afraid of losing his way in a part of the Campagna no longerfamiliar to him. 

[Illustration: "ERCOLE LEFT HIS HOME AFTER SUNSET THAT EVENING"]

A short distance from the gate, where the inn stands that goes by thename of Baldinotti, he took the turning to the left, which is theFrascati road; and after that he walked more slowly, often stopping andpeering into the gloom to right and left, as if he were trying torecognise objects in the Campagna. 

CHAPTER XII

Corbario was not pleased with the account given by Settimia in theletter she wrote him after reaching Pontresina with Regina and Marcello, who had chosen the Engadine as the coolest place he could think of inwhich to spend the hot months, and had preferred Pontresina to SaintMoritz as being quieter and less fashionable. Settimia wrote that thedear patient had looked better the very day after arriving; that theadmirable companion was making him drink milk and go to bed at teno'clock; that the two spent most of the day in the pine-woods, and thatMarcello already talked of an excursion up the glacier and of climbingsome of the smaller peaks. If the improvement continued, Settimia wrote, it was extremely likely that the dear patient would soon be better thanhe had ever been in his life. 

Folco destroyed the letter, lit a cigarette, and thought the matterover. He had deemed it wise to pretend assent when the Contessa hadurged him to join Marcello at once, but he had not had the leastintention of doing so, and had come back to Paris as soon as he was surethat the Contessa was gone. But he had made a mistake in hiscalculations. He had counted on Regina for the love of excitement, display, and inane dissipation which women in her position very oftendevelop when they find that a man will give them anything they like; andhe had counted very little on her love for Marcello. Folco was stillyoung enough to fall into one of the most common errors of youth, whichis to believe most people worse than they are. Villains, as they growolder, learn that unselfish devotion is more common than they hadthought, and that many persons habitually speak the truth, forconscience' sake; finding this out, villains have been known to turninto good men in their riper years, and have sometimes been almostsaints in their old age. Corbario smoked his cigarette and mentallyregistered his mistake, and it is to be feared that the humiliation hefelt at having made it was much more painful than the recollection ofhaving dropped one deadly tablet into a little bottle that containedmany harmless ones. He compared it in his mind to the keendisappointment he had felt when he had gone down to hide Marcello'sbody, and had discovered that he had failed to kill him. It is true thatwhat he had felt then had been accompanied by the most awful terror hecould imagine, but he distinguished clearly between the one sensationand the other. There was nothing to fear now; he had simply lost time, but that was bad enough, since it was due to his own stupidity. 

He thought over the situation carefully and considered how much it wouldbe wise to risk. Another year of the life Marcello had been leading inParis would have killed him to a certainty; perhaps six months wouldhave done it. But a summer spent at Pontresina, living as it was clearthat Regina meant him to live, would give the boy strength enough tolast much longer, and might perhaps bring him out of all danger. 

Corbario considered what might be done, went over many plans in hismind, compared many schemes, for the execution of some of which he mighthave paid dearly; and in the end he was dissatisfied with all, and beganover again. Still he reached no conclusion, and he attributed the faultto his own dulness, and his dulness to the life he had been leading oflate, which was very much that which he wished Marcello to lead. But hehad always trusted his nerves, his ingenuity, and his constitution; ifone of the three were to fail him, now that he was rich, it was betterthat it should be his ingenuity. 

He made up his mind to go to the Engadine and see for himself howmatters looked. He could stay at Saint Moritz, or even Samaden, so asnot to disturb Marcello's idyl, and Marcello could come down alone tosee him. He should probably meet acquaintances, and would give them tounderstand that he had come in order to get rid of Regina and save hisstepson from certain destruction. Society was very lenient to young menas rich as Marcello, he reflected, but was inclined to lay all the blameof their doings on their natural guardians. There was no reason whyCorbario should expose himself to such criticism, and he was sure thatthe Contessa had only said what many people clearly thought, namely, that he was allowing Marcello far too much liberty. The world should seethat he was doing his duty by the boy. 

He left Paris with regret, as he always did, after writing to Marcellotwenty-four hours beforehand. He wrote at the same time to Settimia. 

"Folco will be here to-morrow, " Marcello said, as he and Regina satunder the pine-trees beyond the stream, a little way above the town. 

Regina sat leaning against the trunk of a tree, and Marcello lay on hisside, resting on his elbow and looking up to her. He saw her facechange. 

"Why should he come here?" she asked. "We are so happy!"

"He will not disturb us, " Marcello answered. "He will stop at SaintMoritz. I shall go down to see him there. I am very fond of him, youknow, and we have not seen each other for at least two months. I shallbe very glad to see him. "

The colour was sinking in Regina's face, and her eyelids were almostclosed. 

"You are the master, " she said quietly enough. "You will do as youwill. "

He was surprised, and he felt a little resentment at her tone. He likedher better when she dominated him, as on that night in Paris when shehad made him promise to come away, and had refused to let him drink morewine, and had sent him to bed like a child. Now she spoke as herforefathers, serfs born to the plough and bound to the soil, must havespoken to their lords and owners. There was no ancient aristocraticblood in his own veins; he was simply a middle-class Italian gentlemanwho chanced to be counted with the higher class because he had been bornvery rich, had been brought up by a lady, and had been more or less welleducated. That was all. It did not seem natural to him that she shouldcall him "the master" in that tone. He knew that she was not his equal, but somehow it was a little humiliating to have to own it, and he oftenwished that she were. Often, not always; for he had never been sure thathe should have cared to make her his wife, had she been ever so wellborn. He scarcely knew what he really wanted now, for he had lost hishold on himself, and was content with mere enjoyment from day to day. Hecould no longer imagine living without her, and while he was consciousthat the present state of things could not last very long, he could notface the problem of the future. 

He did not answer at once, and she sat quite still, almost closing hereyes. 

"Why should you be displeased because I am going to see Folco?" he askedafter a while. 

"He comes to take you away from me, " she answered, without moving. 

"That is absurd!" cried Marcello, annoyed by her tone. 

"No. It is true. I know it. "

"You are unreasonable. He is the best friend I have in the world. Do youexpect me to promise that I will never see him again?"

"You are the master. "

She repeated the words in the same dull tone, and her expression did notchange in the least. Marcello moved and sat up opposite to her, claspinghis hands round his knees. He was very thin, but the colour was alreadycoming back to his face, and his eyes did not look tired. 

"Listen to me, " he said. "You must put this idea out of your head. Itwas Folco who found the little house in Trastevere for you. He arrangedeverything. It was he who got you Settimia. He did everything to makeyou comfortable, and he has never disturbed us once when we have beentogether. He never so much as asked where I was going when I used to godown to see you every afternoon. No friend could have done more. "

"I know it, " Regina answered; but still there was something in her tonewhich he could not understand. 

"Then why do you say that he means to separate us?"

Regina did not reply, but she opened her eyes and looked into Marcello'slong and lovingly. She knew something that he did not know, and whichhad haunted her long. When Folco had come to the bedside in thehospital, she had seen the abject terror in his face, the paralysingfear in his attitude, the trembling limbs and the cramped fingers. Ithad only lasted a moment, but she could never forget it. A child wouldhave remembered how Folco looked then, and Regina knew that there was amystery there which she could not understand, but which frightened herwhen she thought of it. Folco had not looked as men do who see one theylove called back from almost certain death. 

"What are you thinking?" Marcello asked, for her deep look stirred hisblood, and he forgot Folco and everything in the world except thebeautiful creature that sat there, within his reach, in the lonelypine-woods. 

She understood, and turned her eyes to the distance; and she saw thequiet room in the hospital, the iron bedstead painted white, the smoothpillow, Marcello's emaciated head, and Corbario's face. 

"I was thinking how you looked when you were ill, " she answered simply. 

The words and the tone broke the soft little spell that had been weavingitself out of her dark eyes. Marcello drew a short, impatient breath andthrew himself on his side again, supporting his head on his hand andlooking down at the brown pine-needles. 

"You do not know Folco, " he said discontentedly. "I don't know why youshould dislike him. "

"I will tell you something, " Regina answered. "When you are tired of me, you shall send me away. You shall throw me away like an old coat. "

"You are always saying that!" returned Marcello, displeased. "You knowvery well that I shall never be tired of you. Why do you say it?"

"Because I shall not complain. I shall not cry, and throw myself on myknees, and say, 'For the love of heaven, take me back!' I am not madelike that. I shall go, without any noise, and what must be will be. That is all. Because I want nothing of you but love, I shall go when youhave no more love. Why should I ask you for what you have not? Thatwould be like asking charity of the poor. It would be foolish. But Ishall tell you something else. "

"What?" asked Marcello, looking up to her face again, when she hadfinished her long speech. 

"If any one tries to make me go before you are tired of me, it shall bean evil day for him. He shall wish that he had not been born into thisworld. "

"You need not fear, " Marcello said. "No one shall come between us. "

"Well, I have spoken. It does not matter whether I fear Signor Corbarioor not, but if you like I will tell him what I have told you, when hecomes. In that way he will know. "

She spoke quietly, and there was no murderous light in her eyes, nor anydramatic gesture with the words; but she was a little paler than before, and there was an odd fixedness in her expression, and Marcello knew thatshe was deeply moved, by the way she fell back into her primitivepeasant's speech, not ungrammatical, but oddly rough and forciblecompared with the language of educated society which she had now learnedtolerably well from him. 

After that she was silent for a while, and then they talked as usual, and the day went by as other days had gone. 

On the next afternoon Folco Corbario reached Saint Moritz and sent anote up to Marcello asking him to come down on the following morning. 

Regina was left alone for a few hours, and she went out with the idea oftaking a long walk by herself. It would be a relief and almost apleasure to walk ten miles in the clear air, breathing the perfume ofthe pines and listening to the roar of the torrent. Marcello could notwalk far without being tired, and she never thought of herself when hewas with her; but when she was alone a great longing sometimes came overher to feel the weight of a conca full of water on her head, to roll upher sleeves and scrub the floors, to carry burdens and work with herhands all day long, as she had done ever since she was a child, with thecertainty of being tired and hungry and sleepy afterwards. Her hands hadgrown smooth and white in a year, and her feet were tender, and she hadalmost forgotten what bodily weariness meant. 

But she was alone this morning, and she was full of gloomypresentiments. To stay indoors, or even to go and sit in the accustomedplace under the pine-trees, would be unbearable. She felt quite surethat when Marcello came back he would be changed, that his expressionwould be less frank and natural, that he would avoid her eyes, and thatby and by he would tell her something that would hurt her very much. Folco had come to take him away, she was quite sure, and it would beintolerable to sit still and think of it. 

She walked fast along the road that leads to the Rosegg glacier, noteven glancing at the few people she met, though most of them stared ather, for almost every one in Pontresina knew who she was. The reputationof a great beauty is soon made, and Regina had been seen often enough inParis alone with Marcello in a box at the theatre, or dining with himand two or three other young men at Ritz's or the Café Anglais, to be anobject of interest to the clever Parisian "chroniclers. " The papers hadduly announced the fact that the beauty had arrived at Pontresina, andthe dwellers in the hotel were delighted to catch a glimpse of her, while those at Saint Moritz wished that she and Marcello had taken uptheir quarters there instead of in the higher village. Old maids withshawls and camp-stools glared at her round the edge of their parasols. English girls looked at her in frank admiration, till they were reprovedby their mothers, who looked at her with furtive interest. YoungEnglishmen pretended not to see her at all, as they strode along withtheir pipes in their mouths; but they had an odd habit of being aboutwhen she passed. An occasional party of German students, who are theonly real Bohemians left to the world in these days of progress, wentsentimentally mad about her for twenty-four hours, and planned serenadesin her honour which did not come off. A fashionable Italian composerdedicated a song to her, and Marcello asked him to dinner, for which hewas more envied by the summer colony than for his undeniable talent. TheAnglican clergyman declared that he would preach a sermon against herwickedness, but the hotel-keepers heard of his intention andunanimously requested him to let her alone, which, he did, reluctantlyyielding to arguments which shall remain a secret. A certain Archduchesswho was at Saint Moritz and was curious to see her adopted the simpleplan of asking her to tea without knowing her, at which Marcello wasfurious; a semi-imperial Russian personage unblushingly scrapedacquaintance with Marcello and was extremely bland for a few days, inthe hope of being introduced to Regina. When he found that this wasimpossible, he went away, not in the least disconcerted, and he washeard to say that the girl "would go far. "

Regina would have been blind if she had not been aware that sheattracted all this attention, and as she was probably not intended bynature for a saint, she would have been pleased by it if there had beenroom in her thoughts for any one but Marcello--even for herself. 

She walked far up the road, and after the first mile or two she met noone. At that hour the people who made excursions were already far away, and those who meant to do nothing stayed nearer to Pontresina. She grewtired of the road after a time. It led straight to the foot of theglacier, and she was not attracted by snow and ice as northern peopleare; there was something repellent to her in the thought of thebleakness and cold, and the sunshine itself looked as hard as thedistant peaks on which it fell. But on the right there were rocky spursof the mountains, half covered with short trees and brilliant with wildflowers that grew in little natural gardens here and there, not farbelow the level of perpetual snow. She left the road, and began to climbwhere there was no path. The air was delicious with the scent of flowersand shrubs; there were alp-roses everywhere, and purple gentian, and thelittle iva blossom that has an aromatic smell, and on tiny moss ledgesthe cold white stars of the edelweiss seemed to be keeping themselves asfar above reach as they could. But she climbed as lightly as a savagewoman, and picked them and sat down to look at them in the sunshine. Just beyond where she rested, the rock narrowed suddenly to a steeppass, within which were dark shadows. People who do not attempt anythingin the way of ascending peaks often wander in that direction in searchof edelweiss, but Regina fancied that she was sure to be alone as longas she pleased to stay. 

If she had not been sure of that she would not have taken off her leftshoe to shake out some tiny thing that had got into it and that annoyedher. It turned out to be a bit of pine-needle. It was pleasant to feelher foot freed from the hot leather and resting on the thick moss, andso the other shoe came off too, and was turned upside down and shaken, as an excuse, for there was nothing in it, and both feet rested in themoss, side by side. She wished she could take off her stockings, and ifthere had been a stream she would have done it, so sure was she that noone would disturb her, up there amongst the rocks and ever so far fromPontresina. It would have been delightful to paddle in the cold runningwater, for it was much hotter than she had ever supposed that it couldbe in such a place. 

She took off her straw hat, and fanned herself gently with it, lettingthe sunshine fall full upon her thick black hair. She had never owned ahat in her life till she had been installed in the little house inTrastevere, and she hated the inconvenient things. What was her hairfor, if it could not protect her head? But a straw hat made a very goodfan. The air was hot and still, and there were none of those thousandlittle sounds which she would have heard in the chestnut woods aboveFrascati. 

A little cry broke the silence, and she turned her head in the directionwhence it came. Then she dropped her hat, sprang to her feet, and ranforwards, forgetting that she had no shoes on. She saw a figure clingingto the rocks, where they suddenly narrowed, and she heard the cry again, desperate with fear and weak with effort. A young girl had evidentlybeen trying to climb down, when she had lost her footing, and had onlybeen saved from a bad fall because her grey woollen frock had caught herupon a projecting point of granite, giving her time to snatch at thestrong twigs of some alp-roses, and to find a very slight projection onwhich she could rest the toe of one shoe. She was hanging there with herface to the rock, eight or ten feet from the ground, which was strewnwith big stones, and she was in such a position that she seemed unableto turn her head in order to look down. 

In ten seconds Regina was standing directly below the terrified girl, raising herself on tiptoe, and trying to reach her feet with her hands, to guide them to a hold; but she could not. 

"Don't be frightened, " Regina said in Italian, which was the onlylanguage she knew. 

"I cannot hold on!" answered the girl, trying to look down, but feelingthat her foot would slip if she turned her head far enough. 

"Yes, you can, " Regina replied, too much roused to be surprised that theanswer had come in her own language. "Your dress will hold you, even ifyou let go with your hands. It is new and it is strong, and it is fairlycaught on the rock. I can see that. "

"But I can't hang here until you go and get help, " cried the girl, notmuch reassured. 

"I am going to climb to the top by an easier way and pull you up again, "Regina answered. "Then we can get down together. "

While Regina was speaking she had already begun the ascent, which waseasy enough for her, at the point she had chosen, though many an Alpineclimber might have envied the quickness and sureness of her hold withfeet and hands. She realised that she had forgotten her shoes now, andwas glad that she had taken them off. 

"One minute more!" she cried in an encouraging tone, when she had almostreached the top. 

"Quick!" came the imploring answer. 

Then Regina was lying flat on the ledge above the girl, stretching bothhands down and catching the slender white wrists with a hold likesteel. And then, feeling herself held and safe to move, the girl lookedup, and Regina was looking into Aurora's face below her. For one instantthe two did not recognise each other, for they had only seen each otheronce, by night, under the portico of the Théâtre Français. But aninstant later a flush of anger rose to Aurora's forehead, and the darkwoman turned pale, and her brows were suddenly level and stern. Theyhated each other, as the one hung there held by the other's hands, andthe black eyes gazed savagely into the angry blue ones. Aurora was notfrightened any longer; she was angry because she was in Regina's power. The strong woman could save her if she would, and Aurora would despiseherself ever afterwards for having been saved by her. Or the strongwoman could let her fall, and she would probably be maimed for life ifshe were not killed outright. That seemed almost better. She had neverunderstood before what it could mean to be altogether in the power of anenemy. 

Regina meant to save her; that was clear. With quick, commanding wordsshe told her what to do. 

"Set your knees against the rock and pull yourself up a little by myhands. So! I can pull you higher now. Get one knee well on that ledge. Now I will hold your left hand with both mine while you disentangle yourfrock from the point. Now put your right hand round my neck while Iraise myself a little. Yes, that way. Now, hold on tight!"

Regina made a steady effort, lifting fully half Aurora's weight withher, as she got first upon one knee and then upon both. 

[Illustration: "REGINA MADE A STEADY EFFORT, LIFTING FULLY HALF AURORA'SWEIGHT WITH HER. "]

"There! Take breath and then scramble over the edge, " she said. 

A few seconds, another effort, and Aurora sank exhausted beside Regina, half sitting, half lying, and resting on one hand. 

She looked up sideways at the dark woman's face; for Regina stoodupright, gazing down into the valley. Aurora turned her eyes away, andthen looked up again; she had recovered her breath now. 

"Thank you, " she said, with an effort. 

"It is nothing, " Regina answered in an indifferent tone, and without somuch as moving her head; she was no more out of breath than if she hadbeen sitting still. 

The fair girl hated her at that moment as she had never hated any one inher short life, nor had ever dreamed of hating. The flush of anger roseagain and again to her forehead, to the very roots of her auburn hair, and lingered a second and sank again. Regina stood perfectly motionless, her face as unchanging as marble. 

Aurora rose to her feet, and leaned against the rock. She had suddenlyfelt herself at a disadvantage in remaining seated on the ground whileher adversary was standing. It was the instinct of the animal thatexpects to be attacked. When two people who hate each other or love eachother very much meet without warning in a very lonely place, the fierceold passions of the stone age may take hold of them and sway them, evennowadays. 

For a time that seemed long, there was silence; without words each knewthat the other had recognised her. The peasant woman spoke first, thoughwith an evident effort, and without turning her eyes. 

"When you are rested, we will go down, " she said. 

Aurora moved a step towards the side on which Regina had climbed up. 

"I think I can get down alone, " she answered coldly. 

Regina looked at her and laughed with a little contempt. 

"You will break your neck if you try, " she said. "You cannot climb atall!"

"I think I can get down, " Aurora repeated. 

She went to the edge and was going to begin the attempt when Reginaseized her by the wrist and dragged her back in spite of her resistance. 

"I have something to tell you first, " Regina said. "Afterwards I willtake you down, and you shall not fall. You shall reach the bottom safelyand go home alone, or I will show you the way, as you please. "

"Let go of my wrist!" Aurora spoke angrily, for the strong grasp hurther and humiliated her. 

"Listen to me, " continued Regina, loosing her hold at once. "I amRegina. You are Aurora. We have heard of each other, and we have met. Let us talk. This is a good place and we are alone, and the day islong, and we may not meet again soon. We will say what we have to saynow, and then we will part. "

"What is there to be said?" Aurora asked coldly and drawing back alittle. 

"We two love the same man, " Regina said. "Is that nothing? You know itis true. If we were not Christians we should try to kill each otherhere, where it is quiet. I could easily have killed you just now, and Iwished to. "

"I wonder why you did not!" exclaimed Aurora, rather scornfully. 

"I thought with myself thus: 'If I kill her, I shall always have thesatisfaction of it as long as I live. This is the truth. But I shall goto prison for many years and shall not see him again, therefore I willnot do it. Besides, it will not please him. If it would make him happy Iwould kill her, even if I were to go to the galleys for it. But it wouldnot. He would be very angry. ' This is what I thought; and I pulled youup. And now, I will not let you hurt yourself in getting down, becausehe would be angry with me if he knew that it was my fault. "

Aurora listened to this extraordinary argument in silent surprise. Shewas not in the least frightened, but she saw at a glance that Regina wasquite in earnest, and she knew her own people, and that the Romanpeasants are not the gentlest of the Italians. 

"He would be very angry, " Regina repeated. "I am sure he would!"

"Why should he be angry?" Aurora asked, in a tone half contemptuous andyet half sad. 

"I know he would, because when he raved in his fever he used to call foryou. "

Aurora started and fixed her eyes on Regina's. 

"Yes, " Regina said, answering the look. "He often called you by name. Heloved you once. "

She pronounced the words with an accent of pity, drawing herself up toher full height; and there was triumph in the light of her eyes. It isnot every woman that has a chance of saying so much to her rival. 

"We were children then, " Aurora said, in the very words she had used toher mother more than two years earlier. 

She was almost as pale as Regina now, for the thrust had been straightand sure, and right at her heart. But she was prouder than the peasantwoman who had wounded her. 

"I have heard that you saved his life, " she said presently. "And heloves you. You are happy!"

"I should always be happy if he and I were alone in the world, " Reginaanswered, for she was a little softened by the girl's tone. "But evennow they are trying to part us. "

"To part you?" Again Aurora looked up suddenly. "Who is trying to dothat? A woman?"

Regina laughed a little. 

"You are jealous, " she said. "That shows that you love him still. No. Itis not a woman. "

"Corbario?" The name rose instinctively to Aurora's lips. 

"Yes, " Regina answered. "That is why I am left alone this morning. Signor Corbario is at Saint Moritz and Marcello is gone down to see him. I know he is trying to separate us. You did not know that he was sonear?"

"We only came yesterday afternoon, " Aurora answered. "We did not knowthat--that Signor Consalvi was here, or we should not have come at all. "

It had stung her to hear Regina speak of him quite naturally by hisfirst name. Regina felt the rebuke. 

"I am truly sorry that I should have accidentally found myself in yourpath, " she said, emphasising the rather grand phrase, and holding herhandsome head very high. 

Aurora almost smiled at this sudden manifestation of the peasant'snature, and wondered whether Regina ever said such things to Marcello, and whether, if she did, they jarred on him very much. The speech hadthe very curious effect of restoring Aurora's sense of superiority, andshe answered more kindly. 

"You need not be sorry, " she said. "If you had not chanced to be here Ishould probably be lying amongst the rocks down there with severalbroken bones. "

"If it were not by my fault I should not care, " Regina retorted, withelementary frankness. 

"But I should!" Aurora laughed, in spite of herself, and liking thisphase of Regina's character better than any she had yet seen. "Come, "she said, with a sudden generous impulse, and holding out her hand, "let us stop quarrelling. You saved me from a bad accident, and I wastoo ungenerous to be grateful. I thank you now, with all my heart. "

Regina was surprised and stared hard at her for a moment, and thenglanced at her outstretched hand. 

"You would not take my hand if there were any one here to see. "

"Why not?"

"Because they have told you that I am a wicked woman, " Regina answered, a slight blush rising in her cheeks. "And perhaps it is true. But it wasfor him. "

"I would take your hand anywhere, because you saved his life, " saidAurora, and her voice shook a little as she said the last words. "Andbesides, no one has told me that you are wicked. Come, what is the useof hating each other?"

Regina took her hand reluctantly, but not suspiciously, and held it amoment. 

"It does not mean that I shall not hate you if he ever loves you again, "she said. "If I made you think that it would be treachery, and that isthe worst sin. "

"It only means that I thank you now, quite honestly, " Aurora answered, and their hands parted. 

"Very well. " Regina seemed satisfied. "And I thank you for taking myhand, " she added, with something oddly like real gratitude, "and becauseyou said you would do it anywhere, even before other women. I know whatI am, and what people call me. But it was for him. Let us not talk ofit any more. I will help you down, and you shall go home alone. "

"My mother is waiting for me far down, towards the village, " Aurorasaid. 

"All the better. A young lady like you should not go about without anyone. It is not proper. "

Aurora suppressed a smile at the thought of being reproved concerningthe proprieties by "Marcello's Regina, " and she began the descent. Regina went down first, facing the rock, and planting the young girl'sfeet in the best stepping places, one after the other, with constantwarnings and instructions as to holding on with her hands. They reachedthe bottom in safety, and came to the place where Regina had left herhat and shoes. She sat down where she had been sitting when she hadfirst heard the cry, and began to put them on. 

"I had taken them off for coolness as I sat here, " she explained. "Yousee, until I was fourteen I only wore them on Sundays. "

"And yet you have such beautiful feet, " Aurora said. 

"Have I?" Regina asked indifferently. "I thought all feet were alike. But I have torn my stocking--it is hard to get the shoe on. "

"Let me help you. " Aurora knelt down quickly, and began to loosen thelacing further, but Regina protested, flushing deeply and trying to drawher foot back. 

"No, no!" she cried. "You are a lady!"

"What difference does that make?" asked Aurora, laughing and insisting. 

"This is not right!" Regina still protested, and the blush had not lefther cheeks. 

But Aurora smoothed the torn stocking under the sole of each foot, andslipped on the shoes, which were by no means tight, and tied the lacingfast. 

"Thank you, Signorina, " Regina said, much confused. "You are too good!"

She picked up her hat and put it on, but she was not clever with thepin, for she was used to having Settimia do everything for her which shehad not learned to do for herself before she had come to Rome. 

