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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15187-8.txt b/15187-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ee36e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/15187-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7122 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Children of the King, by F. Marion +Crawford + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Children of the King + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: February 26, 2005 [eBook #15187] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE KING*** + + +E-text prepared by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy, Graeme Mackreth, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +THE CHILDREN OF THE KING + +A Tale of Southern Italy + +by + +F. MARION CRAWFORD + +With Frontispiece + +P. F. Collier & Son New York +By MacMillan & Co. + +1885 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: AN OLD BAREFOOTED FRIAR STOOD BESIDE HER.--_Children of +the King_.] + + + + +Dedication + + TO + THE MIDDY, THE LADDIE, THE MATE + AND THE MEN + THE SKIPPER OF THE OLD _LEONE_ + DEDICATES + THIS STORY + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Lay your course south-east half east from the Campanella. If the weather +is what it should be in late summer you will have a fresh breeze on the +starboard quarter from ten in the morning till four or five o'clock in +the afternoon. Sail straight across the wide gulf of Salerno, and when +you are over give the Licosa Point a wide berth, for the water is +shallow and there are reefs along shore. Moreover there is no light on +Licosa Point, and many a good ship has gone to pieces there in dark +winter nights when the surf is rolling in. If the wind holds you may run +on to Palinuro in a long day before the evening calm comes on, and the +water turns oily and full of pink and green and violet streaks, and the +sun settles down in the north-west. Then the big sails will hang like +curtains from the long slanting yards, the slack sheets will dip down to +the water, the rudder will knock softly against the stern-post as the +gentle swell subsides. Then all is of a golden orange colour, then red +as wine, then purple as grapes, then violet, then grey, then altogether +shadowy as the stars come out--unless it chances that the moon is not +yet full, and edges everything with silver on your left hand while the +sunset dyes fade slowly to darkness upon your right. + +Then the men forward will bestir themselves and presently a red glow +rises and flickers and paints what it touches, with its own colours. The +dry wood crackles and flares on the brick and mortar hearth, and the +great kettle is put on. Presently the water boils--in go the long +bundles of fine-drawn paste, and everybody collects forward to watch the +important operation. Stir it quickly at first. Let it boil till a bit of +it is tender under the teeth. In with the coarse salt, and stir again. +Up with kettle. Chill it with a quart of cold water from the keg. A hand +with the colander and one with the wooden spoon while the milky boiling +water is drained off. Garlic and oil, or tomato preserve? Whichever it +is, be quick about it. And so to supper, with huge hard biscuit and +stony cheese, and the full wine jug passed from mouth to mouth. To every +man a fork and to every man his place within arm's length of the great +basin--mottled green and white within, red brown and unglazed on the +outside. But the man at the helm has an earthen plate, and the jug is +passed aft to him from time to time. + +Not that he has much to do as he lies there on his six-foot deck that +narrows away so sharply to the stern. He has taken a hitch round the +heavy tiller with the slack of the main sheet to keep it off the side of +his head while he eats. There is no current, and there is not a breath +of air. By and by, before midnight, you will smell the soft land breeze +blowing in puffs out of every little bay and indentation. There is no +order needed. The men silently brace the yards and change the sheets +over. The small jib is already bent in place of the big one, for the +night is dark and some of those smart puffs will soon be like little +squalls. Full and by. Hug the land, for there are no more reefs before +Scalea. If you do not get aground on what you can see in Calabria, you +will not get aground at all, says the old proverb. Briskly over two or +three miles to the next point, and the breeze is gone again. While she +is still forging ahead out go the sweeps, six or eight of them, and the +men throw themselves forward over the long slender loom, as they stand. +Half an hour to row, or more perhaps. Down helm, as you meet the next +puff, and the good felucca heels over a little. And so through the +night, the breeze freshening before the rising sun to die away in the +first hot morning hours, just as you are abreast of Camerota. L'Infresco +Point is ahead, not three miles away. It is of no use to row, for the +breeze will come up before long and save you the trouble. But the sea is +white and motionless. Far in the offing a Sicilian schooner and a couple +of clumsy "martinganes"--there is no proper English name for the +craft--are lying becalmed, with hanging sails. The men on board the +felucca watch them and the sea. There is a shadow on the white, hazy +horizon, then a streak, then a broad dark blue band. The schooner braces +her top-sail yard and gets her main sheet aft. The martinganes flatten +in their jibs along their high steeving bowsprits and jib-booms. Shift +your sheets, too, now, for the wind is coming. Past L'Infresco with its +lovely harbour of refuge, lonely as a bay in a desert island, its silent +shade and its ancient spring. The wind is south by west at first, but it +will go round in an hour or two, and before noon you will make +Scalea--stand out for the reef, the only one in Calabria--with a stern +breeze. You have passed the most beautiful spot on the beautiful Italian +coast, without seeing it. There, between the island of Dino and the cape +lies San Nicola, with its grand deserted tower, its mighty cliffs, its +deep, safe bay and its velvet sand. What matter? The wind is fair and +you are for Calabria with twenty tons of macaroni from Amalfi. There is +no time to be lost, either, for you will probably come home in ballast. +Past Scalea, then, where tradition says that Judas Iscariot was born and +bred and did his first murder. Right ahead is the sharp point of the +Diamante, beyond that low shore where the cane brake grows to within +fifty yards of the sea. Now you have run past the little cape, and are +abreast of the beach. Down mainsail--down jib--down foresail. Let go the +anchor while she forges, eight to nine lengths from the land, and let +her swing round, stern to the sand. Clear away the dingy and launch her +from amidships, and send a line ashore. Overboard with everything now, +for beaching, capstan, chocks and all--the swell will wash them in. As +the keel grates on the pebbles, the men jump into the water from the +high stern and catch the drifting wood. Some plant the capstan, others +pass the long hemp cable and reeve it through the fiddle block. A hand +forward to slack out the cable as the heavy boat slowly creeps up out of +the water. The men from other craft, already beached, lend a hand too +and a score of stout fellows breast the long oars which serve for +capstan bars. A little higher still. Now prop her securely and make all +snug and ship-shape, and make fast the blade of an oar to one of the +forward tholes, with the loom on the ground, for a ladder. You are safe +in Calabria. + +To-morrow at early dawn you must go into the hills, for you cannot sell +a tenth of your cargo in the little village. Away you trudge on foot, +across the rocky point, along the low flat beach by the cane brake, up +the bed of the rivulet, where the wet green blades of the canes brush +your face at every step. Shoes and stockings in hand you ford the +shallow river, then, shod again, you begin the long ascent. You will +need four good hours, or five, for you are not a landsman, your shoes +hurt you, and you would rather reef top-sails--aye, and take the lee +earing, too, in any gale and a score of times, than breast that +mountain. It cannot be helped. It is a hard life, though there are lazy +days in the summer months, when the wind will do your work for you. You +must live, and earn your share; though they call you the master, neither +boat nor cargo are yours, and you have to earn that share by harder work +and with greater anxiety than the rest. But the world is green to-day. +You remember a certain night last March--off Cape Orso in the gulf, when +the wind they call the Punti di Salerno was raging down and you had a +jib bent for a mainsail, and your foresail close reefed and were +shipping more green water than you like to think of. Pitch dark, too, +and the little lighthouse on the cape not doing its best, as it seemed. +The long line of the Salerno lights on the weather bow. No getting +there, either, and no getting anywhere else apparently. Then you tried +your luck. Amalfi might not be blowing. It was no joke to go about just +then, but you managed it somehow, because you had half a dozen brave +fellows with you. As she came up she was near missing stays and you sang +out to let go the main halyards. The yard came down close by your head +and nearly killed you, but she paid-off all right and went over on the +starboard tack. Just under the cape the water was smooth. Just beyond it +the devil was loose with all his angels, for Amalfi was blowing its own +little hurricane on its own account from another quarter. Nothing for it +but to go about and try Salerno again. What could you do in an open +felucca with the green water running over? You did your best. Five hours +out of that pitch black night you beat up, first trying one harbour and +then the other. Amalfi gave in first, just as the waning moon rose, and +you got under the breakwater at last. + +You remember that last of your many narrow escapes to-day as you trudge +up the stony mule-track through the green valleys, and it strikes you +that after all it is easier to walk from Diamante all the way to +Verbicaro, than to face a March storm in the gulf of Salerno in an open +boat on a dark night. Up you go, past that strange ruin of the great +Norman-Saracen castle standing alone on the steep little hill which +rises out of the middle of the valley, commanding the roads on the right +and the left. You have heard of the Saracens but not of the Normans. +What kind of people lived there amongst those bristling ivy-grown +towers? Thieves of course. Were they not Saracens and therefore Turks, +according to your ethnology, and therefore brigands? It is odd that the +government should have allowed them to build a castle just there. +Perhaps they were stronger than the government. You have never heard of +Count Roger, either, though you know the story of Judas Iscariot by +heart as you have heard it told many a time in Scalea. Up you go, +leaving the castle behind you, up to that square house they call the +tower on the brow of the hill. It is a lonely road, a mere sheep track +over the heights. You are over it at last, and that is Verbicaro, over +there on the other side of the great valley, perched against the +mountain side, a rough, grey mass of red-roofed houses cropping up like +red-tipped rocks out of a vast, sloping vineyard. And now there are +people on the road, slender, barefooted, brown women in dark +wine-coloured woollen skirts and scarlet cloth bodices much the worse +for wear, treading lightly under half-a-quintal weight of grapes; +well-to-do peasant men--galantuomini, they are all called in +Calabria--driving laden mules before them, their dark blue jackets flung +upon one shoulder, their white stockings remarkably white, their short +home-spun breeches far from ragged, as a rule, but their queer little +pointed hats mostly colourless and weather-beaten. Boys and girls, too, +meet you and stare at you, or overtake you at a great pace and almost +run past you, with an enquiring backward glance, each carrying +something--mostly grapes or figs. Out at last, by the little chapel, +upon what is the beginning of an inland carriage road--in a land where +even the one-wheeled wheelbarrow has never been seen. The grass grows +thick among the broken stones, and men and beasts have made a narrow +beaten track along the extreme outside edge of the precipice. The new +bridge which was standing in all its spick and span newness when you +came last year, is a ruin now, washed away by the spring freshets. A +glance tells you that the massive-looking piers were hollow, built of +one thickness of stone, shell-fashion, and filled with plain earth. +Somebody must have cheated. Nothing new in that. They are all thieves +nowadays, seeking to eat, as you say in your dialect, with a strict +simplicity which leaves nothing to the imagination. At all events this +bridge was a fraud, and the peasants clamber down a steep footpath they +have made through its ruins, and up the other side. + +And now you are in the town. The streets are paved, but Verbicaro is not +Naples, not Salerno, not even Amalfi. The pavement is of the roughest +cobble stones, and the pigs are the scavengers. Pigs everywhere, in the +streets, in the houses, at the windows, on the steps of the church in +the market-place, to right and left, before you and behind you--like the +guns at Balaclava. You never heard of the Six Hundred, though your +father was boatswain of a Palermo grain bark and lay three months in the +harbour of Sebastapol during the fighting. + +Pigs everywhere, black, grunting and happy. Red-skirted, scarlet-bodiced +women everywhere, too, all moving and carrying something. Galantuomini +loafing at most of the corners, smoking clay pipes with cane stems, and +the great Jew shopkeeper's nose just visible from a distance as he +stands in the door of his dingy den. Dirtier and dirtier grow the cobble +stones as you go on. Brighter and brighter the huge bunches of red +peppers fastened by every window, thicker and thicker on the upper walls +and shaky balconies the black melons and yellowish grey cantelopes hung +up to keep in the high fresh air, each slung in a hitch of yarn to a +nail of its own. + +Here and there some one greets you. What have you to sell? Will you take +a cargo of pears? Good this year, like all the fruit. The figs and +grapes will not be dry for another month. They nod and move on, as you +pass by them. Verbicaro is a commercial centre, in spite of the pigs. A +tall, thin priest meets you, with a long black cigar in his mouth. When +he catches your eye he takes it from between his teeth and knocks the +ash off, seeing that you are a stranger. Perhaps it is not very clerical +to smoke in the streets. But who cares? This is Verbicaro--and besides, +it is not a pipe. Monks smoke pipes. Priests smoke cigars. + +One more turn down a narrow lane--darkest and dirtiest of all the lanes, +the cobble stones only showing here and there above the universal black +puddle. Yet the air is not foul and many a broad street by the Basso +Porto in Naples smells far worse. The keen high atmosphere of the +Calabrian mountains is a mighty purifier of nastiness, and perhaps the +pig is not to be despised after all, as sanitary engineer, scavenger and +street sweeper. + +This is Don Pietro Casale's house, the last on the right, with the steep +staircase running up outside the building to the second story. And the +staircase has an iron railing, and so narrows the lane that a broad +shouldered man can just go by to the cabbage garden beyond without +turning sideways. On the landing at the top, outside the closed door +and waiting for visitors, sits the pig--a pig larger, better fed and by +one shade of filthiness cleaner than other pigs. Don Pietro Casale has +been seen to sweep his pig with a broken willow broom, after it has +rained. + +"Do you take him for a Christian?" asked his neighbour, in amazement, on +the occasion. + +"No," answered Don Pietro gravely. "He is certainly not a Christian. But +why should he spoil the tablecloth with his muddy hog's back when my +guests are at their meals? He is always running under the table for the +scraps." + +"And what are women for, except to wash tablecloths?" inquired the +neighbour contemptuously. + +But he got no answer. Few people ever get more than one from Don Pietro +Casale, whose eldest son is doing well at Buenos Ayres, and in whose +house the postmaster takes his meals now that he is a widower. + +For Don Pietro and his wife Donna Concetta sell their own wine and keep +a cook-shop, besides a guest-room with a garret above it, and two beds, +with an old-fashioned store of good linen in old-fashioned iron-bound +chests. At the time of the fair they can put up a dozen or fourteen +guests. People say indeed that the place is not so well managed, nor the +cooking so good since poor Carmela died, the widow of Ruggiero dei Figli +del Rè--Roger of the Children of the King. + +For this is the place where the Children of the King lived and died for +many generations, and this house of Don Pietro Casale was theirs, and +the one on the other side of the cabbage garden, a smaller and poorer +one, in which Carmela died. The garden itself was once theirs, and the +vineyard beyond, and the olive grove beyond that, and much good land in +the valley. For they were galantuomini, and even thought themselves +something better, and sometimes, when the wine was new, they talked of +noble blood and said that their first ancestor had indeed been a son of +a king who had given him all Verbicaro for his own. True it is, at +least, that they had no other name. Through generation after generation +they were christened Ruggiero, Guglielmo, and Sebastiano "of the +Children of the King." Thus they had anciently appeared in the ill-kept +parish registers, and thus was Ruggiero inscribed for the conscription +under the new law. + +And now, as you know, gaunt, weather-beaten Luigione, licensed master in +the coast trade and just now captain of the Sorrentine felucca +Giovannina, from Amalfi to Diamante with macaroni, there are no more of +the Children of the King in old Verbicaro, and their goods have fallen +into divers hands, but chiefly into those very grasping and +close-holding ones of Don Pietro Casale and his wife. But they are not +all dead by any means, as you know also and you have even lately seen +and talked with one of the fair-haired fellows, who bears the name. + +For the Children of the King have almost always had yellow hair and blue +eyes, though they have more than once taken to themselves black-browed, +brown-skinned Calabrian girls as wives. And this makes one, who knows +something more about your country than you do, Luigione--though in a +less practical way I confess--this makes one think that they may be the +modern descendants of some Norman knightling who took Verbicaro for +himself one morning in the old days, and kept it; or perhaps even the +far-off progeny of one of those bright-eyed, golden-locked Goths who +made slaves of the degenerate Latins some thirteen centuries ago or +more, and treated their serfs indeed more like cattle than slaves until +almost the last of them were driven into the sea with their King Teias +by Narses. But a few were left in the southern fastnesses and in the +Samnite hills, and northward through the Apennines, scattered here and +there where they had been able to hold their own; and some, it is said, +forgot Theodoric and Witiges and Totila and Teias, and took service in +the Imperial Guard at Constantinople, as Harold of Norway and some of +our own hard-fisted sailor fathers did in later years. + +Be that as it may--and no one knows how it was--the Children of the King +have yellow hair and blue eyes to this present time, and no one would +take them for Calabrians, nor for Sicilians, still less for +monkey-limbed, hang-dog mouthed, lying, lubberly Neapolitans who can +neither hand, reef nor steer, nor tell you the difference between a +bowline and a buntling, though you may show them a dozen times, nor +indeed can do anything but steal and blaspheme and be the foulest, +filthiest crew that Captain Satan ever shipped for the Long Voyage. Not +fit to slush down the mast of a collier, the best of them. + +It must be a dozen years since Carmela died in that little house beyond +the cabbage garden. It was a glorious night in September--a strange +night in some ways, and not like other nights one remembers, for the +full moon had risen over the hills to the left, filling the world with a +transparent vapour of silver, so clear and so bright that the very light +seemed good to breathe as it is good to drink crystal water from a +spring. Verbicaro was all asleep behind Don Pietro Casale's house, and +in front, from the terrace before the guest-room, one could see the +great valley far below beyond the cabbages, deep and mysterious, with +silver-dashed shadows and sudden blacknesses, and bright points of white +where the moon's rays fell upon a solitary hut. And on the other side of +the valley, above Grisolia, a great round-topped mountain and on the top +of the mountain an enormous globe of cloud, full of lightning that +flashed unceasingly, so that the cloud was at one instant like a ball of +silver in the moonlight, and at the next like a ball of fire in +darkness. Not a breath stirred the air, and the strange thunderstorm +flashed out its life through the long hours, stationary and alone at its +vast height. + +In the great silence two sounds broke the stillness from time to time; +the deep satisfied grunt of a pig turning his fattest side to the cobble +stones as he slept--and the long, low wail of a woman dying in great +pain. + +The little room was very dark. A single wick burned in the boat-shaped +cup of the tall earthenware lamp, and there was little oil left in the +small receptacle. On the high trestle bed, upon the thinnest of straw +mattresses, decently covered with a coarse brown blanket, lay a pale +woman, emaciated to a degree hardly credible. A clean white handkerchief +was bound round her brow and covered her head, only a scanty lock or two +of fair hair escaping at the side of her face. The features were calm +and resigned, but when the pain of the death agony seized upon her the +thin lips parted and deep lines of suffering appeared about the mouth; +She seemed to struggle as best she could, but the low, quavering cry +would not be stifled--lower and more trembling each time it was renewed. + +An old barefooted friar with a kindly eye and a flowing grey beard stood +beside her. He had done what he could to comfort her and was going away. +But she feebly begged him to stay a little longer. In an interval, while +she had no pain, she spoke to her boys. + +"Ruggiero--Sebastiano--dear sons--you could not save me, and I am going. +God bless you. Our Lady help you--remember--you are Children of the +King--remember--ah." + +She sighed heavily and her jaw fell as another sort of pallor spread +suddenly over her face. Poor Carmela was dead at last, after weeks of +sickness, worked to death, as the neighbours said, by Pietro Casale and +his wife Concetta. + +She left those two boys, lean, poorly clad lads of ten and twelve years, +yellow haired and blue eyed, with big bones and hunger-pinched faces. +They could just remember seeing their father brought home dead with a +knife wound in his breast six years earlier. Now they took hands as +they looked at their dead mother with a sort of wondering gaze. There +were no tears, no cries of despair--least of all did they show any fear. + +Old Padre Michele made them kneel down, still hand in hand, while he +recited prayers for the dead. The boys knew some of the responses, +learned by ear with small regard for Latinity, though they understood +what they were saying. When the monk got up they rose also and looked +again at the poor dead face. + +"You have no relations, my children," said the old man. + +"We are alone," answered the elder boy in a quiet, clear voice. "But I +will take care of Sebastiano." + +"And I will help Ruggiero," said the younger in much the same tone. + +"You are hungry?" + +"Always," answered both together, without hesitation. + +Padre Michele would have smiled, but the hungry faces and the mournful +tone told him how true the spoken word must be. He fumbled in the +pockets in the breast of his gown, and presently produced a few +shady-looking red and white sugar sweetmeats, bullet-like in shape and +hardness. + +"It is all I have now, my children," said the old man. "I picked them up +yesterday at a wedding, to give them to a poor little girl who was ill. +But she was dead when I got there, so you may have them." + +The lads took the stuff thankfully and crunched the stony balls with +white, wolfish teeth. + +With Padre Michele's help they got an old woman from amongst the +neighbours to rouse herself and do what was necessary. When all was over +she took the brown blanket as payment without asking for it, smuggling +it out of the mean room under her great black handkerchief. But it was +day then, and Don Pietro Casale was wide awake. He stopped her in the +narrow part of the lane at the foot of his own staircase, and forcibly +undid the bundle, to the old woman's inexpressible discomfiture. He said +nothing, as he took it from her and carried it away, but his thin grey +lips smiled quietly. The old woman shook her fist at him behind his +back and cursed his dead under her breath. From Rome to Palermo, swear +at a man if you please, call him by bad names, and he will laugh at you. +But curse his dead relations or their souls, and you had better keep +beyond the reach of his knife, or of his hands if he have no weapon. So +the old woman was careful that Pietro Casale should not hear her. + +"Managgia l'anima di chi t' è morto!" she muttered, as she hobbled away. + +Everything in the room where Carmela died belonged to Don Pietro, and he +took everything. He found the two boys standing together, looking across +the fence of the cabbage garden down at the distant valley and over at +the height opposite, beyond which the sea was hidden. + +"Eh! You good-for-nothings!" he called out to them. "Is nothing done +to-day because the mother is dead? No bread to-night, then--you know +that." + +"We will not work for you any more," answered Ruggiero, the elder, as +both turned round. + +Don Pietro went up to them. He had a short stout stick in his hand, +tough and black with age, and he lifted it as though to drive them to +work. They waited quietly till it should please him to come to close +quarters, which he did without delay. I have said that he was a man of +few words. But the Children of the King were not like Calabrian boys, +children though they were. Their wolfish teeth were very white as they +waited for him with parted lips, and there was an odd blue light in +their eyes which is not often seen south of Goth-land. + +They were but twelve and ten years old, but they could fight already, in +their small way, and had tried it many a time with shepherd lads on the +hill-side. But Don Pietro despised children and aimed a blow at +Ruggiero's right shoulder. The blow did not take effect, but a moment +had not passed before the old peasant lay sprawling on his back with +both the boys on top of him. + +"You cannot hurt the mother now," said Ruggiero. "Hit him as I do, +Bastianello!" + +And the four bony boyish fists fell in a storm of savage blows upon Don +Pietro Casale's leathern face and eyes and head and thin grey lips. + +"That is for the mother," said Ruggiero. "Another fifty a-piece for +ourselves." + +The wiry old peasant struggled desperately, and at last threw himself +free of them and staggered to his feet. + +"Quick, Bastianello!" shouted Ruggiero. + +In the twinkling of an eye they were over the fence and running at full +speed for the valley. Don Pietro bruised, dazed and half-blinded, +struggled after them, crashing through hedges and stumbling into ditches +while he shouted for help in his pursuit. But his heavy shoes hampered +him, and at best he was no match for them in speed. His face was covered +with purple blotches and his eyelids were swelling at a terrible rate. +Out of breath and utterly worn out he stood still and steadied himself +against a crooked olive-tree. He could no longer hear even the footsteps +of the lads before him. + +They were beyond his reach now. The last of the Children of the King had +left Verbicaro, where their fathers had lived and died since darker ages +than Calabrian history has accurately recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +"We shall never see him again," said Ruggiero, stopping at last and +looking back over the stone wall he had just cleared. + +Sebastiano listened intently. He was not tall enough to see over, but +his ears were sharp. + +"I do not hear him any more," he answered. "I hurt my hands on his +nose," he added, thoughtfully, as he glanced at his bruised knuckles. + +"So did I," returned his brother. "He will remember us. Come along--it +is far to Scalea." + +"To Scalea? Are we going to Scalea?" + +"Eh! If not, where? And where else can we eat? Don Antonino will give us +a piece of bread." + +"There are figs here," suggested Sebastiano, looking up into the trees +around them. + +"It has not rained yet, and if you eat figs from the tree before it has +rained you will have pain. But if we are very hungry we will eat them, +all the same." + +Little Sebastiano yielded rather reluctantly before his brother's +superior wisdom. Besides, Padre Michele had given them a little cold +bean porridge at the monastery early in the morning. So they went on +their way cautiously, and looking about them at every step now that +there was no more need of haste. For they had got amongst the vineyards +and orchards where they had no business, and if the peasants saw them, +the stones would begin to fly. They knew their way about, however, and +reached an open footpath without any adventure, so that in half an hour +they were on the mule track to Scalea. They walked much faster than a +grown peasant would have done, and they knew the road. Instead of +turning to the left after going down the hill beyond the tower, they +took the right hand path to the Scalea river, and as it had not rained +they got across without getting very wet. But that road is not so good +as the one to Diamante, because the river is sometimes swollen, and +people with laden mules have to wait even as much as three days before +they can try the ford, and moreover there is bad air there, which +brings fever. + +At last they struck the long beach and began to trudge through the sand. + +"And what shall we do to-morrow?" asked Sebastiano. + +Ruggiero was whistling loudly to show his younger brother that he was +not tired nor afraid of anything. At the question he stopped suddenly, +and faced the blazing blue sea. + +"We can go to America," he said, after a moment's reflection. + +Little Sebastiano did not seem at all surprised by the proposition, but +he remained in deep thought for some moments, stamping up a little +hillock of sand between his bare feet. + +"We are not old enough to be married yet," he remarked at last. + +"That is true," admitted Ruggiero, reluctantly. + +Possibly, the close connection between going to America and being +married may not be apparent to the poor untutored foreign mind. It would +certainly not have been understood a hundred miles north of Sebastiano's +heap of sand. And yet it is very simple. In Calabria any strong young +fellow with a decently good character can find a wife with a small +dowry, though he be ever so penniless. Generally within a week, and +always within a fortnight, he emigrates alone, taking all his wife's +money with him and leaving her to work for her own living with her +parents. He goes to Buenos Ayres or Monte Video. If, at the end of four, +five or six years he has managed to increase the money so as to yield a +small income, and if his wife behaves herself during his absence, he +comes home again and buys a piece of land and builds a house. His +friends do not fail to inform him of his wife's conduct, and he holds +her dowry as a guarantee of her fidelity. But if he fails to enrich +himself, or if she is unfaithful to him, he never comes back at all. It +is thus clear that a penniless young man cannot go to America until he +is married. + +"That is very true," Ruggiero repeated. + +"And we must eat," said Sebastiano, who knew by experience the truth of +what he said. + +"And we are always hungry. It is very strange. I am hungry now, and yet +we had the beans only this morning. It is true that the plate was not +full, and there were two of us. I wish we were like the son of Antonio, +who never eats. I heard his mother telling the chemist so last winter." + +"He is dead," said Sebastiano. "Health to us!" he added, according to +custom. + +"Health to us!" repeated Euggiero. "Perhaps he died because he did not +eat. Who knows? I should, I am sure. Is he dead? I did not know. Come +along! If Don Antonino is not away we shall get some bread." + +So they trudged on through the sand. It was still very hot on the +yellowish white beach, under the great southern sun in September, but +the Children of the King had been used to bearing worse hardships than +heat, or cold either, and the thought of the big brown loaves in Don +Antonino's wine-shop was very cheering. + +At last they reached the foot of the terraced village that rises with +its tiers of white and brown houses from the shore to the top of the +hill. Not so big nor so prosperous a place as Verbicaro, but much bigger +and richer than Diamante. There are always a good many fishing boats +hauled up on the beach, but you will not often see a cargo boat +excepting in the autumn. Don Antonino keeps the cook-shop and the wine +cellar in the little house facing the sea, before you turn to the right +to go up into the village. He is an old sailor and an honest fellow, and +comes from Massa, which is near Sorrento. + +A vast old man he is, with keen, quiet grey eyes under heavy lids that +droop and slant outward like the lifts of a yard. He is thickset, heavy, +bulky in the girth, flat-footed, iron-handed, slow to move. He has a +white beard like a friar, and wears a worsted cap. His skin, having lost +at last the tan of thirty years, is like the rough side of light brown +sole leather--a sort of yellowish, grey, dead-leaf colour. He is very +deaf and therefore generally very silent. He has been boatswain on board +of many a good ship and there are few ports from Batum to San Francisco +where he has not cast anchor. + +The boys saw him from a long way off, and their courage rose. He often +came to Verbicaro to buy wine and had known their father, and knew them. +He would certainly give them a piece of bread. As he saw them coming +his quiet eyes watched them, and followed them as they came up the +beach. But he did not turn his head, nor move hand or foot, even when +they were close to him. He looked so solid and determined to stand still +where he was, in the door of his shop, that you might have taken him for +an enormous lay figure of a man, made of carved oak and dressed up for a +sign to his own business. The two lads touched their ragged woollen caps +and stood looking at him, wondering whether he would ever move. At last +his grey eyes twinkled. + +"Have you never seen a Christian before?" he inquired in a deep gruff +voice. + +He did not seem to be in a good humour. The boys drew back somewhat in +awe, and sat down to rest on the stones by the wall. Still Antonino's +eyes followed them, though he did not move. Sebastiano looked up at him +uneasily from time to time, but Ruggiero gazed steadily at the sea with +the affectation of proud indifference to scrutiny, which is becoming in +a boy of twelve years. At last the old man stirred, turned slowly as on +a pivot and went into the shop. + +"Is it not better to speak to him?" asked Sebastiano of his brother in +a whisper. + +"No. He is deaf. If he did not understand us he would be angry and would +give us no bread." + +Presently Don Antonino came out again. He held half a loaf and a big +slab of goat's-milk cheese between his huge thumb and finger. He paused +exactly on the spot where he had stood so long, and seemed about to +become absorbed in the contemplation of the empty fishing boats lying in +the sun. Sebastiano watched him with hungry eyes, but Ruggiero again +stared at the sea. After several minutes the old boatswain got under way +again and came to them, holding out the food to them both. + +"Eat," he said laconically. + +They both jumped up and thanked him, and pulled at their ragged caps +before they took the bread and cheese from his hand. He nodded gravely, +which was his way of explaining that he could not hear but that it was +all right, and then he watched them as they set to work. + +"Like wolves," he said solemnly, as he looked on. + +The place was quite deserted at that hour. Only now and then a woman +passed, with an earthen jar of water on her head and her little tin +bucket and rope in her hand. The public well is not fifty yards from +Antonino's house, up the brook and on the left of it. The breeze was +dying away and it was very hot, though the sun was already behind the +high rocks of the cape. + +"Where are the beasts?" asked Don Antonino, as the boys swallowed their +last mouthful. + +Ruggiero threw his head back and stuck out his chin, which signifies +negation in the south. He knew it was of little use to speak unless he +could get near the old man's ear and shout. + +"And what are you doing here?" asked the latter. + +Speech was now unavoidable. Ruggiero stood on tiptoe and the old man +bent over sideways, much as a heavily laden Dutch galliot heels to a +stiff breeze. + +"The mother is dead!" bawled the boy in his high strong voice. + +Oddly enough the tears came into his eyes for the first time, as he +shouted at the deaf old man, and at the same moment little Sebastiano's +lower lip trembled. Antonino shook his head in rough sympathy. + +"We have also beaten Don Pietro Casale, and so we have run away," yelled +the boy. + +Antonino grunted thoughtfully and his grey eyes twinkled as he slowly +righted himself and stood up again. Very deliberately he went into the +shop again and presently came back with a big measure of weak wine and +water. + +"Drink," he said, holding out the jug. + +Again the two boys pulled at their caps and each raised the jug +respectfully toward the old man before drinking. + +"To health," each said, and Antonino nodded gravely. + +Then Ruggiero took the jug inside and rinsed it, as he knew it was his +duty to do and set it on the table. When he came back he stood beside +his brother, waiting for Don Antonino to speak. A long silence followed. + +"Sleep," said the old man. "Afterwards we will talk." + +He took his old place in the doorway and stared steadily out to sea. The +boys lay down beside the house and having eaten and drunk their fill +and walked a matter of fifteen miles, were sound asleep in three +minutes. + +At sunset Ruggiero sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. Don Antonino was +no longer at the door, and the sound of several men's voices came from +within, mingled with the occasional dull rattle of coarse glasses on +wooden tables. + +"Ò!" Ruggiero called softly to his brother. Then he added a syllable and +called again, "O-è!" Little Sebastiano woke, sat up and looked about +him, rubbing his eyes in his turn. + +"What has happened?" he inquired, only half awake. + +"By the grace of God we have eaten, we have drunk and we have slept," +said Ruggiero by way of answer. + +Both got up, shook themselves and stood with their hands in their +pockets, looking at the sea. They were barefooted and barelegged, with +torn breeches, coarse white shirts much patched about the shoulders, and +ragged woollen caps. Presently they turned as by a common instinct and +went and stood before the open door, peering in at the guests. Don +Antonino was behind his black counter measuring wine. His wife was with +him now and helping him, a cheerful, clean woman having a fair +complexion, grey hair and round sharp eyes with red lids--a stranger in +Calabria like her husband. She held the neck of a great pear-shaped +demijohn, covered with straw, of which the lower part rested on the +counter. Antonino held a quart jug to be filled while she lowered the +mouth, and he poured the measure each time into a barrel through a black +tin funnel. They both counted the measures in audible tones, checking +each other as it were. The wine was very dark and strong and the smell +filled the low room and came out through the door. Half-a-dozen men sat +at the tables, mostly eating ship biscuit of their own and goat's-milk +cheese which they bought with their wine. They were rough-looking +fellows, generally in checked flannel shirts, and home-spun trousers. +But they all wore boots or shoes, which are in the south a distinctive +sign of a certain degree of prosperity. Most of them had black beards +and smart woollen caps. They were men who got their living principally +by the sea in one way or another, but none of them looked thorough +seamen. They talked loud and with a certain air of boasting, they were +rough, indeed, but not strongly built nor naturally easy in their +movements as sailors are. Their eyes were restless and fiery, but the +glance was neither keen nor direct. Altogether they contrasted oddly +with Don Antonino, the old boatswain. This part of Calabria does not +breed genuine sea folk. + +Antonino took no notice of the boys as they stood outside the door, but +went quietly on with his work, measuring quart after quart of wine and +pouring it into the barrel. + +"If it were a keg, I could carry it for him," said Ruggiero, "but I +cannot lift a barrel yet." + +"We could roll it, together," suggested Sebastiano thoughtfully. + +Presently Don Antonino finished his job and bunged the barrel with a +cork and a bit of old sailcloth. Then he looked up and stood still. The +boys were not quite sure whether he was watching them or not, for it was +already dusk. His wife lit a small German petroleum lamp and hung it in +the middle of the room, and then went to the fireplace in the dark +corner where something was cooking. One of the guests shouted to +Antonino. + +"There is a martingane at San Nicola," he bawled. + +Antonino turned his head slowly to the speaker and waited for more. + +"Bound east," continued the man. "From Majuri." + +"What is wrong with her?" inquired the old host. + +Boats going west, that is, towards Naples and Civita Vecchia often put +in to the small natural harbours to wait for the night wind. Those going +east never do except for some especial reason. + +The man said nothing, but fixed his eyes on Antonino and slowly filled +his pipe, evidently intending to convey some secret piece of information +by the look and action. But the old sailor's stolid face did not betray +the slightest intelligence. He turned away and deliberately took +half-a-dozen salted sprats from a keg behind the counter and laid them +in a dish preparatory to cleaning them for his own supper. The man who +had spoken to him seemed annoyed, but only shrugged his shoulders +impatiently and went on eating and drinking. + +Antonino took a jug of water and went outside to wash his fish. The two +boys offered to do it for him, but he shook his head. He did not speak +until he had almost finished. + +"We will fish to-night," he said at last, in a low voice, pouring a +final rinsing of water into the dish. "Sleep in the sand under the third +boat from the rocks. I will wake you when I am ready." + +He looked from one to the other of the lads with a keen glance, and then +laid one huge finger against his lips. He drained the water from his +dish and went in again. + +"Come along," said Ruggiero softly. "Let us find the boat and get out of +the way." + +The craft was a small "gozzo," or fisherman's boat, not above a dozen or +fourteen feet long, sharp and much alike at bow and stern, but with a +high stem surmounted by a big ball of wood, very convenient for hanging +nets upon. It was almost dark by this time, but the boys saw that she +was black as compared with the other boats on both sides of her. She +was quite empty and lay high and dry on three low chocks. Ruggiero lay +down, getting as close to the keel as he could and Sebastiano followed +his example. They lay head to head so that they could talk in a whisper. + +"Why are we not to speak of his fishing?" asked the younger boy. + +"Who knows? But if we do as he tells us he will give us more bread +to-morrow." + +"He is very good to us." + +"Because we beat Don Pietro Casale. Don Pietro cheated him last year. I +saw the cottonseed oil he mixed with the good, in that load we brought +down." + +"Perhaps the fishing is not for fish," suggested little Sebastiano, +curling himself up and laying his head on the end of the chock. + +They did not know what time it was when Don Antonino gently stirred them +with his big foot. They sprang up wide awake and saw in the starlight +that he had a pair of oars and a coil of rope in his hands. + +"As I launch her, take the chocks from behind and put them in front," he +said in a low voice. + +Then he laid the oars softly in the bows and dropped the rope into the +bottom, and began to push the boat slowly down to the sea. The boys did +as he had told them to do, and in a few minutes the bows were in the +rippling water. The old sailor took off his shoes and stockings and put +them on board, and rolled up his trousers. Then with a strong push he +sent her down over the pebbles and got upon the bows as she floated out. +To look at his heavy form you would not have thought that he could move +so lightly and quickly when he pleased. In a moment he was standing over +the oars and backing to the beach again for the boys to get in. They +stood above their knees in