"I can never manage it without Settimia, " she said, as if excusingherself for her awkwardness, as she again submitted to Aurora's help. 

"Settimia?" repeated the young girl, as she put the hat on and thrust along pin through it. "Who is Settimia?"

"Our--I mean my maid, " Regina explained. "Thank you. You are too good!"

"It is an uncommon name, " Aurora said, looking critically at the hat. "But I think I have heard it before. "

"She is a wonderful woman. She knows French. She knows everything!"

Aurora said nothing to this, but seemed to be trying to recall somethingshe had long forgotten. Regina was very busy in her turn, pulling downthe girl's frock all round, and brushing it with her hand as well asshe could, and picking off bits of dry grass and thistles that clung tothe grey woollen. Aurora thanked her. 

"The way down is very easy now, " Regina said. "A few steps farther on wecan see the road. "

"After all, why should you not come with me till we find my mother?"Aurora asked. 

"No, " Regina answered with quiet decision. "I am what I am. You must notbe seen with Regina. Do not tell your mother that you have been with me, and I shall not tell Marcello--I mean, Signor Consalvi. "

"Why not?"

"Neither of them would be pleased. Trust me. I know the world. Good-bye, and the Madonna accompany you; and remember what I said when I took yourhand. "

So they parted, and Regina stood up a long time, and watched the slendergrey figure descending to the road in the valley. 

CHAPTER XIII

"Variety, my dear Marcello, variety! There is nothing like it. If I wereyou, I would make some change, for your life must be growing monotonous, and besides, though I have not the least intention of reading you alecture, you have really made your doings unnecessarily conspicuous oflate. The Paris chroniclers have talked about you enough for thepresent. Don't you think so? Yes, finish the bottle. I always told youthat champagne was good for you. "

Marcello filled his glass and sipped the wine before he answered. It hadnot gone to his head, but there was colour in his lean cheeks, his eyeswere brighter than usual, and he felt the familiar exhilaration which hehad missed of late. 

"I have been drinking milk for ten days, " he said with a smile, as heset down the glass. 

"Good in its way, no doubt, " Corbario answered genially, "but a littletiresome. One should often change from simple things to complicatedones. It is the science of enjoyment. Besides, it is bad for thedigestion to live always on bread and milk. "

"I don't live on that altogether, " laughed Marcello. 

"I mean it metaphorically, my dear boy. There is such a thing assimplifying one's existence too much. That sometimes ends in gettingstuck. Now you cannot possibly allow yourself to get stuck in yourpresent position. You know what I mean. Oh, I don't blame you! If I wereyour age I should probably do the same thing, especially if I had yourluck. Blame you? No! Not in the least. The cigarettes are there. You'venot given up smoking too? No, that's right. A man without a small viceis as uninteresting as a woman without a past or a landscape withoutshadows. Cigarettes never hurt anybody. Look at me! I used to smokefifty a day when I was your age. "

Marcello blew a cloud of smoke, stirred his coffee, and leaned back. Hehad scarcely heard what Corbario said, but the elder man's carelesschatter had put him at his ease. 

"Folco, " he said quietly, "I want to ask you a question, and I want youto answer me seriously. Will you?"

"As well as I can, " answered Corbario, instantly changing his tone andgrowing earnest. 

"Don't be surprised, " Marcello said, half apologetically, as if he werealready weakening. "I shall never do anything without your advice. Ofcourse you know how I feel about all this, that I am leading adisorderly life, and--well, you understand!"

"Perfectly, my dear boy. I only wish to help you out of it as soon aspossible, if you want to be helped. I'm quite sure that you will pullthrough in time. I have always believed in you. "

"Thank you. I know you have. Well, I'll ask you my question. You knowwell enough that I shall never care for society much, don't you?"

"Society will care for you, " answered Folco. "What is the question?"

"I'm coming to it, but I want to explain, or it will not be quite clear. You see, it is not as if I were a personage in the world. "

"What sort of personage? Please explain. "

"I mean, if I were the head of a great house, with a great title andhereditary estate. "

"What has that to do with it?" Folco was mystified. 

"If I were, it would make a difference, I suppose. But I'm not. I'mplain Marcello Consalvi, no better than any one else. "

"But vastly richer, " Folco suggested. 

"I wish I were not. I wish I were a poor clerk, working for my living. "

"The air of this place is not good for you, my boy. " Folco laughedgaily. 

"No, don't laugh! I'm in earnest. If I were a poor man, nobody wouldthink it at all strange if--" Marcello hesitated. 

"If what?"

"If I married Regina, " said Marcello rather desperately. 

Folco's expression changed instantly. 

"Was that the question you were going to ask me?" he inquired. 

"Yes. "

Marcello grew very red and smoked so fast that he choked himself. 

"Is there any earthly reason why you should marry her?" asked Folco veryquietly. 

"It would be right, " Marcello answered, gaining courage. 

"Yes, yes, undoubtedly, " Folco hastened to admit. "In principle it wouldundoubtedly be right. But it is a very serious matter, my dear boy. Itmeans your whole life and future. Have you"--he hesitated, with anaffectation of delicacy--"have you said anything to her about it?"

"I used to, at first, but she would not hear of it. You have no idea howsimple she is, and how little she expects anything of the sort. Shealways tells me that I am to send her away when I am tired of her, tothrow her away like an old coat, as she says herself. But I could neverdo that, you know. Could I?"

Marcello blushed again, hardly knowing why. Corbario seemed deeplyinterested. 

"She must be a very unusual sort of girl, " he observed thoughtfully. "There are not many like her, I fancy. "

"There is nobody like her, " Marcello answered with conviction. "That iswhy I want to marry her. I owe it to her. You must admit that. I owe hermy life, for I certainly should have died if she had not taken care ofme. And then, there is the rest. She has given me all she has, and thatis herself, and she asks nothing in return. She is very proud, too. Itried to make her accept a string of pearls in Paris, just because Ithought they would be becoming to her, but she absolutely refused. "

"Really? I suppose you gave the pearls back to the jeweller?"

"No, I kept them. Perhaps I shall get her to wear them some day. "

Folco smiled. 

"You may just as well encourage her simple tastes, " he said. "Womenalways end by learning how to spend money, unless it is their own. "

Having delivered himself of this piece of wisdom Folco chose a cigar, nipped off the end of it neatly with a gold cutter, lit it and snuffedthe rich smoke up his nose in a deliberate manner. 

"Regina is a very remarkable woman, " he said at last. "If she had beenwell educated, she would make an admirable wife; and she loves youdevotedly, Marcello. Now, the real question is--at least, it seems to meso--you don't mind my talking to you just as I would to myself, do you?Very well. If I were in your position, I should ask myself, as a man ofhonour, whether I really loved her as much as she loved me, or whether Ihad only been taken off my feet by her beauty. Don't misunderstand me, my boy! I should feel that if I were not quite sure of that, I ought notto marry her, because it would be much worse for her in the end than ifwe parted. Have you ever asked yourself that question, Marcello?"

"Yes, I have. "

Marcello spoke in a low voice, and bent his head, as if he were notsure of the answer. Corbario, satisfied with the immediate effect of hissatanic speech, waited a moment, sighed, looked down at his cigar, andthen went on in gentle tones. 

"That is so often the way, " he said. "A man marries a woman out of asense of duty, and then makes her miserably unhappy, quite in spite ofhimself. Of course, in such a case as yours, you feel that you owe awoman amends--you cannot call it compensation, as if it were a matter oflaw! She has given everything, and you have given nothing. You owe herhappiness, if you can bestow it upon her, don't you?"

"Indeed I do!" assented Marcello. 

"Yes. The question is, whether the way to make her happy is to marryher, when you have a reasonable doubt as to whether you can be a goodhusband to her. That is the real problem, it seems to me. Do you loveher enough to give up the life to which you were born, and for which youwere educated? You would have to do that, you know. Our friends--yourdear mother's friends, my boy--would never receive her, least of allafter what has happened. "

"I know it. "

"You would have to wander about Europe, or live in San Domenico, for youcould not bear to live in Rome, meeting women who would not bow to yourwife. I know you. You could not possibly bear it. "

"I should think not!"

"No. Therefore, since you have the doubt, since you are not absolutelysure of yourself, I think the only thing to do is to find out what youreally feel, before taking an irreparable step. "

"Yes, " said Marcello, who had fallen into the trap laid for him. "I knowthat. But how am I to make sure of myself?"

"There is only one way, " Folco answered. "I know it is not easy, and ifI were not sure that you are perfectly sincere I should be afraid topropose it to you. "

"What is it? Tell me. You are the only friend I have in the world, Folco, and I want to do what is right. God knows, I am in earnest! Thereare moments when I cannot imagine living without Regina--it seemed hardto leave her this morning, even for these few hours, and I long to beback at Pontresina already! Yet you know how fond I am of you, and how Ilike to be with you, for we have always been more like brothers thananything else. "

"Indeed we have!" Folco assented fervently. "You were saying that therewere moments--yes?"

"Sometimes she jars upon me dreadfully, " Marcello said in a low voice, as if he were ashamed of owning it. "Then I want to get away. "

"Exactly. You want to get away, not to leave her, but to be alone for afew hours, or a few days. That would be the very best thing you coulddo--to separate for a little while. You would very soon find out whetheryou could live without her or not; and believe me, if you feel that youcan live without her, that means that you could not live with her foryour whole life. "

"I should go back to her in twenty-four hours. I am sure I should. "

"Perhaps you would, if you went, say, from here to Paris alone, withnothing to distract your attention. But suppose that you and I should gotogether, to some place where we should meet our friends, all amusingthemselves, where you could talk to other women, and meet men of yourown age, and lead the life people expect you to lead, just for a fewweeks. You know that society will be only too glad to see something ofyou, whenever you choose to go near it. You are what is called a goodmatch, and all the mothers with marriageable daughters would run afteryou. "

"Disgusting!" exclaimed Marcello, with contempt. 

"No doubt, but it would be a wholesome change and a good test. When ayoung girl is determined to be a nun, she is generally made to spend ayear in society, in order to make acquaintance with what she intends togive up. I don't see much difference between that and your case. Beforeyou say good-bye for ever to your own world, find out what it is like. At the same time, you will settle for ever any doubts you have aboutreally loving Regina. "

"Perhaps you are right. It would only be for a few days. "

"And besides, " Folco continued, "if you have not yet found it dull atPontresina, you certainly will before long. There is no reason why youshould lead the life of an invalid, for you are quite strong now. "

"Oh, quite. I always tell Regina so, but she insists that I am too thin, and it amuses her to take care of me. "

"Naturally. That is how you first made acquaintance. A woman who hasonce taken care of a man she loves wants him to be ever afterwards aninvalid, for ever getting better! A man gets tired of that in time. Itwas a great pity you left Paris just when I came, for there are manythings we could have enjoyed together there. "

"I daresay, " Marcello answered, not paying much attention to the other'swords. 

"Take my advice, my dear boy, " said Folco. "Come away with me for a fewdays. I will wait here till you are quite ready, for of course youcannot be sure of getting off at once. You will have to prepare Reginafor this. "

"Of course. I am not sure that it is possible at all. "

Folco laughed gaily. 

"Anything is possible that you really wish to do, " he said. 

"Regina may insist upon coming with me. "

"Nonsense. Women always submit in the end, and they never die of it. Assert yourself, Marcello! Be a man! You cannot be ordered about like achild by any woman, not even if she has saved your life, not even ifshe loves you to distraction. You have a right to a will of your own. "

"I know. And yet--oh, I wish I knew what I ought to do!"

"Think over all I have said, and you will see that I am right, " saidFolco, rising from the table. "And if you take my advice, you will bedoing what is fair and honest by Regina as well as by yourself. Your ownconscience must tell you that. "

Poor Marcello was not very sure what had become of his own conscienceduring the past year, and Folco's arguments swayed him as he groped forsomething definite to follow, and found nothing but what Corbario choseto thrust into his hand. 

As they stood by the table, a servant brought a note on a little salver, holding it out to them as if he were not sure which of them was toreceive it. Both glanced at the address; it was for Corbario, who tookit quickly and put it into his pocket; but Marcello had recognised thehandwriting--that rather cramped feminine hand of a woman who has seenbetter days, in which Settimia kept accounts for Regina. The latterinsisted that an account should be kept of the money which Marcello gaveher, and that he should see it from time to time. At the first moment, being absorbed with other matters, and inwardly much engaged in thepursuit of his own conscience, which eluded him at every turn like afigure in a dream, he paid no attention to what he had seen; but thewriting had impressed itself on his memory. 

They had been lunching in Folco's sitting-room, and Corbario made anexcuse to go into his bedroom for a moment, saying that he wantedcertain cigars that his man had put away. Marcello stood at the windowgazing down the broad valley. Scarcely a minute elapsed before Folcocame back with a handful of Havanas which he dropped on a writing-table. 

"By the bye, " he said carelessly, "there is another reason why you maynot care to stay long in Pontresina. The Contessa and Aurora are there. "

"Are they?" Marcello turned sharply as he asked the question. 

He was surprised, and at the same instant it flashed upon him that Folcohad just received the information from Settimia in the note that hadbeen brought. 

"Yes, " Folco answered with a smile. "And Pontresina is such a smallplace that you can hardly help meeting them. I thought I might as welltell you. "

"Thank you. Yes, it would be awkward, and unpleasant for them. "

"Precisely. The Contessa wrote me that she and Aurora had come upon youtwo unexpectedly in leaving a theatre, and that she had felt veryuncomfortable. "

"Oh! I suppose she suggested that I should mend my ways?"

"As a matter of fact, she did. " Corbario smiled. "You know what a veryproper person she is!"

"She is quite right, " answered Marcello gravely. 

"It certainly cannot have been pleasant for her, on account of Aurora. "

Folco looked at him thoughtfully, for his tone had suddenly changed. 

"If you don't mind, " Folco said, "I think I will drive up with you andcall on them this afternoon. You can drop me at their hotel, and I shallfind my way back alone. "

"Certainly. "

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Folco affected to speak anxiously. 

"Why should I?"

"You see, " Folco said, without heeding the question, "they let me knowthat they were there, and as we are such old friends it would be strangeif I did not go to see them. "

"Of course it would, " answered Marcello in an absent tone. 

He already connected Folco's knowledge of the Contessa's arrival inPontresina so closely with Settimia's note that Folco's last statementhad taken him by surprise, and a multitude of confused questionspresented themselves to his mind. If Settimia had not written about theContessa, why had she written at all? How did she know where Corbariowas stopping in Saint Moritz? Was she in the habit of writing to him?Corbario had found her for Regina; was Settimia helping Corbario toexercise a sort of paternal vigilance over him? Somehow Marcello did notlike that idea at all. So far as he knew, Folco had always beensingularly frank with him, and had never deceived him in the smallestthing, even "for his own good. " Marcello could only attribute goodmotives to him, but the mere idea of being watched was excessivelydisagreeable. He wondered whether Settimia had influenced Regina to gethim away from Paris, acting under directions from Corbario. Was Reginadeceiving him too, "for his own good"? If there is anything a man cannotbear from those he loves best, it is that they should take counseltogether secretly to direct him "for his own good. "

Marcello tried to put the thought out of his mind; but it had dawnedupon him for the first time that Folco could tell even a piousfalsehood. Yet he had no proof whatever that he had guessed right; itwas a sudden impression and nothing more. He was much more silent duringthe rest of the afternoon as he drove up to Pontresina with Folco, andit seemed to him that he had at last touched something definite; whichwas strange enough, considering that it was all a matter of guess-workand doubt. 

And now fate awoke again and did one of those little things that decidemen's lives. If Folco and Marcello had stopped at the door of theContessa's hotel two minutes earlier, or thirty seconds later, than theydid, they would not have chanced upon the Contessa and Aurora justcoming in from a walk. But fate brought the four together precisely atthat moment. As the carriage stopped, the two ladies had come from theopposite direction and were on the door-step. 

"What a surprise!" exclaimed the Contessa, giving her hand graciouslyto Folco and then to Marcello. 

The latter had got hold of a thread. Since the Contessa was surprised tosee Folco, she could not possibly have already let him know that she wasin Pontresina. 

"I came as soon as I knew that you were here, " said Corbario quickly. 

Marcello heard the words, though he was at that moment shaking handswith Aurora, and their eyes had met. She was perfectly calm andcollected, none the worse for her adventure in the morning, andconsiderably the wiser. 

"Will you come in?" asked the Contessa, leading the way, as if expectingboth men to follow. 

Corbario went at once. Marcello hesitated, and flushed a little, andAurora seemed to be waiting for him. 

"Shall I come, too?" he asked. 

"Just as you please, " she answered. "My mother will think it strange ifyou don't. "

Marcello bent his head, and the two followed the others towards thestairs at a little distance. 

"Did your mother send word to Folco that you were here?" asked Marcelloquickly, in a low tone. 

"Not that I know. Why?"

"It is no matter. I wanted to be sure. Thank you. "

They went upstairs side by side, not even glancing at each other, muchmore anxious to seem perfectly indifferent than to realise what theyfelt now that they had met at last. 

Marcello stayed ten minutes in the small sitting-room, talking as wellas he could. He had no wish to be alone with Aurora or her mother, andsince the visit had been pressed upon him he was glad that Folco waspresent. But he got away as soon as he could, leaving Corbario to hisown devices. The Contessa gave him her hand quietly, as if she had notexpected him to stay, and she did not ask him to come again. Auroramerely nodded to him, and he saw that just as he went out she left theroom by another door, after glancing at him once more with apparentcoldness. 

He walked quickly through the village until he came near to his ownhotel, and then his pace slackened by degrees. He knew that he had felta strong emotion in seeing Aurora again, and he was already wishing thathe had not come away so soon. The room had been small, and it had beenuncomfortable to be there, feeling himself judged and condemned by theContessa and distrusted by Aurora; but he had been in an atmosphere thatrecalled all his youth, with people whose mere presence together broughtback the memory of his dead mother as nothing else had done since hisillness. He was just in that state of mind in which he would have brokenaway and freed himself within the hour, at any cost, if he had beeninvolved in a common intrigue. 

At the same time he had become convinced that Folco had deceived him, for some reason or other which he could not guess, and the knowledge wasthe first serious disillusionment of his life. The deception had beensmall, and perhaps intended in some mysterious way to be "for his owngood"; but it had been a distinct deception and no better than a lie. Hewas sure of that. 

He went upstairs slowly and Regina met him at the door of their rooms, and took his hat and stick without a word, for she saw that somethinghad happened, and she felt suddenly cold. He was quite unlike himself. The careless look was gone from his face, his young lips were tightlyclosed, and he looked straight before him, quite unconscious that hismanner was hurting her desperately. 

"Has Settimia been out to-day?" he asked, looking at her quickly. 

"I don't know, " she answered, surprised. "I went for a long walk thismorning. She probably went out into the village. I cannot tell. Why doyou ask?"

"I wish to know whether she sent a note to Saint Moritz by a messenger. Can you find out, without asking her a direct question? I am veryanxious to know. "

"I will try, but it will not be easy, " said Regina, watching him. 

She had made up her mind that the blow was coming, and that Marcello wasonly putting off the moment when she must be told that he meant to leaveher. She was very quiet, and waited for him to speak again, for she wastoo proud to ask him questions. His inquiry about Settimia was in someway connected with what was to come. He sat down by the table, anddrummed upon it absently with his fingers for a moment. Then he lookedup suddenly and met her eyes; his look of troubled preoccupation fadedall at once, and he smiled and held out one hand to draw her nearer. 

"Forgive me, " he said. "All sorts of things have happened to-day. I havebeen annoyed. "

She came and bent over him, turning his face up to hers with her hands, very gently. His eyes lightened slowly, and his lips parted a little. 

"You are not tired of Regina yet, " she said. 

"No!" he laughed. "But you were right, " he added, almost immediately. 

"I knew I was, " she answered, but not as she had expected to say thewords when she had seen him come in. 

She dared not hope to keep him always, but she had not lost him yet, andthat was enough for the moment. The weight had fallen from her heart, and the pain was gone. 

"Was it what I thought?" she asked softly. "Does your stepfather wish toseparate us?"

"For a little while, " Marcello answered. "He says we ought to part for afew weeks, so that I may find out whether I love you enough to marryyou!"

"And he almost persuaded you that he was right, " said Regina. "Is thatwhat happened?"

"That--and something else. "

"Will you tell me, heart of my heart?"

In the falling twilight he told her all that had passed through hismind, from the moment when he had seen Settimia's handwriting on thenote. Then Regina's lips moved. 

"He shall pay!" she was saying under her breath. "He shall pay!"

"What are you saying?" Marcello asked. 

"An Ave Maria, " she answered. "It is almost dark. "

CHAPTER XIV

The little house in Trastevere was shut up, but the gardener had thekeys, and came twice a week to air the rooms and sweep the paths andwater the shrubs. He was to be informed by Settimia of Regina's returnin time to have everything ready, but he did not expect any news beforethe end of September; and if he came regularly, on Tuesday and Saturday, and did his work, it was because he was a conscientious person in hisway, elderly, neat, and systematic, a good sort of Roman of the oldbreed. But if he came on other days, as he often did, not to air therooms, but to water and tend certain plants, and to do the manyincomprehensible things which gardeners do with flower-pots, earth, andseeds, that was his own affair, and would bring a little money in theautumn when the small florists opened their shops and stands again, andthe tide of foreigners set once more towards Rome. Also, if he had madefriends with the gardeners at the beautiful villa on the Janiculum, thatwas not Corbario's business; and they gave him cuttings, and odds andends, such as can be spared from a great garden where money is spentgenerously, but which mean a great deal to a poor man who is anxious toturn an honest penny by hard work. 

The immediate result of this little traffic was that the gardeners atthe villa knew all about the little house in Trastevere; and what thegardeners knew was known also by the porter, and by the other servants, and through them by the servants of other people, and the confidentialvalet told his master, and the maid told her mistress; and so everybodyhad learned where "Consalvi's Regina" lived, and it was likely thateverybody would know when she came back to Rome, and whether Marcellocame with her or not. 

He had not taken Folco's advice, much to the latter's disappointment andannoyance. On the contrary, he and Regina had left the Engadine verysuddenly, without so much as letting Corbario guess that they were goingaway; and Regina had managed to keep Settimia so very busy and soconstantly under her eye that the maid had not been able to send Folco aword, warning him of the anticipated move. Almost for the first timeMarcello had made up his mind for himself, and had acted upon hisdecision; and it seemed as if the exercise of his will had made a changein his character. 

They wandered from place to place; they went to Venice in the hottestseason, when no one was there, and they came down to Florence and droveup to Vallombrosa, where they stumbled upon society, and were stared ataccordingly. They went down to Siena, they stopped in Orvieto, and droveacross to Assisi and Perugia; but they were perpetually drawn towardsRome, and knew that they longed to be there again. 

Marcello had plenty of time to think, and there was little to disturbhis meditations on the past and future; for Regina was not talkative, and was content to be silent for hours, provided that she could see hisface. He never knew whether she felt her ignorance about all they saw, and his own knowledge was by no means great. He told her what he knewand read about places they visited, and she remembered what he said, andsometimes asked simple questions which he could answer easily enough. For instance, she wished to know whether America were a city or anisland, and who the Jews were, and if the sun rose in the west on theother side of the world, since Marcello assured her that the world wasround. 

He was neither shocked nor amused; Ercole had asked him similarquestions when he had been a boy; so had the peasants in Calabria, andthere was no reason why Regina should know more than they did. Besides, she possessed wonderful tact, and now spoke her own language so wellthat she could pass for a person of average education, so long as sheavoided speaking of anything that is learned from books. She was veryquick to understand everything connected with the people she heard of, and she never forgot anything that Marcello told her. She was gratefulto him for never laughing at her, but in reality he was indifferent. Ifshe had known everything within bounds of knowledge, she would not havebeen a whit more beautiful, or more loving, or more womanly. 

But he himself was beginning to think, now that his faith in Folco hadbeen shaken, and he began to realise that he had been strangely torpidand morally listless during the past years. The shock his whole systemhad received, the long interval during which his memory had been quitegone, the physical languor that had lasted some time after his recoveryfrom the fever, had all combined to make the near past seem infinitelyremote, to cloud his judgment of reality, and to destroy the healthytension of his natural will. A good deal of what Corbario had called"harmless dissipation" had made matters worse, and when Regina hadpersuaded him to leave Paris he had really been in that dangerous moral, intellectual, and physical condition in which it takes very little tosend a man to the bad altogether, and not much more to kill himoutright, if he be of a delicate constitution and still very young. Corbario had almost succeeded in his work of destruction. 

He would not succeed now, for the worst danger was past, and Marcellohad found his feet after being almost lost in the quicksand throughwhich he had been led. 

He had not at first accused Folco of anything worse than that one littledeception about the arrival of the Contessa, and of having caused him tobe too closely watched by Settimia. Little by little, however, otherpossibilities had shaped themselves and had grown into certainties at analarming rate. He understood all at once how Folco himself had beenspending his time, while society had supposed him to be a brokenhearted widower. A few hints which he had let fall about the things hewould have shown Marcello in Paris suggested a great deal; his looks andmanner told the rest, now that Marcello had guessed the main truth. Hehad not waited three months after his wife's death to profit by hisliberty and the wealth she had left him. Marcello remembered theaddresses he had given from time to time--Monte Carlo, Hombourg, Pau, and Paris very often. He had spoken of business in his letters, as anexcuse for moving about so much, but "business" did not always take aman to places of amusement, and Folco seemed to have visited no others. Men whom Marcello had met had seen Corbario, and what they said abouthim was by no means indefinite. He had been amusing himself, and notalone, and the young men had laughed at his attempts to cloak his doingsunder an appearance of sorrowing respectability. 

As all this became clear to Marcello he suffered acutely at times, andhe reproached himself bitterly for having been so long blind andindifferent. It was bad enough that he should have been leading a wildlife with Regina in Paris within a few months of his mother's death, buteven in the depths of his self-reproach he saw how much worse it wasthat Folco should have forgotten her so soon. It was worse than a slightupon his mother's memory, it was an insult. The good woman who was gonewould have shed hot tears if she could have come to life and seen howher son was living; but she would have died again, could she have seenthe husband she adored in the places where many had seen him since herdeath. It was no wonder that Marcello's anger rose at the mere thought. 