the warm water and handed him the chocks +before they got on board. He nodded as though satisfied, but said +nothing as he pulled away towards the rocky point. The lads sat silently +in the stern, wondering whither he was taking them. He certainly had +brought no fishing tackle with him. There was not even a torch and +harpoon aboard for spearing the fish. He pulled rapidly and steadily as +though he were going on an errand and were in a hurry, keeping close +under the high rocks as soon as he was clear of the reefs at the cape. +At last, nearly an hour after starting, the boys made out a great +deserted tower just ahead. Then Antonino stopped pulling, unshipped his +oars one after the other and muffled them just where the strap works on +the thole-pin, by binding bits of sailcloth round them. He produced the +canvas and the rope-yarn from his pockets, and the boys watched his +quick, workmanlike movements without understanding what he was doing. +When he began to pull again the oars made no noise against the tholes, +and he dipped the blades gently into the water, as he pulled past the +tower into the sheltered bay beyond. + +Then a vessel loomed up suddenly under the great cliffs, and a moment +later he was under her side, tapping softly against the planking. The +boys held their breath and watched him. Presently a dark head appeared +above the bulwarks and remained stationary for a while. Antonino stood +up in his boat so as to lessen the distance and make himself more easily +recognisable. Then a hand appeared beside the head and made a gesture, +then dived down and came up again with the end of a rope, lowering it +down into the boat. Antonino gave the line to Ruggiero and then stepped +off upon the great hook on the martingane's side to which the chain +links for beaching, got hold of the after shroud and swung himself on +board. + +Now it may be as well to say here what a martingane is. She is a +good-sized, decked vessel, generally between five-and-twenty and a +hundred tons, with good beam and full bows, narrow at the stern and +rather high out of water unless very heavily laden. She has one stout +mast, cross-trees, and a light topmast. She has an enormous yard, much +longer than herself, on which is bent the high peaked mainsail. She +carries a gaff-top-sail, fore-staysail, jib and flying-jib, and can rig +out all sorts of light sails when she is before the wind. She is a good +sea boat, but slow and clumsy, and needs a strong crew to handle her. + +The two boys who sat in the fishing boat alongside the martingane on +that dark night had no idea that all sea-going vessels were not called +ships; but there was something mysteriously attractive to them in the +black hull, the high tapering yard, and the shadowy rigging. They were +certainly not imaginative boys, but they could not help wondering where +the great dark thing had been and whither she might be going. They did +not know what going to sea meant, nor what real deep-sea vessels were +like, and they even fancied that this one might have been to America. +But they understood well enough that they were to make no noise, and +they kept their reflections to themselves, silently holding on to the +end of the rope as they sat in their places. + +They did not wait very long. In a few minutes Antonino and the other man +came to the side, carrying an odd-looking black bundle, sewn up in what +Ruggiero felt was oiled canvas as he steadied it down into the stern of +the little boat, and neatly hitched round from end to end with +spun-yarn, so as to be about the shape of an enormous sausage. The two +men lowered it without much caution; it was heavy but rather limp. Then +came another exactly like the first, which they also lowered into the +boat, and a moment later Don Antonino came over the side as quickly and +noiselessly as he had gone up, and shoved off quietly into the +starlight. + +Half an hour later he ran alongside of a narrow ledge of rock, +apparently quite inaccessible from the land above, but running up along +the cliff in such a way that, in case of danger from the sea, a man +could get well out of reach of the breakers. He went ashore, taking the +end of his own coil of rope with him. He made it fast in the dark +shadow, and he must have known the place very well, for there was but +one small hole running under a stone wedged in a cleft of the rock, +through which he could pass the line. He got back into the boat. + +"Get ashore, boys," he said, "and wait here. If you see a revenue boat, +with coast guards in it, coming towards you as though the men wanted to +speak to you, cast off the end of the rope and let it run into the sea. +Then run up the ledge there, and climb the rock, the faster the better. +There is a way up. But keep out of sight when it is day, by lying flat +in the hollow there. If anybody else comes in a boat, and says nothing, +but just takes the rope, do not hinder him. Let him take it, and he will +take you too, and give you a couple of biscuits." + +Don Antonino pushed off a little, letting the rope run out. Then he +made his end of it fast to the two ends of the black bundles, and +backing out as far as he could, he let them both down gently into the +water, and pulled away, leaving the Children of the King alone on the +ledge. He had managed to bring the rope down through the cleft, so that +it could not easily be seen from the sea. The boys waited some time +before either of them spoke, although the old fellow was deaf. + +"Those things looked like dead men," said Sebastiano at last. + +"But they are not," answered Ruggiero confidently. "Now I know why Don +Antonino is so rich. He smuggles tobacco." + +"If we could smuggle tobacco, too, it would be a fortune," remarked the +younger boy. "He would give us bread every day, with cheese, and wine to +drink." + +"We shall see." + +They sat a long time, waiting for something to happen, and then fell +asleep, curling themselves up in the hollow as they had been told to do. +At dawn they awoke and began to look out for the revenue boat. But she +did not appear in sight. The hours were very long and it was very hot, +and they had nothing to eat or drink. Then all at once they saw what +seemed to them the most beautiful vision they could remember. A big +felucca shot round the rocks, still under way from the breeze she had +found in the little bay. Her full white sails still shivered in the sun, +and the boys could see the blue light that passed up under her keel and +was reflected upon her snow-white side as she ceased to move just in +front of them. + +A big man with a red beard and a white shirt stood at the helm and fixed +his eyes on the point where the lads were hiding. He evidently saw them, +for he nodded to a man near him and gave an order. In a moment the dingy +was launched and a sailor came ashore. He jumped nimbly out, holding the +painter of his boat in one hand, glanced at the boys, who stood up as +soon as they saw that they were discovered, and cast off the end of the +rope, keeping hold of it lest it should run. Then without paying any +more attention to the boys, he went on board again taking the end with +him. + +"And we?" shouted Ruggiero after him, as he pulled away facing them. + +"I do not know you," he answered. + +"But we know you and Don Antonino," said Sebastiano, who was +quick-witted. + +"Wait a while," replied the sailor. + +The man at the helm spoke to him while the others were hauling up the +bundles out of the water and getting them on board. The dingy came +rapidly back and the sailor sterned her to the rock for the boys to get +in. In a few minutes they were over the side of the felucca.[1] They +pulled at their ragged caps as they came up to the man at the helm, who +proved to be the master. + +[Footnote 1: A felucca is a two-masted boat of great length in +proportion to her beam, and generally a very good sailer. She carries +two very large lateen sails, uncommonly high at the peak, and one jib. +She is sometimes quite open, sometimes half-decked, and sometimes fully +decked, according to her size. She carries generally from ten to thirty +tons of cargo, and is much used in the coasting trade, all the way from +Civita Vecchia to the Diamante. The model of a first-rate felucca is +very like that of a Viking's ship which was discovered not many years +since in a mound in Norway.] + +"What do you want?" he asked roughly, but he looked them over from head +to foot, one at a time. + +"The mother is dead," said Ruggiero, "and, moreover, we have beaten Don +Pietro Casale and run away from Verbicaro, and we wish to be sailors." + +"Verbicaro?" repeated the master. "Land folk, then. Have you ever been +to sea?" + +"No, but we are strong and can work." + +"You may come with me to Sorrento. You will find work there. I am +short-handed. I daresay you are worth a biscuit apiece." + +He spoke in the roughest tone imaginable, and his black eyes--for he had +black eyes and thick black hair in spite of his red beard--looked angry +and fiery while he talked. Altogether you would have thought that he was +in a very bad temper and not at all disposed to take a couple of +starving lads on board out of charity. But he did not look at all such a +man as those awkward, gaudily dressed, unsteady fellows the boys had +seen in Antonino's shop on the previous night. He looked a seaman, every +inch of him, and they instinctively felt that as he stood there at the +helm he knew his business thoroughly and could manage his craft as +coolly in a winter storm as on this flat September sea, when the men +were getting the sweeps out because there was not a breath of wind to +stir the sails. + +"Go forward and pick beans for dinner," he said. + +That was the first job given the Children of the King when they went to +sea. For to sea they went and turned out seamen in due time, as good as +the master who took them first, and perhaps a little better, though that +is saying much. + +And so I have told you who the Children of the King are and how they +shipped as boys on board of a Sorrento felucca, being quite alone in the +world, and now I will tell you of some things which happened to them +afterwards, and not quite so long ago. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Ten years have passed since the ever-memorable day on which the Children +of the King hurt their fists so badly in battering Don Pietro Casale's +sharp nose. They are big, bony men, now, with strongly marked features, +short yellow hair and fair beards. So far they are alike, and at first +sight might be taken for twin brothers. But there is a marked difference +between them in character, which shows itself in their faces. Ruggiero's +eye is of a colder blue, is less mobile and of harder expression than +Sebastiano's. His firm lips are generally tightly closed, and his square +chin is bolder than his brother's. He is stronger, too, though not by +very much, and though he is more silent and usually more equable, he has +by far the worse temper of the two. At sea there is little to choose +between them. Perhaps, on the whole, Sebastiano has always been the +favourite amongst his companions, while Ruggiero has been thought the +more responsible and possibly the more dangerous in a quarrel. Both, +however, have acquired an extraordinarily good reputation as seamen, and +also as boatmen on the pleasure craft of all sizes which sail the gulf +of Naples during the summer season. + +They have made several long voyages, too. They have been to New York and +to Buenos Ayres and have seen many ports of Europe and America, and much +weather of all sorts north and south of the Line. They have known what +it is to be short of victuals five hundred miles from land with contrary +winds; they have experienced the delights of a summer at New Orleans, +waiting for a cargo and being eaten alive by mosquitoes; they have +looked up, in January, at the ice-sheeted rigging, when boiling water +froze upon the shrouds and ratlines, and the captain said that no man +could lay out upon the top-sail yard, though the north-easter threatened +to blow the sail out of the bolt-ropes--but Ruggiero got hold of the lee +earing all the same and Sebastiano followed him, and the captain swore a +strange oath in the Italo-American language, and went aloft himself to +help light the sail out to windward, being still a young man and not +liking to be beaten by a couple of beardless boys, as the two were +then.[2] And they have seen many strange sights, sea-serpents not a few, +and mermaids quite beyond the possibility of mistake, and men who can +call the wind with four knots in a string and words unlearnable, and +others who can alter the course of a waterspout by a secret spell, and a +captain who made a floating beacon of junk soaked in petroleum in a +tar-barrel and set it adrift and stood up on the quarter-deck calling on +all the three hundred and sixty-five saints in the calendar out of the +Neapolitan almanack he held--and got a breeze, too, for his pains, as +Ruggiero adds with a quiet and somewhat incredulous smile when he has +finished the yarn. All these things they have seen with their eyes, and +many more which it is impossible to remember, but all equally +astonishing though equally familiar to everybody who has been at sea ten +years. + +[Footnote 2: The writer knows of a Sorrentine captain, commanding a +large bark who, when top-sails are reefed in his watch regularly takes +the lee earing, which, as most landsmen need to be told, is the post of +danger and honour.] + +And now in mid-June they are at home again, since Sorrento is their home +now, and they are inclined to take a turn with the pleasure boats by +way of a change and engage themselves for the summer, Ruggiero with a +gentleman from the north of Italy known as the Conte di San Miniato, and +Sebastiano with a widowed Sicilian lady and her daughter, the Marchesa +di Mola and the Signorina Beatrice Granmichele, generally, if +incorrectly, spoken of as Donna Beatrice. + +Now the Conte di San Miniato, though only a count, and reputed to be out +at elbows, if not up to his ears in debt, is the sole surviving +representative of a very great and ancient family in the north. But how +the defunct Granmichele got his title of Marchese di Mola, no one knows +precisely. Two things are certain, that his father never had a title at +all, and that he himself made a large fortune in sulphur and paving +stones, so that his only daughter is much of an heiress, and his elderly +widow has a handsome income to spend as she pleases, owns in Palermo a +fine palace--historical in other hands--is the possessor of a smartish +yacht, a cutter of thirty tons or so, goes to Paris once and to Monte +Carlo twice in every year, brings her own carriage to Sorrento in the +summer, and lives altogether in a luxurious and highly correct manner. + +She is a tall, thin woman of forty years or thereabouts, with high +features, dark eyes, a pale olive complexion, black hair white at the +temples, considerable taste in dress and an absolute contempt for +physical exertion, mental occupation and punctuality. + +Donna Beatrice, as they call her daughter, is a very pretty girl, aged +nineteen or nearly, of greyhound build, so to say, by turns amazingly +active and astonishingly indolent, capricious and decided in her +caprices while they last, passionately fond of dancing, much inclined to +amuse herself in her own way when her mother is not looking, and +possessing a keen sense of prime and ultimate social ratios. She is +unusually well educated, speaks three languages, knows that somehow +North and South America are not exactly the same as the Northern and +Southern States, has heard of Virgil and the Crusades, can play a waltz +well, and possesses a very sweet little voice. She is undoubtedly +pretty. Brown, on the whole, as to colouring--brown skin, liquid brown +eyes, dark brown hair--a nose not regular but attractive, a mouth not +small but expressive, eyebrows not finely pencilled, neither arched nor +straight, but laid on as it were like the shadows in a clever charcoal +drawing, with the finger, broad, effective, well turned, carelessly set +in the right place by a hand that never makes mistakes. + +It is the intention of the Marchesa di Mola to marry her daughter to the +very noble and out-at-elbows Count of San Miniato before the summer is +out. It is also the intention of the Count to marry Beatrice. It is +Beatrice's intention to do nothing rashly, but to take as much time as +she can get for making up her mind, and then to do exactly as she +pleases. She perfectly appreciates her own position and knows that she +can either marry a rich man of second-rate family, or a poor man of good +blood, a younger son or a half ruined gentleman at large like San +Miniato, and she hesitates. She is not quite sure of the value of money +yet. It might be delightful to be even much richer than she is, because +there are so many delightful things to be done in the world with money +alone. But it might turn out to be equally agreeable to have a great +name, to be somebody, to be a necessary part of society in short, +because society does a number of agreeable things not wholly dependent +upon cash for being pleasant, and indeed often largely dependent on +credit. + +San Miniato attracts her, and she does not deny the fact to herself. He +is handsome, tall, fair, graceful and exceedingly well dressed. He was +several years in a cavalry regiment and is reputed to have left the +service in order to fight with a superior officer whom he disliked. In +reality his straitened means may have had something to do with the step. +At all events he scratched his major rather severely in the duel which +took place, and has the reputation of a dangerous man with the sabre. It +is said that the major's wife had something to do with the story. At +present San Miniato is about thirty years of age. His only known vice is +gambling, which is perhaps a chief source of income to him. Every one +agrees in saying that he is the type of the honourable player, and that, +if he wins on the whole, he owes his winnings to his superior coolness +and skill. The fact that he gambles rather lends him an additional +interest in the eyes of Beatrice, whose mother often plays and who would +like to play herself. + +Ruggiero, who is to be San Miniato's boatman this summer, is waiting +outside the Count's door, until that idle gentleman wakes from his late +sleep and calls him. The final agreement is yet to be made, and Ruggiero +makes calculations upon his fingers as he sits on the box in the +corridor. The Count wants a boat and three sailors by the month and if +he is pleased, will keep them all the season. It became sufficiently +clear to Ruggiero during the first interview that his future employer +did not know the difference between a barge and a felucca, and he has +had ocular demonstration that the Count cannot swim, for he has seen him +in the water by the bathing-houses--a thorough landsman at all points. +But there are two kinds of landsmen, those who are afraid, and those who +are not, as Ruggiero well knows. The first kind are amusing and the +sailors get more fun out of them than they know of; the second kind are +dangerous and are apt to get more out of the sailor than they pay for, +by bullying him and calling him a coward. But on the whole Ruggiero, +being naturally very daring and singularly indifferent to life as a +possession, hopes that San Miniato may turn out to be of the +unreasonably reckless rather than of the tiresomely timid class, and is +inclined to take his future master's courage for granted as he makes his +calculations. + +"I will take the Son of the Fool and the Cripple," he mutters +decisively. "They are good men, and we can always have the Gull for a +help when we need four." + +A promising crew, by the names, say you of the North, who do not +understand Southern ways. But in Sorrento and all down the coast, most +seafaring men get nicknames under which their real and legal +appellations disappear completely and are totally forgotten. + +The Fool, whose son Ruggiero meant to engage, had earned his title in +bygone days by dancing an English hornpipe for the amusement of his +companions, the Gull owed his to the singular length and shape of his +nose, and the Cripple had in early youth worn a pair of over-tight +boots on Sundays, whereby he had limped sadly on the first day of every +week, for nearly two years. So that the crew were all sound in mind and +body in spite of their alarming names. + +Ruggiero sat on the box and waited, meditating upon the probable +occupations of gentlemen who habitually slept till ten o'clock in the +morning and sometimes till twelve. From time to time he brushed an +almost imperceptible particle of dust from his very smart blue cloth +knees, and settled the in-turned collar of the perfectly new blue +guernsey about his neck. It was new, and it scratched him disagreeably, +but it was highly necessary to present a prosperous as well as a +seamanlike appearance on such an important occasion. Nothing could have +been more becoming to him than the dark close-fitting dress, showing as +it did the immense breadth and depth of his chest, the clean-cut sinewy +length of his limbs and the easy grace and strength of his whole +carriage. His short straight fair hair was brushed, too, and his young +yellow beard had been recently trimmed. Altogether a fine figure of a +man as he sat there waiting. + +Suddenly he was aware of a wonderful vision moving towards him down the +broad corridor--a lovely dark face with liquid brown eyes, an exquisite +figure clad in a well-fitted frock of white serge, a firm, smooth step +that was not like any step he had ever heard. He rose quickly as she +passed him, and the blood rushed to his face, up to the very roots of +his hair. + +Beatrice was too much of a woman not to see the effect she produced upon +the poor sailor, and she nodded gracefully to him, in acknowledgment of +his politeness in rising. As she did so she noticed on her part that the +poor sailor was indeed a very remarkable specimen of a man, such as she +had not often seen. She stopped and spoke to him. + +"Are you the Count of San Miniato's boatman?" she asked in her sweet +voice. + +"Yes, Eccellenza," answered Ruggiero, still blushing violently + +"Then he has engaged the boat? We want a boat, too--the Marchesa di +Mola--can you get us one?" + +"There is my brother, Eccellenza." + +"Is he a good sailor?" + +"Better than I, Eccellenza." + +Beatrice looked at the figure before her and smiled graciously. + +"Send him to us at twelve o'clock," she said. "The Marchesa di Mola--do +not forget." + +"Yes, Eccellenza." + +Ruggiero bowed respectfully, while Beatrice nodded again and passed on. +Then he sat down again and waited, but his fingers no longer moved in +calculations and his expression had changed. He sat still and stared in +the direction of the corner beyond which the young girl had disappeared. +He was conscious for the first time in his life that he possessed a +heart, for the thing thumped and kicked violently under his blue +guernsey, and he looked down at his broad chest with an odd expression +of half-childish curiosity, fully expecting to see an outward and +visible motion corresponding with the inward hammering. But he saw +nothing. Solid ribs and solid muscles kept the obstreperous machine in +its place. + +"Malora!" he ejaculated to himself. "Worse than a cat in a sack!" + +His hands, too, were quite cold, though it was a warm day. He noticed +the fact as he passed his thumb for the hundredth time round his neck +where the hard wool scratched him. To tell the truth he was somewhat +alarmed. He had never been ill a day in his life, had never had as much +as a headache, a bad cold or a touch of fever, and he began to think +that something must be wrong. He said to himself that if such a thing +happened to him again he would go to the chemist and ask for some +medicine. His strength was the chief of his few possessions, he thought, +and it would be better to spend a franc at the chemist's than to let it +be endangered. It was a serious matter. Suppose that the young lady, +instead of speaking to him about a boat, had told him to pick up the box +on which he was sitting--one of those big boxes these foreigners travel +with--and to carry it upstairs, he would have cut a poor figure just at +that moment, when his heart was thumping like a flat-fish in the bottom +of a boat, and his hands were trembling with cold. If it chanced again, +he would certainly go to Don Ciccio the chemist and buy a dose of +something with a strong bad taste, the stronger and the worse flavoured +the better, of course, as everyone knew. Very alarming, these symptoms! + +Then he fell to thinking of the young lady herself, and she seemed to +rise before him, just as he had seen her a few moments earlier. The +signs of his new malady immediately grew worse again, and when it +somehow struck him that he might serve her, and let Sebastiano be +boatman to the Count, the pounding at his ribs became positively +terrifying, and he jumped up and began to walk about. Just then the door +opened suddenly and San Miniato put out his head. + +"Are you the sailor who is to get me a boat?" he asked. + +"Yes, Eccellenza," answered Ruggiero turning quickly, cap in hand. +Strange to say, at the sound of the man's voice the alarming symptoms +totally disappeared and Ruggiero was quite himself again. + +He remembered also that he had been engaged for the Count, through the +people of the hotel, on condition of approval, and that it would be +contrary to boatman's honour to draw back. After all, too, women in a +boat were always a nuisance at the best, and he liked the Count's face, +and decided that he was not of the type of landsmen who are frightened. +The interview did not last long. + +"I shall wish to make excursions in all directions," said San Miniato. +"I do not know anything about the sea, but I dislike people who make +difficulties and talk to me of bad weather when I mean to go anywhere. +Do you understand?" + +"We will try to content your excellency," answered Ruggiero quietly. + +"Good. We shall see." + +So Ruggiero went away to find the Son of the Fool, and the Cripple, and +to engage them for the summer, and to deliver to his brother the message +from the Marchesa di Mola. The reason why Ruggiero did not take +Sebastiano as one of his own crew was a simple one. There lived and +still lives at Sorrento, a certain old man known as the Greek. The Greek +is old and infirm and has a vicious predilection for wine and cards, so +that he is quite unfit for the sea. But he owns a couple of smart +sailing boats and gets a living by letting them to strangers. It is +necessary, however, to have at least one perfectly reliable man in +charge of each, and so soon as the Children of the King had returned +from their last long voyage the Greek had engaged them both for this +purpose, as being in every way superior to the common run of boatmen who +hung about the place waiting for jobs. It was consequently impossible +that the two brothers could be in the same boat's crew during the +summer. + +Ruggiero found the Cripple asleep in the shade, having been out all +night fishing, and the Son of the Fool was seated not far from him, +plaiting sinnet for gaskets. The two were inseparable, so far as their +varied life permitted them to be together, and were generally to be +found in the same crew. Average able seamen both, much of the same +height and build, broad, heavy fellows good at the oar, peaceable and +uncomplaining. + +While Ruggiero was talking with the one who was awake, his own brother +appeared, and Ruggiero gave him the message, whereupon Sebastiano went +off to array himself in his best before presenting himself to the +Marchesa di Mola. The Son of the Fool gathered up his work. + +"Mola?" he repeated in a tone of inquiry. + +Ruggiero nodded carelessly. + +"A Sicilian lady who has a cutter?" + +"Yes." + +"Her daughter is going to marry a certain Conte di San Miniato--a great +signore--of those without soldi." + +The sailor coiled the plaited sinnet neatly over his bare arm, but +looked up as Ruggiero uttered an exclamation. + +"What is the matter with you?" he asked. + +Ruggiero's face was quite red and his broad chest heaved as he bit his +lip and thrust his hands into his pockets. His companion repeated his +question. + +"Nothing is the matter," answered Ruggiero. "Wake up the Cripple and see +if there is everything for rigging the boat. We must have her out this +afternoon. The Conte di San Miniato of whom you speak is our signore." + +"Oh! I understand!" exclaimed the Son of the Fool. "Well--you need not +be so anxious. I daresay it is not true that he has no money, and at all +events the Greek will pay us." + +"Of course, the Greek will pay us," answered Ruggiero thoughtfully. "I +will be back in half an hour," he added, turning away abruptly. + +He walked rapidly up the steep paved ascent which leads through the +narrow gorge from the small beach to the town above. A few minutes later +he entered the chemist's shop for the first time in his life in search +of medicine for himself. He took off his cap and looked about him with +some curiosity, eying the long rows of old-fashioned majolica drug jars, +and the stock of bottles of all colours and labels in the glass cases. +The chemist was a worthy old creature with a white beard and solemn +ways. + +"What do you want?" he inquired. + +"A little medicine, but good," answered Ruggiero, looking critically +along the shelves, as though to select a remedy. "A little of the best," +he added, jingling a few silver coins in his pockets and wondering how +much the stuff would cost. + +"But what kind of medicine?" asked the old man. "Do you feel ill? +Where?" + +"Here," answered Ruggiero bringing his heavy bony hand down upon his +huge chest with a noise that made the chemist start, and then chuckle. + +"Just there, eh?" said the latter ironically. "You have the health of a +horse. Go to dinner." + +"I tell you it is there," returned Ruggiero. "Sometimes it is quite +quiet, as it is now, but sometimes it jumps and threshes like a dolphin +at sea." + +"H'm! The heart, eh?" The old man came round his counter and applied his +ear to Ruggiero's breast. "Regular as a steam engine," he said. "When +does it jump, as you call it? When you go up hill?" + +Ruggiero laughed. + +"Am I old or fat?" he inquired contemptuously. "It happened first this +morning. I was waiting in the hotel and a lady came by and spoke to +me--about a certain boat." + +"A lady? H'm! Young perhaps, and pretty?" + +"That is my business. Then half an hour later I was talking to the Son +of the Fool. You know him I daresay. And it began to jump again, and I +said to myself, '"Health is the first thing," as the old people say.' So +I came for the medicine." + +The chemist chuckled audibly. + +"And what were you talking about?" he asked. "The lady?" + +"It is true," answered Ruggiero in a tone of reflection. "The Son of the +Fool was telling me that the lady is to marry my signore." + +"And you want medicine!" cried the old man, laughing aloud. "Imbecile! +Have you never been in love?" + +Ruggiero stared at him. + +"Eh! A girl here and there--in Buenos Ayres, in New Orleans--what has +that to do with it? You--what the malora--the plague--are you talking +about? Eh? Explain a little." + +"You had better go back to Buenos Ayres, or to some other place where +you will not see the lady any more," said the chemist. "You are in love +with her. That is all the matter." + +"I, with a gran' signora, a great lady! You are crazy, Don Ciccio!" + +"Crazy or not--tell me to-morrow whether your heart does not beat every +time she looks at you. As for her being a great lady--we are men, and +they are women." + +The chemist had socialistic ideas of his own. + +"To please you," said Ruggiero, "I will go and see her now, and I will +be back in an hour to tell you that you do not understand your business. +My brother is to go there at twelve and I will go with him. Of course I +shall see her." + +He turned to go, but stopped suddenly on the threshold and came back. + +"There!" he cried triumphantly. "There it is again, but not so hard this +time. Is the lady here, now?" He pushed his chest against the old man's +ear. + +"Madonna mia! What a machine!" exclaimed the latter, after listening a +moment. "If I had a heart like that!" + +"Now you see for yourself," said Ruggiero. "I want the best medicine." + +But again the chemist broke into a laugh. + +"Medicine! A medicine for love! Do you not see that it began to beat at +the thought of seeing her? Go and try it, as you proposed. Then you will +understand." + +"I understand that you are crazy. But I will try it all the same." + +Thereupon Ruggiero strode out of the shop without further words, +considerably disappointed and displeased with the result of the +interview. The chemist apparently took him for a fool. It was absurd to +suppose that the sight of any woman, or the mention of any woman, could +make a man's heart behave in such a way, and yet he was obliged to admit +that the coincidence was undeniable. + +He found his brother just coming out of the house in which they lodged, +arrayed at all points exactly like himself. Sebastiano's young beard was +not quite so thick, his eyes were a little softer, his movements a +trifle less energetically direct than Ruggiero's, and he was, perhaps, +an inch shorter; but the resemblance was extraordinary and would have +struck any one. + +They were admitted to the presence of the Marchesa di Mola in due time. +She lay in a deep chair under the arches of her terrace, shaded by brown +linen curtains, languid, idle, indifferent as ever. + +"Beatrice!" she called in a lazy tone, as the two men stood still at a +respectful distance, waiting to be addressed. + +But instead of Beatrice, a maid appeared at a door at the other end of +the terrace--a fresh young thing with rosy cheeks, brown hair, +sparkling black eyes and a pretty figure. + +"Call Donna Beatrice," said the Marchesa. Then, as though exhausted by +the effort of speaking she closed her eyes and waited. + +The maid cast a quick glance at the two handsome sailors and disappeared +again. Ruggiero and Sebastiano stood motionless, only their eyes turning +from side to side and examining everything with the curiosity habitual +in seamen. + +Presently Beatrice entered, looked at them both for a moment and then +went up to her mother. + +"It is for the boat, mamma," she said. "Do you wish me to arrange about +it?" + +"Of course," answered the Marchesa opening her eyes and immediately +shutting them again. + +Beatrice stepped aside and beckoned the two men to her. To Ruggiero's +infinite surprise, he again felt the blood rushing to his face, and his +heart began to pound his ribs like a fuller's hammer. He glanced at his +brother and saw that he was perfectly self-possessed. Beatrice looked +from one to the other in perplexity. + +"You are so much alike!" she exclaimed. "With which of you did I speak +this morning?" + +"With me, Eccellenza," said Ruggiero, whose own voice sounded strangely +in his ears. "And this is my brother," he added. + +The arrangement was soon made, but during the short interchange of +questions and answers Ruggiero could not take his eyes from Beatrice's +face. Possibly he was not even aware that it was rude to stare at a +lady, for his education had not been got in places where ladies are +often seen, or manners frequently discussed. But Beatrice did not seem +at all disturbed by the scrutiny, though she was quite aware of its +pertinacity. A woman who has beauty in any degree rarely resents the +genuine and unconcealed admiration of the vulgar. On the contrary, as +the young girl dismissed the men, she smiled graciously upon them both, +and perhaps a little the more upon Ruggiero, though there was not much +to choose. + +Neither of them spoke as they descended the stairs of the hotel, and +went out through the garden to the gate. When they were in the square +beyond Ruggiero stopped. Sebastiano stood still also and looked at him. + + +"Does your heart ever jump and turn somersaults and get into your mouth, +when you look at a woman, Bastianello?" he asked. + +"No. Does yours?" + +"Yes. Just now." + +"I saw her, too," answered Sebastiano. "It is true that she is very +fresh and pretty, and uncommonly clean. Eh--the devil! If you like her, +ask for her. The maid of a Marchesa is sure to have money and to be a +respectable girl." + +Ruggiero was silent for a moment and looked at his brother with an odd +expression, as though he were going to say something. Unfortunately for +him, for Sebastiano, for the maid, for Beatrice, and for the count of +San Miniato, too, he said nothing. Instead, he produced half a cigar +from his cap, and two sulphur matches, and incontinently began to smoke. + +"It is lucky that both boats are engaged on the same day," observed +Sebastiano. "The Greek will be pleased. He will play all the numbers at +the lottery." + +"And get very drunk to-night," added Ruggiero with contempt. + +"Of course. But he is a good padrone, everybody says, and does not cheat +his men." + +"I hope not." + +By and by the two went down to the beach again, and Sebastiano looked +about him for a crew. The Marchesa wanted four men in her boat, or even +five, and Sebastiano picked out at once the Gull, the Son of the +American, Black Rag--otherwise known as Saint Peter from his resemblance +to the pictures of the Apostle as a fisherman--and the Deaf Man. The +latter is a fellow of strange ways, who lost his hearing from falling +into the water in winter when overheated, and who has almost lost the +power of speech in consequence, but a good sailor withal, tough, +untiring, and patient. + +They all set to work with a good will, and before four o'clock that day +the two boats were launched, ballasted and rigged, the sails were bent +to the yards and the brasses polished, so that Ruggiero and Sebastiano +went up to their respective masters to ask if there were any orders for +the afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + +Ruggiero found out before long that his master for the summer was +eccentric in his habits, judging from the Sorrentine point of view in +regard to order and punctuality. Ruggiero's experience of fine gentlemen +was limited indeed, but he could not believe that they all behaved like +San Miniato, whose temper was apparently as changeable as his tastes. +Sometimes he went to bed at nine o'clock and rose at dawn. Sometimes on +the other hand he got up at seven in the evening and went to bed by +daylight. Sometimes everything Ruggiero did was right, and sometimes +everything was wrong. There were days when the Count could not be +induced to move from the Marchesa di Mola's terrace between noon and +midnight or later, and again there were days when he went off in his +boat in the morning and did not return until the last stragglers on the +terrace of the hotel were ready to go to bed. He was irregular even in +playing, which was after all his chief pastime. Possibly he knew of +reasons why it should be good to gamble on one day and not upon +another. Then he had his fits of amateur seamanship, when he would +insist upon taking the tiller from Ruggiero's hand. The latter, on such +occasions, remained perched upon the stern in case of an emergency. San +Miniato was a thorough landsman and never understood why the wind always +seemed to change, or die away, or do something unexpected so soon as he +began to steer the boat. From time to time Ruggiero, by way of a mild +hint, held up his palm to the breeze, but San Miniato did not know what +the action meant. Ruggiero trimmed the sails to suit the course chosen +by his master as well as possible, but straightway the boat was up in +the wind again if she had been going free, or was falling off if the +tacks were down and the sheets well aft. San Miniato was one of those +men who seem quite incapable of doing anything sensible from the moment +they leave the land till they touch it again, when their normal common +sense returns, and they once more become human beings. + +On the other hand nothing frightened him, though he could not swim a +stroke. More than once Ruggiero allowed him almost to upset the boat in +a squall, and more than once, when, steering himself, and when there was +a fresh breeze, drove her till the seas broke over the bows, and the +green water came in over the lee gunwale--just to see whether the Count +would change colour. In this, however, he was disappointed. San +Miniato's temper might change and his tastes might be as variable as the +moon, or the weather, but his face rarely expressed anything of what he +felt, and if he felt anything at such times it was assuredly not fear. +He had good qualities, and courage was one of them, if courage may be +called a quality at all. Ruggiero was not at all sure that his new +master liked the sea, and it is possible that the Count was not sure of +the fact himself; but for the time, it suited him to sail as much as +possible, because Beatrice Granmichele was fond of it, and would +therefore amuse herself with excursions hither and thither during the +summer. As her mother rarely accompanied her, San Miniato could not, +according to the customs of the country, join her in her boat, and the +next best thing was to keep one for himself and to be as often as +possible alongside of her, and ready to go ashore with her if she took +a fancy to land in some quiet spot. + +The Marchesa di Mola, having quite made up her mind that her daughter +should marry San Miniato, and being almost too indolent about minor +matters to care for appearances, would have allowed the two to be +together from morning till night under the very least shadow of a +chaperon's supervision, if Beatrice herself had shown a greater +inclination for San Miniato's society than she actually did. But +Beatrice was the only one of the party who had arrived at no distinct +determination in the matter. San Miniato attracted her, and was very +well in his way, but that was all. Amidst the shoals of migratory +Neapolitans with magnificent titles and slender purses, who appeared, +disported themselves and disappeared again, at the summer resort, it was +quite possible that one might be found with more to recommend him than +San Miniato could boast. Most of them were livelier than he, and +certainly all were noisier. Many of them had very bright black eyes, +which Beatrice liked, and they were all dressed a little beyond the +extreme of the fashion, a fact of which she was too young to understand +the psychological value in judging of men. Some of them sang very +prettily, and San Miniato did not possess any similar accomplishment. +Indeed, in the young girl's opinion, he approached dangerously near to +being a "serious" man, as the Italians express it, and but for his known +love of gambling he might have seemed to her altogether too dull a +personage to be thought of as a possible husband. It is not easy to +define exactly what is meant in Italian by a "serious" man. The word +does not exactly translate the French equivalent, still less the English +one. It means something in the nature of a Philistine with a little +admixture of Ciceronism--pass the word--and a dash of Cato Censor to +sour the whole--a delight to school-masterly spirits, a terror to lively +damsels, the laughing-stock of the worldly wise and only just too wise +to find a congenial atmosphere in the every-day world. However, as San +Miniato just escaped the application of the adjective I have been trying +to translate, it is enough to say that he was not exactly a "serious +man," being excluded from that variety of the species by his passion +for play, which was dominant, and by the incidents of his past history, +which had not been dull. + +It is true that a liking for cards and a reputation for success gained +in former love affairs are not in any sense a substitute for the outward +and attractive expressions of a genuine and present passion, but they +are better than nothing when they serve to combat such a formidable +imputation as that of "seriousness." Anything is better than that, and +as Beatrice Granmichele was inclined to like the man without knowing +why, she made the most of the few stories about him which reached her +maiden ears, and of his taste for gaming, in order to render him +interesting in her own eyes. He did, indeed, make more or less pretty +speeches to her from time to time, of a cheerfully complimentary +character when he had won money, of a gracefully melancholy nature when +he had lost, but she was far too womanly not to miss something very +essential in what he said and in his way of saying it. A woman may love +flattery ever so much and have ever so strong a moral absorbent system +with which to digest it; she does not hate banality the less. There is +no such word as banality in the English tongue, but there might be, and +if there were, it would mean that peculiarly tasteless and saltless +nature of actions and speeches done and delivered by persons who are +born dull, or who are mentally exhausted, or are absent-minded, or very +shy, but who, in spite of natural or accidental disadvantages are +determined to make themselves agreeable. The standard of banality +differs indeed for every woman, and with every woman for almost every +hour of the day, and men of the world who husband their worldly +resources are aware of the fact. Angelina at three in the afternoon, +fresh from rest and luncheon--if both agree with her--is wreathed in +smiles at a little speech of Edwin's which would taste like sweet +camomile tea after dry champagne, at three in the morning, when the +Hungarian music is ringing madly in her ears and there are only two more +waltzes on the programme. Music, dancing, lights and heat are to a woman +of the world what strong drinks are to a normal man; they may not +intoxicate, but they change the humour. Fortunately for San Miniato the +young lady whom he wished to marry was not just at present exposed to +the action of those stimulants, and her moods were tolerably even. If he +had been at all eloquent, the same style of eloquence would have done +almost as well after dinner as after breakfast. But the secret springs +of love speech were dried up in his brain by the haunting consciousness +that much was expected of him. He had never before thought of marrying +and had not yet in his life found himself for any length of time +constantly face to face in conversation with a young girl, with +limitations of propriety and the fear of failure before his eyes. The +situation was new and uncomfortable. He felt like a man who has got a +hat which does not belong to him, which does not fit him and which will +not stay on his head in a high wind. The consequence was that his talk +lacked interest, and that he often did not talk at all. Nevertheless, he +managed to show enough assiduity to keep himself continually in the +foreground of Beatrice's thoughts. Being almost constantly present she +could not easily forget him, and he held his ground with a determination +which kept other men away. When a man can make a woman think of him +half-a-dozen times a day and can prevent other men from taking his place +when he is beside her, he is in a fair way to success. + +On a certain evening San Miniato had a final interview with the Marchesa +di Mola in which he expressed all that he felt for Beatrice, including a +little more, and in which he described his not very prosperous financial +condition with mitigated frankness. The Marchesa listened dreamily in +the darkness on the terrace while her daughter played soft dance music +in the dimly lighted room behind her. Beatrice probably had an idea of +what was going on outside, upon the terrace, and was trying to make up +her own mind. She played waltzes very prettily, as women who dance well +generally do, if they play at all. + +When San Miniato had finished, the Marchesa was silent for a few +seconds. Then she tapped her companion twice upon the arm with her fan, +in a way which would have seemed lazy in any one else, but which, for +her, was unusually energetic. + +"How well you say it all!" she exclaimed. + +"And you consent, dear Marchesa?" asked the Count, with an eagerness +not all feigned. + +"You say it all so well! If I could say it half so well to +Beatrice--there might be some possibility. But Beatrice is not like +me--nor I like you--and so--" + +She broke off in the middle of the sentence with an indolent little +laugh. + +"If she were like you," said San Miniato, "I would not hesitate long." + +There was an intonation in his voice that pleased the middle-aged woman, +as he had intended. + +"What would you do?" she asked, fanning herself slowly in the dark. + +"I would speak to her myself." + +"Heavens!" Again the Marchesa laughed. The idea seemed eccentric enough +in her eyes. + +"Why not?" + +"Why not? Dearest San Miniato, do not try to make me argue such insane +questions with you. You know how lazy I am. I can never talk." + +"A woman need not talk in order to be persuaded. It is enough that the +man should. Let me try." + +"I will shut my ears." + +"I will kneel at your feet." + +"I shall go to sleep." + +"I could wake you." + +"How?" + +"By telling you that I mean to speak to Donna Beatrice myself." + +"Such an idea would wake the dead!" + +"So much the better. They would hear me." + +"They would not help you, if they heard you," observed the Marchesa. + +"They could at least bear witness to the answer I should receive." + +"And suppose, dear friend, that the answer should not be what you wish, +or expect--would you care to have witnesses, alive or dead?" + +"Why should the answer be a negative?" + +"Because," replied the Marchesa, turning her face directly to his, +"because Beatrice is herself uncertain. You know well enough that no man +should ever tell a woman he loves her until he is sure that she loves +him. And that is not the only reason." + +"Have you a better one?" asked San Miniato with a laugh. + +"The impossibility of it all! Imagine, in our world, a man deliberately +asking a young girl to marry him!" + +San Miniato smiled, but the Marchesa could not see the expression of his +face. + +"We do not think it so impossible in Piedmont," he answered quietly. + +"I am surprised at that." The lady's tone was rather cold. + +"Are you? Why? We are less old-fashioned, that is all." + +"And is it really done in--in good families?" + +"Often," answered San Miniato, seeing his advantage and pressing it. "I +could give you many instances without difficulty, within the last few +years." + +"The plan certainly saves the parents a great deal of trouble," observed +the Marchesa, lazily shutting her eyes and fanning herself again. + +"And it places the decision of the most vital question in life in the +hands of the two beings most concerned." + +San Miniato spoke rather sententiously, for he knew how to impress his +companion and he meant to be impressive. + +"No doubt," answered the Marchesa. "No doubt. But," she continued, +bringing up the time-honoured argument, "the two young people most +concerned are not always the people best able to judge of their own +welfare." + +"Of course they are not," assented San Miniato, readily enough, and +abandoning the point which could be of no use to him. "Of course not. +But, dearest Marchesa, since you have judged for us--and there is no one +else to judge--do you not think that you might leave the rest in my +hands? The mere question to be asked, you know, in the hope of a final +answer--the mere technicality of love-making, with which you can only be +familiar from the woman's point of view, and not from the man's, as I +am. Not that I have had much experience---" + +"You?" laughed the Marchesa, touching his hand with her fan. "You +without much experience! But you are historical, dearest friend! Who +does not know of your conquests?" + +"I, at least, do not," answered San Miniato with well-affected modesty. +"But that is not the question. Let us get back to it. This is my plan. +The moon is full to-morrow and the weather is hot. We will all go in my +boat to Tragara and dine on the rocks. It will be beautiful. Then after +dinner we can walk about in the moonlight--slowly, not far from you, as +at the end of this terrace. And while you are looking on I, in a low +voice, will express my sincere feelings to Donna Beatrice, and ask the +most important of all questions. Does not that please you? Is it not +well combined?" + +"But why must we take the trouble to go all the way to Capri? What sense +is there in that?" + +"Dearest Marchesa, you do not understand! Consider the surroundings, the +moonlight, the water rippling against the rocks, the soft breeze--a +little music, too, such as a pair of mandolins and a guitar, which we +could send over--all these things are in my favour." + +"Why?" asked the Marchesa, not understanding in the least how he could +attach so much value to things which seemed to her unappreciative mind +to be perfectly indifferent. + +"Besides," she added, "if you want to give a party, you can illuminate +the garden of the hotel with Chinese lanterns. That would be much +prettier than to picnic on uncomfortable rocks out in the sea with +nothing but cold things to eat and only the moon for an illumination. I +am sure Beatrice would like it much better." + +San Miniato laughed. + +"What a prosaic person you are!" he exclaimed. "Can you not imagine that +a young girl's disposition may be softened by moonlight, mandolins and +night breezes?" + +"No. I never understood that. And after all if you want moonlight you +can have it here. If it shines at Capri it will shine at Sorrento. At +least it seems to me so." + +"No, dearest Marchesa," answered San Miniato triumphantly. "There you +are mistaken." + +"About the moon?" + +"Yes, about the moon. When it rises we do not see it here, on account of +the mountains behind us." + +"But I have often seen the moon here, from this very place," objected +the Marchesa. "I am sure it is not a week ago that I saw it. You do not +mean to tell me that there are two moons, and that yours is different +from mine!" + +"Very nearly. This at least I say. When the moon is full we can see it +rise from Tragara, and we can not see it from this place." + +"How inexplicable nature is!" exclaimed the Marchesa fanning herself +lazily. "I will not try to understand the moon any more. It tires me. A +lemonade, San Miniato--ring for a lemonade. I am utterly exhausted." + +"Shall I ask Donna Beatrice's opinion about Tragara?" inquired San +Miniato rising. + +"Oh yes! Anything--only do not argue with me. I cannot bear it. I +suppose you will put me into that terrible boat and make me sit in it +for hours and hours, until all my bones are broken, and then you will +give me cold macaroni and dry bread and warm wine and water, and the +sailors will eat garlic, and it will be insufferable and you will call +it divine. And of course Beatrice will be so wretched that she will not +listen to a word you say, and will certainly refuse you without +hesitation. A lemonade, San Miniato, for the love of heaven! My throat +is parched with this talking." + +When the Marchesa had got what she wanted, San Miniato sat down beside +Beatrice at the piano, in the sitting room. + +"Donna Beatrice gentilissima," he began, "will you deign to tell me +whether you prefer the moon to Chinese lanterns, or Chinese lanterns to +the moon?" + +"To wear?" asked the young girl with a laugh. + +"If you please, of course. Anything would be becoming to you--but I mean +as a question of light. Would you prefer a dinner by moonlight on the +rocks of Tragara with a couple of mandolins in the distance, or would +you like better a party in the hotel gardens with an illumination of +paper lanterns? It is a most important question, I assure you, and must +be decided very quickly, because the moon is full to-morrow." + +"What a ridiculous question!" exclaimed Beatrice, laughing again. + +"Why ridiculous?" + +"Because you ought to know the answer well enough. Imagine comparing the +moon with Chinese lanterns!" + +"Your mother prefers the latter." + +"Oh, mamma--of course! She is so practical. She would prefer carriage +lamps on the trees--gas if possible! When are we going to Tragara? Where +is it? Which boat shall we take? Oh, it is too delightful! Can we not go +to-night?" + +"We can do anything which Donna Beatrice likes," answered San Miniato. +"But if you will listen to me, I will explain why to-morrow would be +better. In the first place, we have dined once this evening, so that we +could not dine again." + +"We could call it supper," suggested Beatrice. + +"Of course we could, if we could eat it at all. But it is also ten +o'clock, and we could not get to Tragara before one or two in the +morning. Lastly, your mother would not go." + +"Will she go to-morrow?" asked Beatrice with sudden anxiety. "Have you +asked her?" + +"She will go," answered San Miniato confidently. "We must make her +comfortable. That is the principal thing." + +"Yes. She shall have her maid and we must take a chair for her to sit +in, and another to carry her, and two porters, and a lamp, and a table, +and a servant to wait on her. And she will want champagne, well iced, +and a carpet for her feet, and a screen to keep the wind from her, if +there is any, and several more things which I shall remember. But I know +all about it, for we once made a little excursion from Taormina and +dined out of doors, and I know exactly what she wants." + +"Very well, she shall have everything," said San Miniato smiling at the +catalogue of the Marchesa's wants. "If she will only go, we will do all +we can." + +"When it is time, let the two porters come in here with the chair and +take her away," answered Beatrice. "Dear mamma! She will be much too +lazy to resist. What fun it will be!" + +And everything was done as Beatrice had wished. San Miniato made a list +of things absolutely indispensable to the Marchesa. The number of +articles was about two hundred and their bulk filled a boat which was +despatched early in the following afternoon to be rowed over to Tragara +and unloaded before the party arrived. + +Ruggiero and his brother worked hard at the preparations, silent, +untiring and efficient as usual, but delighted in their hearts at the +prospect of something less monotonous than the daily sail or the daily +row within sight of Sorrento. To men who have knocked about the sea for +years, from Santa Cruz to Sebastopol, the daily life of a sailor on a +little pleasure boat lacks interest, and if circumstances had been, +different Ruggiero would probably have shipped before now as boatswain +on board one of the neat schooners which are yearly built at the Piano +di Sorrento, to be sold with their cargoes of salt as soon as they reach +Buenos Ayres. But Ruggiero had contracted that malady of the heart which +had taken him to the chemist's for the first time in his life, and which +materially hindered the formation of any plan by which he might be +obliged to leave his present situation. Moreover the disease showed no +signs of yielding; on the contrary, the action of the vital organ +concerned became more and more spasmodic and alarming, while its +possessor grew daily leaner and more silent. + +The last package had been taken down, the last of the score of articles +which the Marchesa was sure to want with her in the sail boat before +she reached the spot where the main cargo of comforts would be waiting; +the last sandwich, the last box of sweetmeats, the iced lemonade, the +wraps and the parasols were all stowed away in their places. Then San +Miniato went to fetch the Marchesa, marshalling in his two porters with +their chair between them. + +"Dearest Marchesa," said the Count, "if you will give yourself the +trouble to sit in this chair, I will promise that no further exertion +shall be required of you." + +The Marchesa di Mola looked up with a glance of sleepy astonishment. + +"And why in that chair, dearest friend? I am so comfortable here. And +why have you brought those two men with you?" + +"Have you forgotten our dinner at Tragara?" asked San Miniato. + +"Tragara!" gasped the Marchesa. "You are not going to take me to +Tragara! Good heavens! I am utterly exhausted! I shall die before we get +to the boat." + +"Altro è parlar di morte--altro è morire," laughed San Miniato, quoting +the famous song. "It is one thing to talk of death, it is quite another +to die. Only this little favour Marchesa gentilissima--to seat yourself +in this chair. We will do the rest." + +"Without a hat? Just as I am? Impossible! Come in an hour--then I shall +be ready. My maid, San Miniato--send for Teresina. Dio mio! I can never +go! Go without us, dearest friend--go and dine on your hideous rocks and +leave us the little comfort we need so much!" + +But protestations were vain. Teresina appeared and fastened the hat of +the period upon her mistress's head. The hat of the period chanced to be +a one-sided monstrosity at that time, something between a cart wheel, an +umbrella and a flower garden, depending for its stability upon the +proper position of several solid skewers, apparently stuck through the +head of the wearer. This headpiece having been adjusted the Marchesa +asked for a cigarette, lighted it and looked about her. + +"It is really too much!" she exclaimed. "Button my gloves, Teresina. I +shall not go after all, not even to please you, dearest friend. What a +place of torture this world is! How right we are to try and get a +comfortable stall in the next! Go away, San Miniato. It is quite +useless." + +But San Miniato knew what he was doing. With gentle strength he made her +rise from her seat and placed her in the chair. The porters lifted their +burden, settled the straps upon their shoulders, the man in front +glanced back at the man behind, both nodded and marched away. + +"This is too awful!" sighed the Marchesa, as she was carried out of the +door of the sitting room. "How can you have the heart, dearest friend! +An invalid like me! And I was supremely comfortable where I was." + +But at this point Beatrice appeared and joined the procession, radiant, +fresh as a fragrant wood-flower, full of life as a young bird. Behind +her came Teresina, the maid, necessary at every minute for the +Marchesa's comfort, her pink young cheeks flushed with pleasure and her +eyes sparkling with anticipation, fastening on her hat as she walked. + +"I was never so happy in my life," laughed Beatrice. "And to think that +you have really captured mamma in spite of herself! Oh, mamma, you will +enjoy it so much! I promise you shall. There is iced champagne, and the +foot warmer and the marrons glacés and the lamp and everything you +like--and quails stuffed with truffles, besides. Now do be happy and let +us enjoy ourselves!" + +"But where are all these things?" asked the Marchesa. "I shall believe +when I see." + +"Everything is at Tragara already," answered Beatrice tripping down the +stairs beside her mother's chair. "And we really will enjoy ourselves," +she added, turning her head with a bewitching smile, and looking back at +San Miniato. "What a general you are!" + +"If you could convince the Minister of War of that undoubted fact, you +would be conferring the greatest possible favour upon me," said the +Count. "He would have no trouble in persuading me to return to the army +as commander-in-chief, though I left the service as a captain." + +So they went down the long winding way cut through the soft tufo rock +and found the boat waiting for them by the little landing. The Marchesa +actually took the trouble to step on board instead of trusting herself +to the strong arms of Ruggiero. Beatrice followed her. As she set her +foot on the gunwale Ruggiero held up his hand towards her to help her. +It was not the first time this duty had fallen to him, but she was more +radiantly fresh to-day than he had ever seen her before, and the spasm +that seemed to crush his heart for a moment was more violent than usual. +His strong joints trembled at her light touch and his face turned white. +She felt that his hand shook and she glanced at him when she stood in +the boat. + +"Are you ill, Ruggiero?" she asked, in a kindly tone. + +"No, Excellency," he answered in a low voice that was far from steady, +while the shadow of a despairing smile flickered over his features. + +He put up his hand to help Teresina, the maid. She pressed it hard as +she jumped down, and smiled with much intention at the handsome sailor. +But she got no answer for her look, and he turned away and shoved the +boat off the little stone pier. Bastianello was watching them both, and +wishing himself in Ruggiero's place. But Ruggiero, as he believed, had +loved the pretty Teresina first, and Ruggiero had the first right to +win her if he could. + +So the boat shot out upon the crisping water into the light afternoon +breeze, and up went foresail and mainsail and jib, and away she went on +the port tack, San Miniato steering and talking to Beatrice--which +things are not to be done together with advantage--the Marchesa lying +back in a cane rocking-chair and thinking of nothing, while Teresina +held the parasol over her mistress's head and shot bright glances at the +sailors forward. And Ruggiero and Bastianello sat side by side amidships +looking out at the gleaming sea to windward. + +"What hast thou?" asked Bastianello in a low voice. + +"The pain," answered his brother. + +"Why let thyself be consumed by it? Ask her in marriage. The Marchesa +will give her to thee." + +"Better to die! Thou dost not know all." + +"That may be," said Bastianello with a sigh. + +And he slowly began to fake down the slack of the main halyard on the +thwart, twisting the coil slowly and thoughtfully as it grew under his +broad hands, till the rope lay in a perfectly smooth disk beside him. +But Ruggiero changed his position and gazed steadily at Beatrice's +changing face while San Miniato talked to her. + +So the boat sped on and many of those on board misunderstood each other, +and some did not understand themselves. But what was most clear to all +before long was that San Miniato could not make love and steer his trick +at the same time. + +"Are we going to Castellamare?" asked Bastianello in a low voice as the +boat fell off more and more under the Count's careless steering. + +Ruggiero started. For the first time in his life he had forgotten that +he was at sea. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + +San Miniato did not possess that peculiar and common form of vanity +which makes a man sensitive about doing badly what he has never learned +to do at all. He laughed when Ruggiero advised him to luff a little, and +he did as he was told. But Ruggiero came aft and perched himself on the +stern in order to be at hand in case his master committed another +flagrant breach of seamanship. + +"You will certainly take us to the bottom of the bay instead of to +Tragara," observed the Marchesa languidly. "But then at least my +discomforts will be over for ever. Of course there is no lemonade on +board. Teresina, I want lemonade." + +In an instant Bastianello produced a decanter out of a bucket of snow +and brought it aft with a glass. The Marchesa smiled. + +"You do things very well, dearest friend," she said, and moistened her +lips in the cold liquid. + +"Donna Beatrice has had more to do with providing for your comfort than +I," answered the Count. + +The Marchesa smiled lazily, sipped about a teaspoonful from the glass +and handed it to her maid. + +"Drink, Teresina," she said. "It will refresh you." + +The girl drank eagerly. + +"You see," said the Marchesa, "I can think of the comfort of others as +well as of my own." + +San Miniato smiled politely and Beatrice laughed. Her laughter hurt the +silent sailor perched behind her, as though a glass had been broken in +his face. How could she be so gay when his heart was beating so hard for +her? He drew his breath sharply and looked out to sea, as many a +heart-broken man has looked across that fair water since woman first +learned that men's hearts could break. + +It was a wonderful afternoon. The sun was already low, rolling down to +his western bath behind Capo Miseno, northernmost of all his daily +plunges in the year; and as he sank, the colours he had painted on the +hills at dawn returned behind him, richer and deeper and rarer for the +heat he had given them all day. There, like a mass of fruit and flowers +in a red gold bowl, Sorrento lay in the basin of the surrounding +mountains, all gilded above and full of rich shadows below. Over all, +the great Santangelo raised his misty head against the pale green +eastern sky, gazing down at the life below, at the living land and the +living sea, and remembering, perhaps, the silent days before life was, +or looking forward to the night to come in which there will be no life +left any more. For who shall tell me that the earth herself may not be a +living, thinking, feeling being, on whose not unkindly bosom we wear out +our little lives, but whose high loves are with the stars, beyond our +sight, and her voice too deep and musical for ears used to our shrill +human speech? Who shall say surely that she is not conscious of our +presence, of some of our doings when we tear her breast and lay burdens +upon her neck and plough up her fair skin with our hideous works, or +when we touch her kindly and love her, and plant sweet flowers in soft +places? Who shall know and teach us that the summer breeze is not her +breath, the storm the sobbing of her passion, the rain her woman's +tears--that she is not alive, loving and suffering, as we all have been, +are, or would be, but greater than we as the star she loves somewhere is +greater and stronger than herself? And we live upon her, and feed on her +and all die and are taken back into her whence we came, wondering much +of the truth that is hidden, learning perhaps at last the great secret +she keeps so well. Her life, too, will end some day, her last blossom +will have bloomed alone, her last tears will have fallen upon her own +bosom, her last sob will have rent the air, and the beautiful earth will +be dead for ever, borne on in the sweep of the race that will never end, +borne along yet a few ages, till her sweet body turns to star-dust in +the great emptiness of a night without morning. + +But Ruggiero, plain strong man of the people, hard-handed sailor, was +not thinking of any of these things as he sat in his narrow place on the +stern behind his master, mechanically guiding the tiller in the latter's +unconscious hand, while he gazed silently at Beatrice's face, now turned +towards him in conversation, now half averted as she looked down or out +to sea. Ruggiero listened, too, to the talk, though he did not +understand all the fine words Beatrice and San Miniato used. If he had +never been away from the coast, the probability is that he would have +understood nothing at all; but in his long voyages he had been thrown +with men of other parts of Italy and had picked up a smattering of what +Neapolitans call Italian, to distinguish it from their own speech. Even +as it was, the most part of what they said escaped him, because they +seemed to think so very differently from him about simple matters, and +to be so heartily amused at what seemed so dull to him. And he began to +feel that the hurt he had was deep and not to be healed, while he +reflected that he was undoubtedly mad, since he loved this lady so much +while understanding her so little. The mere feeling that she could talk +and take pleasure in talking beyond his comprehension wounded him, as a +sensitive half-grown boy sometimes suffers real pain when his boyishness +shows itself among men. + +Why, for instance, did the young girl's cheek flush and her eyes +sparkle, when San Miniato talked of Paris? Paris was in France. Ruggiero +knew that. But he had often heard that it was not so big a place as +London, where he had been. Therefore Beatrice must have some other +reason for liking it. Most probably she loved a Frenchman, and Ruggiero +hated Frenchmen with all his heart. Then they talked about the theatre +and Beatrice was evidently interested. Ruggiero had once seen a puppet +show and had not found it at all funny. The theatre was only a big +puppet show, and he could pay for a seat there if he pleased; but he did +not please, because he was sure that it would not amuse him to go. Why +should Beatrice like the theatre? And she liked the races at Naples, +too, and those at Paris much better. Why? Everybody knew that one horse +could run faster than another, without trying it, but it could not +matter a straw which of two, or twenty, got to the goal first. Horses +were not boats. Now there was sense in a boat race, or a yacht race, or +a steamer race. But a horse! He might be first to-day, and to-morrow if +he had not enough to eat he might be last. Was a horse a Christian? You +could not count upon him. And then they began to talk of love and +Ruggiero's heart stood still, for that, at least, he could understand. + +"Love!" laughed Beatrice, repeating the word. "It always makes one +laugh. Were you ever in love, mamma?" + +The Marchesa turned her head slowly, and lifted her sleepy eyes to look +at her daughter, before she answered. + +"No," she said lazily. "I was never in love. But you are far too young +to talk of such things." + +"San Miniato says that love is for the young and friendship for the +old." + +"Love," said San Miniato, "is a necessary evil, but it is also the +greatest source of happiness." + +"What a fine phrase!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You must be a professor in +disguise." + +"A professor of love?" asked the Count with a very well executed look of +tenderness which did not escape Ruggiero. + +"Hush, for the love of heaven!" interposed the Marchesa. "This is too +dreadful!" + +"We were not talking of the love of heaven," answered Beatrice +mischievously. + +"I was thinking at least of a love that could make any place a heaven," +said San Miniato, again helping his lack of originality with his eyes. + +Ruggiero reflected that it would be but the affair of a second to unship +the heavy brass tiller and bring it down once on the top of his master's +skull. Once would be enough. + +"Whose love?" asked Beatrice innocently. + +San Miniato looked at her again, then turned away his eyes and sighed +audibly. + +"Well?" asked Beatrice. "Will you answer. I do not understand that +language. Whose love would make any place--Timbuctoo, for instance--a +heaven for you?" + +"Discretion is the only virtue a man ought to exhibit whenever he has a +chance," said San Miniato. + +"Perhaps. But even that should be shown without ostentation." Beatrice +laughed. "And you are decidedly ostentatious at the present moment. It +would interest mamma and me very much to know the object of your +affections." + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed the Marchesa with affected horror. + +"Yes, mamma," answered the young girl. "Here I am. Do you want some more +lemonade?" + +"She is quite insufferable," said the Marchesa to San Miniato, with a +languid smile. "But really, San Miniato carissimo, this conversation--a +young girl---" + +Ruggiero wondered what she found so obnoxious in the words that had been +spoken. He also wondered how long it would take San Miniato to drown if +he were dropped overboard in the wake of the boat. + +"If that is your opinion of your daughter," said the latter, "we shall +hardly agree. Now I maintain that Donna Beatrice is the contrary of +insufferable--the most extreme of contraries. In the first place---" + +"She is very pretty," said Beatrice demurely. + +"I was not going to say that," laughed San Miniato. + +"Ah? Then say something else." + +"I will. Donna Beatrice has two gifts, at least, which make it +impossible that she should ever be insufferable, even when her beauty is +gone." + +"Dio mio!" ejaculated the young girl. "The compliments are beginning in +good earnest!" + +"It was time," said San Miniato, "since your mother---" + +"Dear Count," interrupted Beatrice, "do not talk any more about mamma. I +am anxious to get at the compliments. Do pray let your indiscretion be +as ostentatious as possible. I cannot wait another second." + +"No need of waiting," answered San Miniato, again addressing himself to +the Marchesa. "Donna Beatrice has two great gifts. She is kind, and she +has charm." + +There being no exact equivalent for the word "charm" in the Italian +language, San Miniato used the French. Ruggiero began to puzzle his +brains, asking himself what this foreign virtue could be which his +master estimated so highly. He also thought it very strange that +Beatrice should have said of herself that she was pretty, and still +stranger that San Miniato should not have said it. + +"Is that all?" asked Beatrice. "I need not have been in such a hurry to +extract your compliments from you." + +"If you had understood what I said," answered San Miniato unmoved, "you +would see that no man could say more of a woman." + +"Kind and charming! It is not much," laughed the young girl. "Unless you +mean much more than you say--and I asked you to be indiscreet!" + +"Kind hearts are rare enough in this world, Donna Beatrice, and as for +charm--" + +"What is charm?" + +"It is what the violet has, and the camelia has not--" + +"Heavens! Are you going to sigh to me in the language of flowers?" + +"Beatrice! Beatrice!" cried the Marchesa, with the same affectation of +horror as before. + +"Dear mamma, are you uncomfortable? Oh no! I see now. You are horrified. +Have I said anything dreadful?" she asked, turning to San Miniato. + +"Anything dreadful? What an idea! Really, Marchesa carissima, I was just +beginning to explain to Donna Beatrice what charm is, when you cut me +short. I implore you to let me go on with my explanation." + +"On condition that Beatrice makes no comments. Give me a cigarette, +Teresina." + +"The congregation will not interrupt the preacher before the +benediction," said Beatrice folding her small hands on her knee, and +looking down with a devout expression. + +"Charm," began San Miniato, "is the something which some women possess, +and which holds the men who love them--" + +"Only those who love them?" interrupted Beatrice, looking up quickly. + +"I thought," said the Marchesa, "that you were not to give us any +comments." She dropped the words one or two at a time between the puffs +of her cigarette. + +"A question is not a comment, mamma. I ask for instruction." + +"Go on, dearest friend," said her mother to the Count. "She is +incorrigible." + +"On the contrary, Donna Beatrice fills my empty head with ideas. The +question was to the point. All men feel the charm of such women as all +men smell the orange blossoms here in May--" + +"The language of flowers again!" laughed Beatrice. + +"You are so like a flower," answered San Miniato softly. + +"Am I?" She laughed again, then grew grave and looked away. + +Ruggiero's hand shook on the heavy tiller, and San Miniato, who supposed +he was steering all the time, turned suddenly. + +"What is the matter?" he asked. + +"The rudder is draking, Excellency," answered Ruggiero. + +"And what does that mean?" asked Beatrice. + +"It means that the rudder trembles as the boat rises and falls with each +sea, when there is a good breeze," answered Ruggiero. + +"Is there any danger?" asked Beatrice indifferently. + +"What danger could there be, Excellency?" asked the sailor. + +"Because you are so pale, Ruggiero. What is the matter with you, +to-day?" + +"Nothing, Excellency." + +"Ruggiero is in love," laughed San Miniato. "Is it not true, Ruggiero?" + +But the sailor did not answer, though the hot blood came quickly to his +face and stayed there a moment and then sank away again. He looked +steadily at the dancing waves to windward, and set his lips tightly +together. + +"I would like to ask that sailor what he thinks of love and charm, and +all the rest of it," said Beatrice. "His ideas would be interesting." + +Ruggiero's blue eyes turned slowly upon her, with an odd expression. +Then he looked away again. + +"I will ask him," said San Miniato in a low voice. "Ruggiero!" + +"Excellency!" + +"We want to know what you think about love. What is the best quality a +woman can have?" + +"To be honest," answered Ruggiero promptly. + +"And after that, what next?" + +"To be beautiful." + +"And then rich, I suppose?" + +"It would be enough if she did not waste money." + +"Honest, beautiful, and economical!" exclaimed Beatrice. "He does not +say anything about charm, you see. I think his description is extremely +good and to the point. Bravo, Ruggiero!" + +His eyes met hers and gleamed rather fiercely for an instant. + +"And how about charm, Ruggiero?" asked Beatrice mischievously. + +"I do not speak French, Excellency," he answered. + +"You should learn, because charm is a word one cannot say in Italian. I +do not know how to say it in our language." + +"Let me talk about flowers to him," said San Miniato. "I will make him +understand. Which do you like better, Ruggiero, camelias or violets?" + +"The camelia is a more lordly flower, Excellency, but for me I like the +violets." + +"Why?" + +"Who knows? They make one think of so many things, Excellency. One would +tire of camelias, but one would never be tired of violets. They have +something--who knows?" + +"That is it, Ruggiero," said San Miniato, delighted with the result of +his experiment. "And charm is the same thing in a woman. One is never +tired of it, and yet it is not honesty, nor beauty, nor economy." + +"I understand, Excellency--è la femmina--it is the womanly." + +"Bravo, Ruggiero!" exclaimed Beatrice again. "You are a man of heart. +And if you found a woman who was honest and beautiful and economical and +'femmina,' as you say, would you love her?" + +"Yes, Excellency, very much," answered Ruggiero. But his voice almost +failed him. + +"How much? Tell us." + +Ruggiero was silent a moment. Then his eyes flashed suddenly as he +looked down at her and his voice came ringing and strong. + +"So much that I would pray that Christ and the sea would take her, +rather than that another man should get her! Per Dio!" + +There was such a vibration of strong passion in the words that Beatrice +started a little and San Miniato looked up in surprise. Even the +Marchesa vouchsafed the sailor a glance of indolent curiosity. Beatrice +bent over to the Count and spoke in a low tone and in French. + +"We must not tease him any more. He is in love and very much in +earnest." + +"So am I," answered San Miniato with a half successful attempt to seem +emotional, which might have done well enough if it had not come after +Ruggiero's heartfelt speech. + +"You!" laughed Beatrice. "You are never really in earnest. You only +think you are, and that pleases you as well." + +San Miniato bit his lip, for he was not pleased. Her answer augured ill +for the success of the plan he meant to put into execution that very +evening. He felt strongly incensed against Ruggiero, too, without in the +least understanding the reason. + +"You will find out some day, Donna Beatrice, that those who are most in +earnest are not those who make the most passionate speeches." + +"Ah! Is that true? How strange! I should have supposed that if a man +said nothing it was because he had nothing to say. But you have such +novel theories!" + +"Is this discussion never to end?" asked the Marchesa, wearily lifting +her hand as though in protest, and letting it fall again beside the +other. + +"It has only just begun, mamma," answered Beatrice cheerfully. "When San +Miniato jumps into the sea and drowns himself in despair, you will know +that the discussion is over." + +"Beatrice! My child! What language!" + +"Italian, mamma carissima. Italian with a little Sicilian, such as we +speak." + +"I am at your service, Donna Beatrice," said the Count. "Would you like +me to drown myself immediately, or are you inclined for a little more +conversation?" + +Ruggiero had now taken the helm altogether. As San Miniato spoke he +nodded to his brother who was forward, intimating that he meant to go +about. He was certainly not in his normal frame of mind, for he had an +evil thought at that moment. Fortunately for every one concerned the +breeze was very light and was indeed dying away as the sun sank lower. +They were already nearing the southernmost point of Capri, commonly +called by sailors the Monaco, for what reason no one knows. To reach +Tragara where the Faraglioni, or needles, rise out of the deep sea close +to the rocky shore under the cliffs, it is necessary to go round the +point. There was soon hardly any breeze at all, so that Bastianello and +the other men shipped half-a-dozen oars and began to row. The operation +of going about involved a change of places in so small a boat and the +slight confusion had interrupted the conversation. A long silence +followed, broken at last by the Marchesa's voice. + +"A cigarette, Teresina, and some more lemonade. Are you still there, San +Miniato carissimo? As I heard no more conversation I supposed you had +drowned yourself as you proposed to do." + +"Donna Beatrice is so kind as to put off the execution until after +dinner." + +"And shall we ever reach this dreadful place, and ever really dine?" +asked the Marchesa. + +"Before sunset," answered San Miniato. "And we shall dine at our usual +hour." + +"At least it will not be so hot as in the hotel, and after all it has +not been very fatiguing." + +"No," said the Count, "I fail to see how your exertions can have tired +you much." + +Ruggiero looked down at his master and at the fine lady as she lay +listlessly extended in her cane chair, and he felt that in his heart he +hated them both as much as he loved Beatrice, which was saying much. But +he wondered how it was that less than half an hour earlier he had been +ready to upset the boat and drown every one in it indiscriminately. +Nevertheless he believed that if there had been a stiff breeze just +then, enough for his purpose, he would have stopped the boat's way, and +then put the helm hard up again, without slacking out a single sheet, +and he knew the little craft well enough to be sure of what would have +happened. Murderous intentions enough, as he thought of it all now, in +the calm water under the great cliff from which tradition says that +Tiberius shot delinquents into space from a catapult. + +The men pulled hard by the lonely rocks, for the sun had almost set and +they knew how sharp the stones are at Tragara, when one must tread them +barefoot and burdened with hampers and kettles and all the paraphernalia +of a picnic. + +Then the light grew rich and deep, and the sea swallows shot from the +misty heights, like arrows, into the calm purple air below, and skimmed +and wheeled, and rose again, startled by the splash of the oars and the +dull knock of them as they swung in the tholes. And the water was like a +mirror in which all manner of rare and lovely things are reflected, with +blots of liquid gold and sheen of soft-hued damask, and great handfuls +of pearls and opals strewn between, and roses and petals of many kinds +of flowers without names. And the air was full of the faint, salt odours +that haunt the lonely places of the sea, sweet and bitter at once as the +last days of a young life fading fast. Then the great needles rose +gigantic from the depths to heaven, and beyond, through the mysterious, +shadowy arch that pierces one of them, was opened the glorious vision of +a distant cloud-lit water, and a single dark sail far away stood still, +as it were, on the very edge of the world. + +Beatrice leaned back and gazed at the scene, and her delicate nostrils +expanded as she breathed. There was less colour in her face than there +had been, and the long lashes half veiled her eyes. San Miniato watched +her narrowly. + +"How beautiful! How beautiful!" she exclaimed twice, after a long +silence. + +"It will be more beautiful still when the moon rises," said San Miniato. +"I am glad you are pleased." + +She liked the simple words better, perhaps, than some of his rather +artificial speeches. + +"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for bringing us here." + +He had certainly taken a great deal of trouble, she thought, and it was +the least she could do, to thank him as she did. But she was really +grateful and for a moment she felt a sort of sympathy for him which she +had not felt before. He, at least, understood that one could like +something better in the world than the eternal terrace of a hotel with +its stiff orange trees, its ugly lanterns and its everlasting gossip and +chatter. He, at least, was a little unlike all those other people, +beginning with her own mother, who think of self first, comfort second, +and of others once a month or so, in the most favourable cases. Yet she +wondered a little about his past life, and whether he had ever spoken to +any woman with that ringing passion she had heard in Ruggiero's voice, +with that flashing look she had seen in the sailor's bright blue eyes. +It would be good to be spoken to like that. It would be good to see the +colour in a man's face change, and come and go, red and white like life +and death. It would be supremely good to be loved once, madly, +passionately, with body, heart and soul, to the very breaking of all +three--to be held in strong arms, to be kissed half to death. + +She stopped, conscious that her mother would certainly not approve such +thoughts, and well aware in her girlish heart that she did not approve +them in herself. And then she smiled faintly. The man of her waking +vision was not like San Miniato. He was more like Ruggiero, the poor +sailor, who sat perched on the stern close behind her. She smiled +uneasily at the idea, and then she thought seriously of it for a moment. +If such a man as Ruggiero appeared, not as a sailor, but as a man of her +own world, would he not be a very lovable person, would he not turn the +heads of the languid ladies on the terrace of the hotel at Sorrento? The +thought annoyed her. Ruggiero, poor fellow, would have given his good +right arm to know that such a possibility had even crossed her +reflections. But it was not probable that he ever would know it, and he +sat in his place, silent and unmoved, steering the boat to her +destination, and thinking of her. + +It was not dusk when the boat was alongside of the low jagged rocks +which lie between the landward needle and the cliffs, making a sort of +rough platform in which there are here and there smooth flat places worn +by the waves and often full of dry salt for a day or two after a storm. +There, to the Marchesa's inexpressible relief, the numberless objects +inscribed in the catalogue of her comforts were already arranged, and +she suffered herself to be lifted from the boat and carried ashore by +Ruggiero and his brother, without once murmuring or complaining of +fatigue--a truly wonderful triumph for San Miniato's generalship. + +There was the table, the screen, and the lamp, the chairs and the +carpet--all the necessary furniture for the Marchesa's dining-room. And +there at her place stood an immaculate individual in an evening coat and +a white tie, ready and anxious to do her bidding. She surveyed the +preparations with more satisfaction than she generally showed at +anything. Then all at once her face fell. + +"Good heavens, San Miniato carissimo," she cried, "you have forgotten +the red pepper! It is all over! I shall eat nothing! I shall die in this +place!" + +"Pardon me, dearest Marchesa, I know your tastes. There is red pepper +and also Tabasco on the table. Observe--here and here." + +The Marchesa's brow cleared. + +"Forgive me, dear friend," she said. "I am so dependent on these little +things! You are an angel, a general and a man of heart." + +"The man of your heart, I hope you mean to say," answered San Miniato, +looking at Beatrice. + +"Of course--anything you like--you are delightful. But I am dropping +with fatigue. Let me sit down." + +"You have forgotten nothing--not even the moon you promised me," said +Beatrice, gazing with clasped hands at the great yellow shield as it +slowly rose above the far south-eastern hills. + +"I will never forget anything you ask me, Donna Beatrice," replied San +Miniato in a low voice. Something told him that in the face of all +nature's beauty, he must speak very simply, and he was right. + +There is but one moment in the revolution of day and night which is more +beautiful than the rising of the full moon at sunset, and that is the +dawn on the water when the full moon is going down. To see the gathering +dusk drink down the purple wine that dyes the air, the sea and the light +clouds, until it is almost dark, and then to feel the darkness growing +light again with the warm, yellow moon--to watch the jewels gathering on +the velvet sea, and the sharp black cliffs turning to chiselled silver +above you--to know that the whole night is to be but a softer day--to +see how the love of the sun for the earth is one, and the love of the +moon another--that is a moment for which one may give much and not be +disappointed. + +Beatrice Granmichele saw and felt what she had never seen or felt +before, and the magic of Tragara held sway over her, as it does over the +few who see it as she saw it. She turned slowly and glanced at San +Miniato's face. The moonlight improved it, she thought. There seemed to +be more vigour in the well-drawn lines, more strength in the forehead +than she had noticed until now. She felt that she was in sympathy with +him, and that the sympathy might be a lasting one. Then she turned quite +round and faced the commonplace lamp with its pink shade, which stood +on the dinner-table, and she experienced a disagreeable sensation. The +Marchesa was slowly fanning herself, already seated at her place. + +"If you are human beings, and not astronomers," she said, "we might +perhaps dine." + +"I am very human, for my part," said San Miniato, holding Beatrice's +chair for her to sit down. + +"There was really no use for the lamp, mamma," she said, turning again +to look at the moon. "You see what an illumination we have! San Miniato +has provided us with something better than a lamp." + +"San Miniato, my dear child, is a man of the highest genius. I always +said so. But if you begin to talk of eating without a lamp, you may as +well talk of abolishing civilisation." + +"I wish we could!" exclaimed Beatrice. + +"And so do I, with all my heart," said San Miniato. + +"Including baccarat and quinze?" enquired the Marchesa, lazily picking +out the most delicate morsels from the cold fish on her plate. + +"Including baccarat, quinze, the world, the flesh and the devil," said +San Miniato. + +"Pray remember, dearest friend, that Beatrice is at the table," observed +the Marchesa, with indolent reproach in her voice. + +"I do," replied San Miniato. "It is precisely for her sake that I would +like to do away with the things I have named." + +"You might just leave a little of each for Sundays!" suggested the young +girl. + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed her mother. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + +While the little party sat at table, the sailors gathered together at a +distance among the rocks, and presently the strong red light of their +fire shot up through the shadows, lending new contrasts to the scene. +And there they slung their kettle on an oar and patiently waited for the +water to boil, while the man known as the Gull, always cook in every +crew in which he chanced to find himself, sat with the salt on one side +of him and a big bundle of macaroni on the other, prepared to begin +operations at any moment. + +Ruggiero stood a little apart, his back against a boulder, his arms +crossed and his eyes fixed on Beatrice's face. His keen sight could +distinguish the changing play of her expression as readily at that +distance as though he had been standing beside her, and he tried to +catch the words she spoke, listening with a sort of hurt envy to the +little silvery laugh that now and then echoed across the open space and +lost itself in the crannies of the rocks. It all hurt him, and yet for +nothing in the world would he have turned away or shut his ears. More +than once, too, the thoughts that had disturbed him while he was +steering in the afternoon, came upon him with renewed and startling +strength. He had in him some of that red old blood that does not stop +for trifles such as life and death when the hour of passion burns, and +the brain reels with overmastering love. + +And Bastianello was not in a much better case, though his was less hard +to bear. The pretty Teresina had seated herself on a smooth rock in the +moonlight, not far from the table, and as the dishes came back, the +young sailor waited on her and served her with unrelaxed attention. +Since Ruggiero would not take advantage of the situation, his brother +saw no reason for not at least enjoying the pleasure of seeing the +adorable Teresina eat and drink as it were from his hand. Why Ruggiero +was so cold, and stood there against his rock, silent and glowering, +Bastianello could not at all understand; nor had he any thought of +taking an unfair advantage. Ruggiero was first and no one should +interfere with him, or his love; but Bastianello, judging from what he +felt himself, fancied that she might have given him some good advice. +Teresina's cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled each time +he brought her some dainty from the master's table, and she thanked him +in the prettiest way imaginable, so that her voice reminded him of the +singing of the yellow-beaked blackbird he kept in a cage at home--which +was saying much, for the blackbird sang well and sweetly. But +Bastianello only said each time that "it was nothing," and then stood +silently waiting beside her till she should finish what she was eating +and be ready for more. Teresina would doubtless have enjoyed a little +conversation, and she looked up from time to time at the handsome sailor +beside her, with a look of enquiry in her eyes, as though to ask why he +said nothing. But Bastianello felt that he was on his honour, for he +never doubted that the little maid was the cause of Ruggiero's disease +of the heart and indeed of all that his brother evidently suffered, and +he was too modest by nature to think that Teresina could prefer him to +Ruggiero, who had always been the object of his own unbounded devotion +and admiration. Presently, when there was nothing more to offer her, and +the party at the table were lighting their cigarettes over their coffee, +he went away and going up to Ruggiero drew him a little further aside +from the group of sailors. + +"I want to tell you something," he began. "You must not be as you are, a +man like you." + +"How may that be?" asked Ruggiero, still looking towards the table, and +not pleased at being dragged from his former post of observation. + +"I will tell you. I have been serving her with food. You could have done +that instead if you had wished. You could have talked to her, and she +would have liked it. It is easy when a woman is sitting apart and a man +brings her good food and wine--you could have spoken a word into her +ear." + +Ruggiero was silent, but he slowly nodded twice, then shook his head. + +"You do not say anything," continued Bastianello, "and you do wrong. +What I tell you is true, and you cannot deny it. After all, we are men +and they are women. Are they to speak first?" + +"It is just," answered Ruggiero laconically. + +"But then, per Dio, go and talk to her. Are you going to begin giving +her the gold before you have spoken?" + +From which question it will be clear to the unsophisticated foreigner +that a regular series of presents in jewelry is the natural +accompaniment of a well-to-do courtship in the south. The trinkets are +called collectively "the gold." + +Ruggiero did not find a ready answer to so strong an argument. Little +guessing that his brother was almost as much in love with Teresina as he +himself was with her mistress, he saw no reason for undeceiving him +concerning his own feelings. Since Bastianello had discovered that he, +Ruggiero, was suffering from an acute attack of the affections, it had +become the latter's chief object to conceal the real truth. It was not +so much, that he dreaded the ridicule--he, a poor sailor--of being known +to love a great lady's daughter; ridicule was not among the things he +feared. But something far too subtle for him to define made him keep his +secret to himself--an inborn, chivalrous, manly instinct, inherited +through generations of peasants but surviving still, as the trace of +gold in the ashes of a rich stuff that has had gilded threads in it. + +"If I did begin with the gold," he said at last, "and if she would not +have me when I spoke afterwards, she would give the gold back." + +"Of course she would. What do you take her for?" Bastianello asked the +question almost angrily, for he loved Teresina and he resented the +slightest imputation upon her fair dealing. + +Ruggiero looked at him curiously, but was far too much preoccupied with +his own thoughts to guess what the matter was. He turned away and went +towards the fire where the Gull was already tasting a slippery string of +the macaroni to find out whether it were enough cooked. Bastianello +shrugged his shoulders and followed him in silence. Before long they +were all seated round the huge earthen dish, each armed with an iron +fork in one hand and a ship biscuit in the other, with which to catch +the drippings neatly, according to good manners, in conveying the full +fork from the dish to the wide-opened mouth. By and by there was a sound +of liquid gurgling from a demijohn as it was poured into the big jug, +and the wine went round quickly from hand to hand, while those who +waited for their turn munched their biscuits. Some one has said that +great appetites, like great passions, are silent. Hardly a word was said +until the wine was passed a second time with a ration of hard cheese and +another biscuit. Then the tongues were unloosed and the strange, uncouth +jests of the rough men circulated in an undertone, and now and then one +of them suffered agonies in smothering a huge laugh, lest his mirth +should disturb the "excellencies" at their table. The latter, however, +were otherwise engaged and paid little attention to the sailors. + +The Marchesa di Mola, having eaten about six mouthfuls of twice that +number of delicacies and having swallowed half a glass of champagne and +a cup of coffee, was extended in her cane rocking-chair, with her back +to the moon and her face to the lamp, trying to imagine herself in her +comfortable sitting room at the hotel, or even in her own luxurious +boudoir in her Sicilian home. The attempt was fairly successful, and the +result was a passing taste of that self-satisfied beatitude which is +the peculiar and enviable lot of very lazy people after dinner. She +cared for nothing and she cared for nobody. San Miniato and Beatrice +might sit over there by the water's edge, in the moonlight, and talk in +low tones as long as they pleased. There were no tiresome people from +the hotel to watch their proceedings, and nothing better could happen +than that they should fall in love, be engaged and married forthwith. +That was certainly not the way the Marchesa could have wished the +courtship and marriage to develop and come to maturity, if there had +been witnesses of the facts from amongst her near acquaintance. But +since there was nobody to see, and since it was quite impossible that +she should run after the pair when they chose to leave her side, +resignation was the best policy, resignation without effort, without +fatigue and without qualms. Moreover, San Miniato himself had told her +that in some of the best families in the north of Italy it was +considered permissible for a man to offer himself directly to a young +lady, and San Miniato was undoubtedly familiar with the usages of the +very best society. It was quite safe to trust to him. + +San Miniato himself would have greatly preferred to leave the +negotiations in the hands of the Marchesa and would have done so had he +not known that she possessed no power whatever over Beatrice. But he saw +that the Marchesa, however much she might desire the marriage, would +never exert herself to influence her daughter. She was far too indolent, +and at heart, perhaps, too indifferent, and she knew the value of money +and especially of her own. San Miniato made up his mind that if he won +at all, it must be upon his own merits and by his own efforts. + +He had not found it hard to lead Beatrice away from the lamp when dinner +was over, and after walking about on the rocks for a few minutes he +proposed that they should sit down near the water, facing the moonlit +sea. Beatrice sat upon a smooth projection and San Miniato placed +himself at her feet, in such a position that he could look up into her +face and talk to her without raising his voice. + +"So you are glad you came here, Donna Beatrice," he said. + +"Very glad," she answered. "It is something I have never seen +before--something I shall never forget, as long as I live." + +"Nor I." + +"Have you a good memory?" + +"For some things, not for others." + +"For what, for instance?" + +"For those I love---" + +"And a bad memory for those whom you have loved," suggested Beatrice +with a smile. + +"Have you any reason for saying that?" asked San Miniato gravely. "You +know too little of me and my life to judge of either. I have not loved +many, and I have remembered them well." + +"How many? A dozen, more or less? Or twenty? Or a hundred?" + +"Two. One is dead, and one has forgotten me." + +Beatrice was silent. It was admirably done, and for the first time he +made her believe that he was in earnest. It had not been very hard for +him either, for there was a foundation of truth in what he said. He had +not always been a man without heart. + +"It is much to have loved twice," said the young girl at last, in a +dreamy voice. She was thinking of what had passed through her mind that +afternoon. + +"It is much--but not enough. What has never been lived out, is never +enough." + +"Perhaps--but who could love three times?" + +"Any man--and the third might be the best and the strongest, as well as +the last." + +"To me it seems impossible." + +San Miniato had got his chance and he knew it. He was nervous and not +sure of himself, for he knew very well that she had but a passing +attraction for him, beyond the very solid inducement to marry her +offered by her fortune. But he knew that the opportunity must not be +lost, and he did not waste time. He spoke quietly, not wishing to risk a +dramatic effect until he could count on his own rather slight histrionic +powers. + +"So it seems impossible to you, Donna Beatrice," he said, in a musing +tone. "Well, I daresay it does. Many things must seem impossible to you +which are rather startling facts to me. I am older than you, I am a man, +and I have been a soldier. I have lived a life such as you cannot dream +of--not worse perhaps than that of many another man, but certainly not +better. And I am quite sure that if I gave you my history you would not +understand four-fifths of it, and the other fifth would shock you. Of +course it would--how could it be otherwise? How could you and I look at +anything from quite the same point of view?" + +"And yet we often agree," said Beatrice, thoughtfully. + +"Yes, we do. That is quite true. And that is because a certain sympathy +exists between us. I feel that very much when I am with you, and that is +one reason why I try to be with you as much as possible." + +"You say that is one reason. Have you many others?" Beatrice tried to +laugh a little, but she felt somehow that laughter was out of place and +that a serious moment in her life had come at last, in which it would be +wiser to be grave and to think well of what she was doing. + +"One chief one, and many little ones," answered San Miniato. "You are +good to me, you are young, you are fresh--you are gifted and unlike the +others, and you have a rare charm such as I never met in any woman. Are +those not all good reasons? Are they not enough?" + +"If they were all true, they would be more than enough. Is the chief +reason the last?" + +"It is the last of all. I have not given it to you yet. Some things are +better not said at all." + +"They must be bad things," answered Beatrice, with an air of innocence. + +She was beginning to understand, at last, that he really intended to +make her a declaration of love. It was unheard of, almost inconceivable. +But there he was at her feet, looking very handsome in the moonlight, +his face turned up to hers with an unmistakable look of devotion in its +rather grave lines. His voice, too, had a new sound in it. Indifferent +as he might be by daylight and in ordinary life, the magic of the place +and scene affected him a little at the present moment. Perhaps a memory +of other years, when his pulse had quickened and his voice had trembled +oddly, just touched his heart now and it responded with a faint thrill. +For a moment at least he forgot his sordid plan, and Beatrice's own +personal attraction was upon him. + +And she was very lovely as she sat there, looking down at him, with +white folded hands, hatless in the warm night, her eyes full of the +dancing rays that trembled upon the softly rippling water. + +"If they are not bad things," she said, speaking again, "why do you not +tell them to me?" + +"You would laugh." + +"I have laughed enough to-night. Tell me!" + +"Tell you! Yes--that is easy to do. But it would be so hard to make you +understand! It is the difference between a word and a thought, between +belief and mere show, between truth and hearsay--more than that--much +more than I can tell you. It means so much to me--it may mean so little +to you, when I have said it!" + +"But if you do not say it, how can I guess it, or try to understand it?" + +"Would you try? Would you?" + +"Yes." + +Her voice was soft, gentle, persuasive. She felt something she had never +felt, and it must be love, she thought. She had always liked him a +little better than the rest. But surely, this was more than mere +liking. She had a strange longing to hear him say the words, to start, +as her instinct told her she must, when he spoke them, to be told for +the first time that she was loved. Is it strange, after all? Young, +imaginative and full of life, she had been brought up to believe that +she was to be married to some man she scarcely knew, after a week's +acquaintance, without so much as having talked five minutes with him +alone; she had been taught that love was a legend and matrimony a matter +of interest. And yet here was the man whom her mother undoubtedly wished +her to marry, not only talking with her as they had often talked before, +with no one to hear what was said, but actually on the verge of telling +her that he loved her. Could anything be more delicious, more original, +more in harmony with the place and hour? And as if all this were not +enough, she really felt the touch and thrill of love in her own heart, +and the leaping wonder to know what was to come. + +She had told him to speak and she waited for his voice. He, on his part, +knew that much was at stake, for he saw that she was moved, and that +all depended on his words. The fewer the better, he thought, if only +there could be a note of passion in them, if only one of them could ring +as all of poor Ruggiero's had rung when he had spoken that afternoon. He +hesitated and hesitation would be fatal if it lasted another five +seconds. He grew desperate. Where were the words and the tone that had +broken down the will of other women, far harder to please than this mere +child? He felt everything at once, except love. He saw her fortune +slipping from him at the very moment of getting it, he felt a little +contempt for the part he was playing and a sovereign scorn for his own +imbecility, he even anticipated the Marchesa's languid but cutting +comments on his failure. One second more, and all was lost--but not a +word would come. Then, in sheer despair and with a violence that +betrayed it, he seized one of Beatrice's hands in both of his and kissed +it madly a score of times. As she interpreted the action, no eloquence +of words could have told her more of what she wished to hear. It was +unexpected, it was passionate; if it had been premeditated, it would +have been a stroke of genius. As it was, it was a stroke of luck for +San Miniato. With the true gambler's instinct he saw that he was winning +and his hesitation disappeared. His voice trembled passionately now with +excitement, if not with love--but it was the same to Beatrice, who heard +the quick-spoken words that followed, and drank them in as a thirsty man +swallows the first draught of wine he can lay hands on, be it ever so +acid. + +At the first moment she had been startled and had almost uttered a short +cry, half of delight and half of fear. But she had no wish to alarm her +mother and the quick thought stifled her voice. She tried to withdraw +her hand, but he held it tightly in his own which were cold as ice, and +she sat still listening to all he said. + +"Ah, Beatrice!" he was saying, "you have given me back life itself! Can +you guess what I have lived through in these days? Can you imagine how I +have thought of you and suffered day and night, and said to myself that +I should never have your love? Can you dream what it must be to a man +like me, lonely, friendless, half heart-broken, to find the one jewel +worth living for, the one light worth seeking, the one woman worth +loving--and then to long for her almost without hope, and so long? It is +long, too. Who counts the days or the weeks when he loves? It is as +though we had loved from the beginning of our lives! Can you or I +imagine what it all was like before we met? I cannot remember that past +time. I had no life before it--it is all forgotten, all gone, all buried +and for ever. You have made everything new to me, new and beautiful and +full of light--ah, Beatrice! How I love you!" + +Rather a long speech at such a moment, an older woman would have +thought, and not over original in choice of similes and epithets, but +fluent enough and good enough to serve the purpose and to turn the +current of Beatrice's girlish life. Yet not much of a love-speech. +Ruggiero's had been better, as a little true steel is better than much +iron at certain moments in life. It succeeded very well at the moment, +but its ultimate success would have been surer if it had reached no ears +but Beatrice's. Neither she nor San Miniato were aware that a few feet +below them a man was lying on his back, with white face and clenched +hands, staring at the pale moonlit sky above him, and listening in stony +despair to every word that was spoken. + +The sight would have disturbed them, had they seen it, though they both +were fearless by nature and not easily startled. Had Beatrice seen +Ruggiero at that moment, she would have learned once and for ever the +difference between real passion and its counterfeit. But Ruggiero knew +where he was and had no intention of betraying himself by voice or +movement. He suffered almost all that a man can suffer by the heart +alone, but he was strong and could bear torture. + +The hardest of all was that he understood the real truth, partly by +instinct and partly through what he knew of his master. Those rough +southern sailors sometimes have a wonderful keenness in discovering the +meaning of their masters' doings. Ruggiero held the key to the +situation. He knew that San Miniato was poor and that the Marchesa was +very rich. He knew very well that San Miniato was not at all in love, +for he knew what love really meant, and he could see how the Count +always acted by calculation and never from impulse. Best of all he saw +that Beatrice was a mere child who was being deceived by the coolly +assumed passion of a veteran woman-killer. It was bitterly hard to bear. +And he had felt a foreboding of it all in the afternoon--and he wished +that he had risked all and brought down the brass tiller on San +Miniato's head and submitted to be sent to the galleys for life. He +could never have forgotten Beatrice; but San Miniato could never have +married her, and that satisfaction would have made chains light and hard +labour a pastime. + +It was too late to think of such things now. Had he yielded to the first +murderous impulse, it would have been better. But he had never struck a +man from behind and he knew that he could not do it in cold blood. Yet +how much better it would have been! He would not be lying now on the +rock, holding his breath and clenching his fists, listening to his +Excellency the Count of San Miniato's love making. By this time the +Count of San Miniato would be cold, and he, Ruggiero, would be +handcuffed and locked up in the little barrack of the gendarmes at +Sorrento, and Beatrice with her mother would be recovering from their +fright as best they could in the rooms at the hotel, and Teresina would +be crying, and Bastianello would be sitting at the door of his brother's +prison waiting to see what happened and ready to do what he could. Truly +all this would have been much better! But the moment had passed and he +must lie on his rock in silence, bound hand and foot by the necessity of +hiding himself, and giving his heart to be torn to pieces by San +Miniato's aristocratic fine gentleman's hands, and burned through and +through by Beatrice's gentle words. + +"And so you really love me?" said San Miniato, sure at last of his +victory. + +"Do you doubt it, after what I have done?" asked Beatrice in a very soft +voice. "Did I not leave my hand in yours when you took it so roughly +and--you know---" + +"When I kissed it--but I want the words, too--only once, from your +beautiful lips---" + +"The words---" Beatrice hesitated. They were too new to her lips, and a +soft blush rose in her cheeks, visible even in the moonlight. + +Ruggiero's heart stood still--not for the first time that day. Would she +speak the three syllables or not? + +As for San Miniato, his excitement had cooled, and he threw all the +tenderness he could muster into, his last request, with instinctive tact +returning to the more quiet tone he had used at the beginning of the +conversation. + +"I ask you, Beatrice mia, to say--" he paused, to give the proper effect +in the right place--"I love you," he said, completing the sentence very +musically and looking up most tenderly into her eyes. + +She sighed, blushed again, and turned her head away. Then quite suddenly +she looked at him once more, pressed his hand nervously and spoke. + +"I love you, carissimo," she said, and rose at the same moment from her +seat. "Come--it is time. Mamma will be tired," she added, while he held +her hand and pressed it to his lips. + +Her confusion had made it easy for him. He would have had difficulty in +ending the scene artistically if she had not unconsciously helped him. + +Ruggiero clenched his hands a little tighter and tried not to breathe. + +"It is a lie," he said in his heart, but his lips never moved, nor did +he stir a limb as he listened to the departing footsteps on the ledge +above. + +Then with the ease of great strength he drew himself along through +cranny and hollow till he was far from where they sat, and had reached +the place where the boats were made fast. It would seem natural to every +one that he should suddenly be standing there to see that all was right, +and that none of the moorings had slipped or chafed against the jagged +rocks. There he stood, gazing at the rippling water, at the tall yards +as they slowly crossed and recrossed the face of the moon, with the +rocking of the boats, at the cliffs to the right and left, at the dim +headland of the Campanella, at all the sights long familiar to +him--seeing none of them and yet feeling that they at least were his own +people, that they understood him and knew what he felt--what he had no +words with which to tell any one, if he had wished to tell it. + +For he who loves and is little loved, or not at all, has no friend, be +he of high estate or low, beyond nature, the deep-bosomed, the +bountiful, the true; and on her he may lean, trusting, and know that he +will not be betrayed. And in time her language will be his. But she will +be heard alone when she speaks with him, and without rival, with the +full right of a woman who gives all her love and asks for a man's soul +in return, recking little of all the world besides. But not all know how +kind she is, how merciful and how sweet. For she does not heal broken +hearts. She takes them as they are into her own, with all the memory and +all the sin, perhaps, and all the bitter sorrow which is the reward of +faith and faithlessness alike. She takes them all, and holds them kindly +in her own breast, as she has taken the torn limbs of martyred saints +and tortured sinners and has softly turned them all into a fragrant +dust. And though the ashes of the heart be very bitter, they are after +all but dust, which cannot feel of itself any more. Yet there may be +something left behind, in the place where it lived and was broken and +died, which is not wholly bad, though there be little good in this +earth where there is no heart. + +Moreover, nature is a silent mistress to all but those who love her, and +she tells no tales as men and women do, and forgets none of the secrets +which are told to her, for they are our treasures--treasures of love and +of hate, of sweetness and of poison, which we lay up in her keeping when +we are alone with her, sure that we shall find again all we have given +up if we require it of her. But as the years blossom, bloom, and fade in +their quick succession, the day will come when we shall ask of her only +the balm and be glad to leave the poison hidden, and to forget how we +would have used it in old days--when we shall ask her only to give us +the memory of a dear and gentle hand--dear still but no longer kind--of +the voice that was once a harmony, and whose harsh discord is almost +music still--of the hour when love was twofold, stainless and supreme. +Those things we shall ask of her and she, in her wonderful tenderness, +will give them to us again--in dreams, waking or sleeping, in the sunlit +silence of lonely places, in soft nights when the southern sea is still, +in the greater loneliness of the storm, when brave faces are set as +stone and freezing hands grasp frozen ropes, and the shadow of death +rises from the waves and stands between every man and his fellows. We +shall ask, and we shall receive. Out of noon-day shadow, out of the +starlit dusk, out of the driving spray of the midtempest, one face will +rise, one hand will touch our own, one loving, lingering glance will +meet ours from eyes that have no look of love for us in them now. These +things our lady nature will give us of all those we have given her. But +of the others, we shall not ask for them, and she will mercifully forget +for us the bitterness of their birth, and life, and death. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + +"I THOUGHT I was never to see you again," observed the Marchesa, as +Beatrice and San Miniato came to her side. + +"Judging from your calm, you were bearing the separation with admirable +fortitude," answered the Count. + +"Dearest friend, one has to bear so much in this life!" + +Beatrice stood beside the table, resting one hand upon it and looking +back towards the place where she had been sitting. San Miniato took the +Marchesa's hand and raised it to his lips, pressed it a little and then +nodded slowly, with a significant look. The Marchesa's sleepy eyes +opened suddenly with an expression of startled satisfaction, and she +returned the pressure of the fingers with more energy than San Miniato +had suspected. She was evidently very much pleased. Perhaps the greatest +satisfaction of all was the certainty that she was to have no more +trouble in the matter, since it had been undertaken, negotiated and +settled by the principals between them. Then she raised her eyebrows +and moved her head a little as though to inquire what had taken place, +but San Miniato made her understand by a sign that he could not speak +before Beatrice. + +"Beatrice, my angel," said the Marchesa, with more than usual sweetness, +"you have sat so long upon that rock that you have almost reconciled me +to Tragara. Do you not think that you could go back and sit there five +minutes longer?" + +Beatrice glanced quickly at her mother and then at San Miniato and +turned away without a word, leaving the two together. + +"And now, San Miniato carissimo," said the Marchesa, "sit down beside me +on that chair, and tell me what has happened, though I think I already +understand. You have spoken to Beatrice?" + +"I have spoken--yes--and the result is favourable. I am the happiest of +men." + +"Do you mean to say that she answered you at once?" asked the Marchesa, +affecting, as usual, to be scandalised. + +"She answered me--yes, dear Marchesa--she told me that she loved me. It +only remains for me to claim the maternal blessing which you so +generously promised in advance." + +Somehow it was a relief to him to return to the rather stiff and +over-formal phraseology which he always used on important occasions when +speaking to her, and which, as he well knew, flattered her desire to be +thought a very great lady. + +"As for my blessing, you shall have it, and at once. But indeed, I am +most curious to know exactly what she said, and what you said--I, who am +never curious about anything!" + +"Two words tell the story. I told her I loved her and she answered that +she loved me." + +"Dearest friend, how long it took you to say those two words! You must +have hesitated a good deal." + +"To tell the truth, there was more said than that. I will not deny the +grave imputation. I spoke of my past life--" + +"Dio mio! To my daughter! How could you--" The Marchesa raised her hands +and let them fall again. + +"But why not?" asked San Miniato, suppressing a smile. "Have I been such +an impossibly bad man that the very mention of my past must shock a +young girl--whom I love?" In the last words he found an opportunity to +practise the expression of a little passion, and took advantage of it, +well knowing that it would be useful in the immediate future. + +"I never said that!" protested the Marchesa. "But we all know something +about you, dear Don Juan!" + +"Calumnies, nothing but calumnies!" + +"But such pretty calumnies--you might almost accept them. I should think +none the worse of you if they were all true." + +"You are charming, dearest Marchesa. I kiss your generous hand! As a +matter of fact, I only told Donna Beatrice--may I call her Beatrice to +you now, as I have long called her in my heart? I only told her that I +had been unhappy, that I had loved twice--once a woman who is dead, once +another who has long ago forgotten me. That was all. Was it so very bad? +Her heart was softened--she is so gentle! And then I told her that a +greater and stronger passion than those now filled my present life, and +last of all I told her that I loved her." + +"And she returned the compliment immediately?" asked the Marchesa, +slowly selecting a sugared chestnut from the plate beside her, turning +it round, examining it and at last putting it into her mouth. + +"How lightly you speak of what concerns life and death!" sighed San +Miniato. "No--Beatrice did not answer immediately. I said much more--far +more than I can remember. How can you ask me to repeat word for word the +unpremeditated outpourings of a happy passion? The flood has swept by, +leaving deep traces--but who can remember where the eddies and rapids +were?" + +"You are very poetical, caro mio. Your language delights me--it is the +language of the heart. Pray give me one of those little cigarettes you +smoke. Yes--and a light--and now the least drop of champagne. I will +drink your health." + +"And I both yours and Beatrice's," answered San Miniato, filling his own +glass. + +"You may put Beatrice first, since she is yours." + +"But without you there would be no Beatrice, gentilissima," said the +Count gallantly, when he had emptied his glass. + +"That is true, and pretty besides. And so," continued the Marchesa in a +tone of languid reflection, "you have actually been making love to my +daughter, beyond my hearing, alone on the rocks--and I gave you my +permission, and now you are engaged to be married! It is too +extraordinary to be believed. That was not the way I was married. There +was more formality in those days." + +Indeed, she could not imagine the deceased Granmichele throwing himself +upon his knees at her feet, even upon the softest of carpets. + +"Then I thank the fates that those days are over!" returned San Miniato. + +"Perhaps I should, too. I am not sure that the conclusion would have +been so satisfactory, if I had undertaken to persuade Beatrice. She is +headstrong and capricious, and so painfully energetic! Every discussion +with her shortens my life by a year." + +"She is an angel in her caprice," answered the Count with conviction. +"Indeed, much of her charm lies in her changing moods." + +"If she is an angel, what am I?" asked the Marchesa. "Such a contrast!" + +"She is the angel of motion--you are the angel of repose." + +"You are delightful to-night." + +While this conversation was taking place, Beatrice had wandered away +over the rocks alone, not heeding the unevenness of the stones and +taking little notice of the direction of her walk. She only knew that +she would not go back to the place where she had sat, not for all the +world. A change had taken place already and she was angry with herself +for what she had done in all sincerity. + +She was hurt and her first illusion had suffered a grave shock almost at +the moment of its birth. She asked herself how it could be possible, if +San Miniato loved her as he had said he did, that he should not feel as +she felt and understand love as she did--as something secret and sacred, +to be kept from other eyes. Her instinct told her easily enough that San +Miniato was at that very moment telling her mother all that had taken +place, and she bitterly resented the thought. It would surely have been +enough, if he had waited until the following day and then formally asked +her hand of the Marchesa. It would have been better, more natural in +every way, just now when they had gone up to the table, if he had said +simply that they loved one another and had asked her mother's blessing. +Anything rather than to feel that he was coolly describing the details +of the first love scene in her life--the thousandth, perhaps, in his +own. + +After all, did she love him? Did he really love her? His passionate +manner when he had seized her hand had moved her strangely, and she had +listened with a sort of girlish wonder to his declarations of devotion +afterwards. But now, in the, calm moonlight and quite alone, she could +hear Ruggiero's deep strong voice in her ears, and the few manly words +he had uttered. There was not much in them in the way of eloquence--a +sailor's picturesque phrase--she had heard something like it before. But +there had been strength, and the power to do, and the will to act in +every intonation of his speech. She remembered every word San Miniato +had spoken, far better than he would remember it himself in a day or +two, and she was ready to analyse and criticise now what had charmed and +pleased her a moment earlier. Why was he going over it all to her +mother, like a lesson learnt and repeated? She was so glad to be +alone--she would have been so glad to think alone of what she had taken +for the most delicious moment of her young life. If he were really in +earnest, he would feel as she did and would have said at once that it +was late and time to be going home--he would have invented any excuse to +escape the interview which her mother would try to force upon him. Could +it be love that he felt? And if not, as her heart told her it was not, +what was his object in playing such a comedy? She knew well enough, from +Teresina, that many a young Neapolitan nobleman would have given his +title for her fortune, but Teresina, perhaps for reasons of her own, +never dared to cast such an aspersion upon San Miniato, even in the +intimate conversation which sometimes takes place between an Italian +lady and her maid--and, indeed, if the truth be told, between maids and +their mistresses in most parts of the world. + +But the doubt thrust itself forward now. Beatrice was quick to doubt at +all times. She was also capricious and changeable about matters which +did not affect her deeply, and those that did were few enough. It was +certainly possible that San Miniato, after all, only wanted her money +and that her mother was willing to give it in return for a great name +and a great position. She felt that if the case had been stated to her +from the first in its true light she might have accepted the situation +without illusion, but without disgust. Everybody, her mother said, was +married by arrangement, some for one advantage, some for the sake of +another. After all, San Miniato was better than most of the rest. There +was a certain superiority about him which she would like to see in her +husband, a certain simple elegance, a certain outward dignity, which +pleased her. But when her mother had spoken in her languid way of the +marriage, Beatrice had resented the denial of her free will, and had +answered that she would please herself or not marry at all. The +Marchesa, far too lacking in energy to sustain such a contest, had +contented herself with her favourite expression of horror at her +daughter's unfilial conduct. Now, however, Beatrice felt that if it had +all been arranged for her, she would have been satisfied, but that since +San Miniato had played something very like a comedy, she would refuse to +be duped by it. She was very bitter against him in the first revulsion +of feeling and treated him more hardly in her thoughts than he, perhaps, +deserved. + +And there he was, up there by the table, telling her mother of his +success. Her blood rose in her cheeks at the thought and she stamped her +foot upon the rock out of sheer anger at herself, at him, at everything +and everybody. Then she moved on. + +Ruggiero was standing at the edge of the water looking out to sea. The +moonlight silvered his white face and fair beard and accentuated the +sharp black line where his sailor's cap crossed his forehead. Wild and +angry emotions chased each other from his heart to his brain and back +again, firing his overwrought nerves and heated blood, as the flame runs +along a train of powder. He heard a light step behind him and turned +suddenly. Beatrice was close upon him. + +"Is that you, Ruggiero," she asked, for she had seen him with his back +turned and had not recognised him at first. + +"Yes, Excellency," he answered in a hoarse voice, touching his cap. + +"What a beautiful night it is!" said the young girl. She often talked +with the men in the boat, and Ruggiero interested her especially at the +present moment. + +"Yes, Excellency," he answered again. + +"Is the weather to be fine, Ruggiero?" + +"Yes, Excellency." + +Ruggiero was apparently not in the conversational mood. He was probably +thinking of the girl he loved--in all likelihood of Teresina, as +Beatrice thought. She stood still a couple of paces from him and looked +at the sea. She felt a capricious desire to make the big sailor talk and +tell her something about himself. It would be sure to be interesting and +honest and strong, a contrast, as she fancied, to the things she had +just heard. + +"Ruggiero---" she began, and then she stopped and hesitated. + +"Yes, Excellency." + +The continual repetition of the two words irritated her. She tried to +frame a question to which he could not give the same answer. + +"I would like you to tell me who it is whom you love so dearly--is she +good and beautiful and sensible, too, as you said?" + +"She is all that, Excellency." His voice shook, not as it seemed to her +with weakness, but with strength. + +"Tell me her name." + +Ruggiero was silent for some moments, and his head was bent forward. He +seemed to be breathing hard and not able to speak. + +"Her name is Beatrice," he said at last, in a low, firm tone as though +he were making a great effort. + +"Really!" exclaimed the young girl. "That is my name, too. I suppose +that is why you did not want to tell me. But you must not be afraid of +me, Ruggiero. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it. +Is it money you need? I will give you some." + +"It is not money." + +"What is it, then?" + +"Love--and a miracle." + +His answers came lower and lower, and he looked at the ground, suffering +as he had never suffered and yet indescribably happy in speaking with +her, and in seeing the interest she felt in him. But his brain was +beginning to reel. He did not know what he might say next. + +"Love and a miracle!" repeated Beatrice in her silvery voice. "Those are +two things which I cannot get for you. You must pray to the saints for +the one and to her for the other. Does she not love you at all then?" + +"She will never love me. I know it." + +"And that would be the miracle--if she ever should? Such miracles have +been done by men themselves without the help of the saints, before now." + +Ruggiero looked up sharply and he felt his hands shaking. He thought she +was speaking of what had just happened, of which he had been a witness. + +"Such miracles as that may happen--but they are the devil's miracles." + +Beatrice was silent for a moment. She was indeed inclined to believe in +a special intervention of the powers of evil in her own case. Had she +not been suddenly moved to tell a man that she loved him, only to +discover a moment later that it was a mistake? + +"What is the miracle you pray for, Ruggiero?" she asked after a pause. + +"To be changed into some one else, Excellency." + +"And then--would she love you?" + +"By Our Lady's grace--perhaps!" The deep voice shook again. He set his +teeth, folded his arms over his throbbing breast, and planted one foot +firmly on a stone before him, as though to await a blow. + +"I am very sorry for you, Ruggiero," said Beatrice in soft, kind tones. + +"God render you your kindness--it is better than nothing," he answered. + +"Is she sorry for you, too? She should be--you love her so much." + +"Yes--she is sorry for me. She has just said so." He raised his clenched +hand to his mouth almost before the words were uttered. Beatrice did not +see the few bright red drops that fell upon the rock as he gnawed the +flesh. + +"Just said so?" she said, repeating his words. "I do not understand? Is +she here to-night?" + +He did not answer, but slowly bent his head, as though in assent. An odd +foreboding of danger shot through the young girl's heart. Little as the +man said, he seemed desperate. It was possible that the girl he loved +might be a Capriote, and that he might have met her and talked with her +while the dinner was going on. He might have strangled her with those +great hands of his. She would not have uttered a cry, and no one would +be the wiser, for Tragara is a lonely place, by day and night. + +"She is here, you say?" Beatrice asked again. "Where is she? Ruggiero, +what is the matter? Have you done her any harm? Have you hurt her? Have +you killed her?" + +"Not yet---" + +"Not yet!" Beatrice cried, in a low horror-struck tone. She had heard +his sharp, agonised breathing as he reeled unsteadily against the rock +behind him. She was a rarely courageous girl. Instead of shrinking she +made a step forward and took him firmly by the arm. + +"What have you done, Ruggiero?" she asked sternly. + +He felt that she was accusing him. His face grew ashy white, and +grave--almost grand, she thought afterwards, for she remembered long the +look he wore. His answer came slowly in deep, vibrating tones. + +"I have done nothing--but love her." + +"Show her to me--take me to her," said Beatrice, still dreading some +horrible deed, she scarcely knew why. + +"She is here." + +"Where?" + +"Here!--Ah, Christ." + +His great hands went out madly as though to take her, then tenderly +touched the loose sleeves she wore, then fell, as though lifeless, to +his sides again. + +Beatrice passed her hand over her eyes and drew back quickly a step. She +was startled and angered, but not frightened. It was almost the +repetition of the waking dream that had flitted through her brain before +she had landed. She had heard the grand ring of passionate love this +once at least--and how? In the voice of a common sailor--out of the +heart of an ignorant fellow who could neither read nor write, nor speak +his own language, a churl, a peasant's son, a labourer--but a man, at +least. That was it--a strong, honest, fearless man. That was why it all +moved her so--that was why it was not an insult that this low-born +fellow should dare to tell her he loved her. She opened her lids again +and saw his great figure leaning back against the rock, his white face +turned upward, his eyes half closed. She went near to him again. +Instantly, he made an effort and stood upright. Her instinct told her +that he wanted neither pity nor forgiveness nor comfort. + +"You are a brave, strong man, Ruggiero; I will always pray that you may +love some one who will love you again--since you can love so well." + +The unspoiled girl's nature had found the right expression, and the only +one. Ruggiero looked at her one moment, stooped and touched the hem of +her white frock with two fingers and then pressed them silently to his +lips. Who knows from what far age that outward act of submission and +vassalage has been handed down in southern lands? There it is to this +day, rarely seen, but still surviving and still known to all. + +Then Ruggiero turned away and went up the sloping rocks again, and +Beatrice stood still for a moment, watching his tall, retreating figure. +She meant to go, too, but she lingered a while, knowing that if ever she +came back to Tragara, this would be the spot where she would pause and +recall a memory, and not that other, where she had sat while San Miniato +played out his wretched little comedy. + +It all rushed across her mind again, bringing a new sense of disgust and +repulsion with it, and a new blush of shame and anger at having been so +deceived. There was no doubt now. The contrast had been too great, too +wide, too evident. It was the difference between truth and hearsay, as +San Miniato had said once that night. There was no mistaking the one for +the other. + +Poor Ruggiero! that was why he was growing pale and thin. That was why +his arm trembled when he helped her into the boat. She leaned against +the rock and wondered what it all meant, whether there were really any +justice in heaven or any happiness on earth. But she would not marry +San Miniato, now, for she had given no promise. If she had done so, she +would not have broken it--in that, at least, she was like other girls of +her age and class. Next to evils of which she knew nothing, the breaking +of a promise of marriage was the greatest and most unpardonable of sins, +no matter what the circumstances might be. But she was sure that she had +not promised anything. + +At that moment in her meditations she heard the tread of a man's heel on +the rocks. The sailors were all barefoot, and she knew it must be San +Miniato. Unwilling to be alone with him even for a minute, she sprang +lightly forward to meet him as he came. He held out his hand to help +her, but she refused it by a gesture and hurried on. + +"I have been speaking with your mother," he said, trying to take +advantage of the thirty or forty yards that still remained to be +traversed. + +"So I suppose, as I left you together," she answered in a hard voice. "I +have been talking to Ruggiero." + +"Has anything displeased you, Beatrice?" asked San Miniato, surprised by +her manner. + +"No. Why do you call me Beatrice?" Her tone was colder than ever. + +"I suppose I might be permitted--" + +"You are not." + +San Miniato looked at her in amazement, but they were already within +earshot of the Marchesa, who had not moved from her long chair, and he +did not risk anything more, not knowing what sort of answer he might +get. But he was no novice, and as soon as he thought over the situation +he remembered others similar to it in his experience, and he understood +well enough that a sensitive young girl might feel ashamed of having +shown too much feeling, or might have taken offence at some detail in +his conduct which had entirely escaped his own notice. Young and +vivacious women are peculiarly subject to this sort of sensitiveness, as +he was well aware. There was nothing to be done but to be quiet, +attentive in small things, and to wait for fair weather again. After +all, he had crossed the Rubicon, and had been very well received on the +other side. It would not be easy to make him go back again. + +"My angel," said the Marchesa, throwing away the end of her cigarette, +"you have caught cold. We must go home immediately." + +"Yes, mamma." + +With all her languor and laziness and selfishness, the Marchesa was not +devoid of tact, least of all where her own ends were concerned, and when +she took the trouble to have any object in life at all. She saw in her +daughter's face that something had annoyed her, and she at once +determined that no reference should be made to the great business of the +moment, and that it would be best to end the evening in general +conversation, leaving San Miniato no further opportunity of being alone +with Beatrice. She guessed well enough that the girl was not really in +love, but had yielded in a measure to the man's practised skill in +love-making, but she was really anxious that the result should be +permanent. + +Beatrice was grateful to her for putting an end to the situation. The +young girl was pale and her bright eyes had suddenly grown tired and +heavy. She sat down beside her mother and shaded her brow against the +lamp with her hand, while San Miniato went to give orders about +returning. + +"My dear child," said the Marchesa, "I am converted; it has been a +delightful excursion; we have had an excellent dinner, and I am not at +all tired. I am sure you have given yourself quite as much trouble about +it as San Miniato." + +Beatrice laughed nervously. + +"There were a good many things to remember," she said, "but I wish +there had been twice as many--it was so amusing to make out the list of +all your little wants." + +"What a good daughter you are to me, my angel," sighed the Marchesa. + +It was not often that she showed so much, affection. Possibly she was +rarely conscious of loving her child very much, and on the present +occasion the emotion was not so overpowering as to have forced her to +the expression of it, had she not seen the necessity for humouring the +girl and restoring her normal good temper. On the whole, a very good +understanding existed between the two, of such a nature that it would +have been hard to destroy it. For it was impossible to quarrel with the +Marchesa, for the simple reason that she never attempted to oppose her +daughter, and rarely tried to oppose any one else. She was quite +insensible to Beatrice's occasional reproaches concerning her +indolence, and Beatrice had so much sense, in spite of her small +caprices and whims, that it was always safe to let her have her own way. +The consequence was that difficulties rarely arose between the two. + +Beatrice smiled carelessly at the affectionate speech. She knew its +exact value, but was not inclined to depreciate it in her own +estimation. Just then she would rather have been left alone with her +mother than with any one else, unless she could be left quite to +herself. + +"You are always very good to me, mamma," she answered; "you let me have +my own way, and that is what I like best." + +"Let you have it, carissima! You take it. But I am quite satisfied." + +"After all, it saves you trouble," laughed Beatrice. + +Just then San Miniato came back and was greatly relieved to see that +Beatrice's usual expression had returned, and to hear her careless, +tuneful laughter. In an incredibly short space of time the boat was +ready, the Marchesa was lifted in her chair and carried to it, and all +the party were aboard. The second boat, with its crew, was left to +bring home the paraphernalia, and Ruggiero cast off the mooring and +jumped upon the stern, as the men forward dipped their oars and began to +pull out of the little sheltered bay. + +There he sat again, perched in his old place behind his master, the +latter's head close to his knee, holding the brass tiller in his hand. +It would be hard to say what he felt, but it was not what he had felt +before. It was all a dream, now, the past, the present and the future. +He had told Beatrice--Donna Beatrice Granmichele, the fine lady--that he +loved her, and she had not laughed in his face, nor insulted him, nor +cried out for help. She had told him that he was brave and strong. Yet +he knew that he had put forth all his strength and summoned all his +courage in the great effort to be silent, and had failed. But that +mattered little. He had got a hundred, a thousand times more kindness +than he would have dared to hope for, if he had ever dared to think of +saying what he had really said. He had been forced to what he had done, +as a strong man is forced struggling against odds to the brink of a +precipice, and he had found not death, but a strange new strength to +live. He had not found Heaven, but he had touched the gates of Paradise +and heard the sweet clear voice of the angel within. It was well for him +that his hand had not been raised that afternoon to deal the one blow +that would have decided his life. It was well that it was the summer +time and that when he had put the helm down to go about there had been +no white squall seething along with its wake of snowy foam from a +quarter of a mile to windward. It would have been all over now and those +great moments down there by the rocks would never have been lived. + +"Through the arch, Ruggiero," said San Miniato to him as the boat +cleared the rocks of the landward needle. + +"Let us go home," said Beatrice, with a little impatience in her voice. +"I am so tired." + +Would she be tired of such a night if she loved the man beside her? +Ruggiero thought not, any more than he would ever be weary of being near +her to steer the boat that bore her--even for ever. + +"It is so beautiful," said San Miniato. + +Beatrice said nothing, but made an impatient movement that betrayed that +she was displeased. + +"Home, Ruggiero," said San Miniato's voice. + +"Make sail!" Ruggiero called out, he himself hauling out the mizzen. A +minute later the sails filled and the boat sped out over the smooth +water, white-winged as a sea-bird under the great summer moon. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + +It was late on the following morning when the Marchesa came out upon her +curtained terrace, moving slowly, her hands hanging listlessly down, her +eyes half closed, as though regretting the sleep she might be still +enjoying. Beatrice was sitting by a table, an open book beside her which +she was not reading, and she hardly noticed her mother's light step. The +young girl had spent a sleepless night, and for the first time since she +had been a child a few tears had wet her pillow. She could not have told +exactly why she had cried, for she had not felt anything like sadness, +and tears were altogether foreign to her nature. But the unsought return +of all the impressions of the evening had affected her strangely, and +she felt all at once shame, anger and regret--shame at having been so +easily deceived by the play of a man's face and voice, anger against him +for the part he had acted, and regret for something unknown but dreamt +of and almost understood, and which could never be. She was too young +and girlish to understand that her eyes had been opened upon the +workings of the human heart. She had seen two sights which neither man +nor woman can ever forget, love and love's counterfeit presentment, and +both were stamped indelibly upon the unspotted page of her maiden +memory. + +She had seen a man whom she had hitherto liked, and whom she had +unconsciously respected for a certain dignity he seemed to have, degrade +himself--and for money's sake, as she rightly judged--to the playing of +a pitiful comedy. As the whole scene came back to her in all +distinctness, she traced the deception from first to last with amazing +certainty of comprehension, and she knew that San Miniato had wilfully +and intentionally laid a plot to work upon her feelings and to produce +the result he had obtained--a poor result enough, if he had known the +whole truth, yet one of which Beatrice was sorely ashamed. She had been +deceived into the expression of something which she had never felt--and +which, this morning, seemed further from her than ever before. It was +bitter to think that any man could say she had uttered those three +words "I love you," when there was less truth in them than in the +commonest, most pardonable social lie. He had planned the excursion, +knowing how beautiful things in nature affected her, knowing exactly at +what point the moon would rise, precisely at what hour that mysterious +light would gleam upon the water, knowing the magic of the place and +counting upon it to supplement his acting where it lacked reality. It +had been clever of him to think it out so carefully, to plan each detail +so thoughtfully, to behave so naturally until his opportunity was all +prepared and ready for him. But for one little mistake, one moment's +forgetfulness of tact, the impression might have remained and grown in +distinctness until it would have secured the imprint of a strong reality +at the beginning of a new volume in her life, to which she could always +look back in the hereafter as to something true and sweet to be thought +of. But his tact had failed him at the critical and supreme moment when +he had got what he wanted and had not known how to keep it, even for an +hour. And his mistake had been followed by a strange accident which had +revealed to Beatrice the very core of a poor human heart that was +beating itself to death, in true earnest, for her sake. + +She had seen what many a woman longs for but may never look upon. She +had seen a man, brave, strong, simple and true, with the death mark of +his love for her upon his face. What matter if he were but an unlettered +sailor, scarcely knowing what moved him nor the words he spoke? Beatrice +was a woman and, womanlike, she knew without proof or testimony that his +heart and hands were clean of the few sins which woman really despises +in man. + +They are not many--be it said in honour of womanly generosity and +kindness--they are not many, those bad deeds which a woman cannot +forgive, and that she is right is truly shown in that those are the sins +which the most manly men despise in others. They are, I think, +cowardice, lying for selfish ends, betraying tales of woman's +weakness--almost the greatest of crimes--and, greatest of all, +faithlessness in love. + +Let a man be brave, honest, discreet, faithful, and a woman will forgive +him all manner of evil actions, even to murder and bloodshed; but let +him flinch in danger, lie to save himself, tell the name of a woman +whose love for him has betrayed her, or break his faith to her without +boldly saying that he loves her no more, and she will not forgive him +while he lives, though she may give him a kindly thought and a few tears +when he is gone for ever. + +So Beatrice, who could never love Ruggiero, understood him well and +judged him rightly, and set him up on a sort of pedestal as the +anti-type of his scheming master. And not only this. She felt deeply for +him and pitied him with all her heart, since she had seen his own almost +breaking before her eyes for her sake. She had always been kind to him, +but henceforth there would be something even kinder in her voice when +she spoke to him, as there would be something harder in her tone when +she talked with San Miniato. + +And now her mother had appeared and settled herself in her lazy way upon +her long chair, and slowly moved her fan, from habit, though too +indolent to lift it to her face. Beatrice rose and kissed her lightly on +the forehead. + +"Good morning, mamma carissima," she said. "Are you very tired after the +excursion?" + +"Exhausted, in mind and body, my angel. A cigarette, my dear--it will +give me an appetite." + +Beatrice brought her one, and held a match for her mother. Then the +Marchesa shut her eyes, inhaled the smoke and blew out four or five +puffs before speaking again. + +"I want to speak to you, my child," she said at last, "but I hardly have +the strength." + +"Do not tire yourself, mamma. I know what you are going to say, and I +have made up my mind." + +"Have you? That will save me infinite trouble. I am so glad." + +"Are you really? Do you know what I mean?" + +"Of course. You are going to marry San Miniato, and we have the best +excuse in the world for going to Paris to see about your trousseau." + +"I will not marry San Miniato," said Beatrice. "I have made up my mind +that I will not." + +The Marchesa started slightly as she took her cigarette from her lips, +and turned her head slowly so that she could look into Beatrice's eyes. + +"You are engaged to marry him," she said slowly. "You cannot break your +word. You know what that means. Indeed, you are quite mad!" + +"Engaged? I? I never gave my word! It is not true!" The blood rose, in +Beatrice's face and then sank suddenly away. + +"What is this comedy?" asked the Marchesa, raising her brows. For the +first time in many years she was almost angry. + +"Ah! If you ask me that, I will tell you. I will tell you everything and +you know that I speak the truth to you as I do to everybody--" + +"Except to San Miniato when you tell him you love him," interrupted the +Marchesa. + +Beatrice blushed again, with anger this time. + +"Yes," she said, after a short pause, "it is quite true that I said I +loved him, and for one moment I meant it. But I made a mistake. I am +sorry, and I will tell him so. But I will tell him other things, too. I +will tell him that I saw through his acting before we left Tragara last +night, and that I will never forgive him for the part he played. You +know as well as I that it was all a play, from beginning to end. I liked +him better than the others because I thought him more manly, more +honest, more dignified. But I have changed my mind. I see the whole +truth now, every detail of it. He planned it all, and he did it very +well--probably he planned it the night before last, out here with you, +while I was playing waltzes. You could not make me marry him, and he got +leave of you to speak to me. Do you think I do not understand it all? +Would you have let me go away last night and sit with him on the rocks, +out of your hearing, without so much as a remark, unless you had +arranged the matter between you? It is not like you, and I know you +meant it. It was all a plot. He had even been there to study the place, +to see the very point at which the moon would rise, the very place where +he would make me sit, the very spot where your table could stand. He +said to himself that I was a mere girl, that of course no man had ever +made love to me and that between the beauty of the night, my liking for +him, and his well arranged comedy, he might easily move me. He did. I am +ashamed of it. Look at the blood in my cheeks! That tells the truth, at +all events. I am utterly ashamed. I would give my right hand to have not +spoken those words! I would almost give my life to undo yesterday if it +could be undone--and undo it I will, so far as I can. I will tell San +Miniato what I think of myself, and then I will tell him what I think of +him, and that will be enough. Do you understand me? I am in earnest." + +The Marchesa had listened to Beatrice's long speech with open eyes, +surprised at the girl's keenness and at her determined manner. Not that +the latter was new in her experience, but it was the first time that +their two wills had been directly opposed in a matter of great +importance. The Marchesa was a very indolent person, but somewhere in +her nature there lay hidden a small store of determination which had +hardly ever expressed itself clearly in her life. Now, however, she felt +that much was at stake. For many reasons San Miniato was precisely the +son-in-law she desired. He would give Beatrice an ancient and +honourable name, a leading position in any Italian society he chose to +frequent, whether in the north or the south, and he was a man of the +world at all points. The last consideration had much weight with the +Marchesa who, in spite of her title and fortune had seen very little of +the men of the great world, and admired them accordingly. Therefore when +Beatrice said she would not marry him, her mother made up her mind that +she should, and the struggle commenced. + +"Beatrice, my angel," she began, "you are mistaken in yourself and in +San Miniato. I am quite unable to go through all the details as you have +done. I only say that you are mistaken." + +Beatrice's lip curled a little and she slowly shook her head. + +"I am not mistaken, mamma," she answered. "I am quite right, and you +know it. Can you deny that what I say is true? Can you say that you did +not arrange with him to take me to Tragara, and to let him speak to me +himself?" + +"It is far too much trouble to deny anything, my dear child. But all +that may be quite true, and yet he may love you as sincerely as he can +love any one. I do not suppose you expect a man of his sense and +education to roll himself at your feet and tear his hair and his clothes +as they do on the stage." + +"A man need not do that to show that he is in earnest, and besides he--" + +"That is not the question," interrupted the Marchesa. "The real question +concerns you much more than it affects him. If you break your promise--" + +"There was no promise." + +"You told him that you loved him, and you admit it. Under the +circumstances that meant that you were willing to marry him. It meant +nothing else, as you know very well." + +"I never thought of it." + +"You must think of it now. You know perfectly well that he wished to +marry you and had my consent. I have spoken to you several times about +it and you refused to have him, saying that you meant to exercise your +own free will. You had an opportunity of exercising it last night. You +told him clearly that you loved him, and that could only mean that your +opposition was gone and that you would marry him. You know what you +will be called now, if you refuse to keep your engagement." + +Beatrice grew slowly pale. Her mother had, for once, a remarkably direct +and clear way of putting the matter, and the young girl began to waver. +If her mother succeeded in proving to her that she had really bound +herself, she would submit. It is not easy to convey to the foreign mind +generally the enormous importance which is attached in Italy to a +distinct promise of marriage. It indeed almost amounts, morally +speaking, to marriage itself, and the breaking of it is looked upon +socially almost as an act of infidelity to the marriage bond. A young +girl who refuses to keep her engagement is called a civetta--an +owlet--probably because owlets are used as a decoy all over the country +in snaring and shooting all small birds. Be that as it may, the term is +a bitter reproach, it sticks to her who has earned it and often ruins +her whole life. That is what the Marchesa meant when she told Beatrice +that she knew what the world would call her, and the threat had weight. + + +The young girl rose from her seat and began to walk to and fro on the +terrace, her head bent, her hands clasped together. The Marchesa slowly +puffed at her cigarette and watched her daughter with half-closed eyes. + +"I never meant it so!" Beatrice exclaimed in low tones, and she repeated +the words again and again, pausing now and then and looking fixedly at +her mother. + +"Dear child," said the Marchesa, "what does it matter? If it were not +such an exertion to talk, I am sure I could make you see what a good +match it is, and how glad you ought to be." + +"Glad! Oh, mamma, you do not understand! The degradation of it!" + +"The degradation? Where is there anything degrading in it?" + +"I see it well enough! To give myself up body and soul to a man I do not +love! And for what? Because he has an old name, and I a new one, and I +can buy his name with my money. Oh, mother, it is too horrible! Too low! +Too vile!" + +"My angel, you do not know what strong words you are using--" + +"They are not half strong enough--I wish I could--" + +But she stopped and began to walk up and down again, her sweet young +face pale and weary with pain, her fingers twisting each other +nervously. A long silence followed. + +"It is of no use to talk about it, my child," said the Marchesa, +languidly taking up a novel from the table beside her. "The thing is +done. You are engaged, and you must either marry San Miniato or take the +consequences and be pointed at as a faithless girl for the rest of your +life." + +"And who knows of this engagement, if it is one, but you and I and he?" +asked Beatrice, standing still. "Would you tell, or I? Or would he +dare?" + +"He would be perfectly justified," answered the Marchesa. "He is a +gentleman, however, and would be considerate. But who is to assure us +that he has not already telegraphed the good news to his friends?" + +"It is too awful!" cried Beatrice, leaning back against one of the +pillars. + +"Besides," said her mother without changing her tone. "You have changed +to-day, you may change again to-morrow--" + +"Stop, for heaven's sake! Do not make me worse than I am!" + +Poor Beatrice stopped her ears with her open hands. The Marchesa looked +at her and smiled a little, and shook her head, waiting for the hands to +be removed. At last the young girl began her walk again. + +"You should not talk about being worse when you are not bad at all, my +dear," said her mother. "You have done nothing to be ashamed of, and all +this is perfectly absurd. You feel a passing dislike for the idea +perhaps, but that will be gone to-morrow. Meanwhile the one thing which +is really sure is that you are engaged to San Miniato, who, as I say, +has undoubtedly telegraphed the fact to his sister in Florence and +probably to two or three old friends. By to-morrow it will be in the +newspapers. You cannot possibly draw back. I have really talked enough. +I am utterly exhausted." + +Beatrice sank into a chair and pressed her fingers upon her eyes, not to +hide them, but by sheer pressure forcing back the tears she felt coming. +Her beautiful young figure bent and trembled like a willow in the wind, +and the soft white throat swelled with the choking sob she kept down so +bravely. There is something half divine in the grief of some women. + +"Dear child," said her mother very gently, "there is nothing to cry +over. Beatrice carissima, try and control yourself. It will soon pass--" + +"It will soon pass--yes," answered the young girl, bringing out the +words with a great effort. During fully two minutes more she pressed her +eyes with all her might. Then she rose suddenly to her feet, and her +face was almost calm again. + +"I will marry him, since what I never meant for a promise really is one +and has seemed so to you and to him. But if I am a faithless wife to +him, I will lay all my sins at your door." + +"Beatrice!" cried the Marchesa, in real horror this time. She crossed +herself. + +"I am young--shall I not love?" asked the young girl defiantly. + +"Dearest child, for the love of Heaven do not talk so--" + +"No--I will not. I will never say it again--and you will not forget it." + + +She turned to leave the terrace and met San Miniato face to face. + +"Good morning," she said coldly, and passed him. + +"Of course you have telegraphed the news of the engagement to your +sister?" said the Marchesa as soon as she saw him, and making a sign to +intimate that he must answer in the affirmative. + +"Of course--and to all my best friends," he replied promptly with a +ready smile. Beatrice heard his answer just as she passed through the +door, but she did not turn her head. She guessed that her mother had +asked the question in haste in order that San Miniato might say +something which should definitely prove to Beatrice that he considered +himself betrothed. Yesterday she would have believed his answer. To-day +she believed nothing he said. She went to her room and bathed her eyes +in cold water and sat down for a moment before her glass and looked at +herself thoughtfully. There she was, the same Beatrice she saw in the +mirror every day, the same clear brown eyes, the same soft brown hair, +the same broad, crayon-like eyebrows, the same free pose of the head. +But there was something different in the face, which she did not +recognise. There was something defiant in the eyes, and hard about the +mouth, which was new to her and did not altogether please her, though +she could not change it. She combed the little ringlets on her forehead +and dabbed a little scent upon her temples to cool them, and then she +rose quickly and went out. A thought had struck her and she at once put +into execution the plan it suggested. + +She took a parasol and went out of the hotel, hatless and gloveless, +into the garden of orange trees which lies between the buildings and the +gate. She strolled leisurely along the path towards the exit, on one +side of which is the porter's lodge, while the little square stone box +of a building which is the telegraph office stands on the other. She +knew that just before twelve o'clock Ruggiero and his brother were +generally seated on the bench before the lodge waiting for orders for +the afternoon. As she expected, she found them, and she beckoned to +Ruggiero and turned back under the trees. In an instant he was at her +side. She was startled to see how pale he was and how suddenly his face +seemed to have grown thin. She stopped and he stood respectfully before +her, cap in hand, looking down. + +"Ruggiero," she said, "will you do me a service?" + +"Yes, Excellency." + +"Yes, I know--but it is something especial. You must tell no one--not +even your brother." + +"Speak, Excellency--not even the stones shall hear it." + +"I want you to find out at the telegraph office whether your master has +sent a telegram anywhere this morning. Can you ask the man and bring me +word here? I will walk about under the trees." + +"At once, Excellency." + +He turned and left her, and she strolled up the path. She wondered a +little why she was doing this underhand thing. It was not like her, and +whatever answer Ruggiero brought her she would gain nothing by it. If +San Miniato had spoken the truth, then he had really believed the +engagement already binding, as her mother had said. If he had lied, that +would not prevent his really telegraphing within the next half hour, +and matters would be in just the same situation with a slight difference +of time. She would, indeed, in this latter case, have a fresh proof of +his duplicity. But she needed none, as it seemed to her. It was enough +that he should have acted his comedy last night and got by a stratagem +what he could never have by any other means. Ruggiero returned after two +or three minutes. + +"Well?" inquired Beatrice. + +"He sent one at nine o'clock this morning, Excellency." + +For one minute their eyes met. Ruggiero's were fierce, bright and clear. +Beatrice's own softened almost imperceptibly under his glance. If she +had seen herself at that moment she would have noticed that the hard +look she had observed in her own face had momentarily vanished, and that +she was her gentle self again. + +"One only?" she asked. + +"Only one, Excellency. No one will know that I have asked, for the man +will not tell." + +"Are you sure? What did you say to him? Tell me." + +"I said to him, 'Don Gennaro, I am the Conte di San Miniato's sailor. +Has the Conte sent any telegram this morning, to any one, anywhere?' +Then he shook his head; but he looked into his book and said, 'He sent +one to Florence at nine o'clock.' Then I said, 'I thank you, Don +Gennaro, and I will do you a service when I can.' That was for good +manners. Then I said, 'Don Gennaro, please not to tell any one that I +asked the question, and if you tell any one I will make you die an evil +death, for I will break all your bones and moreover drown you in the +sea, and go to the galleys very gladly.' Then Don Gennaro said that he +would not tell. And here I am, Excellency." + +In spite of all she was suffering, Beatrice laughed at Ruggiero's +account of the interview. It was quite evident that Ruggiero had +repeated accurately every word that had been spoken, and he looked the +man to execute the threat without the slightest hesitation. Beatrice +wondered how the telegraph official had taken it. + +"What did Don Gennaro do when you frightened him, Ruggiero?" she asked. + +"He said he would not tell and got a little white, Excellency. But he +will say nothing, and will not complain to the syndic, because he knows +my brother." + +"What has that to do with it?" asked Beatrice with some curiosity. + +"It is natural, Excellency. For if Don Gennaro went to the syndic and +said, 'Signor Sindaco, Ruggiero of the Children of the King has +threatened to kill me,' then the syndic would send for the gendarmes and +say, 'Take that Ruggiero of the Children of the King and put him in, as +we say, and see that he does not run away, for he will do a hurt to +somebody.' And perhaps they would catch me and perhaps they would not. +Then Bastianello, my brother, would wait in the road in the evening for +Don Gennaro, and would lay a hand on him, perhaps, or both. And I think +that Don Gennaro would rather be dead in his telegraph office than alive +in Bastianello's hands, because Bastianello is very strong in his hands, +Excellency. And that is all the truth." + +"But I do not understand it all, Ruggiero, though I see what you mean. I +am afraid it is your language that is different from mine." + +"It is natural, Excellency," answered the sailor, a deep blush spreading +over his white forehead as he stood bareheaded before her. "You are a +great lady and I am only an ignorant seaman." + +"I do not mean anything of the sort, Ruggiero," said Beatrice quickly, +for she saw that she had unintentionally hurt him, and the thought +pained her strongly. "You speak very well and I have always understood +you perfectly. But you spoke of the King's Children and I could not make +out what they had to do with the story." + +"Oh, if it is that, Excellency, I ask your pardon. I do not wonder that +you did not understand. It is my name, Excellency." + +"Your name? Still I do not understand---" + +"I have no other name but that--dei figli del Rè--" said Ruggiero. "That +is all." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Beatrice. + +"It is the truth, Excellency, and to show you that it is the truth here +is my seaman's license." + +He produced a little flat parchment case from his pocket, untied the +thong and showed Beatrice the first page on which, was inscribed his +name in full. + +"Ruggiero of the Children of the King, son of the late Ruggiero, native +of Verbicaro, province of Calabria--you see, Excellency. It is the +truth." + +"I never doubt anything you say, Ruggiero," said Beatrice quietly. + +"I thank you, Excellency," answered the sailor, blushing this time with +pleasure. "For this and all your Excellency's kindness." + +What a man he was she thought, as he stood there before her, bareheaded +in the sun-shot shade under the trees, the light playing upon his fair +hair and beard, and his blue eyes gleaming like drops from the sea! What +boys and dwarfs other men looked beside him! + +"Do you know how your family came by that strange name, Ruggiero?" she +asked. + +"No, Excellency. But they tell so many silly stories about us in +Verbicaro. That is in Calabria where I and my brother were born. And +when our mother, blessed soul, was dying--good health to your +Excellency--she blessed us and said this to us. 'Ruggiero, Sebastiano, +dear sons, you could not save me and I am going. God bless you,' said +she. 'Our Lady help you. Remember, you are the Children of the King.' +Then she said, 'Remember' again, as though she would say something more. +But just at that very moment Christ took her, and she did not speak +again, for she was dead--good health to your Excellency for a thousand +years. And so it was." + +"And what happened then?" asked Beatrice, strangely interested and +charmed by the man's simple story. + +"Then we beat Don Pietro Casale, Excellency, and spoiled all his face +and head. We were little boys, twelve and ten years old, but there was +the anger to give us strength. And so we ran away from Verbicaro, +because we had no one and we had to eat, and had beaten Don Pietro +Casale, who would have had us put in prison if he had caught us. But +thanks to Heaven we had good legs. And so we ran away, Excellency." + +"It is very interesting. But what were those stories they told about you +in Verbicaro?" + +"Silly stories, Excellency. They say that once upon a time King Roger +came riding by with all his army and many knights; and all armed +because there was war. And he took Verbicaro from the Turks and gave it +to a son of his who was called the Son of the King, as I would give +Bastianello half a cigar or a pipe of tobacco in the morning--it is true +he always has his own--and so the Son of the King stayed in that place +and lived there, and I have heard old men say that when their +fathers--who were also old, Excellency--were boys, many houses in +Verbicaro belonged to the Children of the King. But then they ate +everything and we have had nothing but these two hands and these two +arms and now we go about seeking to eat. But thanks to Heaven--and +to-day is Saturday--we have been able to work enough. And that is the +truth, Excellency." + +"What a strange tale!" exclaimed the young girl. "But to-day is Tuesday, +Ruggiero. Why do you say it is Saturday?" + +"I beg pardon of your Excellency, it is a silly custom and means +nothing. But when a man says he is well, or that there is a west wind, +or that his boat is sound, he says 'to-day is Saturday,' because it +might be Friday and he might have forgotten that. It is a silly custom, +Excellency." + +"Do not call me excellency, Ruggiero," said Beatrice. "I have no right +to be called so." + +"And what could I call you when I have to speak to you, Excellency? I +have been taught so." + +"Only princes and dukes and their children are excellencies," answered +Beatrice. "My father was only a Marchese. So if you wish to please me, +call me 'signorina.' That is the proper way to speak to me." + +"I will try, Excellency," answered Ruggiero, opening his blue eyes very +wide. Beatrice laughed a little. + +"You see," she said, "you did it again." + +"Yes, Signorina," replied Ruggiero. "But I will not forget again. When +the tongue of the ignorant has learned a word it is hard to change it." + +"Well, good-day Ruggiero. Your story is very interesting. I am going to +breakfast, and I thank you for what you did for me." + +"It is not I who deserve any thanks. And good appetite to you, +Signorina." She turned and walked slowly back towards the hotel. + +"And may Our Lady bless you and keep you, and send an angel to watch +over every hair of your blessed head!" said Ruggiero in a low voice as +he watched her graceful figure retreating in the distance. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + +After what had happened on the previous evening Ruggiero had expected +that Beatrice would treat him very differently. He had assuredly not +foreseen that she would call him from his seat by the porter's lodge, +ask an important service of him, and then enter into conversation with +him about the origin of his family and the story of his own life. His +slow but logical mind pondered on these things in spite of the +disordered action of his heart, which had almost choked him while he had +been talking with the young girl. Instead of going back to his brother, +he turned aside and entered the steep descending tunnel through the rock +which leads down to the sea and the little harbour. + +Two things were strongly impressed on his mind. First, the nature of the +service he had done Beatrice in making that enquiry at the telegraph +office, and secondly her readiness to forget his own reckless conduct at +Tragara. Both these points suggested reflections which pleased him +strangely. It was quite clear to him that Beatrice distrusted San +Miniato, though he had of course no idea of the nature of the telegram +concerning which she had wanted information. He only understood that she +was watching San Miniato with suspicion, expecting some sort of foul +play. But there was an immense satisfaction in that thought, and +Ruggiero's eyes sparkled as he revolved it in his brain. + +As for the other matter, he understood it less clearly. He was quite +conscious of the enormity of his misdeed in telling a lady, and a great +lady, according to his view, that he loved her, and in daring to touch +the sleeves of her dress with his rough hands. He could not find it in +him to regret what he had done, but he was prepared for very hard +treatment as his just reward. It would not have surprised him if +Beatrice had then and there complained of him to her mother or to San +Miniato himself, and the latter, Ruggiero supposed, would have had no +difficulty in having him locked up in the town gaol for a few weeks on +the rather serious ground of misdemeanour towards the visitors at the +watering-place. A certain amount of rather arbitrary power is placed in +the hands of the local authorities in all great summer resorts, and it +is quite right that it should be so--nor is it as a rule unjustly used. + +But Beatrice had acted very differently, very kindly and very +generously. That was because she was naturally so good and gentle, +thought Ruggiero. But the least he had expected was that she would never +again speak to him save to give an order, nor say a kind word, no matter +what service he rendered her, or what danger he ran for her sake. And +now, a moment ago, she had talked with him with more interest and kindly +condescension than she had ever shown before. He refused, and rightly, +to believe that this was because she had needed his help in the matter +of the telegram. She could have called Bastianello, who was in her own +service, and Bastianello would have done just as well. But she had +chosen to employ the man who had so rudely forgotten himself before her +less than twenty-four hours earlier. Why? Ruggiero, little capable, by +natural gifts or by experience, of dealing with such questions, found +himself face to face with a great problem of the human self, and he +knew at once that he could never solve it, try as he might. His +happiness was none the less great, nor his gratitude the less deep and +sincere, and with both these grew up instantly in his heart the strong +determination to serve her at every turn, so far as lay in his power. + +It was not much that he could do, he reflected, unless she would show +him the way as she had done this very morning. But, considering the +position of affairs, and her evident distrust of her betrothed, it was +not impossible that similar situations might arise before long. If they +did, Ruggiero would be ready, as he had now shown himself, to do her +bidding with startling directness and energy. He was well aware of his +physical superiority over every one else in Sorrento, and he was dimly +conscious that a threat from him was something which would frighten most +men, and which none could afford to overlook. He remembered poor Don +Gennaro's face just now, when he had quietly told him what he might +expect if he did not hold his tongue. Ruggiero had never valued his life +very highly, and since he had loved Beatrice he did not value it a +straw. This state of mind can make a man an exceedingly dangerous +person, especially when he is so endowed that he can tear a new horse +shoe in two with his hands, and break a five franc piece with his thumbs +and forefingers as another man breaks a biscuit. + +As Ruggiero came out of the tunnel and reached the platform of rock from +which the last part of the descent goes down to the sea in the open air, +he stood still a moment and expressed his determination in a low tone. +There was no one near to hear him. + +"Whatever she asks," he said. "Truly it is of great importance what +becomes of me! If it is a little thing it costs nothing. If it is a +great thing--well, I will do it if I can. Then I will say, +'Excellency'--no--'Signorina, here it is done. And I beg to kiss your +Excellency's hand, because I am going to the galleys and you will not +see me any more.' And then they will put me in, and it will be finished, +and I shall always have the satisfaction." + +Ruggiero produced a fragment of a cigar from his cap and a match from +the same safe place and began to smoke, looking at the sea. People not +used to the peculiarities of southern thought would perhaps have been +surprised at the desperate simplicity of Ruggiero's statement to +himself. But those who have been long familiar with men of his country +and class must all have heard exactly such words uttered more than once +in their experience, and will remember that in some cases at least they +were not empty threats, which were afterwards very exactly and +conscientiously fulfilled by him who uttered them, and who now either +wears a green cap at Ponza or Ischia, or is making a fortune in South +America, having had the luck to escape as a stowaway on a foreign +vessel. + +Nor did it strike Ruggiero as at all improbable that Beatrice might some +day wish to be rid of the Conte di San Miniato, and might express such a +wish, ever so vaguely, within Ruggiero's hearing. He had the bad taste +to judge her by himself, and of course if she really hated her betrothed +she would wish him to die. It was a sin, doubtless, to wish anybody +dead, and it was a greater sin to put out one's hands and kill the +person in question. But it was human nature, according to Ruggiero's +simple view, and of course Beatrice felt like other human beings in +this matter and all the principal affairs of life. He had made up his +mind, and he never repeated the words he had spoken to himself. He was a +simple man, and he puffed at his stump of a black cigar and strolled +down to the boat to find out whether the Cripple and the Son of the Fool +had spliced that old spare mooring-rope which had done duty last night +and had been found chafed this morning. + +Meanwhile the human nature on which Ruggiero counted so naturally and +confidently was going through a rather strange phase of development in +the upper regions where the Marchesa's terrace was situated. + +Beatrice walked slowly back under the trees. Ruggiero's quaint talk had +amused her and had momentarily diverted the current of her thoughts. But +the moment she left him, her mind reverted to her immediate trouble, and +she felt a little stab of pain at the heart which was new to her. The +news that San Miniato had actually sent a telegram was unwelcome in the +extreme. He had, indeed, said in her presence that he had sent several. +But that might have been a careless inaccuracy, or he might have +actually written the rest and given them to be despatched before coming +upstairs. To doubt that the one message already sent contained the news +of his engagement, seemed gratuitous. It was only too sure that he had +looked upon what had passed at Tragara as a final decision on the part +of Beatrice, and that henceforth she was his affianced bride. Her mother +had not even found great difficulty in persuading her of the fact, and +after that one bitter struggle she had given up the battle. It had been +bitter indeed while it had lasted, and some of the bitterness returned +upon her now. But she would not again need to force the tears back, +pressing her hands upon her eyes with desperate strength as she had +done. It was useless to cry over what could not be helped, and since she +had made the great mistake of her life she must keep her word or lose +her good name for ever, according to the ideas in which she had been +brought up. But it would be very hard to meet San Miniato now, within +the next quarter of an hour, as she inevitably must. Less hard, perhaps, +than if she had convicted him of falsehood in the matter of the +telegram, as she had fully expected that she could--but painful enough, +heaven knew. + +There was an old trace of oriental fatalism in her nature, passed down +to her, perhaps, from some Saracen ancestor in the unknown genealogy of +her family. It is common enough in the south, often profoundly leavened +with superstition, sometimes existing side by side with the most +absolute scepticism, but its influence is undeniable, and accounts for a +certain resignation in hopeless cases which would be utterly foreign to +the northern character. Beatrice had it, and having got the worst of the +first contest she conceived that further resistance would be wholly +useless, and accepted the inevitable conclusion that she must marry San +Miniato whether she liked him or not. But this state of mind did not by +any means imply that she would marry him with a good grace, or ever +again return in her behaviour towards him to the point she had reached +on the previous evening. That, thought Beatrice, would be too much to +expect, and was certainly more than she intended to give. She would be +quite willing to show that she had been deceived into consenting, and +was only keeping her word as a matter of principle. San Miniato might +think what he pleased. She knew that whatever she did, he would never +think of breaking off the engagement, since what he wanted was not +herself but her fortune. She shut her parasol with a rather vicious snap +as she went into the cool hall out of the sun, and the hard look in her +face was more accentuated than before, as she slowly ascended the steps. + +The conversation between her mother and San Miniato during her short +absence had been characteristic. They understood each other perfectly +but neither would have betrayed to the other, by the merest hint, the +certainty that the marriage was by no means agreeable to poor Beatrice +herself. + +"Dearest Marchesa," said San Miniato, touching her hand with his lips, +and then seating himself beside her, "tell me that you are not too much +exhausted after your exertions last night? Have you slept well? Have you +any appetite?" + +"What a good doctor you would make, dear friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa +with a little smile. + +And so they exchanged the amenities usual at their first meeting in the +day, as though they had not been buying and selling an innocent soul, +and did not appreciate the fact in its startling reality. Several more +phrases of the same kind were spoken. + +"And how is Donna Beatrice?" inquired San Miniato at last. + +"Why not call her Beatrice?" asked the Marchesa carelessly. "She is very +well. You just saw her." + +"I fancy it would seem a little premature, a little familiar to call her +so," answered the Count, who remembered his recent discomfiture. "For +the present, I believe she would prefer a little more ceremony. I do not +know whether I am right. Pray give me your advice, Marchesa carissima." + +"Of course you are right--you always are. You were right about the moon +yesterday--though I did not notice that it was shining here when we came +home," she added thoughtfully, not by any means satisfied with the +insufficient demonstration he had given her at first. + +"No doubt," replied San Miniato indifferently. He took no further +interest in the movements of the satellite since he had gained his +point, and the Marchesa was far too lazy to revive the discussion. "I am +glad you agree with me about my behaviour," he continued. "It is of +course most important to maintain as much as possible the good +impression I was so fortunate as to make last night, and I have had +enough experience of the world to know that it will not be an easy +matter." + +"No, indeed--and with Beatrice's character, too!" + +"The most charming character I ever met," said San Miniato with +sufficient warmth. "But young, of course, as it should be and subject to +the enchanting little caprices which belong to youth and beauty." + +"Yes, which always belong to youth and beauty," assented the Marchesa. + +"And I am quite prepared, for instance, to be treated coldly to-day and +warmly to-morrow, if it so pleases the dear young lady. She will always +find me the same." + +"How good you are, dearest friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa, thoroughly +understanding what he meant, and grateful to him for his tact, which was +sometimes, indeed, of the highest order. + +"It would be strange if I were not happy and satisfied," he answered, +"and ready to accept gratefully the smallest favour with which it may +please Donna Beatrice to honor me." + +He was indeed both happy and satisfied, for he saw no reason to suppose +that the Granmichele fortune could now slip from his grasp. Moreover he +had considerable confidence in himself and his powers, and he thought it +quite probable that the scene of the previous evening might before long +be renewed with more lasting effect. Beatrice was young and capricious; +there is nothing one may count on so surely as youth and caprice. +Caprice is sure to change, but who is sure that the faith kept for ten +years will not? In youth love is sure to come some day, but when that +day is past is it ever sure that he will come again? San Miniato knew +these things and many more like them, and was wise in his generation as +well as a man of the world, accustomed to its ways from his childhood +and nourished with the sour milk of its wisdom from his earliest youth +upward. + +So he quietly conveyed to the Marchesa the information that he +understood Beatrice's present mood and that he would not attach more +importance to it than it deserved. They talked a little longer together, +both for the present avoiding any reference to the important +arrangements which must soon be discussed in connection with the +marriage contract, but both taking it entirely for granted that the +marriage itself was quite agreed upon and settled. + +Then Beatrice returned and sat down silently by the table. + +"Have you been for a little walk, my angel?" enquired her mother. + +"Yes, mamma, I have been for a little walk." + +"You are not tired then, after our excursion, Donna Beatrice?" enquired +San Miniato. + +"Not in the least," answered the young girl, taking up a book and +beginning to read. + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed her mother in amazement. "My child! What are you +reading! Maupassant! Have you quite forgotten yourself?" + +"I am trying to, mamma. And since I am to be married--what difference +does it make?" + +She spoke without laying down the volume. San Miniato pretended to pay +no attention to the incident, and slowly rolled a fat cigarette between +his fingers to soften it before smoking. The Marchesa made gestures to +Beatrice with an unusual expenditure of energy, but with no effect. + +"It seems very interesting," said the latter. "I had no idea he wrote so +well. It seems to be quite different from Télémaque--more amusing in +every way." + +Then the Marchesa did what she had not done in many years. She asserted +her parental authority. Very lazily she put her feet to the ground, laid +her fan, her handkerchief and her cigarette case together, and rose to +her feet. Coming round the table she took the forbidden book out of +Beatrice's hands, shut it up and put it back in its place. Beatrice made +no opposition, but raised her broad eyebrows wearily and folded her +hands in her lap. + +"Of course, if you insist, I have nothing to say," she remarked, "any +more than I have anything to do since you will not let me read." + +The Marchesa went back to her lounge and carefully arranged her +belongings and settled herself comfortably before she spoke. + +"I think you are a little out of temper, Beatrice dear, or perhaps you +are hungry, my child. You so often are. San Miniato, what time is it?" + +"A quarter before twelve," answered the Count. + +"Of course you will breakfast with us. Ring the bell, dearest friend. We +will not wait any longer." + +San Miniato rose and touched the button. + +"You are as hospitable as you are good," he said. "But if you will +forgive me, I will not accept your invitation to-day. An old friend of +mine is at the other hotel for a few hours and I have promised to +breakfast with him. Will you excuse me?" + +Beatrice made an almost imperceptible gesture of indifference with her +hand. + +"Who is your friend?" she asked. + +"A Piedmontese," answered San Miniato indifferently. "You do not know +him." + +"We are very sorry to lose you, especially to-day, San Miniato +carissimo," said the Marchesa. "But if it cannot be helped--well, +good-bye." + +So San Miniato went out and left the mother and daughter together again +as he had found them. It is needless to say that the Piedmontese friend +was a fiction, and that San Miniato had no engagement of that kind. He +had hastily resolved to keep one of a different nature because he +guessed that in Beatrice's present temper he would make matters more +difficult by staying. And in this he was right, for Beatrice had made up +her mind to be thoroughly disagreeable and she possessed the elements of +success requisite for that purpose--a sharp tongue, a quick instinct and +great presence of mind. + +San Miniato descended the stairs and strolled out into the orange +garden, looking at his watch as he left the door of the hotel. It was +very hot, but further away from the house the sea breeze was blowing +through the trees. He was still smoking the cigarette he had lighted +upstairs, and he sat down on a bench in the shade, took out a pocket +book and began to make notes. From time to time he looked along the +path in the direction of the hotel, which was hidden from view by the +shrubbery. Then the clock struck twelve and a few minutes later the +church bells began to ring, as they do half a dozen times a day in Italy +on small provocation. Still San Miniato went on with his calculations. + +Before many minutes more had passed, a trim young figure appeared in the +path--a young girl, with pink cheeks and bright dark eyes, no other than +Teresina, the Marchesa's maid. She carried some sewing in her hand and +looked nervously behind her and to the right and left as she walked. But +there was no one in the garden at that hour. The guests of the hotel +were all at breakfast, and the servants were either asleep or at work +indoors. The porter was at his dinner and the sailors were presumably +eating their midday bread and cheese down by the boats, or dining at +their homes if they lived near by. The breeze blew pleasantly through +the trees, making the broad polished leaves rustle and the little green +oranges rock on the boughs. + +As soon as San Miniato caught sight of Teresina he put his note-book +into his pocket and rose to his feet. His face betrayed neither +pleasure nor surprise as he sauntered along the path, until he was close +to her. Then both stopped, and he smiled, bending down and looking into +her eyes. + +"For charity's sake, Signor Conte!" cried the girl, drawing back, +blushing and looking behind her quickly. "I ought never to have come +here. Why did you make me come?" + +"What an idea, Teresina!" laughed San Miniato softly. "And if you ask me +why I wanted you to come, here is the reason. Now tell me, Teresinella, +is it a good reason or not?" + +Thereupon San Miniato produced from his waistcoat pocket a little limp +parcel wrapped in white tissue paper and laid it in Teresina's hand. It +was heavy, and she guessed that it contained something of gold. + +"What is it?" she asked quickly. "Am I to give it to the Signorina?" + +"To the Signorina!" San Miniato laughed softly again and laid his hand +very gently on the girl's arm. "Yes," he whispered, bending down to her. +"To the Signorina Teresinella, who can have all she asks for if she will +only care a little for me." + +"Heavens, Signor Conte!" cried Teresina. "Was it to say this that you +made me come?" + +"This and a great deal more, Teresina bella. Open your little parcel +while I tell you the rest. Who made you so pretty, carissima? Nature +knew what she was doing when she made those eyes of yours and those +bright cheeks, and those little hands and this small waist--per Dio--if +some one I know were as pretty as Teresinella, all Naples would be at +her feet!" + +He slipped his arm round her, there in the shade. Still she held the +package unopened in her hand. She grew a little pale, as he touched her, +and shrank away as though to avoid him, but evidently uncertain and +deeply disturbed. The poor girl's good and evil angels were busy +deciding her fate for her at that moment. + +"Open your little gift and see whether you like the reason I give you +for coming here," said San Miniato, who was pleased with the turn of the +phrase and thought it as well to repeat it. "Open it, Teresinella, +bella, bella--the first of as many as you like--and come and sit beside +me on the bench there and let me talk a little. I have so much to say to +you, all pretty things which you will like, and the hour is short, you +know." + +Poor girl! He was a fine gentleman with a very great name, as Teresina +knew, and he was young still and handsome, and had winning ways, and she +loved gold and pretty speeches dearly. She looked down, still shrinking +away from him, till she stood with her back to a tree. Her fresh young +face was almost white now and her eyelids trembled from time to time, +while her lips moved though she was not conscious of what she wanted to +say. + +"Ah, Teresina!" he exclaimed, with a nicely adjusted cadence of passion +in the tone. "What are you waiting for, my little angel? It is time to +love when one is young and the world is green, and your eyes are bright, +carina! When the heart beats and the blood is warm! And you are made for +love--that mouth of yours--like the red carnations--one kiss +Teresinella--that is all I ask--one kiss and no more,--here in the shade +while no one is looking--one kiss, carina mia--there is no sin in +kissing--" + +And he tried to draw her to him. But either Teresina was naturally a +very good girl, or her good angel had demolished his evil adversary in +the encounter which had taken place. There is an odd sort of fierce +loyalty very often to be found at the root of the Sicilian character. +She looked up suddenly and her eyes met his. She held out the little +package still unopened. + +"You have made a mistake, Signor Conte," she said, quietly enough. "I am +an honest girl, and though you are a great signore I will tell you that +if you had any honour you would not be making love to me out here in the +garden while you are paying court to the Signorina when you are in the +house, and doing your best to marry her. It is infamous enough, what you +are doing, and I am not afraid to tell you so. And take back your gold, +for I do not want it, and it is not clean! And so good-day, Signor +Conte, and many thanks. When you asked me to come here, I thought you +had some private message for the Signorina." + +During Teresina's speech San Miniato had not betrayed the slightest +surprise or disappointment. He quietly lighted a cigarette and smiled +good-humouredly all the time. + +"My dear Teresina," he said, when she had finished, "what in the world +do you think I wanted of you? Not only am I paying court to your +signorina, as you say, but I am already betrothed to her, since last +night. You did not know that?" + +"The greater the shame!" exclaimed the girl, growing angry. + +"Not at all, my dear child. On the contrary, it explains everything in +the most natural way. Is it not really natural that on the occasion of +my betrothal I should wish to give you a little remembrance, because you +have always been so obliging, and have been with the Marchesa since you +were a child? I could not do anything else, I am sure, and I beg you to +keep it and wear it. And as for my telling you that you are pretty and +young and fresh, I do not see why you need be so mortally offended at +that. However, Teresina, I am sorry if you misunderstood me. You will +keep the little chain?" + +"No, Signor Conte. Take it. And I do not believe a word you say." + +She held out the parcel to him, but he, still smiling, shook his head +and would not take it. Then she let it drop at his feet, and turned +quickly and left him. He watched her a moment, and his annoyance at his +discomfiture showed itself plainly enough, so soon as she was not there +to see it. Then he shrugged his shoulders, stooped and picked up the +package, restored it to his waistcoat pocket and went back to his bench. + +"It is a pity," he muttered, as he took out his note-book again. "It +would have been such good practice!" + +An hour later Bastianello was sitting alone in the boat, under the +awning, enjoying the cool breeze and wishing that the ladies would go +for a sail while it lasted, instead of waiting until late in the +afternoon as they generally did, at which time there was usually not a +breath of air on the water. He was smoking a clay pipe with a cane stem, +and he was thinking vaguely of Teresina, wondering whether Ruggiero +would never speak to her, and if he never did, whether he, Bastianello, +might not at last have his turn. + +A number of small boys were bathing in the bright sunshine, diving off +the stones of the breakwater and running along the short pier, brown +urchins with lithe thin limbs, matted black hair and beady eyes. +Suddenly Bastianello was aware of a small dark face and two little hands +holding upon the gunwale of his boat. He knew the boy very well, for he +was the son of the Son of the Fool. + +"Let go, Nennè!" he said; "do you take us for a bathing house?" + +"You have a beautiful pair of padroni, you and your brother," observed +Nennè, making a hideous face over the boat's side. + +Bastianello did not move, but stretched out his long arm to take up the +boat-hook, which lay within his reach. + +"If you had seen what I saw in the garden up there just now," continued +the small boy. "Madonna mia, what a business!" + +"Eh, you rascal? what did you see?" asked the sailor, turning the +boat-hook round and holding it so that he could rap the boy's knuckles +with the butt end of it. + +"There was the Count, who is Ruggiero's padrone, trying to kiss your +signora's maid, and offering her the gold, and she--yah!" Another +hideous grimace, apparently of delight, interrupted the narrative. + +"What did she do?" asked Bastianello quietly. But he grew a shade paler. + +"Eh? you want to know now, do you? What will you give me?" inquired the +urchin. + +"Half a cigar," said Bastianello, who knew the boy's vicious tastes, and +forthwith produced the bribe from his cap, holding it up for the other +to see. + +"What did she do? She threw down the gold and called him an infamous +liar to his face. A nice padrone Ruggiero has, who is called a liar and +an infamous one by serving maids. Well, give me the cigar." + +"Take it," said the sailor, rising and reaching out. + +The urchin stuck it between his teeth, nodded his thanks, lowered +himself gently into the water so as not to wet it, and swam cautiously +to the breakwater, holding his head in the air. + +Bastianello sat down again and continued to smoke his pipe. There was a +happy look in his bright blue eyes which had not been there before. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + + +Bastianello sat still in his boat, but he no longer looked to seaward, +facing the breeze. He kept an eye on the pier, looking out for his +brother, who had not appeared since the midday meal. The piece of +information he had just received was worth communicating, for it raised +Teresina very much in the eyes of Bastianello, and he did not doubt that +it would influence Ruggiero in the right direction. Bastianello, too, +was keen enough to see that anything which gave him an opportunity of +discussing the girl with his brother might be of advantage, in that it +might bring Ruggiero to the open expression of a settled purpose--either +to marry the girl or not. And if he once gave his word that he would +not, Bastianello would be no longer bound to suffer in silence as he had +suffered so many weeks. The younger of the brothers was less passionate, +less nervous and less easily moved in every way than the elder, but he +possessed much of the same general character and all of the same +fundamental good qualities--strength, courage and fidelity. In his +quiet way he was deeply and sincerely in love with Teresina, and meant, +if possible and if Ruggiero did not take her, to make her his wife. + +At last Ruggiero's tall figure appeared at the corner of the building +occupied by the coastguard station, and Bastianello immediately whistled +to him, giving a signal which had served the brothers since they were +children. Ruggiero started, turned his head and at once jumped into the +first boat he could lay hands on and pulled out alongside of his +brother. + +"What is it?" he asked, letting his oars swing astern and laying hold on +the gunwale of the sail boat. + +"About Teresina," answered Bastianello, taking his pipe from his mouth +and leaning towards his brother. "The son of the Son of the Fool was +swimming about here just now, and he hauled himself half aboard of me +and made faces. So I took the boat-hook to hit his fingers. And just +then he said to me, 'You have a beautiful pair of masters you and your +brother.' 'Why?' I asked, and I held the boat-hook ready. But I would +not have hurt the boy, because he is one of ours. So he told me that he +had just seen the Count up there in the garden of the hotel, trying to +kiss Teresina and offering her the gold, and I gave him half a cigar to +tell me the rest, because he would not, and made faces." + +"May he die murdered!" exclaimed Ruggiero in a low voice, his face as +white as canvas. + +"Wait a little, she is a good girl," answered Bastianello. "Teresina +threw the gold upon the ground and told the Count that he was an +infamous one and a liar. And then she went away. And I think the boy was +speaking the truth, because if it were a lie he would have spoken in +another way. For it was as easy to say that the Count kissed her as to +say that she would not let him, and he would have had the tobacco all +the same." + +"May he die of a stroke!" muttered Ruggiero. + +"But if I were in your place," said his brother calmly, "I would not do +anything to your padrone, because the girl is a good girl and gave him +the good answer, and as for him--" Bastianello shrugged his shoulders. + +"May the sharks get his body and the devil get his soul!" + +"That will be as it shall be," answered Bastianello. "And it is sure +that if God wills, the grampuses will eat him. But we do not know the +end. What I would say is this, that it is time you should speak to the +girl, because I see how white you get when we talk of her, and you are +consuming yourself and will have an illness, and though I could work for +both you and me, four arms are better than two, in summer as in winter. +Therefore I say, go and speak to her, for she will have you and she will +be better with you than near that apoplexy of a San Miniato." + +Ruggiero did not answer at once, but pulled out his pipe and filled it +and began to smoke. + +"Why should I speak?" he asked at last. There was a struggle in his +mind, for he did not wish to tell Bastianello outright that he did not +really care for Teresina. If he betrayed this fact it would be hard +hereafter to account for his own state, which was too apparent to be +concealed, especially from his brother, and he had no idea that the +latter loved the girl. + +"Why should you speak?" asked Bastianello, repeating the words, and +stirring the ashes in his pipe with the point of his knife. "Because if +you do not speak you will never get anything." + +"It will be the same if I do," observed Ruggiero stolidly. + +"I believe that very little," returned the other. "And I will tell you +something. If I were to speak to Teresina for you and say, 'Here is my +brother Ruggiero, who is not a great signore, but is well grown and has +two arms which are good, and a matter of seven or eight hundred francs +in the bank, and who is very fond of you, but he does not know how to +say it. Think well if you will have him,' I would say, 'and if you will +not, give me an honest answer and God bless you and let it be the end.' +That is how I would speak, and she would think about it for a week or +perhaps two, and then she would say to me, 'Bastianello, tell your +brother that I will have him.' Or else she would say, 'Bastianello, tell +your brother that I thank him, but that I have no heart in it.' That is +what she would say." + +"It may be," said Ruggiero carelessly. "But of course she would thank, +and say 'Who is this Ruggiero?' and besides, the world is full of +women." + +Bastianello was about to ask the interpretation of this rather +enigmatical speech when there was a stir on the pier and two or three +boats put out, the men standing in them and sculling them stern +foremost. + +"Who is it?" asked Bastianello of the boatman who passed nearest to him. + +"The Giovannina," answered the man. + +She had returned from her last voyage to Calabria, having taken macaroni +from Amalfi and bringing back wine of Verbicaro. A fine boat, the +Giovannina, able to carry twenty tons in any weather, and water-tight +too, being decked with hatches over which you can stretch and batten +down tarpaulin. A pretty sight as she ran up to the end of the +breakwater, old Luigione standing at the stern with the tiller between +his knees and the slack of the main-sheet in his hand. She was running +wing and wing, with her bright new sails spreading far over the water on +each side. Then came a rattle and a sharp creak as the main-yard swung +over and came down on deck, the men taking in the bellying canvas with +wide open arms and old Luigione catching the end of the yard on his +shoulder while he steered with his knees, his great gaunt profile black +against the bright sky. Down foresail, and the good felucca forges ahead +and rounds the little breakwater. Let go the anchor and she is at rest +after her long voyage. For the season has not been good and she has been +hauled on a dozen beaches before she could sell her cargo. The men are +all as brown as mahogany, and as lean as wolves, for it has been a +voyage with share and share alike for all the crew and they have starved +themselves to bring home more money to their wives. + +Then there is some bustle and confusion, as Luigione brings the papers +ashore and friends crowd around the felucca in boats, asking for news +and all talking at once. + +"We have been in your town, Ruggiero," said one of the men, looking down +into the little boat. + +"I hope you gave a message from me to Don Pietro Casale," answered +Ruggiero. + +"Health to us, Don Pietro is dead," said the man, "and his wife is not +likely to live long either." + +"Dead, eh?" cried Bastianello. "He is gone to show the saints the nose +we gave him when we were boys." + +"We can go back to Verbicaro when we please," observed Ruggiero with a +smile. + +"Lend a hand on board, will you?" said the sailor. + +So Ruggiero made the boat fast with the painter and both brothers +scrambled over the side of the felucca. They did not renew their +conversation concerning Teresina, and an hour or two later they went up +to the hotel to be in readiness for their masters, should the latter +wish to go out. Ruggiero sat down on a bench in the garden, but +Bastianello went into the house. + +In the corridor outside the Marchesa's rooms he met Teresina, who +stopped and spoke to him as she always did when she met him, for though +she admired both the brothers, she liked Bastianello better than she +knew--perhaps because he talked more and seemed to have a gentler +temper. + +"Good-day, Bastianello," she said, with a bright smile. + +"And good-day to you, Teresina," answered Bastianello. "Can you tell me +whether the padroni will go out to-day in the boat?" + +"I think they will not," answered the girl. "But I will ask. But I think +they will not, because there is the devil in the house to-day, and the +Signorina looks as though she would eat us all, and that is a bad sign." + +"What has happened?" asked Bastianello. "You can tell me, because I will +tell nobody." + +"The truth is this," answered Teresina, lowering her voice. "They have +betrothed her to the Count, and she does not like it. But if you say +anything--." She laughed a little and shook her finger at him. + +Bastianello threw his head back to signify that he would not repeat what +he had heard. Then he gazed into Teresina's eyes for a moment. + +"The Count is worse than an animal," he said quietly. + +"If you knew how true that is!" exclaimed Teresina, blushing deeply and +turning away. "I will ask the Marchesa if she will go out," she added, +as she walked quickly away. + +Bastianello waited and in a few moments she came back. + +"Not to-day," she said. + +"So much the better. I want to say something to you, Teresina. Will you +listen to me? Can I say it here?" Bastianello felt unaccountably +nervous, and when he had spoken he regretted it. + +"I hope it is good news," answered the girl. "Come to the window at the +end of the corridor. We shall be further from the door there, and there +is more air. Now what is it?" she asked as they reached the place she +had chosen. + +"It is this, Teresina," said Bastianello, summoning all his courage for +what was the most difficult undertaking of his life. "You know my +brother Ruggiero." + +"Eh! I should think so! I see him every day." + +"Good. He also sees you every day, and he sees how beautiful you are, +and now he knows how good you are, because the little boy of the Son of +the Fool saw you with that apoplexy of a Count in the garden to-day, and +heard what you said, and came and told me, and I told Ruggiero because +I knew how glad he would be." + +"Dio mio!" cried Teresina. She had blushed scarlet while he was +speaking, and she covered her face with both hands. + +"You need not hide your face, Teresina," said Bastianello, with a little +emotion. "You can show it to every one after what you have done. And so +I will go on, and you must listen. Ruggiero is not a great signore like +the Count of San Miniato, but he is a man. And he has two arms which are +good, and two fists as hard as an ox's hoofs, and he can break +horse-shoes with his hands." + +"Can you do that?" asked Teresina with an admiring look. + +"Since you ask me--yes, I can. But Ruggiero did it before I could, and +showed me how, and no one else here can do it at all. And moreover +Ruggiero is a quiet man and does not drink nor play at the lotto, and +there is no harm in a game of beggar-my-neighbour for a pipe of tobacco, +on a long voyage when there is no work to be done, and--" + +"Yes, I know," said Teresina, interrupting him. "You are very much +alike, you too. But what has this about Ruggiero to do with me, that +you tell me it all?" + +"Who goes slowly, goes safely, and who goes safely goes far," answered +Bastianello. "Listen to me. Ruggiero has also seven hundred and +sixty-three francs in the bank, and will soon have more, because he +saves his money carefully, though he is not stingy. And Ruggiero, if you +will have him, will work for you, and I will also work for you, and you +shall have a good house, and plenty to eat and good clothes besides the +gold--" + +"But Bastianello mio!" cried Teresina, who had suspected what was +coming, "I do not want to marry Ruggiero at all." + +She clasped her hands and gazed into the sailor's eyes with a pretty +look of confusion and regret. + +"You do not want to marry Ruggiero!" Bastianello's expression certainly +betrayed more surprise than disappointment. But he had honestly pleaded +his brother's cause. "Then you do not love him," he said, as though +unable to recover from his astonishment. + +"But no--I do not love him at all, though he is so handsome and good." + +"Madonna mia!" exclaimed Bastianello, turning sharply round and moving +away a step or two. He was in great perturbation of spirit, for he loved +the girl dearly, and he began to fear that he had not done his best for +Ruggiero. + +"But you did love him a few days ago," he said, coming back to +Teresina's side. + +"Indeed, I never did!" she said. + +"Nor any one else?" asked Bastianello suddenly. + +"Eh! I did not say that," answered the girl, blushing a little and +looking down. + +"Well do not tell me his name, because I should tell Ruggiero, and +Ruggiero might do him an injury. It is better not to tell me." + +Teresina laughed a little. + +"I shall certainly not tell you who he is," she said. "You can find that +out for yourself, if you take the trouble." + +"It is better not. Either Ruggiero or I might hurt him, and then there +would be trouble." + +"You, too?" + +"Yes, I too." Bastianello spoke the words rather roughly and looked +fixedly into Teresina's eyes. Since she did not love Ruggiero, why +should he not speak? Yet he felt as though he were not quite loyal to +his brother. + +Teresina's cheeks grew red and then a little pale. She twisted the cord +of the Venetian blind round and round her hand, looking down at it all +the time. Bastianello stood motionless before her, staring at her thick +black hair. + +"Well?" asked Teresina looking up and meeting his eyes and then lowering +her own quickly again. + +"What, Teresina?" asked Bastianello in a changed voice. + +"You say you also might do that man an injury whom I love. I suppose +that is because you are so fond of your brother. Is it so?" + +"Yes--and also--" + +"Bastianello, do you love me too?" she asked in a very low tone, +blushing more deeply than before. + +"Yes. I do. God knows it. I would not have said it, though. Ah, +Teresina, you have made a traitor of me! I have betrayed my +brother--and for what?" + +"For me, Bastianello. But you have not betrayed him." + +"Since you do not love him--" began the sailor in a tone of doubt. + +"Not him, but another." + +"And that other--" + +"It is perhaps you, Bastianello," said Teresina, growing rather pale +again. + +"Me!" He could only utter the one word just then. + +"Yes, you." + +"My love!" Bastianello's arm went gently round her, and he whispered the +words in her ear. She let him hold her so without resistance, and looked +up into his face with happy eyes. + +"Yes, your love--did you never guess it, dearest?" She was blushing +still, and smiling at the same time, and her voice sounded sweet to +Bastianello. + +Only a sailor and a serving-maid, but both honest and both really +loving. There was not much eloquence about the courtship, as there had +been about San Miniato's, and there was not the fierce passion in +Bastianello's breast that was eating up his brother's heart. Yet +Beatrice, at least, would have changed places with Teresina if she +could, and San Miniato could have held his head higher if there had +ever been as much honesty in him as there was in Bastianello's every +thought and action. + +For Bastianello was very loyal, though he thought badly enough of his +own doings, and when Beatrice called Teresina away a few minutes later, +he marched down the corridor with resolute steps, meaning not to lose a +moment in telling Ruggiero the whole truth, how he had honestly said the +best things he could for him and had asked Teresina to marry him, and +how he, Bastianello, had been betrayed into declaring his love, and had +found, to his amazement, that he was loved in return. + +Ruggiero was sitting alone on one of the stone pillars on the little +pier, gazing at the sea, or rather, at a vessel far away towards Ischia, +running down the bay with every stitch of canvas set from her jibs to +her royals. He looked round as Bastianello came up to him. + +"Ruggiero," said the latter in a quiet tone. "If you want to kill me, +you may, for I have betrayed you." + +Ruggiero stared at him, to see whether he were in earnest or joking. + +"Betrayed me? I do not understand what you say. How could you betray +me?" + +"As you shall know. Now listen. We were talking about Teresina to-day, +you and I. Then I said to myself, 'I love Teresina and Ruggiero loves +her, but Ruggiero is first. I will go to Teresina and ask her if she +will marry him, and if she will, it is well. But if she will not, I will +ask Ruggiero if I may court her for myself.' And so I did. And she will +tell you the truth, and I spoke well for you. But she said she never +loved you. And then, I do not know how it was, but we found out that we +loved each other and we said so. And that is the truth. So you had +better get a pig of iron from the ballast and knock me on the head, for +I have betrayed my brother and I do not want to live any more, and I +shall say nothing." + +Then Ruggiero who had not laughed much for some time, felt that his +mouth was twitching raider his yellow beard, and presently his great +shoulders began to move, and his chest heaved, and his handsome head +went back, and at last it came out, a mighty peal of Homeric laughter +that echoed and rolled down the pier and rang clear and full, up to the +Marchesa's terrace. And it chanced that Beatrice was there, and she +looked down and saw that it was Ruggiero. Then she sighed and drew back. + +But Bastianello did not understand, and when the laugh subsided at last, +he said so. + +"I laughed--yes. I could not help it. But you are a good brother, and +very honest, and when you want to marry Teresina, you may have my +savings, and I do not care to be paid back." + +"But I do not understand," repeated Bastianello, in the greatest +bewilderment. "You loved her so--" + +"Teresina? No. I never loved Teresina, but I never knew you did, or I +would not have let you believe it. It is much more I who have cheated +you, Bastianello, and when you and Teresina are married I will give you +half my earnings, just as I now put them in the bank." + +"God be blessed!" exclaimed Bastianello, touching his cap, and staring +at the same vessel that had attracted Ruggiero's attention. + +"She carries royal studding-sails," observed Ruggiero. "You do not often +see that in our part of the world." + +"That is true," said Bastianello. "But I was not thinking of her, when I +looked. And I thank you for what you say, Ruggiero, and with my heart. +And that is enough, because it seems that we know each other." + +"We have been in the same crew once or twice," said Ruggiero. + +"It seems to me that we have," answered his brother. + +Neither of the two smiled, for they meant a good deal by the simple +jest. + +"Tell me, Ruggiero," said Bastianello after a pause, "since you never +loved Teresina, who is it?" + +"No, Bastianello. That is what I cannot tell any one, not even you." + +"Then I will not ask. But I think I know, now." + +Going over the events of the past weeks in his mind, it had suddenly +flashed upon Bastianello that his brother loved Beatrice. Then +everything explained itself in an instant. Ruggiero was such a +gentleman--in Bastianello's eyes, of course--it was like him to break +his heart for a real lady. + +"Perhaps you do know," answered Ruggiero gravely, "but if you do, then +do not tell me. It is a business better not spoken of. But what one +thinks, one thinks. And that is enough." + +A crowd of brown-skinned boys were in the water swimming and playing, as +they do all day long in summer, and dashing spray at each other. They +had a shabby-looking old skiff with which they amused themselves, +upsetting and righting it again in the shallow water by the beach beyond +the bathing houses. + +"What a boat!" laughed Bastianello. "A baby can upset her and it takes a +dozen boys to right her again!" + +"Whose is she?" enquired Ruggiero idly, as he filled his pipe. + +"She? She belonged to Black Rag's brother, the one who was drowned last +Christmas Eve, when the Leone was cut in two by the steamer in the Mouth +of Procida. I suppose she belongs to Black Rag himself now. She is a +crazy old craft, but if he were clever he could patch her up and paint +her and take foreigners to the Cape in her on fine days." + +"That is true. Tell him so. There he is. Ohè! Black Rag!" + +Black Rag came down the pier to the two brothers, a middle-aged, +bow-legged, leathery fellow with a ragged grey beard and a +weather-beaten face. + +"What do you want?" he asked, stopping before them with his hands in his +pockets. + +"Bastianello says that old tub there is yours, and that if you had a +better head than you have you could caulk her and paint her white with a +red stripe and take foreigners to the Bath of Queen Giovanna in her on +fine days. Why do you not try it? Those boys are making her die an evil +death." + +"Bastianello always has such thoughts!" laughed the sailor. "Why does he +not buy her of me and paint her himself? The paint would hold her +together another six months, I daresay." + +"Give her to me," said Ruggiero. "I will give you half of what I earn +with her." + +Black Rag looked at him and laughed, not believing that he was in +earnest. But Ruggiero slowly nodded his head as though to conclude a +bargain. + +"I will sell her to you," said the sailor at last. "She belonged to that +blessed soul, my brother, who was drowned--health to us--to-day is +Saturday--and I never earned anything with her since she was mine. I +will sell her cheap." + +"How much? I will give you thirty francs for her." + +Bastianello stared at his brother, but he made no remark while the +bargain was being made, nor even when Ruggiero finally closed for fifty +francs, paid the money down and proceeded to take possession of the old +tub at once, to the infinite and forcibly expressed regret of the lads +who had been playing with her. Then the two brothers hauled her up upon +the sloping cement slip between the pier and the bathing houses, and +turned her over. The boys swam away, and Black Rag departed with his +money. + +"What have you bought her for, Ruggiero?" asked Bastianello. + +"She has copper nails," observed the other examining the bottom +carefully. "She is worth fifty francs. Your thought was good. To-morrow +she will be dry and we will caulk the seams, and the next day we will +paint her and then we can take foreigners to the Cape in her if we have +a chance and the signori do not go out. Lend a hand, Bastianello; we +must haul her up behind the boats." + +Bastianello said nothing and the two strong men almost carried the old +tub to a convenient place for working at her. + +"Do you want to do anything more to her to-night?" asked Bastianello. + +"No." + +"Then I will go up." + +"Very well." + +Ruggiero smiled as he spoke, for he knew that Bastianello was going to +try and get another glimpse of Teresina. The ladies would probably go to +drive and Teresina would be free until they came back. + +He sat down on a boat near the one he had just bought, and surveyed his +purchase. He seemed on the whole well satisfied. It was certainly good +enough for the foreigners who liked to be pulled up to the cape on +summer evenings. She was rather easily upset, as Ruggiero had noticed, +but a couple of bags of pebbles in the right place would keep her steady +enough, and she had room for three or four people in the stern sheets +and for two men to pull. Not bad for fifty francs, thought Ruggiero. And +San Miniato had asked about going after crabs by torchlight. This would +be the very boat for the purpose, for getting about in and out of the +rocks on which the crabs swarm at night. Black Rag might have earned +money with her. But Black Rag was rather a worthless fellow, who drank +too much wine, played too much at the public lottery and wasted his +substance on trifles. + +Ruggiero's purchase was much discussed that evening and all the next day +by the sailors of the Piccola Marina. Some agreed that he had done well, +and some said that he had made a mistake, but Ruggiero said nothing and +paid no attention to the gossips. On the next day and the day after that +he was at work before dawn with Bastianello, and Black Rag was very much +surprised at the trim appearance of his old boat when the brothers at +last put her into the water and pulled themselves round the little +harbour to see whether the seams were all tight. But he pretended to put +a good face on the matter, and explained that there were more rotten +planks in her than any one knew of and that only the nails below the +water line were copper after all, and he predicted a short life for +Number Fifty Seven, when Ruggiero renewed the old licence in the little +harbour office. Ruggiero, however, cared for none of these things, but +ballasted the tub properly with bags of pebbles and demonstrated to the +crowd that she was no longer easy to upset, inviting any one who pleased +to stand on the gunwale and try. + +"But the ballast makes her heavy to pull," objected Black Rag, as he +looked on. + +"If you had arms like the Children of the King," retorted the Cripple, +"you would not trouble yourself about a couple of hundredweight more or +less. But you have not. So you had better go and play three numbers at +the lottery, the day of the month, the number of the boat and any other +one that you like. In that way you may still make a little money if you +have luck. For you have made a bad bargain with the Children of the +King, and you know it." + +Black Rag was much struck by the idea and promptly went up to the town +to invest his spare cash in the three numbers, taking his own age for +the third. As luck would have it the two first numbers actually turned +up and he won thirty francs that week, which, as he justly observed, +brought the price of the boat up to eighty. For if he had not sold her +he would never have played the numbers at all, and no one pretended that +she was worth more than eighty francs, if as much. + +Then, one morning, San Miniato found Ruggiero waiting outside his door +when he came out. The sailor grew leaner and more silent every day, but +San Miniato seemed to grow stouter and more talkative. + +"If you would like to go after crabs this evening, Excellency," said the +former, "the weather is good and they are swarming on the rocks +everywhere." + +"What does one do with them?" asked San Miniato. "Are they good to eat?" + +"One knows that, Excellency. We put them into a kettle with milk, and +they drink all the milk in the night and the next day they are good to +cook." + +"Can we take the ladies, Ruggiero?" + +"In the sail boat, Excellency, and then, if you like, you and the +Signorina can go with me in the little one with my brother, and I will +pull while Bastianello and your Excellency take the crabs." + +"Very well. Then get a small boat ready for to-night, Ruggiero." + +"I have one of my own, Excellency." + +"So much the better. If the ladies will not go, you and I can go alone." + +"Yes, Excellency." + +San Miniato wondered why Ruggiero was so pale. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + + +Again the mother and daughter were together in the cool shade of their +terrace. Outside, it was very hot, for the morning breeze did not yet +stir the brown linen curtains which kept out the glare of the sea, and +myriads of locusts were fiddling their eternal two notes without pause +or change of pitch, in every garden from Massa to Scutari point, which +latter is the great bluff from which they quarry limestone for road +making, and which shuts off the amphitheatre of Sorrento from the view +of Castellamare to eastward. The air was dry, hot and full of life and +sound, as it is in the far south in summer. + +"And when do you propose to marry me?" asked Beatrice in a discontented +tone. + +"Dearest child," answered her mother, "you speak as though I were +marrying you by force to a man whom you detest." + +"That is exactly what you are doing." + +The Marchesa raised her eyebrows, fanned herself lazily and smiled. + +"Are we to begin the old argument every morning, my dear?" she asked. +"It always ends in the same way, and you always say the same dreadful +things to me. I really cannot bear it much longer. You know very well +that you bound yourself, and that you were quite free to tell San +Miniato that you did not care for him. A girl should know her own mind +before she tells a man she loves him--just as a man should before he +speaks." + +"San Miniato certainly knows his own mind," retorted Beatrice viciously. +"No one can accuse him of not being ready and anxious to marry me--and +my fortune." + +"How you talk, my angel! Of course if you had no fortune, or much less +than you have, he could not think of marrying you. That is clear. I +never pretended the contrary. But that does not contradict the fact that +he loves you to distraction, if that is what you want." + +"To distraction!" repeated Beatrice with scorn. + +"Why not, dearest child? Do you think a man cannot love because he is +poor?" + +"That is not the question, mamma!" cried Beatrice impatiently. "You know +it is not. But no woman can be deceived twice by the same comedy, and +few would be deceived once. You know as well as I that it was all a play +the other night, that he was trying to find words, as he was trying to +find sentiments, and that when the words would not be found he thought +it would be efficacious to seize my hand and kiss it. I daresay he +thought I believed him--of course he did. But not for long--oh! not for +long. Real love finds even fewer words, but it finds them better, and +the ring of them is truer, and one remembers them longer!" + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed the Marchesa. "What can you know of such things! +You talk as though some man had dared to speak to you--" + +"Do I?" asked the girl with sudden coldness, and a strange look came +into her eyes, which her mother did not see. + +"Yes, you do. And yet I know that it is impossible. Besides the whole +discussion is useless and wears me out, though it seems to interest you. +Of course you will marry San Miniato. When you have got past this absurd +humour you will see what a good husband you have got, and you will be +very happy." + +"Happy! With that man!" Beatrice's lip curled. + +"You will," answered her mother, taking no notice. "Happiness depends +upon two things in this world, when marriage is concerned. Money and a +good disposition. You have both, between you, and you will be happy." + +"I never heard anything more despicable!" cried the young girl. "Money +and disposition! And what becomes of the heart?" + +The Marchesa smiled and fanned herself. + +"Young girls without experience cannot understand these things," she +said. "Wait till you are older." + +"And lose what looks I have and the power to enjoy anything! And you say +that you are not forcing me into this marriage! And you try to think, or +to make me think, that it is all for the best, and all delightful and +all easy, when you are sacrificing me and my youth and my life and my +happiness to the mere idea of a better position in society--because poor +papa was a sulphur merchant and bought a title which was only confirmed +because he spent a million on a public charity--and every one knows +it--and the Count of San Miniato comes of people who have been high and +mighty gentlemen for six or seven hundred years, more or less. That is +your point of view, and you know it. But if I say that my father worked +hard to get what he got and deserved it, and was an honest man, and that +this great personage of San Miniato is a penniless gambler, who does not +know to-day where he will find pocket money for to-morrow, and has got +by a trick the fortune my father got by hard work--then you will not +like it. Then you will throw up your hands and cry 'Beatrice!' Then you +will tell me that he loves me to distraction, and you will even try to +make me think that I love him. It is all a miserable sham, mamma, a vile +miserable sham! Give it up. I have said that I will marry him, since it +appears that I have promised. But do not try to make me think that I am +marrying him of my own free will, or he marrying me out of +disinterested, pure, beautiful, upright affection!" + +Having delivered herself of these particularly strong sentiments, +Beatrice was silent for a while. As for the Marchesa, she was either +too wise, or too lazy, to answer her daughter for the present and she +slowly fanned herself, lying quite still in her long chair, her eyes +half closed and her left hand hanging down beside her. + +Indeed Beatrice, instead of becoming more reconciled with the situation +she had accepted, was growing more impatient and unhappy every day, as +she realised all that her marriage with San Miniato would mean during +the rest of her natural life. She had quite changed her mind about him, +and with natures like hers such sudden changes are often irrevocable. +She could not now understand how she could have ever liked him, or found +pleasure in his society, and when she thought of the few words she had +spoken and which had decided her fate, she could not comprehend the +state of mind which had led her into such a piece of folly, and she was +as angry with herself as, for the time being, she was angry with all the +world besides. + +She saw, too, and for the first time, how lonely she was in the world, +and a deep and burning longing for real love and sympathy took +possession of her. She had friends, of course, as young girls have, of +much her own age and not unlike her in their inexperienced ideas of +life. But there was not one of them at Sorrento, nor had she met any one +among the many acquaintances she had made, to whom she would care to +turn. Even her own intimate associates from childhood, who were far away +in Sicily, or travelling elsewhere, would not have satisfied her. They +could not have understood her, their answers to her questions would have +seemed foolish and worthless, and they would have tormented her with +questions of their own, inopportune, importunate, tiresome. She herself +did not know that what she craved was the love or the friendship of one +strong, honest man. + +It was strange to find out suddenly how wide was the breach which +separated her from her mother, with whom she had lived so happily +throughout her childhood and early youth, with whom she had agreed--or +rather, who had agreed with her--on the whole almost without a +discussion. It was hard to find in her now so little warmth of heart, so +little power to understand, above all such a display of determination +and such quiet force in argument. Very indolent women are sometimes very +deceptive in regard to the will they hold in reserve, but Beatrice could +not have believed that her mother could influence her as she had done. +She reflected that it had surely been within the limits of the +Marchesa's choice to take her daughter's side so soon as she had seen +that the latter had mistaken her own feelings. She need not have agreed +with San Miniato, on that fatal evening at Tragara, that the marriage +was definitely settled, until she had at least exchanged a word with +Beatrice herself. + +The future looked black enough on that hot summer morning. The girl was +to be tied for life to a man she despised and hated, to a man who did +not even care for her, as she was now convinced, to a man with a past of +which she knew little and of which the few incidents she had learned +repelled her now, instead of attracting her. She fancied how he had +spoken to those other women, much as he had spoken to her, perhaps a +little more eloquently as, perhaps, he had not been thinking of their +fortunes but of themselves, but still always in that high-comedy tone +with the studied gesture and the cadenced intonation. She did not know +whether they deserved her pity, those two whom he pretended to have +loved, but she was ready to pity them, nameless as they were. The one +was dead, the other, at least, had been wise enough to forget him in +time. + +Then she thought of what must happen after her marriage, when he had got +her fortune and could take her away to the society in which he had +always lived. There, of course, he would meet women by the score with +whom he was and long had been on terms of social intimacy far closer +than he had reached with her in the few weeks of their acquaintance. +Doubtless, he would spend such time as he could spare from gambling, in +conversation with them. Doubtless, he had many thoughts and memories and +associations in common with them. Doubtless, people would smile a little +and pity the young countess. And Beatrice resented pity and the thought +of it. She would rather pity others. + +Evil thoughts crossed her young brain, and she said to herself that she +might perhaps be revenged upon the world for what she was suffering, +for the pain that had already come into her young life, for the wretched +years she anticipated in the future, for her mother's horrible logic +which had forced her into the marriage, above all for San Miniato's +cleverly arranged scene by which the current of her existence had been +changed. San Miniato had perhaps gone too far when he had said that +Beatrice was kind. She, at least, felt that there was anything but +kindness in her heart now, and she desired nothing so much as to make +some one suffer something of what she felt. It was wicked, doubtless, as +she admitted to herself. It was bad and wrong and cruel, but it was not +heartless. A woman without heart would not have felt enough to resent +having felt at all, and moreover would probably be perfectly well +satisfied with the situation. + +The expression of hardness deepened in the young girl's face as she sat +there, silently thinking over all that was to come, and glancing from +time to time at her mother's placid countenance. It was really amazing +to see how much the Marchesa could bear when she was actually roused to +a sense of the necessity for action. Her constitution must have been +far stronger than any one supposed. She must indeed have been in +considerable anxiety about the success of her plans, more than once +during the past few days. Yet she was outwardly almost as unruffled and +as lazy as ever. + +"Dearest child," she said at last, "of course, as I have said, I cannot +argue the point with you. No one could, in your present state of mind. +But there is one thing which I must say, and which I am sure you will be +quite ready to understand." + +Beatrice said nothing, but slowly turned her head towards her mother +with a look of inquiry. + +"I only want to say, my angel, that whatever you may think of San +Miniato, and however much you may choose to let him know what you think, +it may be quite possible to act with more civility than you have used +during the last few days." + +"Is that all?" asked Beatrice with a hard laugh. "How nicely you turn +your phrases when you lecture me, mamma! So you wish me to be civil. +Very well, I will try." + +"Thank you, Beatrice carissima," answered her mother with a sigh and a +gentle smile. "It will make life so much easier." + +Again there was a long silence, and Beatrice sat motionless in her +chair, debating whether she should wait where she was until San Miniato +came, as he was sure to do before long, or whether she should go to her +room and write a letter to some intimate friend, which would of course +never be sent, or, lastly, whether she should not take Teresina and go +down to her bath in the sea before the midday breakfast. While she was +still hesitating, San Miniato arrived. + +There was something peculiarly irritating to her in his appearance on +that morning. He was arrayed in perfectly new clothes of light gray, +which fitted him admirably. He wore shoes of untanned leather which +seemed to be perfectly new also, and reflected the light as though they +were waxed. His stiff collar was like porcelain, the single pearl he +wore in his white scarf was so perfect that it might have been false. +His light hair and moustache were very smoothly brushed and combed and +his face was exasperatingly sleek. There was a look of conscious +security about him, of overwhelming correctness and good taste, of pride +in himself and in his success, which Beatrice felt to be almost more +than she could bear with equanimity. He bent gracefully over the +Marchesa's hand and bowed low to the young girl, not supposing that hers +would be offered to him. In this he was mistaken, however, for she gave +him the ends of her fingers. + +"Good morning," she said gently. + +The Marchesa looked at her, for she had not expected that she would +speak first and certainly not in so gentle a tone. San Miniato inquired +how the two ladies had slept. + +"Admirably," said Beatrice. + +"Ah--as for me, dearest friend," said the Marchesa, "you know what a +nervous creature I am. I never sleep." + +"You look as though you had rested wonderfully well," observed Beatrice +to San Miniato. "Half a century, at least!" + +"Do I?" asked the Count, delighted by her manner and quite without +suspicion. + +"Yes. You look twenty years younger." + +"About ten years old?" suggested San Miniato with a smile. + +"Oh no! I did not mean that. You look about twenty, I should say." + +"I am charmed," he answered, without wincing. + +"It may be only those beautiful new clothes you have on," said Beatrice +with a sweet smile. "Clothes make so much difference with a man." + +San Miniato did not show any annoyance, but he made no direct answer and +turned to the Marchesa. + +"Marchesa gentilissima," he said, "you liked my last excursion, or were +good enough to say that you liked it. Would you be horrified if I +proposed another for this evening--but not so far, this time?" + +"Absolutely horrified," answered the Marchesa. "But I suppose that if +you have made up your mind you will bring those dreadful men with their +chair, like two gendarmes, and they will take me away, whether I like it +or not. Is that what you mean to do?" + +"Of course, dearest Marchesa," he replied. + +"Donna Beatrice has taught me that there is no other way of +accomplishing the feat. And certainly no other way could give you so +little trouble." + +"What is the excursion to be, and where?" asked Beatrice pretending a +sudden interest. + +"Crab-hunting along the shore, with torches. It is extremely amusing, I +am told." + +"After horrid red things that run sidewise and are full of legs!" The +Marchesa was disgusted. + +"They are green when they run about, mamma," observed Beatrice. "I +believe it is the cooking that makes them red. It will be delightful," +she added, turning to San Miniato. "Does one walk?" + +"Walk!" exclaimed the Marchesa, a new horror rising before her mental +vision. + +"We go in boats," said San Miniato. "In the sail boat first and then in +a little one to find the crabs. I suppose, Marchesa carissima, that +Donna Beatrice may come with me in the skiff, under your eye, if she is +accompanied by your maid?" + +"Of course, my dear San Miniato! Do you expect me to get into your +little boat and hunt for reptiles? Or do you expect that Beatrice will +renounce the amusement of getting wet and covered with seaweed and +thoroughly unpresentable?" + +"And you, Donna Beatrice? Do you still wish to come?" + +"Yes. I just said so." + +"But that was at least a minute ago," answered San Miniato. + +"Ah--you think me very changeable? You are mistaken. I will go with you +to find crabs to-night. Is that categorical? Must you consult my mother +to know what I mean?" + +"It will not be necessary this time," replied the Count, quite unmoved. +"I think we understand each other." + +"I think so," said Beatrice with a hard smile. + +The Marchesa was not much pleased by the tone the conversation was +taking. But if Beatrice said disagreeable things, she said them in a +pleasant voice and with a moderately civil expression of face, which +constituted a concession, after all, considering how she had behaved +ever since the night at Tragara, scarcely vouchsafing San Miniato a +glance, answering him by monosyllables and hardly ever addressing him +at all. + +"My dear children," said the elder lady, affecting a tone she had not +assumed before, "I really hope that you mean to understand each other, +and will." + +"Oh yes, mamma!" assented Beatrice with alacrity. "With you to help us I +am sure we shall come to a very remarkable understanding--very +remarkable indeed!" + +"With originality on your side, and constancy on mine, we may accomplish +much," said San Miniato, very blandly. + +Beatrice laughed again. + +"Translate originality as original sin and constancy as the art of +acting constantly!" she retorted. + +"Why?" enquired San Miniato without losing his temper. He thought the +question would be hard to answer. + +"Why not?" asked Beatrice. "You will not deny me a little grain of +original sin, will you? It will make our life so much more varied and +amusing, and when I say that you act constantly--I only mean what you +said of yourself, that you are constant in your actions." + +"You so rarely spare me a compliment, Donna Beatrice, that you must +forgive me for not having understood that one sooner. Accept my best +thanks--" + +"And agree to the expression of my most distinguished sentiments, as the +French say at the end of a letter," said Beatrice, rising. "And now that +I have complimented everybody, and been civil, and pleased everybody, +and have been thanked and have taken all the original sin of the party +upon my own shoulders, I will go and have a swim before breakfast. +Good-bye, mamma. Good-bye, Count." + +With a quick nod, she turned and left them, and went in search of +Teresina, whose duty it was to accompany her to the bath. The maid was +unusually cheerful, though she had not failed to notice the change in +Beatrice's manner which had taken place since the day of the betrothal, +and she understood it well enough, as she had told Bastianello. Moreover +she pitied her young mistress sincerely and hated San Miniato with all +her heart; but she was so happy herself that she could not possibly hide +it. + +"You are very glad that I am to be married, Teresina," said Beatrice as +they went out of the house together, the maid carrying a large bag +containing bathing things. + +"I, Signorina? Do you ask me the real truth? I do not know whether to be +glad or sorry. I pray you, Signorina, tell me which I am to be." + +"Oh--glad of course!" returned Beatrice, with a bitter little laugh. "A +marriage should always be a matter for rejoicing. Why should you not be +glad--like every one else?" + +"Like you, Signorina?" asked Teresina with a glance at the young girl's +face. + +"Yes: Like me." And Beatrice laughed again in the same way. + +"Very well, Signorina. I will be as glad as you are. I shall find it +very easy." + +It was Beatrice's turn to look at her, which she did, rather +suspiciously. It was clear enough that the girl had her doubts. + +"Just as glad as you are, Signorina, and no more," said Teresina again, +in a lower voice, as though she were speaking to herself. + +Beatrice said nothing in answer. As they reached the end of the path +through the garden, they saw Ruggiero and his brother sitting as usual +by the porter's lodge. Both got up and came quickly forward. +Bastianello took the bag from Teresina's hand, and the maid and the two +sailors followed Beatrice at a little distance as she descended the +inclined tunnel. + +It was pleasant, a few minutes later, to lie in the cool clear water and +look up at the blue sky above and listen to the many sounds that came +across from the little harbour. Beatrice felt a sense of rest for the +first time in several days. She loved the sea and all that belonged to +it, for she had been born within sight of it and had known it since she +had been a child, and she always came back to it as to an element that +understood her and which she understood. She swam well and loved the +easy, fluent motion she felt in the exercise, and she loved to lie on +her back with arms extended and upturned face, drinking in the light +breeze and the sunshine and the deep blue freshness of sky and water. + +While she was bathing Bastianello and Teresina sat together behind the +bathing-house, but Ruggiero retired respectfully to a distance and +busied himself with giving his little boat a final washing, mopping out +the water with an old sponge, which he passed again and again over each +spot, as though never satisfied with the result. He would have thought +it bad manners indeed to be too near the bathing-place when Beatrice was +in swimming. But he kept an eye on Teresina, whom he could see talking +with his brother, and when she went into the cabin, he knew that +Beatrice had finished her bath, and he found little more to do in +cleaning the old tub, which indeed, to a landsman's eye, presented a +decidedly smart appearance in her new coat of white paint, with a +scarlet stripe. When he had finished, he sauntered up to the wooden +bridge that led to the bathing cabins and sat down on the upper rail, +hooking one foot behind the lower one. Bastianello, momentarily +separated from Teresina, came and stood beside him. + +"A couple of fenders would save the new paint on her, if we are going +for crabs," he observed, thoughtfully. + +Ruggiero made that peculiar side motion of the head which means assent +and approval in the south. + +"And we will bring our own kettle for the crabs, and get the milk from +the hotel," continued the younger brother, who anticipated an extremely +pleasant evening in the society of Teresina. "And I have told Saint +Peter to bring the torches, because he knows where to get them good," +added Bastianello who did not expect Ruggiero to say anything. "What +time do we go?" + +"Towards an hour and a half of the night," said Ruggiero, meaning two +hours after sunset. "Then the padroni will have eaten and the rocks will +be covered with crabs, and the moon will not be yet risen. It will be +dark under Scutari till past midnight, and the crabs will sit still +under the torch, and we can take them with our hands as we always do." + +"Of course," answered Bastianello, who was familiar with the sport, "one +knows that." + +"And I will tell you another thing," continued Ruggiero, who seemed to +warm with the subject. "You shall pull stroke and I will pull bow. In +that way you will be near to Teresina and she will amuse herself the +better, for you and she can take the crabs while I hold the torch." + +"And the Signorina and the Count can sit together in the stern," said +Bastianello, who seemed much pleased with the arrangement. "The best +crabs are between Scutari and the natural arch." + +"One knows that," assented Ruggiero, and relapsed into silence. + +Presently the door of the cabin opened and Beatrice came out, her cheeks +and eyes fresh and bright from the sea. Of course Bastianello at once +ran to help Teresina wring out the wet things and make up her bundle, +and Beatrice came towards Ruggiero, who took off his cap and stood +bareheaded in the sun as she went by, and then walked slowly behind her, +at a respectful distance. To reach the beginning of the ascent they had +to make their way through the many boats hauled up beyond the slip upon +the dry sand. Beatrice gathered her light skirt in her hand as she +passed Ruggiero's newly painted skiff, for she was familiar enough with +boats to know that the oil might still be fresh. + +"It is quite dry, Excellency," he said. "The boat belongs to me." + +Beatrice turned with a smile, looked at it and then at Ruggiero. + +"What did I tell you the other day, Ruggiero?" she asked, still smiling. +"You were to call me Signorina. Do you remember?" + +"Yes, Signorina. I beg pardon." + +Beatrice saw that Teresina had not yet left the cabin with her bag, and +that Bastianello was loitering before the door, pretending or really +trying to help her. + +"Do you know what Teresina has been telling me, Ruggiero?" asked +Beatrice, stopping entirely and turning towards him as they stood in the +narrow way between Ruggiero's boat and the one lying next to her. + +"Of Bastianello, Signorina?" + +"Yes. That she wants to marry him. She told me while I was dressing. You +know?" + +"Yes, Signorina, and I laughed when he told me the story the other day, +over there on the pier." + +"I heard you laughing, Ruggiero," answered Beatrice, remembering the +unpleasant impression she had received when she had looked down from the +terrace. His huge mirth had come up as a sort of shock to her in the +midst of her own trouble. "Why did you laugh?" she asked. + +"Must I tell you, Signorina?" + +"Yes." + +"It was this. Bastianello had a thought. He imagined to himself that I +loved Teresina--I!--" + +Ruggiero broke off in the sentence and looked away. His voice shook with +the deep vibration that sometimes pleased Beatrice. He paused a moment +and then went on. + +"I, who have quite other thoughts. And so he said with himself, +'Ruggiero loves and is afraid to speak, but I will speak for him.' But +it was honest of him, Signorina, for he loved her himself. And so he +asked her for me first. But she would not. And then, between one word +and another, they found out that they loved. And I am very glad, for +Teresina is a good girl as she showed the other day in the garden, and +the little boy of the Son of the Fool saw it when she threw the gold at +that man's feet--" + +He stopped again, suddenly realising what he was saying. But Beatrice, +quick to suspect, saw the look of pained embarrassment in his face and +almost guessed the truth. She grew pale by degrees. + +"What man?" she asked shortly. + +Ruggiero turned his head and looked away from her, gazing out to +seaward. + +"What was the man's name?" she asked again with the stern intonation +that anger could give her voice. + +Still Ruggiero would not speak. But his white face told the truth well +enough. + +"On what day was it?" she enquired, as though she meant to be answered. + +"It was the day when you talked with me about my name, Signorina." + +"At what time?" + +"It must have been between midday and one o'clock." + +Beatrice remembered how on that day San Miniato had given a shallow +excuse for not remaining to breakfast at that hour. + +"And what was his name?" she now asked for the third time. + +"Excellency--Signorina--do not ask me!" Ruggiero was not good at lying. + +"It was the Conte di San Miniato, Ruggiero," said Beatrice in a low +voice that trembled with anger. Her face was now almost as white as the +sailor's. + +Ruggiero said nothing at first, but turned his head away again. + +"Per Dio!" he ejaculated after a short pause. But there was no mistaking +the tone. + +Beatrice turned away and with bent head began to walk towards the +ascent. She could not help the gesture she made, clenching her hands +once fiercely and then opening them wide again; but she thought no one +could see her. Ruggiero saw, and understood. + +"She is saying to herself, 'I must marry that infamous animal,'" thought +Ruggiero. "But I do not think that she will marry him." + +At the foot of the ascent, Beatrice turned and looked back. Teresina and +Bastianello were coming quickly along the little wooden bridge, but +Ruggiero was close to her. + +"You have not done me a good service to-day, Ruggiero," she said, but +kindly, dreading to wound him. "But it is my fault, and I should not +have pressed you as I did. Do not let the thought trouble you." + +"I thank you, Signorina. And it is true that this was not a good +service, and I could bite out my tongue because it was not. But some +Saint may give me grace to do you one more, and that shall be very +good." + +"Thank you, Ruggiero," said Beatrice, as the maid and the other sailor +came up. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + + +Beatrice did not speak again as she slowly walked up the steep ascent to +the hotel. Bastianello and Teresina exchanged a word now and then in a +whisper and Ruggiero came last, watching the dark outline of Beatrice's +graceful figure, against the bright light which shone outside at the +upper end of the tunnel. Many confused thoughts oppressed him, but they +were like advancing and retreating waves breaking about the central rock +of his one unalterable purpose. He followed Beatrice till they reached +the door of the house. Then she turned and smiled at him, and turned +again and went in. Bastianello of course carried the bag upstairs for +Teresina, and Ruggiero stayed below. + +He was very calm and quiet throughout that day, busying himself from +time to time with some detail of the preparations for the evening's +excursion, but sitting for the most part alone, far out on the +breakwater where the breeze was blowing and the light surf breaking just +high enough to wet his face from time to time with fine spray. He had +made up his mind, and he calmly thought over all that he meant to do, +that it might be well done, quickly and surely, without bungling. +To-morrow, he would not be sitting out there, breathing in the keen salt +air and listening to the music of the surging water, which was the only +harmony he had ever loved. + +His was a very faithful and simple nature, and since he had loved +Beatrice, it had been even further simplified. He thought only of her, +he had but one object, which was to serve her, and all he did must tend +to the attainment of that one result. Now, too, he had seen with his +eyes and had understood in other ways that she was to be married against +her will to a man she hated and despised, and who was already betraying +her. He did not try to understand how it all was, but his instinct told +him that she had been tricked into saying the words she had spoken to +San Miniato at Tragara, and that she had never meant them. That at least +was more comprehensible to him than it might have been to a man of +Beatrice's own class. Her head had been turned for a moment, as Ruggiero +would have said, and afterwards she had understood the truth. He had +heard many stories of the kind from his companions. Women were +changeable, of course. Every one knew that. And why? Because men were +bad and tempted them, and moreover because they were so made. He did not +love Beatrice for any moral quality she might or might not possess, he +was far too human, and natural and too little educated to seek reasons +for the passion that devoured him. Since he felt it, it was real. What +other proof of its reality could he need? It never entered his head to +ask for any, and his heart would not have beaten more strongly or less +rudely for twenty reasons, on either side. + +And now he was strangely happy and strangely calm as he sat there by +himself. Beatrice could never love him. The mere idea was absurd beyond +words. How could she love a common man like himself? But she did not +love San Miniato either, and unless something were done quickly she +would be forced into marrying him. Of course a mother could make her +daughter marry whom she pleased. Ruggiero knew that. The only way of +saving Beatrice was to make an end of San Miniato, and that was a very +simple matter indeed. San Miniato would be but a poor thing in those +great hands of Ruggiero's, though he was a well grown man and still +young and certainly stronger than the average of fine gentlemen. + +Of course it was a great sin to kill San Miniato. Murder was always a +sin, and people who did murder and died unabsolved always went straight +into eternal fire. But the eternal fire did not impress Ruggiero much. +In the first place Beatrice would be free and quite happy on earth, and +in the natural course of things would go to Heaven afterwards, since she +could have no part whatever in San Miniato's destruction. Secondly, San +Miniato would be with Ruggiero in the flames, and throughout all +eternity Ruggiero would have the undying satisfaction of having brought +him there without any one's help. That would pay for any amount of +burning, in the simple and uncompromising view of the future state which +he took. + +So he sat on the block of stone and listened to the sea and thought it +all over quietly, feeling very happy and proud, since he was to be the +means of saving the woman he loved. What more could any man ask, if he +could not be loved, than to give his soul and his body for such a good +and just end? Perhaps Ruggiero's way of looking at the present and +future state might have puzzled more than one theologian on that +particular afternoon. + +While Ruggiero was deciding matters of life and death in his own way, +with absolute certainty of carrying out his intentions, matters were not +proceeding smoothly on the Marchesa's terrace. The midday breakfast had +passed off fairly well, though Beatrice had again grown silent, and the +conversation was carried on by San Miniato with a little languid help +from the Marchesa. The latter was apparently neither disturbed nor out +of humour in consequence of the little scene which had taken place in +the morning. She took a certain amount of opposition on Beatrice's part +as a matter of course, and was prepared to be very long-suffering with +the girl's moods, partly because it was less trouble than to do battle +with her, and partly because it was really wiser. Beatrice must grow +used to the idea of marriage and must be gradually accustomed to the +daily companionship of San Miniato. The Marchesa, in her wisdom, was +well aware that Beatrice would never see as much of him when he was her +husband as she did now that they were only engaged. San Miniato would +soon take up his own life of amusement by day and night, in his own +fashion, and Beatrice on her side would form her own friendships and her +own ties as best pleased her, subject only to occasional interference +from the Count, when he chanced to be in a jealous humour, or when it +happened that Beatrice was growing intimate with some lady who had once +known him too well. + +After breakfast, as usual, they drank coffee and smoked upon the +terrace, which Beatrice was beginning to hate for its unpleasant +associations. Before long, however, she disappeared, leaving her mother +and San Miniato together. + +The latter talked carelessly and agreeably at first, but insensibly led +the conversation to the subject of money in general and at last to the +question of Beatrice's marriage settlement in particular. He was very +tactful and would probably have reached this desired point in the +conversation in spite of the Marchesa, had she avoided it. But she was +in the humour to discuss the matter and let him draw her on without +opposition. She had thought it all over and had determined what she +should do. San Miniato was surprised, and not altogether agreeably, by +her extreme clearness of perception when they actually arrived at the +main discussion. + +"You are aware, San Miniato mio," she was saying, "that my poor husband +was a very rich man, and you are of course familiar--you who know +everything--with the laws of inheritance in our country. As our dear +Beatrice is an only child, the matter would have been simple, even if he +had not made a will. I should have had my widow's portion and she would +have had all the rest, as she ultimately will." + +"Of course, dearest Marchesa. I understood that. But it is most kind of +you to tell me about the details. In Beatrice's interest--and her +interests will of course be my first concern in life--" + +"Of course, carissimo," said the Marchesa, interrupting him. "Can I +doubt it? Should I have chosen you out of so many to be my son-in-law if +I had not understood from the first all the nobility and uprightness of +your fine character?" + +"How good you are to me!" exclaimed San Miniato, who mistrusted the +preamble, but was careful not to show it. + +"Not at all, dear friend! I am never good. It is such horrible trouble +to be either good or bad, as you would know if you had my nerves. But we +were speaking of my poor husband's will. One half of his fortune of +course he was obliged to leave to his daughter. He could dispose of the +other half as he pleased. I believe it was that admirable man, the first +Napoleon, who invented that just law, was it not? Yes, I was sure. My +husband left the other half to me, provided I should not marry--he was a +very thoughtful man! But if I did, the money was to go to Beatrice at +once. If I did not, however, I was--as I really am--quite free to +dispose of it as I pleased." + +"How very just!" exclaimed San Miniato. + +"Do you think so? Yes. But further, I wish to tell you that he set aside +a sum out of what he left Beatrice, to be her dowry--just a trifle, you +know, to be paid to her husband on the marriage, as is customary. But +all the remainder, compared with which the dowry itself is +insignificant, does not pass into her hands until she is of age, and of +course remains entirely in her control." + +"I understand," said San Miniato in a tone which betrayed some +nervousness in spite of his best efforts to be calm, for he had +assuredly not understood before. + +"Of course you understand, dearest friend," answered the Marchesa. "You +are so clever and you have such a good head for affairs, which I never +had. I assure you I never could understand anything about money. It is +all so mysterious and complicated! Give me one of your cigarettes, I am +quite exhausted with talking." + +"I think you do yourself injustice, dearest Marchesa," said San Miniato, +offering her his open case. "You have, I think, a remarkably good +understanding for business. I really envy you." + +The Marchesa smiled languidly, and slowly inhaled the smoke from the +cigarette as he held the match for her. + +"I have no doubt you learned a great deal from the Marchese," continued +San Miniato. "I must say that he displayed a keenness for his +daughter's interests such as merits the sincerest admiration. Take the +case, which happily has not arisen, dearest friend. Suppose that +Beatrice should discover that she had married a mere fortune-hunter. The +man would be entirely in your power and hers. It is admirably arranged." + +"Admirably," assented the Marchesa without a smile. "It would be +precisely as you say. Beyond a few hundred thousand francs which he +would control as the dowry, he could touch nothing. He would be wholly +dependent on his wife and his mother-in-law. You see my dear husband +wished to guard against even the most improbable cases. How thankful I +am that heaven has sent Beatrice such a man as you!" + +"Always good! Always kind!" San Miniato bent his head a little lower +than was necessary as he looked at his watch. He had something in his +eyes which he preferred to hide. + +Just then Beatrice's step was heard on the tiled floor of the +sitting-room, and neither the Marchesa nor San Miniato thought it worth +while to continue the conversation with the danger of being overheard. + +So the afternoon wore on, bright and cloudless, and when the air grew +cool Beatrice and her mother drove out together along the Massa road, +and far up the hill towards Sant' Agata. They talked little, for it is +not easy to talk in the rattling little carriages which run so fast +behind the young Turkish horses, and the roads are not always good, even +in summer. But San Miniato was left to his own devices and went and +bathed, walking out into the water as far as he could and then standing +still to enjoy the coolness. Ruggiero saw him from the breakwater and +watched him with evident interest. The Count, as has been said before, +could not swim a stroke, and was probably too old to learn. But he liked +the sea and bathing none the less, as Ruggiero knew. He stayed outside +the bathing-house fully half an hour, and then disappeared. + +"It was not worth while," said Ruggiero to himself, "since