Moreover, as Marcello's understanding awoke, he realised that Folco hadencouraged him in all he had done, and had not seemed pleased when hehad begun to live more quietly. Folco would have made him his companionin pleasure, if he could, and the idea was horrible to Marcello as soonas it presented itself. 

It was the discovery that he had been mistaken in Corbario that mostdirectly helped him to regain his foothold in life and his free will. There was more in the Spartan method than we are always ready to admit, for it is easier to disgust most men by the sight of human degradationthan to strengthen them against temptation by preaching, or by thelessons of example which are so very peculiarly disagreeable to thenormal man. 

"I am virtuous, I am sober, I resist temptation, imitate me!" cries thepreacher. You say that you are virtuous, and you are apparently sober, my friend; and perhaps you are a very good man, though you need notscream out the statement at the top of your voice. But how are we toknow that you have any temptations to resist? Or that your temptationsare the same as ours, even supposing that you have any? Or that you arespeaking the truth about yourself, since what you say is so extremelyflattering to your vanity? Wherever there is preaching, those who arepreached at are expected to accept a good deal on the mere word of thepreacher, quite aside from anything they have been brought to believeelsewhere. 

"Temptation?" said a certain great lady who was not strong in theology. "That is what one yields to, isn't it?"

She probably knew what she was talking about, for she had lived in theworld a good while, as we have. But the preacher is not very often oneof us, and he knows little of our ways and next to nothing of our realfeelings; yet he exhorts us to be like him. It would be very odd if wesucceeded. The world would probably stand still if we did, and most ofus are so well aware of the fact that we do not even try; and the sermonsimply has no effect at all, which need not prevent the preacher frombeing richly remunerated for delivering it. 

"Vice is very attractive, of course, " he says, "but you must avoid itbecause it is sinful. "

And every time vice is mentioned we think how attractive it must be, since it is necessary to preach against it so much; and the moreattractive it seems, the greater the temptation. 

"Should you like to try a vice or two?" said the Spartan, "Very well. Come with me, my boy, and you shall see what vice is; and after that, ifyou care to try it, please yourself, for I shall have nothing more tosay!"

And forthwith he played upon the string of disgust, which is the mostsensitive of all the strings that vibrate in the great human instrument;and the boy's stomach rose, and he sickened and turned away, andremembered for ever, though he might try ever so hard to forget. 

Marcello at last saw Folco as he was, though still without understandingthe worst, and with no suspicion that Folco wished him out of the world, and had deliberately set to work to kill him by dissipation; and thedisgust he felt was the most horrible sensation that he could remember. At the same time he saw himself and his whole life, and the perplexityof his position frightened him. 

It seemed impossible to go back and live under the same roof withCorbario now. He flushed with shame when he remembered the luncheon atSaint Moritz, and how he had been almost persuaded to leave poor Reginasuddenly, and to go back to Paris with his stepfather. He saw throughthe devilish cleverness of the man's arguments, and when he rememberedthat his dead mother's name had been spoken, a thrill of real pain ranthrough his body and he clenched his teeth and his hands. 

He asked himself how he could meet Folco after that, and the only answerwas that if they met they must quarrel and part, not to meet again. 

He told Regina that he would not go back to the villa after they reachedRome, but would live in the little house in Trastevere. To his surprise, she looked grave and shook her head. She had never asked him what wasmaking him so silent and thoughtful, but she had guessed much of thetruth from little things; she herself had never trusted Corbario sinceshe had first seen his face at the hospital, and she had long foreseenthe coming struggle. 

"Why do you shake your head?" he asked. "Do you not want me at thelittle house?"

"The villa is yours, not his, " she said. "He will be glad if you willleave him there, for he will be the master. Then he will marry again, and live there, and it will be hard to turn him out. "

"What makes you think he wishes to marry again?"

"He would be married already, if the girl would have him, " answeredRegina. 

"How do you know?"

"You told me to watch, to find out. I have obeyed you. I knoweverything. "

Marcello was surprised, and did not quite understand. He only rememberedthat he had asked her to ascertain whether Settimia had sent a note toFolco at Saint Moritz. After a day or two she told him that she wasquite sure of it. That was all, and Regina had scarcely ever spoken ofFolco since then. Marcello reminded her of this, and asked her what shehad done. 

"I can read, " she said. "I can read writing, and that is very hard, youknow. I made Settimia teach me. I said with myself, if he should be awayand should write to me, what should I do? I could not let Settimia readhis letters, and I am too well dressed to go to a public letter-writerin the street, as the peasants do. He would think me an ignorant person, and the people in the street would laugh. That would not help me. Ishould have to go to the priest, to my confessor. "

"Your confessor? Do you go to confession?"

"Do you take me for a Turk?" Regina asked, laughing. "I go to confessionat Christmas and Easter. I tell the priest that I am very bad, and amsorry, but that it is for you and that I cannot help it. Then he asks meif I will promise to leave you and be good. And I say no, that I willnot promise that. And he tells me to go away and come back when I amready to promise, and that he will give me absolution then. It is alwaysthe same. He shakes his head and frowns when he sees me coming, and Ismile. We know each other quite well now. I have told him that when youare tired of me, then I will be good. Is not that enough? What can I do?I should like to be good, of course, but I like still better to be withyou. So it is. "

"You are better than the priest knows, " said Marcello thoughtfully, "andI am worse. "

"It is not true. But if I had a letter from you, I would not take it tothe priest to read for me. He would be angry, and tear it up, and sendme away. I understood this at the beginning, so I made Settimia teach mehow to read the writing, and I also learned to write myself, not verywell, but one can understand it. "

"I know. I have seen you writing copies. But how has that helped you tofind out what Folco is doing?"

"I read all Settimia's letters, " Regina answered, with perfectsimplicity. 

"Eh?" Marcello thought he had misunderstood her. 

"I read all the letters she gets, " Regina replied, unmoved. "When shewas teaching me to read I saw where she kept all her letters. It isalways the same place. There is a pocket inside a little black bag shehas, which opens easily, though she locks it. She puts the lettersthere, and when she has read them over she burns them. You see, she hasno idea that I read them. But I always do, ever since you asked me aboutthat note. When I know that she has had a letter, I send her out on anerrand. Then I read. It is so easy!"

Regina laughed, but Marcello looked displeased. 

"It is not honest to do such things, " he said. 

"Not honest?" Regina stared at him in amazement. "How does honesty enterinto the question? Is Settimia honest? Then honest people should all bein the galleys! And if you knew how he writes to her! Oh, yes! You arethe 'dear patient, ' and I am the 'admirable companion. ' They have knowneach other long, those two. They have a language between them, but Ihave learned it. They have no more secrets that I do not know. Everything the admirable companion does that makes the dear patientbetter is wrong, and everything that used to make him worse was right. They were killing you in Paris, they wanted you to stay there until youwere dead. Do you know who saved your life? It was the Contessa, when Iheard her say that you were looking ill! If you ever see her again, thank her, for I was blind and she opened my eyes. The devil had blindedme, and the pleasure, and I could not see. I see now, thanks to heaven, and I know all, and they shall not hurt you. But they shall pay!"

She was not laughing now, as she said the last words under her breath, and her beautiful lips just showed her white teeth, set savagely tightas though they had bitten through something that could be killed. FolcoCorbario was not timid, but if he had seen her then, and known that theimaginary bite was meant for his life, he would have taken special careof his bodily safety whenever she was in his neighbourhood. 

Marcello had listened in profound surprise, for what she said threw newlight on all he had thought out for himself of late. 

"And you say that Folco is thinking of marrying again, " he said, almostashamed to profit by information obtained as Regina had got it. 

"Yes, he is in love with a young girl, and wishes to marry her. "

Marcello said nothing. 

"Should you like to know her name?" asked Regina. 

Still Marcello was silent, as if refusing to answer, and yet wishingthat she should go on. 

"I will tell you, " Regina said. "Her name is Aurora dell' Armi. "

Marcello started, and looked into her face, doubting her word for thefirst time. He changed colour, too, flushing and then turning pale. 

"It is not true!" he cried, rather hoarsely. "It cannot be true!"

"It is true, " Regina answered, "but she will not have him. She would notmarry him, even if her mother would allow it. "

"Thank God!" exclaimed Marcello fervently. 

Regina sighed, and turned away. 

CHAPTER XV

Ercole sat on the stone seat that ran along the wall of the inn, facingthe dusty road. He was waiting in the cool dawn until it should pleasethe innkeeper to open the door, and Nino crouched beside him, his headresting on his forepaws. 

A great many years had passed since Ercole had sat there the last time, but nothing had changed, so far as he could see. He had been young, andthe women had called him handsome; his face had not been shrivelled toparchment by the fever, and there had been no grey threads in his thickblack hair. Nino had not been born then, and now Nino seemed to be apart of himself. Nino's grandam had lain in almost the same spot then, wolfish and hungry as her descendant was now, and only a trifle lessuncannily hideous. It was all very much the same, but between that timeand this there lay all Ercole's life by the Roman shore. 

When he had heard, as every one had, how Marcello had been brought toRome on the tail of a wine-cart, he had been sure that the boy had beenlaid upon it while the cart was standing before Paoluccio's inn in thenight. He knew the road well, and the ways of the carters, and that theyrarely stopped anywhere else between Frascati and Rome. Again and againhe had been on the point of tramping up from the seashore to the place, to see whether he could not find some clue to Marcello's accident there, but something had prevented him, some old dislike of returning to theneighbourhood after such a long absence. He knew why he had not gone, but he had not confided the reason even to Nino, who was told mostthings. He had, moreover, been tolerably sure that nothing short ofthumb-screws would extract any information from Paoluccio or his wife, for he knew his own people. The only thing that surprised him was thatthe boy should ever have left the inn alive after being robbed ofeverything he had about him that was worth taking. 

Moreover, since Marcello had been found, and was alive and well, it wasof very little use to try and discover exactly what had happened to himafter he had been last seen by the shore. But the aspect of things hadchanged since Ercole had heard the sailor's story, and his wish to seethe place where the boy had been hidden so long overcame any repugnancehe felt to visiting a neighbourhood which had unpleasant associationswith his younger years. 

He sat and waited at the door, and before the sun rose a young womancame round the house with the big key and opened the place, just asRegina had done in old days. She looked at Ercole, and he looked at her, and neither said anything as she went about her work, sprinkling thefloor with water and then sweeping it, and noisily pulling the heavybenches about. When this operation was finished, Ercole rose and wentin, and sat down at the end of a table. He took some bread and cheesefrom his canvas bag and began to eat, using his clasp-knife. 

"If you wish wine, " said the woman, "you will have to wait till themaster comes down. "

Ercole only answered by raising his head and throwing out his chin, which means "no" in gesture language. He threw pieces of the bread andthe rind of the cheese to his dog. Nino caught each fragment in the airwith a snap that would have lamed a horse for a month. The woman glancednervously at the animal, each time she heard his jagged teeth close. 

Paoluccio appeared in due time, without coat or waistcoat, and with hissleeves rolled up above the elbows, as if he had been washing. If hehad, the operation had succeeded very imperfectly. He glanced at Ercoleas he passed in. 

"Good-morning, " he said, for he made it a point to be polite tocustomers, even when they brought their own food. 

"Good-morning, " answered Ercole, looking at him curiously. 

Possibly there was something unusual in the tone of Ercole's voice, forNino suddenly sat up beside his master's knee, forgetting all about thebread, and watched Paoluccio too, as if he expected something. Butnothing happened. Paoluccio opened a cupboard in the wall with a key hecarried, took out a bottle of the coarse aniseed spirits which the Romanpeasants drink, and filled himself a small glass of the stuff, which hetossed off with evident pleasure. Then he filled his pipe, lit itcarefully, and went to the door again. By this time, though he hadapparently not bestowed the least attention on Ercole, he had made uphis mind about him, and was not mistaken. Ercole belonged to the betterclass of customers. 

"You come from the Roman shore?" he said, with an interrogation. 

"To serve you, " Ercole assented, with evident willingness to enter intoconversation. "I am a keeper and watchman on the lands of SignorCorbario. "

Paoluccio took his pipe from his mouth and nodded twice. 

"That is a very rich gentleman, I have heard, " he observed. "He ownsmuch land. "

"It all belongs to his stepson, now that the young gentleman is of age, "Ercole answered. "But as it was his mother's, and she married SignorCorbario, we have the habit of the name. "

"What is the name of the stepson?" asked Paoluccio. 

"Consalvi, " Ercole replied. 

Paoluccio said nothing to this, but lit his pipe again with a sulphurmatch. 

"Evil befall the soul of our government!" he grumbled presently, withinsufficient logic, but meaning that the government sold bad tobacco. 

"You must have heard of the young gentleman, " Ercole said. "His name isMarcello Consalvi. They say that he lay ill for a long time at an inn onthis road--"

"For the love of heaven, don't talk to me about Marcello Consalvi!"cried Paoluccio, suddenly in a fury. "Blood of a dog! If you had not theface of an honest man I should think you were another of those newspapermen in disguise, pigs and animals that they are and sons of evilmothers, and ill befall their wicked dead, and their little dead ones, and those that shall be born to them!"

Paoluccio's eyes were bloodshot and he spat furiously, half across theroad. Nino watched him and hitched the side of his upper lip on one ofhis lower fangs, which produced the effect of a terrific smile. Ercolewas unmoved. 

"I suppose, " he observed, "that they said it happened in your inn. "

"And why should it happen in my inn, rather than in any other inn?"inquired Paoluccio angrily. 

"Indeed, " said Ercole, "I cannot imagine why they should say that itdid! Some one must have put the story about. A servant, perhaps, whomyou sent away. "

"We did not send Regina away, " answered Paoluccio, still furious. "Sheran away in the night, about that time. But, as you say, she may haveinvented the story and sent the newspaper men here to worry our liveswith their questions, out of mere spite. "

"Who was this Regina?" Ercole asked. "What has she to do with it?"

"Regina? She was the servant girl we had before this one. We took herout of charity. "

"The daughter of some relation, no doubt, " Ercole suggested. 

"May that never be, if it please the Madonna!" cried Paoluccio. "Arelation? Thank God we have always been honest people in my father'shouse! No, it was not a relation. She came of a crooked race. Her mothertook a lover, and her father killed him, here on the Frascati road, andalmost killed her too; but the law gave him the right and he went free. "

"And then, what did he do?" asked Ercole, slowly putting the remains ofhis bread into his canvas bag. 

"What did he do? He went away and never came back. What should he do?"

"Quite right. And the woman, what became of her?"

"She took other men, for she had no shame. And at last one of them wasjealous, and struck her on the head with a paving stone, not meaning tokill her; but she died. "

"Oh, she died, did she?"

"She died. For she was always spiteful. And so that poor man went to thegalleys, merely for hitting her on the head, and not meaning to killher. "

"And you took the girl for your servant?"

"Yes. She was old enough to work, and very strong, so we took her forcharity. But for my part, I was glad when she ran away, for she grew uphandsome, and with that blood there surely would have been a scandalsome day. "

"One sees that you are a very charitable person, " Ercole observedthoughtfully. "The girl must have been very ungrateful if she tolduntrue stories about your inn, after all you had done for her. You hadnourished a viper in your house. "

"That is what my wife says, " Paoluccio answered, now quite calm. "Thoseare my wife's very words. As for believing that the young man was everin this house, I tell you that the story is a wicked lie. Where shouldwe have put him? In the cellar with the hogsheads, or in the attic withthe maid? or in our own room? Tell me where we could have put him! Orperhaps they will say that he slept on the ceiling, like the flies? Theywill say anything, chattering, chattering, and coming here with theirquestions and their photographing machines, and their bicycles, and thesouls of their dead! If you do not believe me, you can see the placewhere they say that he lay! I tell you there is not room for a cat inthis house. Believe me if you like!"

"How can I not believe such a respectable person as you seem to be?"inquired Ercole gravely. 

"I thank you. And since it happens that you are in the service of theyoung gentleman himself, I hope you will tell him that if he fancies hewas in my house, he is mistaken. "

"Surely, " said Ercole. 

"Besides, " exclaimed Paoluccio, "how could he know where he was? Are notall inns on these roads alike? He was in another, that is all. And whathad I to do with that?"

"Nothing, " assented Ercole. "I thank you for your conversation. I willtake a glass of the aniseed before I go, if you please. "

"Are you going already?" asked Paoluccio, as he went to fetch the bottleand the little cast glass from which he himself had drunk. 

"Yes, " Ercole answered. "I go to Rome. I stopped to refresh myself. "

"It will be hot on the road, " said Paoluccio, setting the full glassdown on the table. "Two sous, " he added, as Ercole produced his oldsheepskin purse. "Thank you. "

"Thank you, " Ercole answered, and tipped the spirits down his throat. "Yes, it will be hot, but what can one do? We are used to it, my dog andI. We are not of wax to melt in the sun. "

"It is true that this dog does not look as if he were wax, " Paoluccioremarked, for the qualities of Nino had not escaped him. 

"No. He is not of wax. He is of sugar, all sugar! He has a very sweetnature. "

"One would not say so, " answered Paoluccio doubtfully. "If you go to thecity you must muzzle him, or they will make you pay a fine. Otherwisethey will kill him for you. "

"Do you think any one would try to catch him if I let him run loose?"asked Ercole, as if in doubt. "He killed a full-grown wolf before he wastwo years old, and not long ago he worried a sheepdog of the Campagna asif it had been nothing but a lamb. Do you think any one would try tocatch him?"

"If it fell to me, I should go to confession first, " said Paoluccio. 

So Ercole left the inn and trudged along the road to Rome with Nino athis heels, without once looking behind him; past the Baldinotti housesand into the Via Appia Nuova, and on into the city through the gate ofSan Giovanni, where the octroi men stopped him and made him show themwhat he had in his canvas bag. When they saw that there was no cheeseleft and but little bread, they let him go by without paying anything. 

He went up to the left and sat down on the ground under the trees thatare there, and he filled his little clay pipe and smoked a while, without even speaking to his dog. It was quiet, for it was long past thehour when the carts come in, and the small boys were all gone to school, and the great paved slope between the steps of the basilica and the gatewas quite deserted, and very white and hot. 

Ercole was not very tired, though he had walked all night and a goodpart of the morning. He could have gone on walking till sunset if he hadchosen, all the way to his little stone house near Ardea, stopping bythe way to get a meal; and then he would not have slept much longer thanusual. A Roman peasant in his native Campagna, with enough to eat and alittle wine, is hard to beat at walking. Ercole had not stopped to rest, but to think. 

When he had thought some time, he looked about to see if any one werelooking at him, and he saw that the only people in sight were a long wayoff. He took his big clasp-knife out of his pocket and opened it. As theclasp clicked at the back of the blade Nino woke and sat up, for thenoise generally meant food. 

The blade was straight and clean, and tolerably sharp. Ercole looked atit critically, drew the edge over his coarse thumb-nail to find if therewere any nick in the steel, and then scratched the same thumb-nail withit, as one erases ink with a knife, to see how sharp it was. The pointwas like a needle, but he considered that the edge was dull, and he drewit up and down one of the brown barrels of his gun, as carefully as hewould have sharpened a razor on a whetstone. After that he stropped iton the tough leathern strap by which he slung the gun over his shoulderwhen he walked; when he was quite satisfied, he shut the knife again andput it back into his pocket, and fell to thinking once more. 

Nino watched the whole operation with bloodshot eyes, his tongue hangingout and quivering rhythmically as he panted in the heat to cool himself. When the knife disappeared, and the chance of a crust with it, the doggot up, deliberately turned his back to his master, and sat down againto look at the view. 

"You see, " said Ercole to himself and Nino, "this is an affair whichneeds thought. One must be just. It is one thing to kill a person'sbody, but it is quite another thing to kill a person's soul. That wouldbe a great sin, and besides, it is not necessary. Do I wish harm to anyone? No. It is justice. Perhaps I shall go to the galleys. Well, I shallalways have the satisfaction, and it will be greater if I can say thatthis person is in Paradise. For I do not wish harm to any one. "

Having said this in a tone which Nino could hear, Ercole sat thinkingfor some time longer, and then he rose and slung his gun over hisshoulder, and went out from under the trees into the glaring heat, as ifhe were going into the city. But instead of turning to the left, up thehill, he went on by the broad road that follows the walls, till he cameto the ancient church of Santa Croce. He went up the low steps to thedeep porch and on to the entrance at the left. Nino followed him veryquietly. 

Ercole dipped his finger into the holy water and crossed himself, andthen went up the nave, making as little noise as he could with hishob-nailed boots. An old monk in white was kneeling at a broadpraying-stool before an altar on the left. Ercole stood still near him, waiting for him to rise, and slowly turning his soft hat in his hands, as if it were a rosary. He kept his eyes on the monk's face, studyingthe aged features. Presently the old man had finished his prayer and gotupon his feet slowly, and looked at Ercole and then at Nino. Ercolemoved forward a step, and stood still in an attitude of respect. 

"What do you desire, my son?" asked the monk, very quietly. "Do you wishto confess?"

"No, father, not to-day, " answered Ercole. "I come to pray you to saythree masses for the soul of a person who died suddenly. I have alsobrought the money. Only tell me how much it will be, and I will pay. "

"You shall give what you will, my son, " the monk said, "and I will saythe masses myself. "

Ercole got out his sheepskin purse, untied the strings, and looked intoit, weighing it in his hand. Then he seemed to hesitate. The monk lookedon quietly. 

"It is of your own free will, " he said. "What you choose to give is forthe community, and for this church, and for the chapel of Saint Helen. It is better that you know. "

Ercole drew the mouth of the purse together again and returned it to theinside of his waistcoat, from which he produced a large old leathernpocket-book. 

"I will give five francs, " he said, "for I know that if you say themasses yourself, they will be all good ones. "

A very faint and gentle smile flitted over the aged face. Ercole heldout the small note, and the monk took it. 

"Thank you, " he said. "Shall I say the masses for a man or a woman?"

"As it pleases you, father, " Ercole answered. 

"Eh?" The old monk looked surprised. 

"It does not matter, " Ercole explained. "Is not a mass for a man goodfor a woman also?"

"We say 'his' soul or 'her' soul, as the case may be, my son. "

"Is that written in the book of the mass?" inquired Ercoledistrustfully. 

"Yes. Also, most people tell us the baptismal name of the dead person. "

"Must I do that too?" Ercole asked, by no means pleased. 

"Not unless you like, " the monk answered, looking at him with somecuriosity. 

"But it is in the book of the mass that you must say 'his' or 'her'soul?"

"Yes. "

"Then the masses will not be good unless you say the right word. " Ercolepaused a moment in deep thought, and looked down at his hat. "It will bebetter to say the masses for a female, " he said at length, withoutmeeting the monk's eyes. 

"Very well, " the latter answered. "I will say the first mass to-morrow. "

"Thank you, " said Ercole. "My respects!"

He made a sort of bow and hurried away, followed by Nino. The old monkwatched him thoughtfully, and shook his head once or twice, for heguessed something of the truth, though by no means all. 

CHAPTER XVI

"One might almost think that you wished to marry Aurora yourself, " saidCorbario, with a sneer. 

He was standing with his back to the fire in the great library of thevilla, for it was late autumn again; it was raining hard and the air wasraw and chilly. 

"You may think what you please, " Marcello answered, leaning back in hisdeep leathern chair and taking up a book. "I am not going to argue withyou. "

"Insufferable puppy, " growled Folco, almost under his teeth; butMarcello heard. 

He rose instantly and faced the elder man without the slightest fear orhesitation. 

"If this were not my house, and you my guest, I would have you put outof doors by the servants, " he said, in a tone Corbario had never heardbefore. "As it is, I only advise you to go before I lose my temperaltogether. "

Corbario backed till his heels were against the fender, and tried tosmile. 

"My dear Marcello!" he protested. "What nonsense is this? You know I amnot in earnest!"

"I am, " said Marcello quietly enough, but not moving. 

The half-invalid boy was not a boy any longer, nor an invalid either, and he had found his hold on things, since the days when Folco had beenused to lead him as easily as if he had no will of his own. No one wouldhave judged him to be a weak man now, physically or mentally. His framewas spare and graceful still, but there was energy and directness in hismovements, his shoulders were square and he held his head high; yet itwas his face that had changed most, though in a way very hard to define. A strong manhood sometimes follows a weak boyhood, very much to thesurprise of those who have long been used to find feebleness wherestrength has suddenly developed. Marcello Consalvi had never beencowardly, or even timid; he had only been weak in will as in body, aneasy prey to the man who had tried to ruin him, body and soul, in thehope of sending him to his grave. 

"I really cannot understand you, my dear boy, " Corbario said verysweetly. "You used to be so gentle! But now you fly into a passion forthe merest thing. "

"I told you that I would not argue with you, " Marcello said, keeping histemper. "This is my house, and I choose that you should leave it atonce. Go your way, and leave me to go mine. You are amply provided for, as long as you live, and you do not need my hospitality any longer, since you are no longer my guardian. Live where you please. You shallnot stay here. "

"I certainly don't care to stay here if you don't want me, " Folcoanswered. "But this is really too absurd! You must be going mad, to takesuch a tone with me!"

"It is the only one which any honourable man who knows you would beinclined to take. "

"Take care! You are going too far. "

"Because you are under my roof? Yes, perhaps. As my guest, if I havebeen hasty, I apologise for expressing my opinion of you. I am going outnow. I hope you will find it convenient to have left before I come in. "

Thereupon Marcello turned his back on Corbario, crossed the greatlibrary deliberately, and went out without looking round. 

Folco was left alone, and his still face did not even express surpriseor annoyance. He had indeed foreseen the coming break, ever since he hadreturned to the villa three weeks earlier, when Marcello had receivedhim with evident coldness, not even explaining where he had been sincethey had last parted. But Folco had not expected that the rupture wouldcome so suddenly, still less that he was literally to be turned out ofthe house which he still regarded as his own, and in which he had spentso many prosperous years. There had, indeed, been some coldly angrywords between the two men. Marcello had told Folco quite plainly that hemeant to be the master, and that he was of age, and should regulate hisown life as he pleased, and he had expressed considerable disgust at theexistence Folco had been leading in Paris and elsewhere; and Folco hadalways tried to laugh it off, calling Marcello prudish andhypersensitive in matters of morality, which he certainly was not. Oncehe had attempted an appeal to Marcello's former affection, recallinghis mother's love for them both, but a look had come into the youngman's eyes just then which even Corbario did not care to face again, andthe relations between the two had become more strained from that timeon. 

It might seem almost incredible that a man capable of the crimesCorbario had committed in cold blood, for a settled purpose, should showso little power of following the purpose to its accomplishment afterclearing the way to it by a murder; but every one who has had to do withcriminals is aware that after any great exertion of destructive energythey are peculiarly subject to a long reaction of weakness which veryoften leads to their own destruction. If this were not a natural law, ifcriminals could exert continually the same energy and command the samesuperhuman cunning which momentarily helped them to perpetrate a crime, the world would be in danger of being possessed and ruled by them, instead of being mercifully, and perhaps too much, inclined to treatthem as degenerates and madmen. Their conduct after committing a murder, for instance, seems to depend much more on their nerves than on theirintelligence, and the time almost invariably comes when their nervesbreak down. It is upon the moment when this collapse of the will sets inthat the really experienced detective counts, knowing that it may behastened or retarded by circumstances quite beyond the murderer'scontrol. The life of a murderer, after the deed, is one long fight withsuch circumstances, and if he once loses his coolness he is himselfalmost as surely lost as a man who is carried away by his temper in aduel with swords. 

After Folco had killed his wife and had just failed to kill Marcello, hehad behaved with wonderful calm and propriety for a little while; butbefore long the old wild longing for excitement and dissipation, so longkept down during his married life, had come upon him with irresistibleforce, and he had yielded to it. Then, in hours of reaction, in theawful depression that comes with the grey dawn after a night of wine andpleasure and play, terrible little incidents had come back to hismemory. He had recalled Kalmon's face and quiet words, and his ownweakness when he had first come to see Marcello in the hospital--thatabject terror which both Regina and the doctor must have noticed--andhis first impression that Marcello no longer trusted him as formerly, and many other things; and each time he had been thus disturbed, he hadplunged deeper into the dissipation which alone could cloud suchmemories and keep them out of sight for a time; till at last he had cometo live in a continual transition from recklessness to fear and fromfear to recklessness, and he had grown to detest the very sight ofMarcello so heartily that an open quarrel was almost a relief. 

If he had been his former self, he would undoubtedly have returned tohis original purpose of killing Marcello outright, since he had notsucceeded in killing him by dissipation. But his nerve was not what ithad been, and the circumstances were not in his favour. Moreover, Marcello was now of age, and had probably made a will, unknown toCorbario, in which case the fortune would no longer revert to thelatter. The risk was too great, since it would no longer be undertakenfor a certainty amounting to millions. It was better to be satisfiedwith the life-interest in one-third of the property, which he alreadyenjoyed, and which supplied him with abundant means for amusing himself. 

It was humiliating to be turned out of the house by a mere boy, as hestill called Marcello, but he was not excessively sensitive tohumiliation, and he promised himself some sort of satisfactory vengeancebefore long. What surprised him most was that the first quarrel shouldhave been about Aurora. He had more than once said in conversation thathe meant to marry the girl, and Marcello had chosen to say nothing inanswer to the statement; but when Folco had gone so far as to hint thatAurora was in love with him and was about to accept him, Marcello had asgood as given him the lie direct, and a few more words had led to theoutbreak recorded at the beginning of this chapter. 

As a matter of fact Corbario understood what had led to it better thanMarcello himself, who had no very positive reason for entirelydisbelieving his stepfather's words. The Contessa and her daughter hadreturned to Rome, and Corbario often went to see them, whereas Marcellohad not been even once. When Marcello had last seen Folco in theEngadine, he had left him sitting in their little room at the hotel. Folco was not at all too old to marry Aurora; he was rich, at least forlife, and Aurora was poor; he was good-looking, accomplished, and readywith his tongue. It was by no means impossible that he might make animpression on the girl and ultimately win her. Besides, Marcello feltthat odd little resentment against Aurora which very young men sometimesfeel against young girls, whom they have thought they loved, or arereally about to love, or are afraid of loving, which makes them rude, orunjust, or both, towards those perhaps quite unconscious maidens, andwhich no woman can ever understand. 

"My dear Harry, why will you be so disagreeable to Mary?" asks thewondering mother. "She is such a charming girl, and only the other dayshe was saying that you are such a nice boy!"

"Humph!" snorts Harry rudely, and forthwith lights his pipe and goes offto the stables to growl in peace, or across country, or to his boat, orto any other heavenly place not infested by women. 

There had been moments when, in his heart, Marcello had almost said thatit would serve Aurora right to be married to Corbario; yet at the firsthint from the latter that she was at all in danger of such a fate, Marcello had broken out as if the girl's good name had been attacked, and had turned his stepfather out of the house in a very summaryfashion. 

Having done so, he left the villa on foot, though it was raining hard, and walked quickly past San Pietro in Montorio and down the hill towardsTrastevere. The southwest wind blew the rain under his umbrella; it waschilly as well as wet, and a few big leaves were beginning to fall fromthe plane-trees. 

He was not going to the little house, where Regina sat by the windowlooking at the rain and wishing that he would come soon. When he wasdown in the streets he hailed the first cab he saw, gave the man anaddress in the Forum of Trajan, and climbed in under the hood, behindthe dripping leathern apron, taking his umbrella with him and gettingthoroughly wet, as is inevitable when one takes a Roman cab in the rain. 

The Contessa was out, in spite of the weather, but Marcello asked ifAurora would see him, and presently he was admitted to the drawing-room, where she was sitting beside a rather dreary little fire, cutting a newbook. She threw it down and rose to meet him, as little outwardlydisturbed as if they had seen each other constantly during the past twoyears. She gave him her hand quietly, and they sat down and looked atthe fire. 

"It won't burn, " Aurora said, rather disconsolately. "It never did burnvery well, but those horrid people who have had the apartment for twoyears have spoilt the fireplace altogether. "

"I remember that it used to smoke, " Marcello answered, going down on hisknees and beginning to move the little logs into a better position. 

"Thank you, " Aurora said, watching him. "You won't succeed, but it'sgood of you to try. "

Marcello said nothing, and presently he took the queer little Romanbellows, and set to work to blow upon the smouldering spots where thelogs touched each other. In a few seconds a small flame appeared, andsoon the fire was burning tolerably. 

"How clever you are!" Aurora laughed quietly. 

Marcello rose and sat upon a low chair, instead of on the sofa besideher. For a while neither spoke, and he looked about him ratherawkwardly, while Aurora watched the flames. It was long since he hadbeen in the room, and it looked shabby after the rather excessivemagnificence of the villa on the Janiculum, for which Corbario's tastehad been largely responsible. It was just a little shabby, too, comparedwith the dainty simplicity of the small house in Trastevere. Thefurniture, the carpets, and the curtains were two years older than whenhe had seen them last, and had been unkindly used by the tenants to whomthe Contessa had sub-let the apartment in order to save the rent. Marcello missed certain pretty things that he had been used to seeformerly, some bits of old Saxe, a little panel by an early master, achiselled silver cup in which there always used to be flowers. Hewondered where these things were, and felt that the room looked ratherbare without them. 

"It burns very well now, " said Aurora, still watching the fire. 

"What has become of the old silver cup, " Marcello asked, "and all thelittle things that used to be about?"

"We took them away with us when we let the apartment, and they are notunpacked yet, though we have been here two months. "

"Two months?"

"Yes. I was wondering whether you were ever coming to see us again!"

"Were you? I fancied that you would not care very much to see me now. "

Aurora said nothing to this, and they both looked at the fire for sometime. The gentle sound of the little flames was cheerful, and gave themboth the impression of a third person, talking quietly. 

"I should not have come to-day, " Marcello said at last, "except thatsomething has happened. "

"Nothing bad, I hope!" Aurora looked up with a sudden anxiety thatsurprised him. 

"Bad? No. At least, I think not. Why are you startled?"

"I have had a headache, " Aurora explained. "I am a little nervous, Ifancy. What is it that has happened?"

Marcello glanced at her doubtfully before he answered. Her quickinterest in whatever chanced to him took him back to the old times in aninstant. The place was familiar and quiet; her voice was like forgottenmusic, once delightful, and now suddenly recalled; her face had onlychanged to grow more womanly. 

"You never thought of marrying Folco, did you?" he asked, all at once, and a little surprised at the sound of his own words. 

"I?" Aurora started again, but not with anxiety. "How can you think sucha thing?"

"I don't think it; but an hour ago, at the villa, he told me in almostso many words that you loved him and meant to accept him. "

A blush of honest anger rose in the girl's fair face, and subsidedinstantly. 

"And what did you say?" she asked, with a scarcely perceptible tremor inher tone. 

"I turned him out of the house, " Marcello answered quietly. 

"Turned him out?" Aurora seemed amazed. "You turned him out because hetold you that?"

"That and other things. But that was the beginning of it. I told himthat he was lying, and he called me names, and then I told him to go. Hewill be gone when I reach home. "

To Marcello's surprise, Aurora got up suddenly, crossed the room andwent to one of the windows. Marcello rose, too, and stood still. Sheseemed to be looking out at the rain, but she had grasped one of thecurtains tightly, and it looked as if she were pressing the other handto her left side. For a second her head bent forward a little and hergraceful shoulders moved nervously, as though she were trying to swallowsomething hard. Marcello watched her a moment, and then crossed the roomand stood beside her. 

"What is it?" he asked in a low voice, and laying his hand gently onhers that held the curtain. 

She drew her own away quietly and turned her head. Her eyes were dry andbright, but there were deep bistre shadows under them that had not beenthere before, and the lower lids were swollen. 

"It is nothing, " she answered, and then laughed nervously. "I am gladyou have made your stepfather go away. It was time! I was afraid youwere as good friends as ever. "

"We have not been on good terms since we parted in Pontresina. Do youremember when I left him in your sitting-room at the hotel? He had beentrying to persuade me to go back to Paris with him at once. In fact--"he hesitated. 

"You intended to go, " Aurora said, completing the sentence. "And thenyou changed your mind. "

"Yes. I could not do it. I cannot explain everything. "

"I understand without any explanation. I think you did right. "

She went back to the fireplace and sat down in the corner of the sofa, leaning far back and stretching out one foot to the fender in anunconscious attitude of perfect grace. In the grey afternoon thefirelight began to play in her auburn hair. Now and then she glanced atMarcello with half-closed lids, and there was a suggestion of a smile onher lips. Marcello saw that in her way she was as beautiful as Regina, and he remembered how they had kissed, without a word, when the moon'srays quivered through the trees by the Roman shore, more than two yearsago. They had been children then. All at once he felt a great longing tokneel down beside the sofa and throw his arms round her waist and kissher once again; but at almost the same instant he thought of Regina, waiting for him by the window over there in Trastevere, and he felt theshame rising to his face; and he leaned back in his low chair, claspinghis hands tightly over one knee, as if to keep himself from moving. 

"Marcello, " Aurora began presently, but she got no further. 

"Yes?" Still he did not move. 

"I have something on my conscience. " She laughed low. "No, it isserious!" she went on, as if reproving herself. "I have always felt thateverything that has happened to you since we parted that morning by theshore has been my fault. "

"Why?" Marcello seemed surprised. 

"Because I called you a baby, " she said. "If you had not been angry atthat, if you had not turned away and left me suddenly--you were quiteright, you know--you would not have been knocked down, you would nothave wandered away and lost yourself. You would not have lost yourmemory, or been ill in a strange place, or--or all the rest! So it isall my fault, you see, from beginning to end. "

"How absurd!" Marcello looked at her and smiled. 

"No. I think it is true. But you have changed very much, Marcello. Youare not a boy any longer. You have a will of your own now; you are aman. Do you mind my telling you that?"

"Certainly not!" He smiled again. 

"I remember very well what you answered. You said that I should notlaugh at you again. And that has come true. You said a good many otherthings. Do you remember?"

"No. I was angry. What did I say? Everything that happened before I washurt seems very far off. "

"It does not matter, " Aurora answered softly. "I am glad you haveforgotten, for though I was angry too, and did not care at the time, thethings you said have hurt me since. "

"I am sorry, " Marcello said gently, "very, very sorry. Forgive me. "

"It was all my fault, for I was teasing you for the mere fun of thething. I was nothing but a silly school-girl then. "

"Yes. You have changed, too. "

"Am I at all what you expected I should be?" Aurora asked, after amoment's silence. 

Marcello glanced at her, and clasped his hands over his knee moretightly than ever. 

"I wish you were not, " he answered in a low voice. 

"Don't wish that. " Her tone was even lower than his. 

Neither spoke again for some time, and they did not look at each other. But the flames flickering in the small fireplace seemed to be talking, like a third person in the room. Aurora moved at last, and changed herposition. 

"I am glad that you have quarrelled with your stepfather, " she said. "Hemeant to do you all the harm he could. He meant you to die of the lifeyou were leading. "

"You know that?" Marcello looked up quickly. 

"Yes. I have heard my mother and Professor Kalmon talking about it whenthey thought I was not listening. I always pretend that I am notlistening when anybody talks about you. " She laughed a little. "It is somuch simpler, " she added, as if to explain. "The Professor said thatyour stepfather was killing you by inches. Those were his words. "

"The Professor never liked him. But he was right. Have you seen himoften?"

"Yes. " Aurora laughed again. "He always turns up wherever we are, pretending that it is the most unexpected meeting in the world. He isjust like a boy!"

"What do you mean? Is he in love with you?"

"With me? No! He is madly in love with my mother! Fancy such a thing!When he found that we were coming back to Rome he gave up hisprofessorship in Milan, and he has come to live here so as to be able tosee her. So I hear them talking a great deal, and he seems to have foundout a great many things about your stepfather which nobody ever knew. Hetakes an extraordinary interest in him for some reason or other. "

"What has he found out?" asked Marcello. 

"Enough to hang him, if people could be hanged in Italy, " Auroraanswered. 

"I should have thought Folco too clever to do anything really againstthe law, " said Marcello, who did not seem much surprised at what shesaid. 

"The Professor believes that it was he that tried to kill you. "

"How is that possible?" Marcello asked, in great astonishment. "Youwould have seen him!"

"I did. You had not been gone three minutes when he came round to thegap in the bank where I was standing. He came from the side towardswhich I had seen you go. It was perfectly impossible that he should nothave met you. The Professor says he must have known that you were there, looking at the storm, but that he did not know that I was with you, andthat he was lying in wait for you to strike you from behind. If we hadgone back together he would not have shown himself, that's all, and hewould have waited for a better chance. If I had only followed you Ishould have seen what happened. "

"That is the trouble, " said Marcello thoughtfully. "No one ever saw whathappened, and I remember nothing but that I fell forward, feeling that Ihad been struck on the back of the head. Did you not hear any sound?"

"How could I, in such a gale as was blowing? It all looks dreadfullylikely and quite possible, and the Professor is convinced that yourstepfather has done some worse things. "

"Worse?"

"Yes, because he did not fail in doing them, as he did when he tried tokill you. "

"But what must such a man be?" cried Marcello, suddenly breaking out inanger. "What must his life have been in all the years before my mothermarried him?"

"He was a kind of adventurer in South America. I don't quite know whathe did there, but Professor Kalmon has found out a great deal about himfrom the Argentine Republic, where he lived until he killed somebody andhad to escape to Europe. If I were you I would go and see the Professor, since he is in Rome. He lives at No. 16, Via Sicilia. He will tell you agreat deal about that man when he knows that you have parted for good. "

"I'll go and see him. Thank you. I cannot imagine that he could tell meanything worse than I have already heard. "

"Perhaps he may, " Aurora answered very gravely. 

Then she was silent, and Marcello could not help looking at her as sheleaned back in the corner of the sofa. Of all things, at that moment, hedreaded lest he should lose command of himself under the unexpectedinfluence of her beauty, of old memories, of the failing light, of thetender shadows that still lingered under her eyes, of that exquisitesmall hand that lay idly on the sofa beside her, just within his reach. He rose abruptly, no longer trusting himself. 

"I must be going, " he said. 

"Already? Why?" She looked up at him and their eyes met. 

"Because I cannot be alone with you any longer. I do not trust myself. "

"Yes, you do. You are a man now, and I trust you. "

He had spoken roughly and harshly in his momentary self-contempt, buther words were clear and quiet, and rang true. He stood still in silencefor a moment. 

"And besides, " she added softly, "she trusts you too. "

There was a little emphasis on the word "she" and in her tone that was areproach, and he looked at her in wonder. 

"We cannot talk of her, you and I, " she said, turning her eyes to thefire, "but you know what I mean, Marcello. It is not enough to be kind. We women do not think so much of that as you men fancy. You must be trueas well. "

"I know it, " Marcello answered, bending his head a little. "Good-bye, Aurora. "

"No. Not good-bye, for you will come again soon, and then again, andoften. "

"Shall I?"

"Yes, because we can trust each other, though we are fond of each other. We are not children any longer, as we used to be. "

"Then I will come sometimes. "

He took her hand, trying not to feel that it was in his, and he left hersitting by the rather dreary little fire, in the rather shabby room, inthe grey twilight. 

As he drove through the wet streets, he went over all she had said, wentover it again and again, till he knew her words by heart. But he did nottry, or dare to try, to examine what he felt, and was going to feel. Themanliness that had at last come to its full growth in him clung to theword "true" as she had meant it. 

But she, being left alone, leaned forward, resting her elbows on herknees and clasping her hands as she gazed at the smouldering remains ofthe fire. She had known well enough that she had loved him before he hadcome; she had known it too well when he had told her how he had drivenFolco out of his house for having spoken of her too carelessly. Then theblood had rushed to her throat, beating hard, and if she had not gonequickly to the window she felt that she must have cried for joy. She wasfar too proud to let him guess that, but she was not too proud to lovehim, in spite of everything, though it meant that she compared herselfwith the peasant girl, and envied her, and in all maiden innocence wouldhave changed places with her if she could. 

CHAPTER XVII

It was late in the evening when Marcello reached the villa, and was toldthat his stepfather had left suddenly with his valet, before sunset, taking a good deal of luggage with him. The coachman had driven him tothe station and had seen no more of him. He had not left any message ornote for Marcello. This was as it should be, and Marcello did not careto know whither he had gone, since he was out of the house. He was glad, however, that he had left Rome at once instead of going to an hotel, which would have made an interesting topic of conversation for gossips. 

Marcello vaguely wondered why Folco had told a perfectly gratuitousfalsehood about Aurora, and whether he could possibly have lied merelyfor the sake of hurting him. If so, he had got his deserts. It matteredvery little now, and it was a waste of thought to think of him at all. 

The young man had a big fire built in the library, and sat down in hisfavourite leathern chair under the shaded light. He was tired, but notsleepy, and he was glad to be alone at last, for he had felt Corbario'sevil presence in the house, though they had met little of late, and itwas a great relief to know that he would never return. 

He was glad to be alone, and yet he felt lonely, for the one conditiondid not make the other impossible. He was glad to be able to think inpeace, but when he did think, he longed for some companionship in histhoughts, and he found that he was wishing himself back in the room thatlooked down upon the Forum of Trajan, with Aurora, and that she wastelling him again that she could trust him; and yet the very thoughtseemed to mean that he was not to be trusted. 

Psychological problems are only interesting when they concern otherpeople than ourselves, for there can be no problem where there is not adifficulty, and where the inner self is concerned there can be nodifficulty that does not demand immediate solution if we are to findpeace. Some men of very strong and thoughtful character are conscious ofa sort of second self within themselves, to which they appeal in troubleas Socrates to his Dæmon; but most men, in trouble and alone, would turnto a friend if there were one at hand. 

Marcello had none, and he felt horribly lonely in his great house, asthe faces of two women rose before him, on the right and left. 

But he was a man now, and as he sat there he determined to face theproblem bravely and to solve it once and for ever by doing what wasright, wheresoever he could convince himself that right lay, and withoutany regard for his own inclinations. 

He told himself that this must be possible, because where right andwrong were concerned it was never possible to hesitate long. A man isnever so convinced that right is easy to distinguish and to do as whenhe has lately made up his mind to reform. Indeed, the weakness as wellas the strength of all reformers lies in their blind conviction thatwhatever strikes them as right must be done immediately, with a hastethat strongly resembles hurry, and with no regard for consequences. Youmight as well try, when an express train is running at full speed on thewrong track, to heave it over to the right one without stopping it andwithout killing the passengers. Yet most reformers of themselves andothers, from the smallest to the greatest, seem to believe that this canbe done, ought to be done, and must be done at once. 

Marcello was just then a reformer of this sort. He had become aware inthe course of that afternoon that something was seriously wrong, and ashis own will and character had served him well of late, he trusted bothbeforehand and set to work to find out the right track, with thedistinct intention of violently transferring the train of his existenceto it as soon as it had been discovered. He was very sure of the result. 

Besides, he had been brought up by a very religious woman, and a strongfoundation of belief remained in him, and was really the basis of allhis thinking about himself. He had been careless, thoughtless, reckless, since his mother had died, but he had never lost that something to whicha man may best go back in trouble. Sometimes it hurt him, sometimes itcomforted him vaguely, but he was always conscious that it was there, and had been there through all his wildest days. It was not a veryreasoning belief, for he was not an intellectual man, but it wasunchangeable and solid still in spite of all his past weakness. It badehim do right, blindly, and only because right was right; but it did notopen his eyes to the terrible truth that whereas right is right, theSupreme Power, which is always in the right, does not take human lifeinto consideration at all, and that a man is under all circumstancesbound to consider the value of life to others, and sometimes its valueto himself, when others depend upon him for their happiness, or safety, or welfare. 

Animated by the most sincere wish to find the right direction and followit--perhaps because Aurora had said that she trusted him--yet blind tothe dangers that beset his path, there is no knowing how many livesMarcello might not have wrecked by acting on the resolutions hecertainly would have made if he had been left to himself another hour. 

He was deep in thought, his feet stretched out to the fire, his headleaning back against the leathern cushion of his chair, his eyes halfclosed, feeling that he was quite alone and beyond the reach of everyone, if he chose to sit there until morning wrestling with hispsychological problem. 

He was roused by the sharp buzz of the telephone instrument which stoodon the writing-table. It was very annoying, and he wished he had turnedit off before he had sat down, but since some one was calling he got upreluctantly to learn who wanted him at that hour. He glanced at theclock, and saw that it was nearly half-past ten. The instrument buzzedagain as he reached the table. 

"I want to see Signor Consalvi at once; is it too late?" asked a man'svoice anxiously. 

"I am Consalvi. Who are you, please?" asked Marcello. 

"Kalmon. Is it true that Corbario has left the villa?"

"Yes. He left this afternoon. "

"Where is he now?"

"He drove to the railway station. I don't know where he is gone. He leftno address. "

"--railway station--no address--" Marcello heard the words as Kalmonspoke to some other person at his elbow, wherever he was. 

"May I come at once?" Kalmon asked. 

"Yes. I am alone. I'll have the lower gate opened. "

"Thanks. I shall be at the gate in twenty minutes. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

Marcello hung up the receiver, rang the bell, and gave the order for thegate, adding that the gentleman who came was to be shown in at once. Then he sat down and waited. 

It was clear that Kalmon had learned of Corbario's departure fromAurora, perhaps through her mother. He had probably dined with them, forhe was intimate at the house, and Aurora had spoken of Marcello's visit. There was no reason why she should not have done so, and yet Marcellowished that she had kept it to herself a little longer. It had meant somuch to him, and it suddenly seemed as if it had meant nothing at all toher. She had perhaps repeated to her mother everything that had beensaid, or almost everything, for she was very fond of her. 

Marcello told himself roughly that since he had no right to love her, and was determined not to, he had no claim upon such little delicaciesof discretion and silence on her part; and his problem stuck up its headagain out of the deep water in which it lived, and glared at him, andshot out all sorts of questions like the wriggling tentacles of anoctopus, inviting him to wrestle with them, if only to see how uselessall wrestling must be. He rose again impatiently, took a cigar from abig mahogany box on the table, lit it and smoked savagely, walking upand down. 

It was half finished when the door opened and Kalmon was ushered in. Heheld out his hand as he came forward, with the air of a man who has notime to lose. 

"I am glad to see you, " Marcello said. 

"And I am exceedingly glad that you were at home when I called you up, "Kalmon answered. "Have you really no idea where Corbario is?"

"Not the slightest. I am only too glad to get rid of him. I suppose theContessa told you--"

"Yes. I was dining there. But she only told me half an hour ago, just asI was coming away, and I rushed home to get at the telephone. "

It occurred to Marcello that Kalmon need not have driven all the way toVia Sicilia from the Forum of Trajan merely for the sake of telephoning. 

"But what is the hurry?" asked Marcello. "Do sit down and explain! Iheard this afternoon that you had strong suspicions as to Folco's partin what happened to me. "

"Something more than suspicions now, " Kalmon answered, settling his bigframe in a deep chair before the tire; "but I am afraid he has escaped. "

"Escaped? He has not the slightest idea that he is suspected!"

"How do you know? Don't you see that as he is guilty, he must have soonbegun to think that the change in your manner toward him was due to thefact that you suspected him, and that you turned him out because youguessed the truth, though you could not prove it?"

"Perhaps, " Marcello admitted, in a rather preoccupied tone. "The younglady seems to have repeated to her mother everything I said thisafternoon, " he added with evident annoyance. "Did the Contessa tell youwhy I quarrelled with Folco to-day?"

"No. She merely said that there had been angry words and that you hadasked him to leave the house. She herself was surprised, she said, andwondered what could have brought matters to a crisis at last. "

Marcello's face cleared instantly. Aurora had not told any one that hehad quarrelled with his stepfather about her; that was quite evident, for there were not two more truthful people in the world than theContessa and Kalmon, whose bright brown eyes were at that moment quietlystudying his face. 

"Not that the fact matters in the least, " said the Professor, restinghis feet on the fender and exposing the broad soles of his wetwalking-boots to the flame. "The important fact is that the man hasescaped, and we must catch him. "

"But how are you so sure that it was he that attacked me? You cannotarrest a man on suspicion, without going through a great manyformalities. You cannot possibly have got an eye-witness to the fact, and so it must be a matter of suspicion after all, founded on a certainamount of rather weak circumstantial evidence. Now, if it was he thattried to kill me, he failed, for I am alive, and perfectly well. Why notlet him alone, since I have got rid of him?"

"For a very good reason, which I think I had better not tell you. "

"Why not?"

"I am not sure what you would do if you were told it suddenly. Are yournerves pretty good? You used to be a delicate boy, though I confess thatyou look much stronger now. "

"You need not fear for my nerves, " Marcello answered with a short laugh. "If they are sound after what I have been through in the last two yearsthey will stand anything!"

"Yes. Perhaps you had better know, though I warn you that what I amgoing to say will be a shock to you, of which you do not dream. "

"You must be exaggerating!" Marcello smiled incredulously. "You hadbetter tell me at once, or I shall imagine it is much worse than it is. "

"It could not be, " Kalmon answered. "It is hard even to tell, and notonly because what happened was in a distant way my fault. "

"Your fault? For heaven's sake tell me what the matter is, and let us bedone with it!"

"Corbario wanted to get possession of your whole fortune. That is why hetried to kill you. "

"Yes. Is that all? You have made me understand that already. "

"He had conceived the plan before your mother's death, " said Kalmon. 

"That would not surprise me either. But how do you know it?"

"Do you remember that discovery of mine, that I called 'the sleepingdeath'?"

"Yes. What has that to do with it?" Marcello's expression changed. 

"Corbario stole one of the tablets from the tube in my pocket, while Iwas asleep that night. "

"What?" Marcello began to grow pale. 

"Your mother died asleep, " said Kalmon in a very low voice. 

Marcello was transfixed with horror, and grasped the arms of his chair. His face was livid. Kalmon watched him, and continued. 

"Yes. Corbario did it. Your mother used to take phenacetine tablets whenshe had headaches. They were very like the tablets of my poison in sizeand shape. Corbario stole into my room when I was sound asleep, took oneof mine, and dropped in one of hers. Then he put mine amongst thephenacetine ones. She took it, slept, and died. "

Marcello gasped for breath, his eyes starting from his head. 

"You see, " Kalmon went on, "it was long before I found that my tabletshad been tampered with. There had been seven in the tube. I knew that, and when I glanced at the tube next day there were seven still. The tubewas of rather thick blue glass, if you remember, so that the very smalldifference between the one tablet and the rest could not be seen throughit. I went to Milan almost immediately, and when I got home I locked upthe tube in a strong-box. It was not until long afterwards, when Iwanted to make an experiment, that I opened the tube and emptied thecontents into a glass dish. Then I saw that one tablet was unlike therest. I saw that it had been made by a chemist and not by myself. Ianalysed it and found five grains of phenacetine. "

Marcello leaned back, listening intently, and still deadly pale. 

"You did not know that I was trying to find out how you had been hurt, that I was in communication with the police from the first, that I cameto Rome and visited you in the hospital before you recovered yourmemory. The Contessa was very anxious to know the truth about her oldfriend's son, and I did what I could. That was natural. Something toldme that Corbario had tried to kill you, and I suspected him, but it isonly lately that I have got all the evidence we need. There is not alink lacking. Well, when I came to Rome that time, it chanced that I metCorbario at the station. He had come by the same train, and was lookingdreadfully ill. That increased my suspicion, for I knew that his anxietymust be frightful, since you might have seen him when he struck you, andmight recognise him, and accuse him. Yet he could not possibly avoidmeeting you. Imagine what that man must have felt. He tried to smilewhen he saw me, and said he wished he had one of those sleeping tabletsof mine. You understand. He thought I had already missed the one he hadtaken, though I had not, and that he had better disarm any possiblesuspicion by speaking of the poison carelessly. Then his face turnedalmost yellow, and he nearly fainted. He said it was the heat, and Ihelped him to his carriage. He looked like a man terrified out of hissenses, and I remembered the fact afterwards, when I found that onetablet had been stolen; but at the time I attributed it all to his fearof facing you. Now we know the truth. He tried to murder you, and on thesame day he poisoned your mother. "

Kalmon sat quite still when he had finished, and for a long timeMarcello did not move, and made no sound. At last he spoke in a dullvoice. 

"I want to kill him myself. "

The Professor glanced at him and nodded slowly, as if he understood thesimple instinct of justice that moved him. 

"If I see him, I shall kill him, " Marcello said slowly. "I am sure Ishall. "

"I am afraid that he has escaped, " Kalmon answered. "Of course there isa possibility that he may have had some object in deceiving yourcoachman by driving to the railway station, but it is not at all likely. He probably took the first train to the north. "

"But he can be stopped at the frontier!"

"Do you think Corbario is the man to let himself be trapped easily if heknows that he is pursued?" asked Kalmon incredulously. "I do not. "

He rose from his chair and began to walk up and down, his hands behindhim and his head bent. 

Marcello paid no attention to him and was silent for a long time, sitting quite motionless and scarcely seeming to breathe. What he felthe never could have told afterwards; he only knew that he suffered inevery fibre of his brain and body, with every nerve of his heart and inevery secret recess of his soul. His mother seemed to have been dead solong, beyond the break in his memory. The dreadful truth he had justheard made her die again before his eyes, by the hand of the man whom heand she had trusted. 

"Kalmon, " he said at last, and the Professor stopped short in his walk. "Kalmon, do you think she knows?"

It was like the cry of a child, but it came from a man who was alreadystrong. Kalmon could only shake his head gravely; he could find nothingto say in answer to such a question, and yet he was too human and kindand simple-hearted not to understand the words that rose to Marcello'slips. 

"Then she was happy to the end--then she still believes in him. "

Kalmon turned his clear eyes thoughtfully towards Marcello's face. 

"She is gone, " he answered. "She knows the great secret now. The rest isnothing to the dead. But we are living and it is much to us. The manmust be brought to justice, and you must help me to bring him down, ifwe have to hunt him round the world. "

"By God, I will!" said Marcello, in the tone of one who takes a solemnobligation. 

He rose and stood upright, as if he were ready, and though he was stillpale there was no look of weak horror left in his face, nor any weaknessat all. 

"Good!" exclaimed Kalmon. "I would rather see you so. Now listen to me, and collect your thoughts, Marcello. Ercole is in Rome. You rememberErcole, your keeper at the cottage by the shore? Yes. I got the lastlink in the evidence about Corbario's attack on you from him to-day. Heis a strange fellow. He has known it since last summer and has kept itto himself. But he is one of those diabolically clever peasants that onemeets in the Campagna, and he must have his reasons. I told him to sleepat my house to-night, and when I went home he was sitting up in theentry with his dog. I have sent him to the station to find out whetherCorbario really left or not. You don't think he will succeed? I tell youthere are few detectives to be compared with one of those fellows whenthey are on the track of a man they hate. I told him to come here, nomatter how late it might be, since he is your man. I suppose he can getin?"

"Of course. There is a night-bell for the porter. Ercole knows that. Besides, the porter will not go to bed as long as you are here. While weare waiting for him, tell me what Ercole has found out. "

They sat down again, and Kalmon told Marcello the sailor's story of whathis captain had seen from the deck of the brigantine. Marcello listenedgravely. 

"I remember that there was a small vessel very far in, " he said. "Aurorawill remember it, too, for she watched it and spoke of it. We thought itmust run aground on the bar, it was so very near. "

"Yes. She remembers it, too. The evidence is complete. "

There was silence again. Marcello threw another log upon the fire, andthey waited. Kalmon smoked thoughtfully, but Marcello leaned back in hischair, covering his eyes with one hand. The pain had not begun to bedulled yet, and he could only sit still and bear it. 

At last the door opened, and a servant said that Ercole was waiting, andhad been ordered to come, no matter how late it was. A moment later heappeared, and for once without his dog. 

He stood before the door as it closed behind him waiting to be told tocome forward. Marcello spoke kindly to him. 

"Come here, " he said. "It is a long time since we saw each other, andnow we are in a hurry. "

Ercole's heavy boots rang on the polished floor as he obeyed and came upto the table. He looked gloomily and suspiciously at both men. 

"Well?" said Kalmon, encouraging him to speak. 

"He is still in Rome, " Ercole answered. "How do I know it? I began toask the porters and the under station-masters who wear red caps, and thewoman who sells newspapers and cigars at the stand, and the man whoclips the tickets at the doors of the waiting-rooms. 'Did you see agentleman, so and so, with a servant, so and so, and much luggage, goingaway by the train? For I am his keeper from the Roman shore, and he toldme to be here when he went away, to give him a certain answer. ' So Isaid, going from one to another, and weeping to show that it was a veryurgent matter. And many shook their heads and laughed at me. But at lasta porter heard, and asked if the gentleman were so and so. And I saidyes, that he was so and so, and his servant was so and so, and that thegentleman was a rich gentleman. And the porter said, 'See what acombination! That is the gentleman who had all his luggage brought inthis afternoon, to be weighed; but it was not weighed, for he came backafter a quarter of an hour, and took some small things and had them putupon a cab, but the other boxes were left in deposit. ' Then I took outfour sous and showed them to the porter, and he led me to a certainhall, and showed me the luggage, which is that of the man we seek, andit is marked 'F. C. ' So when I had seen, I made a show of being joyful, and gave the porter five sous instead of four. And he was verycontented. This is the truth. So I say, he is still in Rome. "

"I told you so, " said Kalmon, looking at Marcello. 

"Excuse me, but what did you tell the young gentleman?" asked Ercolesuspiciously. 

"That you would surely find out, " Kalmon answered. 

"I have found out many things, " said Ercole gloomily. 

His voice was very harsh just then, as if speaking so much had made himhoarse. 

"He took some of his things away because he meant to spend the night inRome, " Kalmon said thoughtfully. "He means to leave to-morrow, perhapsby an early train. If we do not find him to-night, we shall not catchhim in Rome at all. "

"Surely, " said Ercole, "but Rome is very big, and it is late. "

CHAPTER XVIII

It was still raining when the three men left the villa, and the nightwas very dark, for the young moon had already set. The wind howled roundSan Pietro in Montorio and the Spanish Academy, and whistled through thebranches of the plane-trees along the winding descent, and furiouslytore the withering leaves. They struck Ercole's weather-beaten face ashe sat beside the coachman with bent head, with his soft hat pulled downover his eyes, and the rain dripped from his coarse moustache. Kalmonand Marcello leaned as far back as they could, under the deep hood andbehind the high leathern apron. 

"There is some animal following us, " the cabman said to Ercole as theyturned a corner. 

"It is my dog, " Ercole answered. 

"It sounds like a calf, " said the cabman, turning his head to listenthrough the storm. 

"It is not a calf, " answered Ercole gruffly. "It is my dog. Or if youwish it to be the were-wolf, it will be the were-wolf. "

The cabman glanced uneasily at his companion on the box, for thewere-wolf is a thing of terror to Romans. But he could not see thecountryman's features in the gloom, and he hastened his horse's pacedown the hill, for he did not like the sound of those galloping feetbehind his cab, in that lonely road, in the dark and the rain. 

"Where am I to go?" he asked, as he came near the place where a turn tothe right leads out of the Via Garibaldi down to the Via Luciano Manara. 

But Kalmon knew where they were, even better than Marcello, to whom theroad was familiar by day and night, in all weathers. 

"We must leave that message first, " said the Professor to Marcello. "Weare coming to the turning. "

"To Santa Cecilia, " Marcello called out to the cabman, thrusting hishead forward into the rain, "then I will tell you where to go. "

"Santa Cecilia, " echoed the cabman. 

Ercole growled something quite unintelligible, to which his companionpaid no attention, and the cab rattled on through the rain down the longpaved street. It made such a noise that the dog's feet could not beheard any more. There were more lamps, too, and it seemed less gloomythan up there under the plane-trees, though there were no lights in thewindows at that late hour. 

"Now to the right, " said Ercole, as they reached the back of SaintCecilia's at the Via Anicia. 

"To the right!" Marcello called out a second later from under the hood. 

"You seem to know the way, " said the cabman to Ercole. "Why don't yougive me the address of the house at once and be done with it?"

"I know the house, but not the street, nor the number. "

"I understand. Does your dog also know the house?"

To this question Ercole made no answer, for he considered that it wasnone of the cabman's business, and, moreover, he regretted having shownthat he knew where his master was going. Marcello now gave the finaldirection to the cabman, who drew up before a door in a wall, in anarrow lane, where the walls were high and the doors were few. It wasthe garden entrance to the little house in Trastevere. 

Marcello got out, opened the door with the key he carried, and went in. It was raining hard, and he disappeared into the darkness, shutting thedoor behind him. It had a small modern lock with a spring latch thatclicked sharply as it shut. The cab had stopped with the door on theleft, and therefore on the side on which Ercole was sitting. Nino, thedog, came up from behind, with his tongue hanging out, blood-red in thefeeble light of the cab's lamp; he put his head up above the low frontwheel to have a look at Ercole. Being satisfied, he at once lay down onthe wet stones, with his muzzle towards the door. 

Two or three minutes passed thus, in total silence. The cab-horse hunghis head patiently under the driving rain, but neither stamped on thepaving stones nor shook himself, nor panted audibly, for he was a prettygood horse, as cab-horses go, and was not tired. 

Suddenly Nino growled without moving, the ominous low growl of a dogthat can kill, and Ercole growled at him in turn, making a soundintended to impose silence. There was no reason why Nino should growl atMarcello. But Nino rose slowly upon his quarters, as if he were about tospring at the door, and his rough coat bristled along his back. ThenErcole distinctly heard the latch click as it had done when Marcellowent in, and Nino put his muzzle to the crack of the closed door andsniffed up and down it, and then along the stone step. To Ercole it wasclear that some person within had opened the door noiselessly a littleway and had shut it again rather hurriedly, on hearing the dog andseeing the cab. Whoever it was had wished to see if there were any oneoutside, without being seen, or perhaps had meant to slip out withoutbeing heard by any one in the house. 

Kalmon, leaning back inside, had not heard the sound of the latch, andpaid no attention to Nino's growl. It was natural that such an animalshould growl and snarl for nothing, he thought, especially on a rainynight, when the lamps of a cab throw strange patches of light on theglistening pavement. 

There was some reason why Ercole, who had heard, did not get down andtell the Professor, who had noticed nothing. One reason, and a goodenough one, was that whoever it was that had opened the door socautiously, it certainly was not the man they were all hunting thatnight. Yet since Ercole knew the little house, and probably knew wholived there, and that it belonged to Marcello, it might have beensupposed that he would have told the latter, whose footsteps were heardon the gravel a few moments afterwards. But though Marcello stood amoment by the wheel close to Ercole, and spoke across him to the cabman, Ercole said nothing. Nino had not growled at Marcello, even before thelatter had appeared, for Nino had a good memory, for a dog, anddoubtless remembered long days spent by the Roman shore, and copiousleavings thrown to him from luxurious luncheons. Before they had leftthe villa he had sniffed at Marcello's clothes and hands in a mannerthat was meant to be uncommonly friendly, though it might not haveseemed reassuring to a stranger; and Marcello had patted his huge head, and called him by name. 

The young man had given the cabman the address of the office of theChief of Police, and when he had got in and hooked up the leathernapron, the cab rolled away over the stones through the dark streets, towards the bridge of Saint Bartholomew. 

Within the house Regina sat alone, as Marcello had found her, her chinresting on the back of her closed hand, her elbow on her knee, her eyesgazing at the bright little fire that blazed on the polished hearth. Herhair was knotted for the night, low down on her neck, and the loosedressing-gown of dove-coloured silk plush was unfastened at the neck, where a little lace fell about her strong white throat. 

She had sprung to her feet in happy surprise when Marcello had enteredthe room, though it was not two hours since he had left her, and shecould still smell the smoke of his last cigarette. She had felt asudden chill when she had seen his face, for she never saw him lookgrave and preoccupied without believing that he had grown suddenly tiredof her, and that the end had come. But then she had seen his eyeslighten for her, and she had known that he was not tired of her, butonly very much in earnest and very much in a hurry. 

He had bidden her find out from Settimia where Corbario was, if thewoman knew it; he had told her to find out at any cost, and had put agreat deal of emphasis on the last words. In answer to the one questionshe asked, he told her that Corbario was a murderer, and was trying toescape. He had not time to explain more fully, but he knew that he couldcount on her. She did not love Folco Corbario, and she came of a racethat could hate, for it was the race of the Roman hill peasants. So heleft her quickly and went on. 

But when he was gone, Regina sat quite still for some time, looking atthe fire. Settimia was safe in her own room, and was probably asleep. Itwould be soon enough to wake her when Regina had considered what sheshould say in order to get the information Marcello wanted. Settimiawould deny having had any communication with Corbario, or that she knewanything of his whereabouts. The next step would probably be to tempther with money or other presents. If this failed, what was to be done?Somehow Regina guessed that a bribe would not have much effect on thewoman. 

Marcello had wished to send her away long ago, but Regina had persuadedhim to let her stay. It was part of her hatred of Corbario to accumulateproofs against him, and they were not lacking in the letters he wrote toSettimia. Regina could not understand the relation in which they stoodto each other, but now and then she had found passages in the letterswhich referred neither to herself nor Marcello, but to things that hadhappened a good many years ago in another country. She was convincedthat the two had once been companions in some nefarious business, ofwhich they had escaped the consequences. It was her intention to findout exactly what the deed had been, and then to bring Corbario to ruinby exposing it. It was a simple scheme, but it seemed a sure one, andRegina was very patient. Corbario had tried to separate her fromMarcello, and she had sworn that he should pay her for that; andbesides, he had wished to kill Marcello in order to get his money. Thatwas bad, undoubtedly--very bad; but to her peasant mind it was notunnatural. She had heard all her life of crimes committed for the sakeof an inheritance; and so have most of us, and in countries that fondlybelieve themselves much more civilised than Italy. That was extremelywicked, but the attempt had failed, and it sank into insignificance incomparison with the heinous crime of trying to separate two lovers bytreachery. That was what Regina would not forgive Corbario. 

Nor would she pardon Settimia, who had been Corbario's instrument andhelper; and as she meant to include the woman in her vengeance, shewould not let her go, but kept her, and treated her so generously andunsuspiciously that Settimia was glad to stay, since Corbario stillwished it. 

Regina looked at the little travelling-clock that stood on the low tableat her elbow, and saw that it was half-past eleven. Behind the drawncurtains she could hear the rain beating furiously against the shutters, but all was quiet within the house. Regina listened, for Settimia's roomwas overhead, and when she moved about her footsteps could be heard inthe sitting-room. Regina had heard her just before Marcello had come in, but there was no sound now; she had probably gone to bed. Regina lit acandle and went into her own room. 

On a shelf near the little toilet-table there was a box, covered withold velvet, in which she kept the few simple pins and almost necessarybits of jewellery which she had been willing to accept from Marcello. She took it down, set it upon the toilet-table and opened it. A smallsilver-mounted revolver lay amongst the other things, for Marcello hadinsisted that she should have a weapon of some kind, because the houseseemed lonely to him. He had shown her how to use it, but she hadforgotten. She took it out, and turned it over and over in her hands, with a puzzled look. She did not even know whether it was loaded or not, and did not remember how to open the chamber. She wondered how the thingworked, and felt rather afraid of it. Besides, if she had to use it, itwould make a dreadful noise; so she put it back carefully amongst thethings. 

There were the cheap little earrings she had worn ever since she hadbeen a child, till Marcello had made her take them out and wear none atall. There was a miserable little brooch of tarnished silver which shehad bought with her own money at a country fair, and which had onceseemed very fine to her. She had not the slightest sentiment about suchtrifles, for Italian peasants are altogether the least sentimentalpeople in the world; the things were not even good enough to give toSettimia, and yet it seemed wrong to throw them away, so she had alwayskept them, with a vague idea of giving them to some poor little girl, towhom they would represent happiness. With them lay the long pin she usedto stick through her hair on Sundays when she went to church. 

It had been her mother's, and it was the only thing she possessed whichhad belonged to the murdered woman who had given her birth. It wasrather a fine specimen of the pins worn by the hill peasant women, andwas made like a little cross-hilted sword, with a blade of fire-giltsteel about eight inches long. A little gilt ball was screwed upon thepoint, intended to keep the pin from coming out after it was thrustthrough the hair. Regina took the ball off and felt the point, which wasas sharp as that of a pen-knife; and she tried the blade with her handsand found that it did not bend easily. It was strong enough for what shewanted of it. She stuck it through the heavy knot of her hair, ratherlow down at the back of her neck, where she could easily reach it withher right hand; but she did not screw on the ball. It was not likelythat the pin would fall out. She was very deliberate in all she did; sheeven put up her hand two or three times, without looking at herself inthe mirror, to be quite sure where to find the hilt of the pin if sheshould need it. Marcello had told her to get the information he wanted"at any cost. "

Then she went back, with her candle, through the cheerful sitting-room, and out through a small vestibule that was now dark, and up the narrowstaircase to find Settimia. 

She knocked, and the woman opened, and Regina was a little surprised tosee that she was still dressed. She was pale, and looked very anxious asshe faced her mistress in the doorway. 

"What is the matter?" she asked, rather nervously. 

"Nothing, " Regina answered in a reassuring tone. "I had forgotten totell you about a little change I want in the trimming of that hat, andas I heard you moving about, I came up before going to bed. "

Settimia had taken off her shoes more than half an hour earlier in orderto make no noise, and her suspicions and her fears were instantlyaroused. She drew her lids together a little and looked over Regina'sshoulder through the open door towards the dark staircase. She was not atall woman, and was slightly made, but she was energetic and could bequick when she chose, as Regina knew. Regina quietly shut the doorbehind her and came forward into the room, carrying her candle-stick, which she set down upon the table near the lamp. 

"Where is that hat?" she asked, so naturally that the woman began tothink nothing was wrong after all. 

Settimia turned to cross the room, in order to get the hat in questionfrom a pasteboard bandbox that stood on the floor. Regina followed her, and stood beside her as she bent down. 

Then without the slightest warning Regina caught her arms from behindand threw her to her knees, so that she was forced to crouch down, herhead almost touching the floor. She was no more than a child in thepeasant woman's hands as soon as she was fairly caught. But she did notscream, and she seemed to be keeping her senses about her. 

"What do you want of me?" she asked, speaking with difficulty. 

Policemen know that ninety-nine out of a hundred criminals ask thatquestion when they are taken. 

"I want to know several things, " Regina answered. 

"Let me go, and I will tell you what I can. "

"No, you won't, " Regina replied, looking about her for something withwhich to tie the woman's hands, for she had forgotten that this might benecessary. "I shall not let you go until I know everything. "

She felt that Settimia's thin hands were cautiously trying the strengthof her own and turning a very little in her grasp. She threw her weightupon the woman's shoulders to keep her down, grasped both wrists in onehand, and with the other tore off the long silk cord that tied her owndressing-gown at the waist. It was new and strong. 

"You had better not struggle, " she said, as she got the first turnround Settimia's wrists and began to pull it tight. "You are in my powernow. It is of no use to scream either, for nobody will hear you. "

"I know it, " the woman replied. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I shall ask questions. If you answer them, I shall not hurt you. If youdo not, I shall hurt you until you do, or until you die. Now I am goingto tie your wrists to your heels, so that you cannot move. Then I willput a pillow under your head, so that you can be pretty comfortablewhile we talk a little. "

She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, which terrified Settimia much morethan any dramatic display of anger or hatred could have done. In a fewmoments the woman was bound hand and foot. Regina turned her upon herside, and arranged a pillow under her head as she had promised to do. Then she sat down upon the floor beside the pillow and looked at hercalmly. 

"In this way we can talk, " she said. 

Settimia's rather stony eyes were wide with fear now, as she lay on herside, watching Regina's face. 

"I have always served you faithfully, " she said. "I cannot understandwhy you treat me so cruelly. "

"Yes, " Regina answered, unmoved, "you have been an excellent maid, and Iam sorry that I am obliged to tie you up like the calves that are takento the city on carts. Now tell me, where is Signor Corbario?"

"How should I know?" whined Settimia, evidently more frightened. "Iknow nothing about Signor Corbario. I swear that I have hardly ever seenhim. How can I possibly know where he is? He is probably at his house, at this hour. "

"No. You know very well that he has left the villa. It will not serve totell lies, nor to say that you know nothing about him, for I am sure youdo. Now listen. I wish to persuade you with good words. You and SignorCorbario were in South America together. "

Settimia's face expressed abject terror. 

"Never!" she cried, rocking her bound body sideways in an instinctiveattempt to emphasise her words by a gesture. "I swear before heaven, andthe saints, and the holy--"

"It is useless, " Regina interrupted. "You have not forgotten what youand he did in Salta ten years ago. You remember how suddenly Padilladied, when 'Doctor' Corbario was attending him, and you were his nurse, don't you?"

She fixed her eyes sternly on Settimia's, and the woman turned livid, and ground her teeth. 

"You are the devil!" she said hoarsely. "But it is all a lie!" shecried, suddenly trying denial again. "I was never in South America, never, never, never!"

"This is a lie, " observed Regina, with perfect calm. "If you do not tellme where Signor Corbario is to-night, I shall go to the police to-morrowand tell all I know about you. "

"You know nothing. What is all this that you are inventing? You are awicked woman!"

"Take care! Perhaps I am a wicked woman. Who knows! I am not a saint, but you are not my confessor. It is the contrary, perhaps; and perhapsyou will have to confess to me this night, before going to the otherworld, if you confess at all. Where is Signor Corbario?"

As she asked the question, she quietly took the long pin from her hairand began to play with the point. 

"Are you going to murder me?" groaned the wretched woman, watching theterrible little weapon. 

"I should not call it murder to kill you. This point is sharp. Shouldyou like to feel it? You shall. In this way you will perhaps bepersuaded to speak. "

She gently pressed the point against Settimia's cheek. 

"Don't move, or you will scratch yourself, " she said, as the woman triedto draw back her face. "Now, will you tell me where Signor Corbario is?I want to know. "

Settimia must have feared Corbario more than she feared Regina and thesharp pin at that moment, for she shook her head and set her teeth. Perhaps she believed that Regina was only threatening her, and did notmean to do her any real bodily hurt; but in this she was misled byRegina's very quiet manner. 

"I shall wait a little while, " said Regina, almost indifferently, "andthen, if you do not tell me, I shall begin to kill you. It may take along time, and you will scream a good deal, but nobody will hear you. Now think a little, and decide what you will do. "

Regina laid the pin upon the floor beside her, drew up her knees, andclasped her hands together over them, as the hill women often sit forhours when they are waiting for anything. 

Her face hardened slowly until it had an expression which Marcello hadnever seen. It was not a look of cruelty, nor of fierce anticipatedsatisfaction in what she meant to do; it was simply cold and relentless, and Settimia gazed with terror on the splendid marble profile, sofearfully distinct against the dark wall in the bright light of thelamp. The strength of the woman, quietly waiting to kill, seemed to fillthe room; her figure seemed to grow gigantic in the terrified eyes ofher prisoner; the slow, regular heave of her bosom as she breathed wastelling the seconds and minutes of fate, that would never reach an hour. 

It is bad to see death very near when one is tied hand and foot andcannot fight for life. Most people cannot bear the sight quietly for aquarter of an hour; they break down altogether, or struggle furiously, like animals, though they know it is perfectly useless and that theyhave no chance. Anything is easier than to lie still, watching the knifeand wondering when and where it is going to enter into the flesh. 

Regina sat thinking and ready. She wished that she had Corbario himselfin her power, but it was something to have the woman who had helpedhim. She was very glad that she had insisted on keeping Settimia inspite of Marcello's remonstrances. It had made it possible to obtain theinformation he wanted, and which, she felt sure, was to lead toCorbario's destruction. She was to find out "at any cost"; those hadbeen Marcello's words, and she supposed he knew that she would obey himto the letter. For she said to herself that he was the master, and thatif she did not obey him in such a matter, when he seemed so much inearnest, he would be disappointed, and angry, and would then growquickly tired of her, and so the end would come. "At any cost, " as hehad said it in his haste, meant to Regina at the cost of blood, andlife, and limb, if need were. Corbario was the enemy of the man sheloved; it was her lover's pleasure to find out his enemy and to berevenged at last; what sort of woman must she be if she did not helphim? what was her love worth if she did not obey him? He had been alwayskind to her, and more than kind; but it would have been quite the sameif he had treated her worse than a dog, provided he did not send heraway from him. She belonged to him, and he was the master, to do as hepleased. If he sent her away, she would go; but if not, he might havebeaten her and she would never have complained. Now that he had given asimple command, she was not going to disobey him. She had pride, but itwas not for him, and in her veins the blood of sixty generations ofslaves and serfs had come down to her through two thousand years, theblood of men who had killed when they were bidden to kill by theirmasters, whose masters had killed them like sheep in war and often inpeace, of women who had been reckoned as goods and as chattels with theland on which their mothers had borne them--of men and women too oftenfamiliar with murder and sudden death from their cradles to theirgraves. 

The minutes passed and Settimia's terror grew till the room swam withher, and she lost hold upon herself, and did not know whether shescreamed or was silent, as her parched lips opened wide upon her partedteeth. But she had made no sound, and Regina did not even look at her. Death had not come yet; there was a respite of seconds, perhaps ofminutes. 

At last Regina unclasped her hands and took up the pin again. Themiserable woman fancied that she already felt the little blade creepingthrough her flesh and blood on its way to her heart. For Regina had saidshe would take a long time to kill her. It must have been a strongreason that could keep her silent still, if she knew the answer to thequestion. 

Regina turned her head very slowly and looked coldly down at theagonised face. 

"I am tired, " she said. "I cannot wait any longer. "

Settimia's eyes seemed to be starting from her head, and her dry lipswere stretched till they cracked, and she thought she had screamedagain; but she had not, for her throat was paralysed with fear. Reginarose upon her knees beside the pillow, with the pin in her right hand. 

"Where is Corbario?" she asked, looking down. "If you will not tell Ishall hurt you. "

Settimia's lips moved, as if she were trying to speak, but no words camefrom them. Regina got up from the floor, went to the washstand andpoured some water into the glass, for she thought it possible that thewoman was really unable to utter a sound because her throat was parchedwith fear. But she could speak a little as soon as Regina left her side, and the last peril seemed a few seconds less near. 

"For the love of God, don't kill me yet, " she moaned. "Let me speakfirst!"

Regina came back, knelt down, and set the glass on the floor, beside thepin. 

"That is all I want, " she said quietly, "that you should speak. "

"Water, " moaned Settimia, turning her eyes to the glass. 

Regina held up her head a little and set the tumbler to her lips, andshe drank eagerly. The fear of death is more parching than wound-feveror passion. 

"Now you can surely talk a little, " Regina said. 

"Why do you wish to know where he is?" Settimia asked in a weak voice. "Are the police looking for him? What has he done? Why do you want me tobetray him?"

"These are too many questions, " Regina answered. "I have been told tomake you tell where he is, and I will. That is enough. "

"I do not know where he is. "

In an instant the point of the sharp little blade was pressing againstthe woman's throat, harder and harder; one second more and it wouldpierce the skin and draw blood. 

"Stop, " she screamed, with a convulsion of her whole body. "He is in thehouse!"

CHAPTER XIX

With a single movement Regina was on her feet, for she had been taken bysurprise, and her first instinct was to be ready for some new andunsuspected danger. In a flash it seemed to her that since Corbario wasin the house, he might very possibly enter suddenly and take Settimia'sdefence. Regina was not afraid of him, but she was only a woman afterall, and Corbario was not a man to stop at trifles. He was very likelyarmed, and would perhaps shoot her, in order to make good his escapewith Settimia, unless, as was quite probable, he killed his oldaccomplice too, before leaving the room. 

Regina stood still a moment, reflecting on the dangerous situation. Itcertainly would not be safe to release Settimia yet; for if Corbariowere really in the house, the two together could easily overpower onewoman, though she was strong. 

"I am sorry that I cannot untie you yet, " Regina said, and with a glanceat the prostrate figure she took up her candle-stick, stuck her pinthrough her hair before the mirror, and went to the door. 

She took the key from the lock, put it back on the outside, and turnedit, and put it into her pocket when she had shut the door after her. Then she slowly descended the stairs, stopping now and then to listen, and shading her candle with her hand so that she could see over it, forshe expected to be attacked at any moment. At the slightest sound shewould have snatched her pin from her hair again, but she heard nothing, and went cautiously down till she reached the vestibule outside thesitting-room. She entered the latter and sat down to think. 

Should she boldly search the house? Settimia could hardly have had anyobject in lying. If she had meant to frighten Regina, she would havespoken very differently. She would have made out that Corbario wasalmost within hearing, waiting in a dark corner with a loaded revolver. But her words had been the cry of truth, uttered to save her life at themoment when death was actually upon her. She would have screamed out thetruth just as certainly if Corbario had already left Rome, or if he werein some hotel for the night--or even if she had really known nothing. Inthe last case Regina would have believed her, and would have let her go. There is no mistaking the accent of mortal terror, whether one has everheard it or not. 

Corbario was somewhere in the house, Marcello's enemy, and the man sheherself had long hated. A wild longing came over her to have him in herpower, bound hand and foot like Settimia, and then to torment him at herpleasure until he died. She felt the strength of half a dozen men inher, and the courage of an army, as she rose to her feet once more. Shehad seen him. He was not a big man. If she could catch him from behind, as she had caught the woman, she might perhaps overpower him. With thethought of near revenge the last ray of caution disappeared, and frombeing fearless Regina became suddenly reckless. 

But as she rose, she heard a sound overhead, and it was the unmistakablesound of footsteps. She started in surprise. It was simply impossiblethat Settimia should have loosed the cord that bound her. Regina hadbeen brought up in the low hill country and in the Campagna, and shecould tie some of the knots used by Roman muleteers and carters, whichhold as well as those men learn at sea. She had tied Settimia veryfirmly, and short of a miracle the woman could not have freed herself. Yet the footsteps had been distinctly audible for a moment. SinceSettimia was not walking about, Corbario must have got into the room. Yet Regina had locked the door, and had the key in her pocket. It wasperfectly incomprehensible. She left the sitting-room again, carryingher candle as before; but at the door she turned back, and set thecandle-stick upon the table. She would be safer in the dark, and wouldhave a better chance of taking Corbario by surprise. 

Poor Regina had not grown up amongst people who had a high standard ofhonour, and her own ideas about right and wrong were primitive, to speakcharitably. But if she had dreamt of the deed that was being doneupstairs, her heart would have stood still, and she would have felt sickat the mere thought of such villainy. 

She had left the room and locked the door, and while her footsteps hadbeen audible on the stairs no other sound had broken the stillness. Buta few seconds later a whispered question came from some person out ofsight. 

"Is she gone?" the whisper asked. 

"Yes, " answered Settimia in a very low voice, which she knew Reginacould not hear. 

Corbario's pale face cautiously emerged from the closet in which he hadbeen hidden, and he looked round the room before he stepped out. Settimia could not turn over to see him, but she heard him comingtowards her. 

"Cut this cord, " she said in an undertone. "Make haste! We can be out ofthe house in less than half a minute. "

Corbario knelt beside her, and took out a handsome English clasp-knife. But he did not cut the cord. He looked down into Settimia's face, andshe understood. 

"I could not help it, " she answered. "She would have killed me!"

Corbario laid his left hand upon her throat. 

"If you try to scream I shall strangle you, " he said in a whisper. "Youhave betrayed me, and I cannot afford to trust you again. Do you knowwhat I am going to do?"

She tried to turn her head, but his hand was heavy on her throat. Shestrained frightfully to move, and her stony eyes lit up with a dyingglare of terror. 

"Do it quickly!" she gasped. 

"Hush!" His hand tightened on her throat. "If you were in Salta, youshould die by tenths of inches, if it took all night! That would be toogood for you. "

He spat in her face as she writhed under his grasp. He looked into herliving eyes once more with all the cowardly hate that possessed him, hestruck deep and sure, he saw the light break in the pupils, and heardthe awful rattle of her last breath. 

In an instant he was at the window, and had thrown it wide open. He gotout quickly, let himself down with his hands, and pushed himself awayfrom the wall with his feet as he jumped down backwards, well knowingthat there was grass below him, and that the earth was as soft as spongewith the long rain. He was sure that he could not hurt himself. Yetbefore his feet touched the ground he had uttered a low cry of fear. 

He was on his legs now and trying to run, but it was too late. There wasthe flash of a lantern in the wet garden, and between him and the light, and just below it, he saw two points of greenish fire coming at him; forhe saw everything then; and he heard the rush of a heavy beast's feet, tearing up the earth with iron claws, and the savage breath, and theloud hiss of a man setting the creature on; for he heard every soundthen; and he knew that the thing of terror would leap up with resistlessstrength and hurl its weight upon him, and bury its jagged fangs in histhroat and tear him, in an instant that would seem like an hour ofagony, and that the pain and the fear would be as if he were hung up byall the nerves of his body, drawn out and twisted; for he kneweverything then; and in that immeasurable time which is nothing, and yetis infinite, he remembered his evil life, his robberies, his murders, and his betrayals, one by one, but he remembered with most frightfulclearness how he had tried to kill Marcello, how he had corrupted himfrom his childhood, with bad counsels very cunningly, and prepared himto go astray, how he had thrust evil in his path and laughed away thegood, and had led him on, and poisoned him, and would have brought himto his death and damnation surely, but for one sinning devoted womanthat loved him; for he remembered everything then; and from very faraway, out of memories of his youth, there came a voice that had oncebeen gentle and kind, but that rang in his ears now, like the blast ofthe trumpet of the last judgment. 

"Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones which believe in Me, itwere better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, andthat he were drowned in the depth of the sea. "

Far better, indeed, for it all came, when the immeasurable second'slength was past, and he was thrown down against the wall, and torn, andshaken like a rat; it all came just as he had felt that it was coming, and it lasted long, a long, long time, while he tried to howl, and theblood only gurgled in his throat. And then, just as many strong handsdragged away the thing of terror, and the light of a lantern and of alamp flashed in his eyes, he fell asleep in the wet grass. 

For they had caught him fairly and brought him, down. Kalmon hadwatched him long, and had told some of his suspicions to the Chief ofPolice, and the latter, unknown to Kalmon, had caused him to be watchedfrom time to time. But he, who had been watched before and had oncealready escaped for his life, had sometimes seen faces near him that hedid not trust, and when he had turned back from the station thatafternoon he had seen one of those faces; so he had driven away quicklyin a cab, by winding ways, so as not to be followed. Yet Kalmon andMarcello, talking as they drove, grew more and more sure that he wouldwish to see Settimia before he left Rome, the more certainly if hebelieved himself pursued, as seemed likely from his changing his mind atthe station. So they had stopped their cab before they had reached theirdestination, and had sent Ercole back to Trastevere with the key of thegarden gate, bidding him watch, as it was most probable that Corbariowould try to get out through the garden; and before long they had comeback to the door of the house that opened upon the street, and had letthemselves in quietly, just in time to hear the noise of the struggle asthe dog threw Corbario to the ground. For the other entrance to thelittle vestibule opened upon the garden within, at the very spot whereCorbario alighted when he jumped from the window. 

And now they stood there in the rain round the wounded man, whileMarcello held the lantern to his face, and Regina thrust a lamp out ofthe lower window which she had thrown open. 

"Is he dead?" she asked, in the silence that followed when Ercole hadgot control of the dog again. 

At the sound of her voice Ercole started strangely and looked up to herface that was not far above his own, and his eyes fixed themselves uponher so intently that she looked down at him, while she still held outher lamp. She could not remember that she had ever seen him; but he hadseen her many times since he had made his visit to the inn on theFrascati road. 

"Is he dead?" she repeated, putting the question directly to him as hewas nearest. 

Still he looked at her in silence, with his deep-set, unwinking eyes. Marcello and Kalmon were bending over Corbario, Marcello holding thelantern, while the Professor listened for the beating of the heart andfelt the pulse. They paid no attention to Regina for the moment. 

"Why don't you speak?" she asked, surprised by Ercole's silent stare. 

"You don't know me, " he said slowly, "but I know you. "

The rain was beating upon her lamp, and at that moment the shade crackedunder the cold drops and fell to pieces, and the wind instantlyextinguished the flame of the flaring wick. Regina withdrew into theroom to get another light, and Ercole stared after her into the gloom. 

"He is alive, " said Kalmon, looking up to see why the light had goneout. "We must get him inside at once, or he will die here. Come, Ercole! Make that dog lie down and keep quiet. "

Between them they carried Corbario into the house. Nino watched on thestep in the rain, but when the door was shut behind him, he crawled downto the wet grass and lapped the blood and water in the dark. Theycarried Corbario upstairs to an empty room there was, and as they wentRegina tried to tell Marcello what she had done. They opened Settimia'sdoor, which was still locked, and they found her quite dead, and thewindow was wide open; then Regina understood that Corbario had beenhidden within hearing, and had killed the woman because she hadconfessed. 

The men who had been sent from the central police station at Kalmon'srequest arrived a few minutes later. One was at once sent for a surgeonand for more men; the other remained. Soon the little house was full ofofficials, in uniform and in plain clothes. They examined everything, they wrote rapidly on big sheets of stamped paper; their chief took thefirst deposition of Regina, and of the three men, and of the surgeon. Atdawn a man came with a rough pine coffin. Officials came and went, andwere gravely busy. One man spoke of coffee when it was day, and went andmade some in the little kitchen, for the two young women who cooked anddid the work of the house did not sleep there, and would not come tillpast seven o'clock. 

During the long hours, when Regina and Marcello were not wanted, theywere together in the sitting-room downstairs. Regina told Marcello indetail everything she knew about the events of the night, and much whichshe had found out earlier about Settimia but had never told him. Kalmoncame in from time to time and told them what was going on, and thatCorbario was still alive; but they saw no more of Ercole. He had madehis first deposition, to the effect that he had been set to watch thehouse, that the murderer had jumped from an upper window, and that thedog had pulled him down. The officials looked nervously at the dog, produced by Ercole in evidence, and were glad when the beast was out oftheir sight. There were dark stains about the bristles on his jaws, andhis eyes were bloodshot; but Ercole laid one hand on his uncouth head, and he was very quiet, and did not even snarl at the policemen. 

Regina and Marcello sat side by side, talking in a low voice, andlooking at each other now and then. The little house in which they hadbeen happy was turned to a place of death and horror, and both knew thatsome change was coming to themselves. 

"You cannot live here any more, " Marcello said at dawn, "not even tillto-night. "

"Where could I go?" Regina asked. "Why should I not stay here? Do youthink I am afraid of the dead woman?"

"No, " Marcello answered, "but you cannot stay here. "

He guessed what talking and gossiping there would be when the newspaperstold what had happened in the little house, how the reporters wouldhang about the street for a week to come, and how fashionable peoplewould go out of their way to see the place where a murder had beencommitted by such a well-known person as Corbario, and where he had beentaken almost in the very act, and himself nearly killed. Besides allthat, there would be the public curiosity about Regina, who had been sointimately concerned in a part of the tragedy, and whose name waseverywhere associated with his own. 

He would have taken her away from Rome at once, if he could have doneso. But he knew that they would both be called upon during the next fewdays to repeat in court the evidence they had already given in theirfirst deposition. There was sure to be the most frightful publicityabout the whole affair, of which reports would be published not only inRome but throughout Italy, and all over the world. In real life theconsequences of events generally have the importance which fiction isobliged to give the events themselves; which is the reason why thethings that happen to real people rarely come to any precise conclusion, like those reached by a play or a novel. The "conclusion" lies in thelives of the people, after the tragedy, or the drama, or the comedy hasviolently upset their existences. 

"You cannot stay here, " Marcello repeated with conviction. 

"You will go on living at your villa, " Regina answered. "Why should Inot go on living in this house? For a few days I will not go out, thatis all. Is it the end of the world because a person has been killed whoought to have died in the galleys? Or because the man who tried to killyou was caught in a place that belongs to you? Tell me that. "

"You cannot stay here, " Marcello repeated a third time. 

For a while Regina was silent. They were both very white and heavy-eyedin the cold daylight, though they could not have slept. At last shelooked at him thoughtfully. 

"If we were married, we should go on living in our own house, " she said. "Is it true, or not? It is because there will be talking that you areashamed to let me stay where I am, and would like to get me away. Thisis the truth. I know it. "

Marcello knew it too and did not answer at once, for it was not easy todecide what he ought to do. The problem that had seemed so hard to solvea few hours earlier was fast getting altogether beyond solution. Therewas only one thing to be done in the first present difficulty; he musttake Regina to some other place at once. No doubt this was easy enough. He would take an apartment for her elsewhere, as far as possible fromthe scene of the tragedy, and in a few hours she could be installedthere out of the way of annoyance. He could buy a house for her if hechose, for he was very rich. Possibly some house already belonging tohim was vacant; his lawyer would know. 

But after that, what was to come? If Corbario lived, there would be asensational trial in which he and Regina would be witnesses together, and Kalmon too, and very surely Aurora and her mother. For Aurora wouldbe called upon to tell what she knew of Marcello's movements on themorning when he had been knocked down near the gap. 

Every moment of his past life would be publicly examined, to proveCorbario's guilt. Worse than that, there would be a long inquiry to showthat Corbario had murdered his mother. Skilled surgeons were tending theman's wounds and reviving him by every means that science could suggest. Kalmon said that he might live. He was being kept alive in order to becondemned to the expiation of his crimes in penal servitude, sinceItalian law could not make him pay for them with his life. The man wouldbe watched by day and night, lest he should try to commit suicide, forhe was to suffer, if he lived. He was to suffer horribly, without doubt, and it was right and just that he should. But Marcello would suffer too. That was not just. The name of his saintly mother would be in the mouthsof all kinds of witnesses, in the columns of all sorts of newspapers. Lawyers would make speeches about her to excite the pity of the jury andto turn the whole tide of feeling against Corbario. Marcello wouldhimself be held up to public commiseration, as one of Corbario'svictims. There would be allusions covert and open to Regina and to theposition in which she stood to Marcello. There would be talk aboutAurora. People would suddenly remember her mother's sad story andgossip about her; people would certainly say that there had been talkabout marrying Aurora to Marcello, and that Regina had come betweenthem. Yes, there would be much talk about Aurora; that was certain. 

All this was coming, and was not far off, if Corbario lived; and even ifhe died there would be a vast amount said and written about all thepeople concerned. 

And Regina was there, beside him, telling him that if they were marriedthey could go on living in the little house, just as if nothing hadhappened. It was not true, but he could not find heart to tell her so. It was the first time that any suggestion of marriage had come from her, who had always told him that marriage was impossible. If she wished itnow, could he refuse?

Suddenly he knew that he had reached one of the great cross-roads in hislife, and that fate had dragged him violently to it within the last fewhours, to make him choose his way. The full-grown character of the manrebelled against being forced to a decision in spite of himself, butrevolted at the thought of fearing to do what was right and honourable. He was not hesitating as he sat still in silence after Regina hadspoken. He was thinking, with the firm determination to act as soon ashe had reached a decision. When a man can do that, his weakness is past. 

Regina did not interrupt the current of his thoughts, and as she watchedhim she forgot all about the present; and they were just together, wherethey had so often been happy, and she loved him with all her heart. Thatwas her strength. It had nothing to do with right or wrong, honour ordishonour, credit or discredit, or any choice of ways. She had nochoice. She loved. It was a very simple thing. 

He looked up at last. She was still wearing the loose dressing-gown shehad worn all night. 

"Could you sleep now?" he asked. 

"No. "

"Then you must dress, " he said. "While you are dressing I will walk upto the villa and give some orders. Then I will come and get you in aclosed carriage. Put together what you may need for the day, and I willhave all your things moved before night. "

"Are you really going to take me away from here?" Regina asked, regretfully. 

"Yes. I must. It will be easy to find a place that will please youbetter. Will you do as I have said?"

"Why do you ask? I go. "

She rose and stood beside him a moment while he sat still, and her handcaressed his short fair hair. She bent down and kissed the close wavesof it, near his forehead. 

"We have been very happy here, " she said quietly. 

She slipped away as he rose to his feet, with the sudden conviction thatsomething had happened. 

"What is it?" he asked quickly, and making a step after her. 

"I am going to dress, " she answered. 

She turned her head and smiled, but there was a touch of sadness in thelook, as if she was saying good-bye. He partly understood, and herexpression was reflected in his own face. They had been so happy in thelittle house in Trastevere. 

When the door had closed Marcello went to find Kalmon. He met him at thefoot of the stairs. 

"The fellow is alive, and will probably recover, " said the Professor, inanswer to the unasked question in Marcello's eyes. 

"It would simplify matters if he died, " said Marcello. "Will you walk upto the villa with me and have coffee? We cannot get a cab at this houron this side of the Tiber. "

"Thank you, " Kalmon answered, "but I must go home. The house is incharge of the police, and there is nothing more to be done here. Theyhave already taken the woman's body to San Spirito, and they will moveCorbario in a few hours. He is badly mauled, but no big arteries aretorn. I must go home and write a letter. The Contessa must not hear whathas happened through the newspapers. "

"No. Certainly not. As for me, I am going to take Regina away at once. Ishall bring my own carriage down from the villa. "

"By the bye, " Kalmon said, "I had thought of that. The house in which Ilive is divided into many small apartments. There is a very good one tolet, decently furnished. I thought of taking it myself, and I looked atit yesterday. You might put the young lady there until you can find whatyou may prefer. She can move in at once. "

"Nothing could be better. If you are going home, will you say that Itake the place and will be there in an hour? No. 16, Via Sicilia, is itnot?"

"Yes. I'll see to it. Shall I take the lease in your name?"

"No. Any name will do better. The reporters would find her at once undermine. "

"I'll use my own, " said the Professor. "I'll say that she is a lady whohas arrived to consult me--I daresay she will--and that I'm responsiblefor her. "

"Thank you, " answered Marcello gratefully. "And thank you for all thatyou have done to help me. "

"My dear Marcello, " Kalmon said, smiling cheerfully, "in the firstplace, I have done nothing to help you, and secondly, through excess ofzeal, I have got you into a very unpleasant situation, by indirectlycausing a woman to be murdered in your house, and the murderer almostmauled to death by that very singular wild beast which your man calls adog, and which I had often noticed in old times at the cottage. So thereis nothing at all to thank me for, though I am most heartily at yourservice. "

The Professor was positively in high spirits just then, and Marcelloenvied him as they parted and took opposite directions. 

Though the Via Sicilia was a long way from the Janiculum, Marcello hadbeen only too glad to accept Kalmon's suggestion at such a moment. Regina would feel that she was protected by Marcello's friend, andthough she might rarely see him, it would be better for her than to belodged in a house where she knew no one. Kalmon was a bachelor and aman of assured position, and it had cost him nothing to undertake togive Regina his protection; but Marcello was deeply grateful. He hadalready made up his mind as to what he would do next. 

It had stopped raining at last, and the wind had fallen to a soft breezethat bore the morning mist gently away towards the sea, and hardlystirred the wet leaves that strewed the road all the way up to SanPietro in Montorio. Marcello found the gate of the villa already open, for it was nearly eight o'clock by the time he got there. 

He summoned the servants to the library, told them briefly what hadhappened, and warned them that they might be summoned as witnesses atthe coming trial, as most of them had been in his mother's service. Inthe days before Corbario had lost his head, and when he had controlledthe household, it had been a part of his policy to have reallyrespectable servants about him, and though some of them had never quitetrusted him, they had all been devoted to the Signora and to Marcello. They listened in respectful silence now, and waited till he was out ofthe house before meeting to discuss the tragedy and to decide thatCorbario had got his deserts at last. 

In a few hours Regina was installed in her new lodging with suchbelongings as she needed immediately. Kalmon, having finished writinghis letter to the Contessa, left nothing undone which could contributeto the comfort of the "lady who had arrived to consult him. " He had arespectable old woman servant, who had been with him for years, and whocame from his native town. He took her into his confidence to someextent, and placed her in charge of Regina. As she thought thateverything he did must be right, she accepted his statement that theyoung gentleman who would often come to see the young lady was deeplyinterested in the latter's welfare, and that, as the poor young lady hadno relations, he, the Professor, had taken her under his protectionwhile she remained in Rome. 

The old servant's name was Teresa, and she belonged to a certain type ofelderly old maids who take a very kindly interest in the love affairs ofthe young. She smiled, shook her head in a very mild disapprobation, anddid much more than Kalmon had asked of her; for she took the very firstopportunity of informing Regina that the Professor was the greatest, wisest, best, and kindest of mankind; and Regina recognised in her aloyal soul, and forthwith liked her very much. 

It was late in the November afternoon when Marcello ascended the stairsand stopped before the door of the little apartment. He realised that hehad no key to it, and that he must ring the bell as if he were a merevisitor. It was strange that such a little thing should affect him atall, but he was conscious of a sort of chill, as he pulled the metalhandle and heard the tinkling of one of those cheap little bells thatfeebly imitate their electric betters by means of a rachet and a smallweighted wheel. It was all so different from the little house inTrastevere with its bright varnished doors, its patent locks, its smartwindows, and its lovely old garden. He wished he had not brought Reginato Via Sicilia, though Kalmon's advice had seemed so good. To Kalmon, who was used to no great luxury in his own life, the place doubtlessseemed very well suited for a young person like Regina, who had beenbrought up a poor child in the hills. But the mere anticipation of thedark and narrow entry, and the sordid little sitting-room beyond, awokein Marcello a sense of shame, whether for himself or for the woman wholoved him he hardly knew. 

Old Teresa had gone out for something, and Regina opened the doorherself. 

CHAPTER XX

"I have come to see if you need anything, " Marcello said, when they werein the sitting-room. "I am sorry to have been obliged to bring you tosuch a wretched place, but it seemed a good thing that you should be sonear Kalmon. "

"It is not a wretched place, " Regina answered. "It is clean, and thethings are new, and the curtains have been washed. It is not wretched. We have been in worse lodgings when we have travelled and stopped insmall towns. Professor Kalmon has been very kind. It was wise to bringme here. "

He wished she had seemed discontented. 

"Have you rested a little?" he asked. 

"I have slept two or three hours. And you? You look tired. "

"I have had no time to sleep. I shall sleep to-night. "

He leaned back in the small green arm-chair and rested his head againsta coarse netted antimacassar. His eyes caught Regina's, but she waslooking down thoughtfully at her hands, which lay in her lap togetherbut not clasped. Peasant women often do that; their hands are restingthen, after hard work, and they are thinking of nothing. 

"Look at me, " Marcello said after a long time. 

Her glance was sad and almost dull, and there was no light in her face. She had made up her mind that something dreadful was going to happen toher, and that the end was coming soon. She could not have told why shefelt it, and that made it worse. Her eyes had the indescribable lookthat one sees in those of a beautiful sick animal, the painfulexpression of an unintelligent suffering which the creature cannotunderstand. Regina, roused to act and face to face with danger, wasbrave, clever, and quick, but under the mysterious oppression of herforebodings she was the Roman hill woman, apathetic, hopeless, unconsciously fatalistic and sleepily miserable. 

"What is the matter?" Marcello asked. "What has happened?"

"I shall know when you have told me, " Regina answered, slowly shakingher head; and again she looked down at her hands. 

"What I have come to tell you will not make you sad, " Marcello replied. 

"Speak, heart of my heart. I listen. "

Marcello leaned forward and laid his hand upon hers. She looked upquietly, for it was a familiar action of his. 

"I am going to marry you, " he said, watching her, and speakingearnestly. 

She kept her eyes on his, but she shook her head again, slowly, fromside to side, and her lips were pressed together. 

"Yes, I am, " said Marcello, with a little pressure of his hand toemphasise the words. 

But she withdrew hers, and leaned far back from him. 

"Never, " she said. "I have told you so, many times. "

"Not if I tell you that nothing else will make me happy?" he asked. 

"If I still made you happy, you would not talk of marriage, " Reginaanswered. 

For the first time since she had loved him he heard a ring of bitternessin her voice. They had reached that first node of misunderstanding inthe love relations of men and women, which lies where the one begins tothink and act upon a principle while the other still feels and acts fromthe heart. 

"That is not reasonable, " Marcello said. 

"It is truth, " she answered. 

"But how?"

"How! I feel it, here!"

Her hands sprang to life and pressed her bosom, her voice rang deep andher eyes flashed, as if she were impatient of his misunderstanding. 

He tried to laugh gently. 

"But if I want to marry you, it is because I mean never to part fromyou, " he said. 

"No!" she cried. "It is because you are afraid that you will leave me, unless you are bound to me. "

"Regina!" Marcello protested, by his tone. 

"It is as I say. It is because you are honourable. It is because youwish to be faithful. It is because you want to be true. But what do Icare for honour, or faith, or truth, if I can only have them of youbecause you are tied to me? I only want love. That is everything. I wantit, but I have never asked it of you, and never shall. Is love money, that you can take it out of your purse and give it? Is love a string, that the priest and the mayor can tie the ends so that they can nevercome undone? I do not know what it is, but it is not that!"

She laughed scornfully, as if she were angry at the thought. ButMarcello had made up his mind, and was obstinate. 

"We must be married at once, " he said quietly, and fully believing thathe could impose his will upon hers. "If I had not been weak and foolish, we should have been married long ago. But for a long time after myillness I had no will of my own. I am sorry. It was my fault. "

"It was not your fault, it was the illness, and it was my will. If I hadsaid, any day in those first two years, 'Make me your wife, for I wishto be a real signora, ' would you not have done it?"

"You know I would. "

"But I would not, and I will not now. I am not a real signora. I ambeautiful--yes, I see that. Am I blind when I look into my glass? I amvery beautiful. We have not often met any woman in our travels asbeautiful as I am. Am I blind? I have black hair, like the commonpeople, but my hair is not coarse, like a mule's tail. It is as fine assilk. My eyes are black, and that is common too; but my eyes are notlike those of the buffaloes in the Campagna, as the other women's arewhere I was born. And I am not dark-skinned; I am as white as the snowon Monte Cavo, as white as the milk in the pan. Also I have been toldthat I have beautiful feet, though I cannot tell why. They are small, this is the truth, and my hands are like those of a signora. But I amnot a real signora, though I have all this. How can you marry me? Noneof your friends would speak to me, because I have not even been anhonest girl. That was for you, but they do not count love. Your servantsat the villa would laugh at you behind your back, and say, 'The masterhas married one of us!' Do you think I could bear that? Tell me what youthink! Am I of stone, to bear that people should laugh at you?"

She took breath at last and leaned back again, folding her arms andfixing her splendid eyes on his face, and challenging him to answer her. 

"We will go and live in Calabria, at San Domenico, for a while, " hesaid. "We need not live in Rome at all, unless we please, for we havethe whole world before us. "

"We saw the world together without being married, " Regina answeredobstinately. "What difference would there be, if we were husband andwife? Do you wish to know what difference there would be? I will tellyou. There would be this difference. One day I should see no light inyour eyes, and your lips would be like stone. Then I should say, 'Heartof my heart, you are tired of me, and I go. ' But you would answer, 'Youcannot go, for you are my wife. ' What would that be? That would be thedifference. Do you understand, or do you not understand? If you do notunderstand, I can do nothing. But I will not marry you. Have you everseen a mule go down to the ford in spring, too heavily laden, when thereis freshet? He drowns, if he is driven in, because the burden is tooheavy. I will not be the burden; but I should be, if I were your wife, because I am not a real signora. Now you know what I think. "

"Yes, " Marcello answered, "but I do not think in the same way. "

He was not sure how to answer her arguments, and he lit a cigarette togain time. He was quietly determined to have his own way, but in orderto succeed he knew that he must persuade her till she agreed with him. He could not drag her to the altar against her will. 

Before he had thrown away the match, Regina had risen from her chair. She leaned against the little marble mantelpiece, looking down at him. 

"There are things that you do not know, " she said. "If you knew them youwould not want to marry me. In all the time we have been together, youhave hardly ever spoken to me of your mother. "

Marcello started a little and looked up, unconsciously showing that hewas displeased. 

"No, " he answered. "Why should I?"

"You were right. Your mother is now one of the saints in Paradise. Howdo I know it? Even Settimia knew it. I am not going to talk of her now. I am not fit to speak her name in your hearing. Very well. Do you knowwhat my mother was?"

"She is dead, " Marcello replied, meaning that Regina should let hermemory alone. 

"Or my father?" she asked, going on. "They were bad people. I come of abad race. Perhaps that is why I do wrong easily, for you. My fatherkilled a man and left us, though he was allowed to go free, and I neversaw him again. He had reason to kill the man. I was a little girl, but Iremember. My mother took other men. They came and went; sometimes theywere drunk and they beat us. When I was twelve years old one of themlooked upon me with bad eyes. Then my mother cursed him, and he took upa stone and struck her on the head, and she died. They sent him to thegalleys, and me to work at the inn, because I had no friends. This isthe family of Regina. It is a race of assassins and wicked women. If Iwere your wife, that would be the family of your wife. If God sentchildren, that would be the blood they would have of me, to mix withthat of your mother, who is one of the saints in heaven. This is thetruth. If you think I am telling you one thing for another, let us go tothe inn on the Frascati road. Paoluccio and Nanna know. They would laughif they could see me dressed like a real signora, and they would say, 'This girl is her mother's daughter!' And so I am. "

She ceased speaking, and again waited for his answer, but he had noneready, and there was silence. She had put the ugly truth too plainlybefore him, and he could not shut up his understanding against it; hecould not deny what she said, he could never teach himself to believethat it did not matter. And yet, he did not mean to draw back, or giveup his purpose, even then. Men of good birth had married peasant womenbefore now. They had given up the society of their old friends, they hadlived in remote places, they had become half peasants themselves, theirsons had grown up to be rough farmers, and had done obligatory militaryservice in the ranks for years, because they could not pass an easyexamination. But was all that so very terrible after all, in the lightof the duty that faced him?

The woman had saved his life, had carried him in her arms, had tendedhim like a child, had stolen food to keep him alive, had facedstarvation for him when she had got him to the hospital, had nursedhim--had loved him, had given him all she had, and she would have diedfor him, if there had been need. Now, she was giving him something more, for she was refusing to be his wife because she was sure that sooner orlater she must be a burden to him, and that her birth would be areproach to his children. No woman could do more for a man than she haddone. She had been his salvation and his good angel; when she had foundout that the life in Paris that amused her was killing him, she hadbrought him back to himself, she had made him at last fit and able toface those who would have destroyed him. She had loved him like awoman, she had obeyed him and served him like a devoted servant, she hadwatched over him like a faithful dog; and he had given her nothing inreturn for all that, not one thing that deserved to be counted. Perhapshe had not even really loved her; most surely his love had been far lesslarge and true and devoted than hers, and he felt that it was so. Thereparation he was determined to make was not really for her honesty'ssake; it was to be an attempt at repaying a debt that was weighing uponhis conscience like a debt of honour. 

That was it. He felt that unless he could in some way repay her for whatshe had done, his man's honour would not be satisfied. That was verywell, in its way, but it was not love. It was as if he had said tohimself, "I cannot love her as she loves me, but I can at least marryher; and that is better than nothing, and has the merit of being morallyright. "

She had told him that if she still made him happy he would not talk ofmarriage. The brutal truth shamed him, now that he knew it from her ownlips. It was not the whole truth, but it was a great part of it. If hewas happy with her now, when there was nothing to disturb them, it wasby force of habit, it was because her beauty appealed to him, it wasbecause her touch was dearer to him than her heart's devotion. Now thathe was a grown man, he knew well enough that he craved something elsewhich poor Regina could never give him. 

For he felt the want of companionship. Those who have lost what is mostworth having, whether by death or by their own fault, or by the other's, miss the companionship of love more than anything else, when the pain ofthe first wrench is dulled and the heart's blood is staunched, and thedreadful bodily loneliness comes only in dreams. Then the longing forthe old sweet intercourse of thought and word makes itself felt and isvery hard to bear, though it is not sharp like the first wound; and itcomes again and again for years, and perhaps for ever. 

But where there is no true companionship while love lasts, there issomething lacking, and such love cannot live long. Men seem to want itmore than women do; and women, seeing that men want something, oftenfancy they want flattery, and natter the men they love till they disgustthem; and then the end comes suddenly, much to the astonishment of thosewomen. 

Regina was too womanly not to feel that Marcello was in real need ofsomething which she had not, and could never have. She had known it fromthe first, and had almost told him so. She gave what was hers to give, as long as he wanted it; when he wanted it no more, she meant to leavehim, and it would make no difference what became of her afterwards. 

When she had finished speaking, Marcello was very miserable, because hecould find no answer to what she had said, and he felt that she had noright to say it at all. His head ached now, from excitement and want ofsleep, and he almost wished that he had put off speaking to Regina abouther marriage. He rested his head in his hand as he sat thinking, and shecame and stood beside him as she had done in the morning in the littlehouse in Trastevere. But it was not the same now. She hoped that hewould put up his other hand to find hers, without looking at her, as heoften did, but it gripped his knee as if he did not mean to move it, andhe did not raise his head. 

She looked up from his bent figure to the window and saw that the lightwas reddening with the first tinge of sunset. It would soon be night, Marcello would go away, and she would be dreadfully lonely. It was notlike being in the little house, knowing that he was near her, in thegreat villa on top of the hill, hidden from her only by trees. She wasin a strange place now, and he would be far away, across the Tiber, andthe great dark city would be between her and him. 

For an instant her lip quivered, and she thought she was going to cry, though she had never cried in her life, except for rage and when she hadbeen a little girl. She shook her handsome head impatiently at the meresensation, and held it higher than ever. Then Marcello looked up atlast. 

As their eyes met they heard the tinkle of the little bell. Regina atonce left his side to go and open the door. It was not till she had leftthe room that Marcello rose, asking himself suddenly why it had notoccurred to him to go himself. He realised that he had always allowedher to wait on him without question. Yet if she were his wife, he wouldnot think of letting her do what she was doing now. He would even openthe door of the room for her to go out. 

He knew why he had never treated her in that way. She was a peasantgirl, she had been a servant in an inn; it was natural that she shouldserve him too. She often brought him his shoes when he was going out, and she would have put them on for him and laced them if he would havelet her do it. It seemed natural that she should answer the bell andopen the door, as it seemed unnatural that she should ever be his wife. The thought stung him, and again, he was ashamed. 

While these things were passing in his mind, he heard a familiar voicein the dark entry. 

"Signora, you will excuse me, " Ercole was saying. "I asked the Professorand he told me. I beg the favour of a few words. "

"Come in, " Regina answered, and a moment later they both entered thesitting-room. 

Ercole stood still when he saw Marcello, and began to turn his hat inhis hands, as if it were a rosary, which he generally did when he wasembarrassed. Marcello wondered what the man wanted. 

"Were you looking for me?" he asked. "Come in! What is it? Has anythinghappened?"

"No, sir, nothing new has happened, " answered Ercole. 

"What is it, then? Why did you come here?"

Ercole had dressed himself for the occasion in his best clothes. He hadon a snowy shirt and a new keeper's jacket, and his boots were blacked. Furthermore, he had just been shaved, and his shaggy hair had been cutrather close. He did not carry his gun about with him in the streets ofRome, though he felt that it was slightly derogatory to his dignity tobe seen without it, and Nino was not with him, having been temporarilychained to the wall in the court of the stables at the villa. 

He stood still, and looked from Marcello to Regina, and back to Marcelloagain. 

"It cannot be done, " he said suddenly. "It is useless. It cannot bedone. "

Without another word he turned abruptly and was going to leave the room, when Marcello stopped him authoritatively. 

"Come here, Ercole!" he cried, as the man was disappearing into theentry. 

"Did you speak to me, sir?" Ercole inquired, stopping in the doorway. 

"Yes. Shut the door and come here. " Ercole obeyed with evidentreluctance. "Now, then, " Marcello continued, "come here and tell me whatyou want, and what it is that cannot be done. "

"I desire a few words with this lady, and I did not know that you werehere, sir. Therefore I said, it cannot be done. I mean that while youare here, sir, I cannot speak alone with this lady. "

"That is clear, " Marcello answered. "You cannot be alone with this ladywhile I am in the room. That certainly cannot be done. Why do you wishto be alone with her? You can speak before me. "

"It will not be so easy, sir. I will come at another time. "

"No, " Marcello answered, not liking his manner. "You will say what youhave to say now, or you will say nothing, for you will not come atanother time. The lady will not let you in, if you come again. Nowspeak. "

"It will be a little difficult, sir. I would rather speak to the ladyalone. "

Regina had stood listening in silence, and looking intently at Ercole'sface. 

"Let me speak to him, " she said to Marcello. "What is your full name?"she asked, turning to Ercole again. 

"Spalletta Ercole, to serve you, " was the prompt answer. 

"Spalletta?" Marcello asked in surprise, for strange as it may seem toany but Italians, it was quite natural that he should never have knownErcole's family name. "Spalletta? That is your own name, Regina! What astrange coincidence!"

"Yes, " Ercole said. "I know that the young lady's name is Spalletta. Itis for this reason that I desire the favour of a few words with heralone. "

"There is no need, " Regina answered. "Since we have the same name, thereis no doubt. I remember your face now, though until last night I had notseen you since I was a little child. Yes. I know what you have come tosay, and it is quite true. "

"What?" asked Marcello with some anxiety. 

"This man is my father, " Regina said, very quietly. 

"Your father!" Marcello made half a step backwards in his surprise. 

"Yes. I have told you what he did. " She turned to Ercole. "What do youwant of me? Is it money that you want, perhaps?"

Ercole stiffened himself and seemed to grow taller. His black eyesflashed dangerously, and his heavy eyebrows were suddenly stern andlevel, as Regina's were. 

"You are your mother's daughter, " he said slowly. "Did I take money fromher? I took blood, and when I was tried for it, I was set free. I wastold that it was my right under our law. I do not want money. I havebrought you money. There it is. It will buy you some bread when yourlover turns you into the street!"

He took out his old sheepskin purse with a quick movement, and laughedharshly as he tossed it at her. Marcello sprang forward and caught himby the collar, to thrust him out of the room; but Ercole was tough andwiry, and resisted. 

"Will you hinder me from giving money to my daughter?" he askedfiercely. "It was yours, for you paid it to me; but when I knew, I savedmy wages to give them back, for I will not take your money, sir! Takeyour hands from me, sir! I have a right to be here and to speak. Let mego, I tell you! I am not in your service any longer. I do not eat yourcursed bread. I am this woman's father, and I shall say what I will. "

Marcello withdrew his hands and pointed to the door. 

"Go!" he said, in a voice of command. 

Ercole backed away a little, and then stood still again. 

"I have to tell you that I have spent five francs of that money, " hesaid, speaking to Regina. "But it was spent for you. I found a goodmonk, and I gave him the five francs to say three masses for your soul. The masses were said in August, and now it is November, and you arestill alive!"

"Go!" cried Marcello, understanding, and advancing upon him once more. 

"I go, " answered Ercole hoarsely. "Let her live, till you are tired ofher, and she dies in a ditch! I told the monk to say the masses for afemale. They will do for the woman who was killed last night. One femaleis worth another, and evil befall them all, as many as they are! Why didthe Eternal Father ever create them?"

He had turned before he spoke the last words, and he went outdeliberately, shutting the door behind him. They heard him go out uponthe landing, and they were alone again. Regina leaned back against themantelpiece, but Marcello began to walk up and down the room. 

"You have seen, " she said, in a rather unsteady voice. "Now you know ofwhat blood I am, and that what I said was true. The son of your mothercannot marry the daughter of that man. "

"What have you to do with him?" Marcello asked sharply, stopping in hiswalk. 

But Regina only shook her head, and turned away. She knew that she wasright, and that he knew it too, or would know it soon. 

"You will never see him again, " he said. "Forget that you have seen himat all!"

Again she shook her head, not looking at him. 

"You will not forget, " she answered, "and I shall always remember. Heshould have killed me, as he meant to do. It would have been the end. Itwould have been better, and quicker. "

"God forbid!"

"Why? Would it not have been better?"

She came close to him and laid one hand upon his shoulder and gazed intohis eyes. They were full of trouble and pain, and they did not lightenfor her; his brow did not relax and his lips did not part. After alittle while she turned again and went back to the fireplace. 

"It would have been better, " she said in a low voice. "I knew it thismorning. "

There was silence in the room for a while. Marcello stood beside her, holding her hand in his, and trying to see her face. He was very tenderwith her, but there was no thrill in his touch. Something was gone thatwould never come back. 

"When all this trouble is over, " he said at last, "you shall go back tothe little house in Trastevere, and it will be just as it was before. "

She raised her head rather proudly, as she answered. 

"If that could be, it would be now. You would have taken me in your armswhen he was gone, and you would have kissed my eyes and my hair, and weshould have been happy, just as it was before. But instead, you want tocomfort me, you want to be kind to me, you want to be just to me, instead of loving me!"

"Regina! I do love you! I do indeed!"

He would have put his arms round her to draw her closer to him, in thesudden longing to make her think that there was no change in his love, but she quietly resisted him. 

"You have been very good to me, dear, " she said, "and I know you willalways be that, whatever comes. And I am always yours, dear, and you arethe master, whenever you choose to come and see me. For I care fornothing that God has made, except you. But it will never be just as itused to be. "

"It shall!" Marcello tried to put conviction into the words. "It shall!It shall!"

"It cannot, my heart, " she answered. "I used to say that when this came, I would go away. But I will not do that, unless you bid me to, for Ithink you would be sorry, and I should be giving you more pain, and youhave enough. Only leave me a little while alone, dear, for I am verytired, and it is growing late. "

He took her hands and kissed them one after the other, and looked intoher face. His own was very weary. 

"Promise me that I shall find you here to-morrow, " he said. 

"You shall find me, " she answered softly. 

They parted so, and he left her alone, in the dark, for the glow of thesunset had faded and the early November evening was closing in. 

Old Teresa came and brought a lamp, and drew the curtains, and gave hera message from Kalmon. If she needed anything she was to send for him, and he would come at once. She thanked Teresa. It was very kind of theProfessor, but she needed nothing. Not even a fire; no, she hardly everfelt cold. Teresa brought something to eat, and set the little table forher. She was not hungry, and she was glad when the good soul was gone. 

She could open the windows when she was alone, and look out into thesilent street. There was moonlight now, and it fell across the walls andtrees of the Villa Aurora upon her face. It was a young moon, that wouldset before midnight, but it was very clear and bright, and the sky wasinfinitely deep and very clear behind it. Regina fancied that if therewere really angels in heaven, she should be able to see them on such anight. 

If she had been in Trastevere she would have gone out to walk up anddown the old paved paths of the little garden, for she could not sleep, though she was so tired. The lamp disturbed her and she put it out, andsat down by the window again. 

It was very quiet now, for it was past nine o'clock. She heard a step, and it almost surprised her. A man with a big dog was walking in theshadow on the other side of the street, and when he was opposite thehouse he stood still and looked up at her window. He did not move forsome time, but the dog came out into the moonlight in a leisurely way, and lay down on the paving stones. All dogs think it is warmer in thelight than in the shadow. 

Regina rose, got a long black cloak and a dark veil without lighting acandle, and put them on. Then she went out. 

CHAPTER XXI

Ercole walked on when he saw some one come out of No. 16, for he did notrecognise Regina. She followed him at a distance. Even if he should passwhere there might be many people, she would not lose sight of him easilybecause he had his dog with him. She noticed that his canvas bag washung over one shoulder and that it seemed to be full, and his gun wasslung over the other. He meant to leave Rome that night on foot. Hewalked fast through the new streets in the upper quarter, turned to theright when he reached the Via Venti Settembre, and went straight on, past the top of the hill, and along the Quirinal Palace; then down andon, down and on, through moonlight and shadow, winding streets andstraight, till the Colosseum was in sight. He was going towards thePorta San Sebastiano to take the road to Ardea. 

The air was very clear, and the moonlight made the broad space as brightas if there were daylight. Regina walked fast, and began to overtake herfather, and the dog turned his head and growled at the tall woman inblack. She came up with Ercole by the ruin of the ancient fountain, andthe dog snarled at her. Ercole stopped and looked at her sharply, andshe raised her veil. 

"I have followed you, " she said. "We are alone here. We can talk inpeace. "

"And what am I to say to you?" Ercole asked, in a low and surly voice. 

"What you will, little or much, as you please. You shall speak, and Iwill listen. But we can walk on under the trees there. Then nobody cansee us. "

Ercole began to go on, and Regina walked on his left side. The dogsniffed at the hem of her long black cloak. They came under the shade ofthe trees, and Ercole stopped again, and turned, facing the reflectionof the moonlight on the vast curve of the Colosseum. 

"What do you want of me?" he asked. "Why do you follow me in the night?"

"When you saw that the Signore was with me to-day, you said, 'It cannotbe done. ' He is not here now. "

She stood quite still, looking at him. 

"I understand nothing, " he said, in the same surly tone as before. 

"You wished to kill me to-day, " she answered. "I am here. This is a goodplace. "

Ercole looked about him instinctively, peering into the shadows underthe trees. 

"There is no one, " Regina said. "This is a good place. "

She had not lifted her veil, but she threw back the collar of her cloak, and with quick fingers undid the fastenings of her dress, opening itwide. Rays of moonlight fell through the trees upon her bosom, and itgleamed like fine ivory newly cut. 

"I wait, " she said. 

She stood motionless before him, expecting the knife, but her father'shands did not move. His eyes were fixed on hers, though he could not seethem through the veil. 

"So he has left you?" he said slowly. 

"No. I am waiting. "

Not a fold of her cloak stirred as she stood there to die. It seemed along time, but his hands did not move. Then he heard the sound of hervoice, very low and sweet, repeating a little prayer, but he only heardthe last words distinctly. 

"--now, and in the hour of our death!"

His right hand moved slowly and found something in his pocket, and thenthere was the sharp click of a strong spring, and a ray of moonlightfell upon steel, and her voice was heard again. 

"--in the hour of our death. Amen!"

An unearthly sound rent the stillness. The huge dog sat upright on hishaunches, his head thrown up and back, his terrible lower jaw tremblingas he howled, and howled again, waking great echoes where the roar ofwild lions had rung long ago. 

Regina started, though she did not move a step; but an unreasoning fearfell upon Ercole. He could not see her face, as the dark veil hung down. She was so motionless and fearless; only the dead could be as fearlessof death and as still as she. Her breast was so white; her hands werelike marble hands, parting a black shroud upon it. She was somethingrisen from the grave to haunt him in that lonely place and drive himmad; and the appalling howl of the great dog robe deafeningly on thesilence and trembled and died away, and began again. 

Ercole's hand relaxed, and the knife fell gleaming at his feet. Oneinstant more and he turned and fled through the trees, towards SanGregorio, his dog galloping heavily after him. 

Regina's hands fell by her sides, and the folds of her cloak closedtogether and hung straight down. She stared into the shadowy distance amoment after her father, and saw his figure twice in the light where thetrees were wider apart, before he disappeared altogether. She lookeddown and saw the knife at her feet, and she picked it up and felt thepoint. It was as sharp as a needle, for Ercole had whetted it oftensince he had sat by the gate in the early morning last August. It waswet, for the grass under the trees had not dried since the rain. 

She felt the point and edge with her hand, and sighed. It would havebeen better to have felt it in her breast, but she would not take herown life. She was not afraid to do it, and her young hand would havebeen strong enough and sure enough to do it quickly. It was not thethought of the pain that made her close the knife; it was the fear ofhell. Nothing she had done in her life seemed very bad to her, becauseit had all been for Marcello. If Ercole had killed her, she thought thatGod would have forgiven her after a time. But if she killed herself shewould instantly be seized by devils and thrust into real flames, toburn for ever, without the slightest chance of forgiveness. She had beentaught that, and she believed it, and the thought of the fire made hershut the clasp-knife and slip it into her dress with a sigh. It would bea pity to throw it away, for it seemed to be a good knife, and herfather could not have had it very long. 

She fastened her frock under her mantle and went a few steps down thelittle slope towards the Colosseum. To go on meant to go home, and shestopped again. The place was very lonely and peaceful, and the light onthe great walls was quiet and good to see. Though she had stood sostill, waiting to die, and had said her little prayer so calmly, herbrave heart had been beating slow and hard as if it were counting theseconds before it was to stop; and now it beat fast and softly, andfluttered a little, so that she felt faint, as even brave people doafter a great danger is past. I have seen hundreds of men together, justescaped from destruction by earthquake, moving about listlessly withveiled eyes, yawning as if they were dropping with sleep, and sayingchildish things when they spoke at all. Man's body is the part ofhimself which he least understands, unless he has spent half his life instudying its ways. Its many portions can only telegraph to the brain twowords, 'pain' and 'pleasure, ' with different degrees of energy; but thatis all. The rest of their language belongs to science. 

Regina felt faint and sat down, because there was no reason for makingany effort to go home. Perhaps a cab would pass, returning from someoutlying part of the city, and she would take it. From the place whereshe sat she could see one far off, if any came. 

She sank down on the wet ground, and drew up her knees and pulled hercloak round her; and gradually her head bent forward and rested upon herhands, till she sat there like a figure of grief outlined in blackagainst the moonlight on the great wall. She had forgotten where shewas, and that there was any time in the world. 

Half an hour passed, and the moon sank low, and an hour, and the deadlywhite mist began to rise in the shadow round the base of the Colosseum, and crept up under the trees; and if any one had come upon her then, hewould have seen its dull whiteness crawling round her feet and body, ahand-breadth above the wet ground. But she did not know; she hadforgotten everything. 

Nothing was real any more. She could have believed that her father hadkilled her and left her corpse there, strangely sitting, though quitedead. 

Then she knew that the light had gone out; and suddenly she felt herteeth chatter, and a chill ran through her bones that was bad to feel. She raised her head and saw that the great walls were dark against thestarry sky, and she rose with an effort, as if her limbs had suddenlybecome lead. But she could walk, though it was like walking in sleep. 

She did not afterwards remember how she got home, but she had a vaguerecollection of having lost her way, and of finding a cab at last, andthen of letting herself into the little apartment in the dark. 

When she was next aware of anything it was broad daylight, and she waslying on her bed, still dressed and wearing her cloak; and Kalmon wasbending over her, his eyes on hers and his fingers on her pulse, whileold Teresa watched her anxiously from the foot of the bed. 

"I'm afraid it is a 'perniciosa, '" he said. "Put her to bed while I calla regular doctor. "

Regina looked up at him. 

"I have fever, have I not?" she asked quite quietly. 

"Yes. You have a little fever, " he answered, but his big brown eyes werevery grave. 

When Marcello came, an hour later, she did not know him. She stared athim with wide, unwinking eyes, and there were bright patches of colourin her cheeks. Already there were hollows in them, too, and at hertemples, for the perniciosa fever is frightfully quick to waste thebody. In the Campagna, where it is worst, men have died of it in lessthan four hours after first feeling it upon them. Great men havediscovered wonderful remedies for it, but still it kills. 

Kalmon got one of the great men, who was his friend, and they did whatthey could. A nursing sister came and was installed. Marcello wassummoned away soon after noon by an official person, who brought acarriage and said that Corbario was now conscious and able to speak, andthat it was absolutely necessary that Marcello should be confrontedwith him, as he might not live another day. It was easier to go than itwould have been if Regina had been conscious, but even so it was veryhard. The nun and Teresa stayed with her. 

[Illustration: "SHE SAT THERE LIKE A FIGURE OF GRIEF OUTLINED IN BLACKAGAINST THE MOONLIGHT ON THE GREAT WALL. "]

She said little in her delirium, and nothing that had any meaning foreither of the women. Twice she tried to tear away the linen and lacefrom her throat. 

"I wait!" she cried each time, and her eyes fixed themselves on theceiling, while she held her breath. 

The women could not tell what she was waiting for, and they soothed heras best they could. She seemed to doze after that, and when Marcellocame back she knew him, and took his hand. He sent away the nurses andsat by the bedside, and she spoke to him in short sentences, faintly. Hebent forward, near the pillow, to catch the words. 

She was telling him what she had done last night. 

"But you promised that I should find you here to-day!" Marcello said, with gentle reproach. 

"Yes. I did not mean to break my word. But I thought he would do it. Itseemed so easy. "

Her voice was weak with the fever, and sank almost to a whisper. Hestroked her hand affectionately, hoping that she would go to sleep; andso a long time passed. Then Kalmon came in with his friend the greatdoctor. They saw that she was not yet any better; the doctor orderedseveral things to be done and went away. Kalmon drew Marcello out of theroom. 

"You can do nothing, " he said. "She has good care, and she is verystrong. Go home and come back in the morning. "

"I must stay here, " Marcello answered. 

"That is out of the question, on account of the Sister of Charity. Butyou can send for your things and camp in my rooms downstairs. There is agood sofa. You can telephone to the villa for what you want. "

"Thank you. " Marcello's voice dropped and shook. "Will she live?" heasked. 

"I hope so. She is very strong, and it may be only fever. "

"What else could it be?"

"Pneumonia. "

Marcello bit his lip and closed his eyes as if he were in bodily pain, and a moment later he turned away and went down to Kalmon's apartment. 

The Professor went back to Regina's side, and stood quietly watchingher, with a very sad look in his eyes. She opened hers and saw him, andshe brought one hand to her chest. 

"It burns, " she said, almost in a whisper, but with a strange sort ofeagerness, as if she were glad. 

"I wish I could bear it for you, my poor child, " Kalmon answered. 

She shook her head, and turned uneasily on the pillow. He did notunderstand. 

"What is it?" he asked gently. "What can I do for you? Tell me. "

"I want to see some one very much. How long shall I live?"

"You will get quite well, " said Kalmon, in a reassuring tone. "But youmust be very quiet. " Again she moved her burning cheek on the pillow. 

"Do you want to see a priest?" asked the Professor, thinking he hadguessed. "Is that it?"

"Yes--there is time for that--some one else--could you? Will you?"

"Yes. " Kalmon bent down quickly, for he thought the delirium was comingagain. "Who is it?" he asked. 

"Aurora--I mean, the Signorina--can you? Oh, do you think you could?"

"I'll try, " Kalmon answered in great surprise. 

But now the hoarseness was suddenly gone, and her sweet voice was softlyhumming an old song of the hills, forgotten many years, and theProfessor saw that she did not know him any more. He nodded to Teresa, who was in the room, and went out. 

He wondered much at the request, but he remembered that it had been madein the full belief that he would say nothing of it to Marcello. If shehad been willing that Marcello should know, she would have spoken tohim, rather than to Kalmon. He had seen little enough of Regina, but hewas sure that she could have no bad motive in wishing to see the younggirl. Yet, from a social point of view, it was not exactly an easy thingto propose, and the Contessa would have a right to be offended at themere suggestion that her daughter should speak to "Consalvi's Regina";and there could not be anything clandestine in the meeting, if Auroraconsented to it. Kalmon was too deeply attached to the Contessa herselfto be willing to risk her displeasure, or, indeed, to do anything ofwhich she would not approve. 

He went to her house by the Forum of Trajan, and he found her at home. It was late in the afternoon, and the lamp was lighted in the littledrawing-room, which did not seem at all shabby to Kalmon's accustomedeyes and not very exigent taste. The Contessa was reading an eveningpaper before the fire. She put out her hand to the Professor. 

"It is a bad business, " she said, glancing at the newspaper, which had along account of Corbario's arrest and of the murder of his oldaccomplice. "Poor Marcello!"

"Poor Marcello! Yes, indeed! I'm sorry for him. There is something morethan is in the papers, and more than I have written to you and told you. Regina has the perniciosa fever, complicated with pneumonia, and is notlikely to live. "

"I am sorry, " the Contessa answered. "I am very sorry for her. But afterall, compared with what Marcello has learned about his mother'sdeath--and other things Corbario did--"

She stopped, implying by her tone that even if Regina died, that wouldnot be the greatest of Marcello's misfortunes. Besides, she had longforeseen that the relations of the two could not last, and the simplestsolution, and the happiest one for the poor devoted girl, was that sheshould die before her heart was broken. Maddalena dell' Armi had oftenwished that her own fate had been as merciful. 

"Yes, " Kalmon answered. "You are right in that. But Regina has made arather strange request. It was very unexpected, and perhaps I did wrongto tell her that I would do my best to satisfy her. I don't think shewill live, and I felt sorry for her. That is why I came to you. Itconcerns Aurora. "

"Aurora?" The Contessa was surprised. 

"Yes. The girl knows she is dying, and wishes very much to see Aurorafor a moment. I suppose it was weak of me to give her any hope. "

The Contessa dropped her newspaper and looked into the fire thoughtfullybefore she answered. 

"You and I are very good friends, " she said. "You would not ask me to doanything you would not do yourself, would you? If you had a daughter ofAurora's age, should you let her go and see this poor woman, unless itwere an act of real charity?"

"No, " Kalmon answered reluctantly. "I don't think I should. "

"Thank you for being so honest, " Maddalena answered, and looked at thefire again. 

Some time passed before she spoke again, still watching the flames. Kalmon sighed, for he was very sorry for Regina. 

"On the other hand, " the Contessa said at last, "it may be a realcharity. Have you any idea why she wishes to see Aurora?"

"No. I cannot guess. "

"I can. At least, I think I can. " She paused again. "You knoweverything about me, " she continued presently. "In the course of years Ihave told you all my story. Do you think I am a better woman thanRegina?"

"My dear friend!" cried Kalmon, almost angrily. "How can you suggest--"

She turned her clear, sad eyes to him, and her look cut short hisspeech. 

"What has her sin been?" she asked gently. "She has loved Marcello. Whatwas mine? That I loved one man too well. Which is the better woman? She, the peasant, who knew no better, who found her first love dying, andsaved him, and loved him--knowing no better, and braving the world? OrI, well born, carefully brought up, a woman of the world, andmarried--no matter how--not braving the world at all, but miserablytrying to deceive it, and my husband, and my child? Do you think I wasso much better than poor Regina? Would my own daughter think so if shecould know and understand?"

"If you were not a very good woman now, " Kalmon said earnestly, "youcould not say what you are saying. "

"Never mind what I am now. I am not as good as you choose to think. If Iwere, there would not be a bitter thought left. I should have forgivenall. Leave out of the question what I am now. Compare me as I was withRegina as she is. That is how I put it, and I am right. "

"Even if you were, " Kalmon answered doubtfully, "the situation would bethe same, so far as Aurora is concerned. "

"But suppose that this poor woman cannot die in peace unless she hasasked Aurora's pardon and obtained her forgiveness, what then?"

"Her forgiveness? For what?"

"For coming between her and Marcello. Say that, so far as Regina knows, my daughter is the only human being she has ever injured, what then?"

"Does Aurora love Marcello?" asked Kalmon, instead of answering thequestion. 

"I think she does. I am almost sure of it. "

Kalmon was silent for a while. 

"But Marcello, " he said at last, "what of him?"

"He has always loved Aurora, " the Contessa answered. "Do you blame himso much for what he has done? Why do you blame some people so easily, mydear friend, and others not at all? Do you realise what happened to him?He was virtually taken out of the life he was leading, by a blow thatpractically destroyed his memory, and of which the consequencesaltogether destroyed his will for some time. He found himself saved andat the same time loved--no, worshipped--by one of the most beautifulwomen in the world. Never mind her birth! She has never looked at anyother man, before or since, and from what I have heard, she never will. Ah, if all women were like her! Marcello, weak from illness, allowedhimself to be worshipped, and Corbario did the rest. I understand itall. Do you blame him very much? I don't. With all your strength ofcharacter, you would have done the same at his age! And having takenwhat she offered, what could he do, when he grew up and came to himself, and felt his will again? Could he cast her off, after all she had donefor him?"

"He could marry her, " observed Kalmon. "I don't see why he should not, after all. "

"Marriage!" There was a little scornful sadness in Maddalena's voice. "Marriage is always the solution! No, no, he is right not to marry her, if he has ever thought of it. They would only make each other miserablefor the rest of their lives. Miserable, and perhaps faithless too. Thatis what happens when men and women are not saints. Look at me!"

"You were never in that position. Others were to blame, who made youmarry when you were too young to have any will of your own. "

"Blame no one, " said the Contessa gravely. "I shall give Aurora Regina'smessage, and if she is willing to go and see her, I shall bring herto-morrow morning--to-night, if there is no time to be lost. The worldneed never know. Go and tell Regina what I have said. It may comfort hera little, poor thing. "

"Indeed it will!"

Kalmon's brown eyes beamed with pleasure at the thought of taking thekindly message to the dying girl. He rose to his feet at once. 

"There is no one like you, " he said, as he took her hand. 

"It is nothing. It is what Marcello's mother would have done, and shewas my best friend. All I do is to take the responsibility upon myself, however Aurora may choose to act. I will send you word, in either case. If Aurora will not go, I will come myself, if I can be of any use, if itwould make Regina feel happier. I will come, and I will tell her what Ihave told you. Good-night, dear friend. "

Kalmon was not an emotional man, but as he went out he felt a littlelump in his throat, as if he could not swallow. 

He had not doubted his friend's kindness, but he had doubted whether shewould feel that she had a right to "expose her daughter, " as the worldwould say, to meeting such a "person, " as the world calledRegina--"Consalvi's Regina. "

CHAPTER XXII

All that night and the following day Regina recognised no one; and itwas night again, and her strength began to fail, but her understandingreturned. Marcello saw the change, and made a sign to the nurse, whowent out to tell Kalmon. 

It was about nine o'clock when he entered the room, and Regina knew himand looked at him anxiously. He, in turn, glanced at Marcello, and sheunderstood. She begged Marcello to go and get some rest. Her voice wasvery weak, as if she were suffocating, and she coughed painfully. He didnot like to go away, but Kalmon promised to call him at midnight; he hadbeen in the room six hours, scarcely moving from his seat. He lingeredat the door, looked back, and at last went out. 

"Will she come?" asked Regina, when he was gone. 

"In half an hour. I have sent a messenger, for they have no telephone. "

A bright smile lighted up the wasted face. 

"Heaven will reward you, " she said, as the poor say in Rome when theyreceive a charity. 

Then she seemed to be resting, for her hands lay still, and she closedher eyes. But presently she opened them, looking up gratefully into thebig man's kind face. 

"Shall I be alone with her a little?" she asked. 

"Yes, my dear. You shall be alone with her. "

Again she smiled, and he left the nurse with her and went and waiteddownstairs at the street door, till the Contessa and Aurora should come, in order to take them up to the little apartment. He knew that Marcellomust have fallen asleep at once, for he had not rested at all fortwenty-four hours, and very little during several days past. Kalmon wasbeginning to fear that he would break down, though he was so muchstronger than formerly. 

Marcello had always been grateful to Regina, even when he had convincedhimself that he loved her. Love is not very compatible with gratitude. Two people who love each other very much expect everything because theyare always ready to give everything, not in return or by way of anyexchange, but as if the two were one in giving and taking. A man cannotbe grateful to himself. But Marcello had never felt that dear illusionwith Regina, because there had been no real companionship; and so he hadalways been grateful to her, and now that she was perhaps dying, he waspossessed by the horribly painful certainty that he could never repayher what he owed, and that this debt of honour must remain unpaid forever, if she died. There was much more than that in what he felt, ofcourse, for there was his very real affection, tormented by theforeboding of the coming wrench, and there was the profound sympathy ofa very kind man for a suffering woman. But all that together was notlove like hers for him; it was not love at all. 

Kalmon waited, and smoked a little, reflecting on these things, whichhe understood tolerably well. The quiet man of science had watchedMarcello thoughtfully, and could not help asking himself what look therewould be in his own eyes, if Maddalena dell' Armi were dying and he werestanding by her bedside. It would not be Marcello's look. 

A closed cab stopped before the entrance, and almost before he couldthrow away his cigarette, the Contessa and Aurora were standing besidehim on the pavement. 

"She is very weak, " he said, "but she will not be delirious again forsome time--if at all. "

Neither of the ladies spoke, and they followed him in silence up theill-lighted staircase. 

"That is where I live, " he said, as he passed his own door on the secondlanding. "Marcello is camping there. He is probably asleep now. "

"Asleep!" It was Aurora that uttered the single word, in a puzzled tone. 

"He did not go to bed last night, " Kalmon explained, going on. 

"Oh!" Again the Professor was struck by the young girl's tone. 

They reached the third landing, and Kalmon pushed the door, which he hadleft ajar; he shut it when they had all entered, and he ushered themother and daughter into the small sitting-room. There they waited amoment while he went to tell Regina that Aurora had come. 

The young girl dropped her cloak upon a chair and stood waiting, hereyes fixed on the door. She was a little pale, not knowing what was tocome, yet feeling somehow that it was to make a great difference to herever afterwards. She glanced at her mother, and the Contessa smiledgently, as much as to say that she was doing right, but neither spoke. 

Presently Kalmon came out with the Sister of Charity, who bent her headgravely to the two ladies. 

"She wishes to see you alone, " Kalmon said, in explanation, while heheld the door open for Aurora to pass in. 

He closed it after her, and the two were together. 

When Aurora entered, Regina's eyes were fixed upon her face as if theyhad already found her and seen her while she had been in the other room. She came straight to the bedside and took the hand that was stretchedout to meet hers. It was thin and hot now, and the arm was alreadywasted. Aurora remembered how strongly it had lifted her to the edge ofthe rock, far away by Pontresina. 

"You are very kind, Signorina, " said the faint voice. "You see how Iam. "

Aurora saw indeed, and kept the hand in hers as she sat down in thechair that stood where Marcello had left it. 

"I am very, very sorry, " she said, leaning forward a little and lookinginto the worn face, colourless now that the fever had subsided for awhile. 

The same bright smile that Kalmon had seen lighted up Regina's features. 

"But I am glad!" she answered. "They do not understand that I am glad. "

"No, no!" cried Aurora softly. "Don't say you are glad!"

The smile faded, and a very earnest look came into the hollow dark eyes. 

"But I have not done it on purpose, " Regina said. "I did not know therewas fever in that place, or I would not have sat down there. You believeme, Signorina, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed!"

The smile returned very gradually, and the anxious pressure of the handrelaxed. 

"You must not think that I was looking for the fever. But since it came, and I am going from here, I am glad. I shall not be in the way any more. That hindrance will be taken out of his life. "

"He would not like to hear you speak like this, " Aurora said, with greatgentleness. 

"There is no time for anything except the truth, now. And you are good, so good! No, there is no time. To-morrow, I shall be gone. Signorina, ifI could kneel at your feet, I would kneel. But you see how I am. Youmust think I am kneeling at your feet. "

"But why?" asked Aurora, with a little distress. 

"To ask you to forgive me for being a hindrance. I want pardon before Igo. But I found him half dead on the door-step. What could I do? When Ihad seen him, I loved him. I knew that he thought of you. That was allhe remembered--just your name, and I hated it, because he had forgottenall other names, even his own, and his mother, and everything. He waslike a little child that learns, to-day this, to-morrow that, one thingat a time. What could I do? I taught him. I also taught him to loveRegina. But when the memory came back, I knew how it had been before. "

Her voice broke and she coughed, and raised one hand to her chest. Aurora supported her tenderly until it was over, and when the weary headsank back at last it lay upon the young girl's willing arm. 

"You are tiring yourself, " Aurora said. "If it was to ask my forgivenessthat you wished me to come, I forgave you long ago, if there wasanything to forgive. I forgave you when we met, and I saw what you were, and that you loved him for himself, just as I do. "

"Is it true? Really true?"

"So may God help me, it is quite true. But if I had thought it was notfor himself--"

"Oh, yes, it was, " Regina answered. "It was, and it is, to the end. Willyou see? I will show you. For what the eyes see the heart believes moreeasily. Signorina, will you bring the little box covered with oldvelvet? It is there, on the table, and it is open. "

Aurora rose, humouring her, and brought the thing she asked for, and satdown again, setting it on the edge of the bed. Regina turned her head tosee it, and raised the lid with one hand. 

"This is my little box, " she said. "What he has given me is all in it. Ihave no other. Will you see? Here is what I have taken from him. Youshall look everywhere, if you do not believe. "

"But I do believe you!" Aurora cried, feeling that tears were coming toher eyes. 

"But you must see, " Regina insisted. "Or perhaps when I am gone you willsay to yourself, 'There may have been diamonds and pearls in the littlebox, after all!' You shall know that it was all for himself. "

To please her Aurora took up some of the simple trinkets, simpler andcheaper even than what she had herself. 

"There are dresses, yes, many more than I wanted. But I could not lethim be ashamed of me when we went out together, and travelled. Do youforgive me the dresses, Signorina? I wore them to please him. Pleaseforgive me that also!"

Aurora dropped the things into the open box and laid both her hands onRegina's, bending down her radiant head and looking very earnestly intothe anxious eyes. 

"Forgiveness is not all from me to you, Regina, " she said. "I want yourstoo. "

"Mine?" The eyes grew wide and wondering. 

"Don't you see that but for me he would have married you, and that Ihave been the cause of a great wrong to you?"

For one instant Regina's face darkened, her brows straightenedthemselves, and her lip curled. She remembered how, only two days ago, in the very next room, Marcello had insisted that she should he hiswife. But as she looked into Aurora's innocent eyes she understood, andthe cloud passed from her own, and the bright smile came back. Aurorahad spoken in the simplicity of her true heart, sure that it was onlythe memory of his love for her that had withheld Marcello from first tolast; and Regina well knew that it had always been present with him, inspite of his brave struggle to put it away. That memory of another, which Regina had seen slowly reviving in him, had been for something inher refusal to marry him. 

With the mysterious sure vision of those who are near death, she feltthat it would hurt Aurora to know the truth, except from Marcellohimself. 

"If you have ever stood between us, " she said, "you had the right. Heloved you first. There is nothing to forgive in that. Afterwards heloved me a little. No one can take that from me, no one! It is mine, andit is all I have, and though I am going, and though I know that he istired of me, it is still more than the world. To have it, as I have it, I would do again what I did, from the first. "

The voice was weak and muffled, but the words were distinct, and theywere the confession of poor Regina's life. 

"If he were here, " she said, after a moment, "I would lay your hand inhis. Only let me take that memory with me!"

The young girl rose and bent over her as she answered. 

"It is yours, to keep for ever. "

She stooped a little lower and kissed the dying woman's forehead. 

 * * * * *

Under the May moon a little brigantine came sailing up to a low islandjust within sight of Italy; when she was within half a mile of the reefsDon Antonino Maresca put her about, for he was a prudent man, and heknew that there are just a few more rocks in the sea than are in thecharts. It was a quiet night, and he was beating up against a gentlenortherly breeze. 

When the head yards were swung, and braced sharp up for the other tack, and the little vessel had gathered way again, the mate came aft andstood by the captain, watching the light on the island. 

"Are there still convicts on this island, Don Antonino?" the young manasked. 

"Yes, there are the convicts. And there is one among them whom I helpedto put there. He is an assassin that killed many when he was at liberty. But now he sits for seven years in a little cell alone, and sees noChristian, and it will be thirty years before he is free. "

"Madonna!" ejaculated the mate. "When he has been there thirty years hewill perhaps understand. "

"It is as I say, " rejoined the captain. "The world is made so. There arethe good and the bad. The Eternal Father has created things thus. Get alittle more on the main sheet, and then flatten in those jibs. "

Under the May moon, in the small shaft of white light that fell throughthe narrow grated window, a man sat on the edge of his pallet bed. Hisface was ghastly, and there were strange scars on his bare throat. Hiscell was seven feet by six, and the air was hard to breathe, because thewind was not from the south. But the moon was kinder than the sun. Heheard the ripple of the cool sea, and he tried to dream that a greatstone was hung to his neck, and that he had been thrown into a deepplace. Perhaps, some day, the gaoler would forget to take away thecoarse towel which was brought with the water in the morning. With atowel he could hang himself. 

 * * * * *

Under the May moon a small marble cross cast its shadow upon young rosesand violets and growing myrtle. In the sweet earth below a very loyalheart was at rest for ever. But the flowers were planted and stilltended by a woman with radiant hair; and sometimes, when she stooped totrain the young roses, bright drops fell quietly upon their bloom. Also, on certain days, a man came there alone and knelt upon the marble borderwithin which the flowers grew. But the man and the woman never cametogether; and he gave the gardener of that place money, praising him forthe care of the flowers. 

 * * * * *

Under the May moon the man and the woman went down from the cottage bythe Roman shore to the break in the high bank, and stood still a while, looking out at the peaceful sea and the moon's broad path. Presentlythey turned to each other, put out their hands, and then their arms, andclasped each other silently, and kissed.