you are to +take another bath so soon." + +Then he looked at the sun and saw that it lacked half an hour of sunset, +and he went to see that all was ready for the evening. He and +Bastianello launched the old tub between them, and Ruggiero ballasted +her with two heavy sacks of pebbles just amidships, where they would be +under his feet. + +"Better shift them a little more forward," said Bastianello. "There will +be three passengers, you said." + +"We do not know," answered Ruggiero. "If there are three I can shift +them quickly when every one is aboard." + +So Bastianello said nothing more about it, and they got the kettle and +the torches and stowed them away in the bows. + +"You had better go home and cook supper," said Ruggiero. "I will come +when it is dark, for then the others will have eaten and I will leave +two to look out." + +Bastianello went ashore on the pier and his brother pulled the skiff out +till he was alongside of the sailboat, to which he made her fast. He +busied himself with trifles until it grew dark and there was no one on +the pier. Then he got into the boat again, taking a bit of strong line +with him, a couple of fathoms long, or a little less. Stooping down he +slipped the line under the bags of ballast and made a timber-hitch with +the end, hauling it well taut. With the other end he made a bowline +round the thwart on which he was sitting, and on which he must sit to +pull the bow oar in the evening. He tied the knot wide enough to admit +of its running freely from side to side of the boat, and he stowed the +bight between the ballast and the thwart, so that it lay out of sight in +the bottom. The two sacks of pebbles together weighed, perhaps, from a +half to three-quarters of a hundredweight. + +When all was ready he went ashore and shouted for the Cripple and the +Son of the Fool, who at once appeared out of the dusk, and were put on +board the sailboat by him. Then he pulled himself ashore and moored the +tub to a ring in the pier. It was time for supper. Bastianello would be +waiting for him, and Ruggiero went home. + +As the evening shadows fell, Beatrice was seated at the piano in the +sitting-room playing softly to herself such melancholy music as she +could remember, which was not much. It gave her relief, however, for she +could at least try and express something of what would not and could +not be put into words. She was not a musician, but she played fairly +well, and this evening there was something in the tones she drew from +the instrument which many a musician might have envied. She threw into +her touch all that she was suffering and it was a faint satisfaction to +her to listen to the lament of the sad notes as she struck them and they +rose and fell and died away. + +The door opened and San Miniato entered. She heard his footstep and +recognised it, and immediately she struck a succession of loud chords +and broke into a racing waltz tune. + +"You were playing something quite different, when I came to the door," +he said, sitting down beside her. + +"I thought you might prefer something gay," she answered without looking +at him and still playing on. + +San Miniato did not answer the remark, for he distrusted her and fancied +she might have a retort ready. Her tongue was often sharper than he +liked, though he was not sensitive on the whole. + +"Will you sing something to me?" he asked, as she struck the last chords +of the waltz. + +"Oh yes," she replied with an alacrity that surprised him, "I feel +rather inclined to sing. Mamma," she cried, as the Marchesa entered the +room, "I am going to sing to my betrothed. Is it not touching?" + +"It is very good of you," said San Miniato. + +The Marchesa smiled and sank into a chair. Beatrice struck a few chords +and then, looking at the Count with half closed eyes, began to sing the +pathetic little song of Chiquita. + + "On dit que l'on te marie + Tu sais que j'en vais mourir--" + +Her voice was very sweet and true and there was real pathos in the words +as she sang them. But as she went on, San Miniato noticed first that she +repeated the second line, and then that she sang all the remaining +melody to it, singing it over and over again with an amazing variety of +expression, angrily, laughingly, ironically and sadly. + + "--Tu sais que j'en vais mourir!" + +She ended, with a strange burst of passion. + +She rose suddenly to her feet and shut the lid down sharply upon the +key-board. + +"How perfectly we understand each other, do we not?" she said sweetly, a +moment later, and meeting San Miniato's eyes. + +"I hope we always shall," he answered quietly, pretending not to have +understood. + +She left him with her mother and went out upon the terrace and looked +down at the black water deep below and at the lights of the yachts and +the far reflections of the stars upon the smooth bay, and at the distant +light on Capo Miseno. The night air soothed her a little, and when +dinner was announced and the three sat down to the table at the other +end of the terrace her face betrayed neither discontent nor emotion, and +she joined in the conversation indifferently enough, so that San Miniato +and her mother thought her more than usually agreeable. + +At the appointed time the two porters appeared with the Marchesa's +chair, and Teresina brought in wraps and shawls, quite useless on such a +night, and the little party left the room in procession, as they had +done a few days earlier when they started for Tragara. But their mood +was very different to-night. Even the Marchesa forgot to complain and +let herself be carried down without the least show of resistance. On the +first excursion none of them had quite understood the other, and all of +them except poor Ruggiero had been in the best of humours. Now they all +understood one another too well, and they were silent and uneasy when +together. They hardly knew why they were going, and San Miniato almost +regretted having persuaded them. Doubtless the crabs were numerous along +the rocky shore and they would catch hundreds of them before midnight. +Doubtless also, the said crustaceans would be very good to eat on the +following day. But no one seemed to look forward to the delight of the +sport or of the dish afterwards, excepting Teresina and Bastianello who +whispered together as they followed last. Ruggiero went in front +carrying a lantern, and when they reached the pier it was he who put the +party on board, made the skiff fast astern of the sailboat and jumped +upon the stern, himself the last of all. + +The night breeze was blowing in gusts off the shore, as it always does +after a hot day in the summer, and Ruggiero took advantage of every +puff of wind, while the men pulled in the intervals of calm. The +starlight was very bright and the air so clear that the lights of Naples +shone out distinctly, the beginning of the chain of sparks that lies +like a necklace round the sea from Posilippo to Castellamare. The air +was soft and dry, so that there was not the least moisture on the +gunwale of the boat. Every one was silent. + +Then on a sudden there was a burst of music. San Miniato had prepared it +as a surprise, and the two musicians had passed unnoticed where they sat +in the bows, hidden from sight by the foresail so soon as the boat was +under way. Only a mandolin and a guitar, but the best players of the +whole neighbourhood. It was very pretty, and the attempt to give +pleasure deserved, perhaps, more credit than it received. + +"It is charming, dearest friend!" was all the Marchesa vouchsafed to +say, when the performers paused. + +Beatrice sat stony and unmoved, and spoke no word. She said to herself +that San Miniato was again attempting to prepare the scenery for a +comedy, and she could have laughed to think that he should still delude +himself so completely. Teresina would have clapped her hands in applause +had she dared, but she did not, and contented herself with trying to see +into Bastianello's eyes. She was very near him as she sat furthest +forward in the stern-sheets and he pulled the starboard stroke oar, +leaning forward upon the loom, as the gust filled the sails and the boat +needed no pulling. + +"You do not care for the mandolin, Donna Beatrice?" said San Miniato, +with a sort of disappointed interrogation in his voice. + +"Have I said that I do not care for it?" asked the young girl +indifferently. "You take too much for granted." + +Grim and silent on the stern sat Ruggiero, the tiller in his hand, his +eye on the dark water to landward constantly on the look-out for the +gusts that came down so quickly and which could deal treacherously with +a light craft like the one he was steering. But he had no desire to +upset her to-night, nor even to bring the tiller down on his master's +head. There was to be no bungling about the business he had in hand, no +mistakes and no wasting of lives. + +The mandolin tinkled and the guitar strummed vigorously as they neared +Scutari point, vast, black and forbidding in the starlight. But a gloom +had settled upon the party which nothing could dispel. It was as though +the shadow of coming evil had overtaken them and were sweeping along +with them across the dark and silent water. There was something awful in +the stillness under the enormous bluff, as Ruggiero gave the order to +stop pulling and furl the sails, and he himself brought the skiff +alongside by the painter, got in and kept her steady, laying his hand +upon the gunwale of the larger boat. Bastianello stood up to help +Beatrice and Teresina. + +"Will you come, Donna Beatrice?" asked San Miniato, wishing with all his +heart that he had never proposed the excursion. + +It seemed absurd to refuse after coming so far and the young girl got +into the skiff, taking Ruggiero's hand to steady herself. It did not +tremble to-night as it had trembled a few days ago. Beatrice was glad, +for she fancied that he was recovering from his insane passion for her. +Then San Miniato got over, rather awkwardly as he did everything so +soon as he left the land. Then Teresina jumped down, and last of all +Bastianello. So they shoved off and pulled away into the deep shadow +under the bluffs. There the cliff rises perpendicularly seven hundred +feet out of the water, deeply indented at its base with wave-worn caves +and hollows, but not affording a fast hold anywhere save on the broad +ledge of the single islet of rock from which a high natural arch springs +suddenly across the water to the abrupt precipice which forms the +mountain's base. + +Calmly, as though it were an every-day excursion, Ruggiero lighted a +torch and held it out when the boat was alongside of the rocks, showing +the dark green crabs that lay by dozens motionless as though paralysed +by the strong red glare. And Bastianello picked them off and tossed them +into the kettle at his feet, as fast as he could put out his hands to +take them. Teresina tried, too, but one almost bit her tender fingers +and she contented herself with looking on, while San Miniato and +Beatrice silently watched the proceedings from their place in the stern. + + +Little by little Ruggiero made the boat follow the base of the +precipice, till she was under the natural arch. + +"Pardon, Excellency," he said quietly, "but the foreigners think this is +a sight with the torches. If you will go ashore on the ledge, I will +show it you." + +The proposal seemed very natural under the circumstances, and as the +operation of picking crabs off the rocks and dropping them into a +caldron loses its interest when repeated many times, Beatrice +immediately assented. + +The larger boat was slowly following and the tinkle of the mandolin, +playing waltz music, rang out through the stillness. Ruggiero brought +the skiff alongside of the ledge where it was lowest. + +"Get ashore, Bastianello," he said in the same quiet tone. Bastianello +obeyed and stood ready to help Beatrice, who came next. + +As she stepped upon the rock Ruggiero raised the torch high with one +hand, so that the red light fell strong and full upon her face, and he +looked keenly at her, his eyes fixing themselves strangely, as she could +see, for she could not help glancing down at him as she stood still +upon the ledge. + +"Now Teresina," said Ruggiero, still gazing up at Beatrice. + +Teresina grasped Bastianello's hand and sprang ashore, happy as a child +at the touch. San Miniato was about to follow and had already risen from +his seat. But with a strong turn of his hand Ruggiero made the stern of +the skiff swing out across the narrow water that is twenty fathoms deep +between the mountain and the islet. + +"What are you doing?" asked San Miniato impatiently. "Let me land!" + +But Ruggiero pushed the boat's head off and she floated free between the +rocks. + +"You and I can take a bath together," said the sailor very quietly. "The +water is very deep here." + +San Miniato started. There was a sudden change in Ruggiero's face. + +"Land me!" cried the Count in a commanding tone. + +"In hell!" answered the sailor's deep voice. + +At the same moment he dropped the torch, and seizing the bags of +ballast that lay between his feet, hove them overboard, springing across +the thwarts towards San Miniato as he let them go. The line slipped to +the side as the heavy weight sank and the boat turned over just as the +strong man's terrible fingers closed round his enemy's throat in the +darkness. San Miniato's death cry rent the still air--there was a little +splashing, and all was done. + + * * * * * + +So I have told my tale, such as it is, how Ruggiero of the Children of +the King gave himself body and soul to free Beatrice Granmichele from a +life's bondage. She wore mourning a whole year for her affianced +husband, but the mourning in her heart was for the strong, brave, +unreasoning man, who, utterly unloved, had given all for her sake, in +this world and the next. + +But when the year was over, Bastianello married Teresina, and took her +to the home he had made for her by the sea--a home in which she should +be happy, and in which at least there can never be want, for Beatrice +has settled money on them both, and they are safe from sordid poverty, +at all events. + +The Marchesa's nerves were terribly shaken by the tragedy, but she has +recovered wonderfully and still fans herself and smokes countless +cigarettes through the long summer afternoon. + +Of those left, Bastianello and Beatrice are the most changed--both, +perhaps, for the better. The sailor is graver and sterner than before, +but he still has the gentleness which was never his brother's. Beatrice +has not yet learned the great lesson of love in her own heart, but she +knows and will never forget what love can grow to be in another, for she +has fathomed its deepest depth. + +And now you will tell me that Ruggiero did wrong and was a great sinner, +and a murderer, and a suicide, and old Luigione is sure that he is +burning in unquenchable fire. And perhaps he is, though that is a +question neither you nor I can well decide. But one thing I can say of +him, and that you cannot deny. He was a man, strong, whole-hearted, +willing to give all, as he gave it, without asking. And perhaps if some +of us could be like Ruggiero in all but his end, we should be better +than we are, and truer, and more worthy to win the love of woman and +better able to keep it. And that is all I have to say. But when you +stand upon the ledge by Scutari, if you ever say a prayer, say one for +those two who suffered on that spot. Beatrice does sometimes, though no +one knows it, and prayers like hers are heard, perhaps, and answered. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE KING*** + + +******* This file should be named 15187-8.txt or 15187-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/1/8/15187 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/15187-8.zip b/15187-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..89a1957 --- /dev/null +++ b/15187-8.zip diff --git a/15187.txt b/15187.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd1501d --- /dev/null +++ b/15187.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7122 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Children of the King, by F. Marion +Crawford + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Children of the King + +Author: F. Marion Crawford + +Release Date: February 26, 2005 [eBook #15187] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE KING*** + + +E-text prepared by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy, Graeme Mackreth, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +THE CHILDREN OF THE KING + +A Tale of Southern Italy + +by + +F. MARION CRAWFORD + +With Frontispiece + +P. F. Collier & Son New York +By MacMillan & Co. + +1885 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: AN OLD BAREFOOTED FRIAR STOOD BESIDE HER.--_Children of +the King_.] + + + + +Dedication + + TO + THE MIDDY, THE LADDIE, THE MATE + AND THE MEN + THE SKIPPER OF THE OLD _LEONE_ + DEDICATES + THIS STORY + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Lay your course south-east half east from the Campanella. If the weather +is what it should be in late summer you will have a fresh breeze on the +starboard quarter from ten in the morning till four or five o'clock in +the afternoon. Sail straight across the wide gulf of Salerno, and when +you are over give the Licosa Point a wide berth, for the water is +shallow and there are reefs along shore. Moreover there is no light on +Licosa Point, and many a good ship has gone to pieces there in dark +winter nights when the surf is rolling in. If the wind holds you may run +on to Palinuro in a long day before the evening calm comes on, and the +water turns oily and full of pink and green and violet streaks, and the +sun settles down in the north-west. Then the big sails will hang like +curtains from the long slanting yards, the slack sheets will dip down to +the water, the rudder will knock softly against the stern-post as the +gentle swell subsides. Then all is of a golden orange colour, then red +as wine, then purple as grapes, then violet, then grey, then altogether +shadowy as the stars come out--unless it chances that the moon is not +yet full, and edges everything with silver on your left hand while the +sunset dyes fade slowly to darkness upon your right. + +Then the men forward will bestir themselves and presently a red glow +rises and flickers and paints what it touches, with its own colours. The +dry wood crackles and flares on the brick and mortar hearth, and the +great kettle is put on. Presently the water boils--in go the long +bundles of fine-drawn paste, and everybody collects forward to watch the +important operation. Stir it quickly at first. Let it boil till a bit of +it is tender under the teeth. In with the coarse salt, and stir again. +Up with kettle. Chill it with a quart of cold water from the keg. A hand +with the colander and one with the wooden spoon while the milky boiling +water is drained off. Garlic and oil, or tomato preserve? Whichever it +is, be quick about it. And so to supper, with huge hard biscuit and +stony cheese, and the full wine jug passed from mouth to mouth. To every +man a fork and to every man his place within arm's length of the great +basin--mottled green and white within, red brown and unglazed on the +outside. But the man at the helm has an earthen plate, and the jug is +passed aft to him from time to time. + +Not that he has much to do as he lies there on his six-foot deck that +narrows away so sharply to the stern. He has taken a hitch round the +heavy tiller with the slack of the main sheet to keep it off the side of +his head while he eats. There is no current, and there is not a breath +of air. By and by, before midnight, you will smell the soft land breeze +blowing in puffs out of every little bay and indentation. There is no +order needed. The men silently brace the yards and change the sheets +over. The small jib is already bent in place of the big one, for the +night is dark and some of those smart puffs will soon be like little +squalls. Full and by. Hug the land, for there are no more reefs before +Scalea. If you do not get aground on what you can see in Calabria, you +will not get aground at all, says the old proverb. Briskly over two or +three miles to the next point, and the breeze is gone again. While she +is still forging ahead out go the sweeps, six or eight of them, and the +men throw themselves forward over the long slender loom, as they stand. +Half an hour to row, or more perhaps. Down helm, as you meet the next +puff, and the good felucca heels over a little. And so through the +night, the breeze freshening before the rising sun to die away in the +first hot morning hours, just as you are abreast of Camerota. L'Infresco +Point is ahead, not three miles away. It is of no use to row, for the +breeze will come up before long and save you the trouble. But the sea is +white and motionless. Far in the offing a Sicilian schooner and a couple +of clumsy "martinganes"--there is no proper English name for the +craft--are lying becalmed, with hanging sails. The men on board the +felucca watch them and the sea. There is a shadow on the white, hazy +horizon, then a streak, then a broad dark blue band. The schooner braces +her top-sail yard and gets her main sheet aft. The martinganes flatten +in their jibs along their high steeving bowsprits and jib-booms. Shift +your sheets, too, now, for the wind is coming. Past L'Infresco with its +lovely harbour of refuge, lonely as a bay in a desert island, its silent +shade and its ancient spring. The wind is south by west at first, but it +will go round in an hour or two, and before noon you will make +Scalea--stand out for the reef, the only one in Calabria--with a stern +breeze. You have passed the most beautiful spot on the beautiful Italian +coast, without seeing it. There, between the island of Dino and the cape +lies San Nicola, with its grand deserted tower, its mighty cliffs, its +deep, safe bay and its velvet sand. What matter? The wind is fair and +you are for Calabria with twenty tons of macaroni from Amalfi. There is +no time to be lost, either, for you will probably come home in ballast. +Past Scalea, then, where tradition says that Judas Iscariot was born and +bred and did his first murder. Right ahead is the sharp point of the +Diamante, beyond that low shore where the cane brake grows to within +fifty yards of the sea. Now you have run past the little cape, and are +abreast of the beach. Down mainsail--down jib--down foresail. Let go the +anchor while she forges, eight to nine lengths from the land, and let +her swing round, stern to the sand. Clear away the dingy and launch her +from amidships, and send a line ashore. Overboard with everything now, +for beaching, capstan, chocks and all--the swell will wash them in. As +the keel grates on the pebbles, the men jump into the water from the +high stern and catch the drifting wood. Some plant the capstan, others +pass the long hemp cable and reeve it through the fiddle block. A hand +forward to slack out the cable as the heavy boat slowly creeps up out of +the water. The men from other craft, already beached, lend a hand too +and a score of stout fellows breast the long oars which serve for +capstan bars. A little higher still. Now prop her securely and make all +snug and ship-shape, and make fast the blade of an oar to one of the +forward tholes, with the loom on the ground, for a ladder. You are safe +in Calabria. + +To-morrow at early dawn you must go into the hills, for you cannot sell +a tenth of your cargo in the little village. Away you trudge on foot, +across the rocky point, along the low flat beach by the cane brake, up +the bed of the rivulet, where the wet green blades of the canes brush +your face at every step. Shoes and stockings in hand you ford the +shallow river, then, shod again, you begin the long ascent. You will +need four good hours, or five, for you are not a landsman, your shoes +hurt you, and you would rather reef top-sails--aye, and take the lee +earing, too, in any gale and a score of times, than breast that +mountain. It cannot be helped. It is a hard life, though there are lazy +days in the summer months, when the wind will do your work for you. You +must live, and earn your share; though they call you the master, neither +boat nor cargo are yours, and you have to earn that share by harder work +and with greater anxiety than the rest. But the world is green to-day. +You remember a certain night last March--off Cape Orso in the gulf, when +the wind they call the Punti di Salerno was raging down and you had a +jib bent for a mainsail, and your foresail close reefed and were +shipping more green water than you like to think of. Pitch dark, too, +and the little lighthouse on the cape not doing its best, as it seemed. +The long line of the Salerno lights on the weather bow. No getting +there, either, and no getting anywhere else apparently. Then you tried +your luck. Amalfi might not be blowing. It was no joke to go about just +then, but you managed it somehow, because you had half a dozen brave +fellows with you. As she came up she was near missing stays and you sang +out to let go the main halyards. The yard came down close by your head +and nearly killed you, but she paid-off all right and went over on the +starboard tack. Just under the cape the water was smooth. Just beyond it +the devil was loose with all his angels, for Amalfi was blowing its own +little hurricane on its own account from another quarter. Nothing for it +but to go about and try Salerno again. What could you do in an open +felucca with the green water running over? You did your best. Five hours +out of that pitch black night you beat up, first trying one harbour and +then the other. Amalfi gave in first, just as the waning moon rose, and +you got under the breakwater at last. + +You remember that last of your many narrow escapes to-day as you trudge +up the stony mule-track through the green valleys, and it strikes you +that after all it is easier to walk from Diamante all the way to +Verbicaro, than to face a March storm in the gulf of Salerno in an open +boat on a dark night. Up you go, past that strange ruin of the great +Norman-Saracen castle standing alone on the steep little hill which +rises out of the middle of the valley, commanding the roads on the right +and the left. You have heard of the Saracens but not of the Normans. +What kind of people lived there amongst those bristling ivy-grown +towers? Thieves of course. Were they not Saracens and therefore Turks, +according to your ethnology, and therefore brigands? It is odd that the +government should have allowed them to build a castle just there. +Perhaps they were stronger than the government. You have never heard of +Count Roger, either, though you know the story of Judas Iscariot by +heart as you have heard it told many a time in Scalea. Up you go, +leaving the castle behind you, up to that square house they call the +tower on the brow of the hill. It is a lonely road, a mere sheep track +over the heights. You are over it at last, and that is Verbicaro, over +there on the other side of the great valley, perched against the +mountain side, a rough, grey mass of red-roofed houses cropping up like +red-tipped rocks out of a vast, sloping vineyard. And now there are +people on the road, slender, barefooted, brown women in dark +wine-coloured woollen skirts and scarlet cloth bodices much the worse +for wear, treading lightly under half-a-quintal weight of grapes; +well-to-do peasant men--galantuomini, they are all called in +Calabria--driving laden mules before them, their dark blue jackets flung +upon one shoulder, their white stockings remarkably white, their short +home-spun breeches far from ragged, as a rule, but their queer little +pointed hats mostly colourless and weather-beaten. Boys and girls, too, +meet you and stare at you, or overtake you at a great pace and almost +run past you, with an enquiring backward glance, each carrying +something--mostly grapes or figs. Out at last, by the little chapel, +upon what is the beginning of an inland carriage road--in a land where +even the one-wheeled wheelbarrow has never been seen. The grass grows +thick among the broken stones, and men and beasts have made a narrow +beaten track along the extreme outside edge of the precipice. The new +bridge which was standing in all its spick and span newness when you +came last year, is a ruin now, washed away by the spring freshets. A +glance tells you that the massive-looking piers were hollow, built of +one thickness of stone, shell-fashion, and filled with plain earth. +Somebody must have cheated. Nothing new in that. They are all thieves +nowadays, seeking to eat, as you say in your dialect, with a strict +simplicity which leaves nothing to the imagination. At all events this +bridge was a fraud, and the peasants clamber down a steep footpath they +have made through its ruins, and up the other side. + +And now you are in the town. The streets are paved, but Verbicaro is not +Naples, not Salerno, not even Amalfi. The pavement is of the roughest +cobble stones, and the pigs are the scavengers. Pigs everywhere, in the +streets, in the houses, at the windows, on the steps of the church in +the market-place, to right and left, before you and behind you--like the +guns at Balaclava. You never heard of the Six Hundred, though your +father was boatswain of a Palermo grain bark and lay three months in the +harbour of Sebastapol during the fighting. + +Pigs everywhere, black, grunting and happy. Red-skirted, scarlet-bodiced +women everywhere, too, all moving and carrying something. Galantuomini +loafing at most of the corners, smoking clay pipes with cane stems, and +the great Jew shopkeeper's nose just visible from a distance as he +stands in the door of his dingy den. Dirtier and dirtier grow the cobble +stones as you go on. Brighter and brighter the huge bunches of red +peppers fastened by every window, thicker and thicker on the upper walls +and shaky balconies the black melons and yellowish grey cantelopes hung +up to keep in the high fresh air, each slung in a hitch of yarn to a +nail of its own. + +Here and there some one greets you. What have you to sell? Will you take +a cargo of pears? Good this year, like all the fruit. The figs and +grapes will not be dry for another month. They nod and move on, as you +pass by them. Verbicaro is a commercial centre, in spite of the pigs. A +tall, thin priest meets you, with a long black cigar in his mouth. When +he catches your eye he takes it from between his teeth and knocks the +ash off, seeing that you are a stranger. Perhaps it is not very clerical +to smoke in the streets. But who cares? This is Verbicaro--and besides, +it is not a pipe. Monks smoke pipes. Priests smoke cigars. + +One more turn down a narrow lane--darkest and dirtiest of all the lanes, +the cobble stones only showing here and there above the universal black +puddle. Yet the air is not foul and many a broad street by the Basso +Porto in Naples smells far worse. The keen high atmosphere of the +Calabrian mountains is a mighty purifier of nastiness, and perhaps the +pig is not to be despised after all, as sanitary engineer, scavenger and +street sweeper. + +This is Don Pietro Casale's house, the last on the right, with the steep +staircase running up outside the building to the second story. And the +staircase has an iron railing, and so narrows the lane that a broad +shouldered man can just go by to the cabbage garden beyond without +turning sideways. On the landing at the top, outside the closed door +and waiting for visitors, sits the pig--a pig larger, better fed and by +one shade of filthiness cleaner than other pigs. Don Pietro Casale has +been seen to sweep his pig with a broken willow broom, after it has +rained. + +"Do you take him for a Christian?" asked his neighbour, in amazement, on +the occasion. + +"No," answered Don Pietro gravely. "He is certainly not a Christian. But +why should he spoil the tablecloth with his muddy hog's back when my +guests are at their meals? He is always running under the table for the +scraps." + +"And what are women for, except to wash tablecloths?" inquired the +neighbour contemptuously. + +But he got no answer. Few people ever get more than one from Don Pietro +Casale, whose eldest son is doing well at Buenos Ayres, and in whose +house the postmaster takes his meals now that he is a widower. + +For Don Pietro and his wife Donna Concetta sell their own wine and keep +a cook-shop, besides a guest-room with a garret above it, and two beds, +with an old-fashioned store of good linen in old-fashioned iron-bound +chests. At the time of the fair they can put up a dozen or fourteen +guests. People say indeed that the place is not so well managed, nor the +cooking so good since poor Carmela died, the widow of Ruggiero dei Figli +del Re--Roger of the Children of the King. + +For this is the place where the Children of the King lived and died for +many generations, and this house of Don Pietro Casale was theirs, and +the one on the other side of the cabbage garden, a smaller and poorer +one, in which Carmela died. The garden itself was once theirs, and the +vineyard beyond, and the olive grove beyond that, and much good land in +the valley. For they were galantuomini, and even thought themselves +something better, and sometimes, when the wine was new, they talked of +noble blood and said that their first ancestor had indeed been a son of +a king who had given him all Verbicaro for his own. True it is, at +least, that they had no other name. Through generation after generation +they were christened Ruggiero, Guglielmo, and Sebastiano "of the +Children of the King." Thus they had anciently appeared in the ill-kept +parish registers, and thus was Ruggiero inscribed for the conscription +under the new law. + +And now, as you know, gaunt, weather-beaten Luigione, licensed master in +the coast trade and just now captain of the Sorrentine felucca +Giovannina, from Amalfi to Diamante with macaroni, there are no more of +the Children of the King in old Verbicaro, and their goods have fallen +into divers hands, but chiefly into those very grasping and +close-holding ones of Don Pietro Casale and his wife. But they are not +all dead by any means, as you know also and you have even lately seen +and talked with one of the fair-haired fellows, who bears the name. + +For the Children of the King have almost always had yellow hair and blue +eyes, though they have more than once taken to themselves black-browed, +brown-skinned Calabrian girls as wives. And this makes one, who knows +something more about your country than you do, Luigione--though in a +less practical way I confess--this makes one think that they may be the +modern descendants of some Norman knightling who took Verbicaro for +himself one morning in the old days, and kept it; or perhaps even the +far-off progeny of one of those bright-eyed, golden-locked Goths who +made slaves of the degenerate Latins some thirteen centuries ago or +more, and treated their serfs indeed more like cattle than slaves until +almost the last of them were driven into the sea with their King Teias +by Narses. But a few were left in the southern fastnesses and in the +Samnite hills, and northward through the Apennines, scattered here and +there where they had been able to hold their own; and some, it is said, +forgot Theodoric and Witiges and Totila and Teias, and took service in +the Imperial Guard at Constantinople, as Harold of Norway and some of +our own hard-fisted sailor fathers did in later years. + +Be that as it may--and no one knows how it was--the Children of the King +have yellow hair and blue eyes to this present time, and no one would +take them for Calabrians, nor for Sicilians, still less for +monkey-limbed, hang-dog mouthed, lying, lubberly Neapolitans who can +neither hand, reef nor steer, nor tell you the difference between a +bowline and a buntling, though you may show them a dozen times, nor +indeed can do anything but steal and blaspheme and be the foulest, +filthiest crew that Captain Satan ever shipped for the Long Voyage. Not +fit to slush down the mast of a collier, the best of them. + +It must be a dozen years since Carmela died in that little house beyond +the cabbage garden. It was a glorious night in September--a strange +night in some ways, and not like other nights one remembers, for the +full moon had risen over the hills to the left, filling the world with a +transparent vapour of silver, so clear and so bright that the very light +seemed good to breathe as it is good to drink crystal water from a +spring. Verbicaro was all asleep behind Don Pietro Casale's house, and +in front, from the terrace before the guest-room, one could see the +great valley far below beyond the cabbages, deep and mysterious, with +silver-dashed shadows and sudden blacknesses, and bright points of white +where the moon's rays fell upon a solitary hut. And on the other side of +the valley, above Grisolia, a great round-topped mountain and on the top +of the mountain an enormous globe of cloud, full of lightning that +flashed unceasingly, so that the cloud was at one instant like a ball of +silver in the moonlight, and at the next like a ball of fire in +darkness. Not a breath stirred the air, and the strange thunderstorm +flashed out its life through the long hours, stationary and alone at its +vast height. + +In the great silence two sounds broke the stillness from time to time; +the deep satisfied grunt of a pig turning his fattest side to the cobble +stones as he slept--and the long, low wail of a woman dying in great +pain. + +The little room was very dark. A single wick burned in the boat-shaped +cup of the tall earthenware lamp, and there was little oil left in the +small receptacle. On the high trestle bed, upon the thinnest of straw +mattresses, decently covered with a coarse brown blanket, lay a pale +woman, emaciated to a degree hardly credible. A clean white handkerchief +was bound round her brow and covered her head, only a scanty lock or two +of fair hair escaping at the side of her face. The features were calm +and resigned, but when the pain of the death agony seized upon her the +thin lips parted and deep lines of suffering appeared about the mouth; +She seemed to struggle as best she could, but the low, quavering cry +would not be stifled--lower and more trembling each time it was renewed. + +An old barefooted friar with a kindly eye and a flowing grey beard stood +beside her. He had done what he could to comfort her and was going away. +But she feebly begged him to stay a little longer. In an interval, while +she had no pain, she spoke to her boys. + +"Ruggiero--Sebastiano--dear sons--you could not save me, and I am going. +God bless you. Our Lady help you--remember--you are Children of the +King--remember--ah." + +She sighed heavily and her jaw fell as another sort of pallor spread +suddenly over her face. Poor Carmela was dead at last, after weeks of +sickness, worked to death, as the neighbours said, by Pietro Casale and +his wife Concetta. + +She left those two boys, lean, poorly clad lads of ten and twelve years, +yellow haired and blue eyed, with big bones and hunger-pinched faces. +They could just remember seeing their father brought home dead with a +knife wound in his breast six years earlier. Now they took hands as +they looked at their dead mother with a sort of wondering gaze. There +were no tears, no cries of despair--least of all did they show any fear. + +Old Padre Michele made them kneel down, still hand in hand, while he +recited prayers for the dead. The boys knew some of the responses, +learned by ear with small regard for Latinity, though they understood +what they were saying. When the monk got up they rose also and looked +again at the poor dead face. + +"You have no relations, my children," said the old man. + +"We are alone," answered the elder boy in a quiet, clear voice. "But I +will take care of Sebastiano." + +"And I will help Ruggiero," said the younger in much the same tone. + +"You are hungry?" + +"Always," answered both together, without hesitation. + +Padre Michele would have smiled, but the hungry faces and the mournful +tone told him how true the spoken word must be. He fumbled in the +pockets in the breast of his gown, and presently produced a few +shady-looking red and white sugar sweetmeats, bullet-like in shape and +hardness. + +"It is all I have now, my children," said the old man. "I picked them up +yesterday at a wedding, to give them to a poor little girl who was ill. +But she was dead when I got there, so you may have them." + +The lads took the stuff thankfully and crunched the stony balls with +white, wolfish teeth. + +With Padre Michele's help they got an old woman from amongst the +neighbours to rouse herself and do what was necessary. When all was over +she took the brown blanket as payment without asking for it, smuggling +it out of the mean room under her great black handkerchief. But it was +day then, and Don Pietro Casale was wide awake. He stopped her in the +narrow part of the lane at the foot of his own staircase, and forcibly +undid the bundle, to the old woman's inexpressible discomfiture. He said +nothing, as he took it from her and carried it away, but his thin grey +lips smiled quietly. The old woman shook her fist at him behind his +back and cursed his dead under her breath. From Rome to Palermo, swear +at a man if you please, call him by bad names, and he will laugh at you. +But curse his dead relations or their souls, and you had better keep +beyond the reach of his knife, or of his hands if he have no weapon. So +the old woman was careful that Pietro Casale should not hear her. + +"Managgia l'anima di chi t' e morto!" she muttered, as she hobbled away. + +Everything in the room where Carmela died belonged to Don Pietro, and he +took everything. He found the two boys standing together, looking across +the fence of the cabbage garden down at the distant valley and over at +the height opposite, beyond which the sea was hidden. + +"Eh! You good-for-nothings!" he called out to them. "Is nothing done +to-day because the mother is dead? No bread to-night, then--you know +that." + +"We will not work for you any more," answered Ruggiero, the elder, as +both turned round. + +Don Pietro went up to them. He had a short stout stick in his hand, +tough and black with age, and he lifted it as though to drive them to +work. They waited quietly till it should please him to come to close +quarters, which he did without delay. I have said that he was a man of +few words. But the Children of the King were not like Calabrian boys, +children though they were. Their wolfish teeth were very white as they +waited for him with parted lips, and there was an odd blue light in +their eyes which is not often seen south of Goth-land. + +They were but twelve and ten years old, but they could fight already, in +their small way, and had tried it many a time with shepherd lads on the +hill-side. But Don Pietro despised children and aimed a blow at +Ruggiero's right shoulder. The blow did not take effect, but a moment +had not passed before the old peasant lay sprawling on his back with +both the boys on top of him. + +"You cannot hurt the mother now," said Ruggiero. "Hit him as I do, +Bastianello!" + +And the four bony boyish fists fell in a storm of savage blows upon Don +Pietro Casale's leathern face and eyes and head and thin grey lips. + +"That is for the mother," said Ruggiero. "Another fifty a-piece for +ourselves." + +The wiry old peasant struggled desperately, and at last threw himself +free of them and staggered to his feet. + +"Quick, Bastianello!" shouted Ruggiero. + +In the twinkling of an eye they were over the fence and running at full +speed for the valley. Don Pietro bruised, dazed and half-blinded, +struggled after them, crashing through hedges and stumbling into ditches +while he shouted for help in his pursuit. But his heavy shoes hampered +him, and at best he was no match for them in speed. His face was covered +with purple blotches and his eyelids were swelling at a terrible rate. +Out of breath and utterly worn out he stood still and steadied himself +against a crooked olive-tree. He could no longer hear even the footsteps +of the lads before him. + +They were beyond his reach now. The last of the Children of the King had +left Verbicaro, where their fathers had lived and died since darker ages +than Calabrian history has accurately recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +"We shall never see him again," said Ruggiero, stopping at last and +looking back over the stone wall he had just cleared. + +Sebastiano listened intently. He was not tall enough to see over, but +his ears were sharp. + +"I do not hear him any more," he answered. "I hurt my hands on his +nose," he added, thoughtfully, as he glanced at his bruised knuckles. + +"So did I," returned his brother. "He will remember us. Come along--it +is far to Scalea." + +"To Scalea? Are we going to Scalea?" + +"Eh! If not, where? And where else can we eat? Don Antonino will give us +a piece of bread." + +"There are figs here," suggested Sebastiano, looking up into the trees +around them. + +"It has not rained yet, and if you eat figs from the tree before it has +rained you will have pain. But if we are very hungry we will eat them, +all the same." + +Little Sebastiano yielded rather reluctantly before his brother's +superior wisdom. Besides, Padre Michele had given them a little cold +bean porridge at the monastery early in the morning. So they went on +their way cautiously, and looking about them at every step now that +there was no more need of haste. For they had got amongst the vineyards +and orchards where they had no business, and if the peasants saw them, +the stones would begin to fly. They knew their way about, however, and +reached an open footpath without any adventure, so that in half an hour +they were on the mule track to Scalea. They walked much faster than a +grown peasant would have done, and they knew the road. Instead of +turning to the left after going down the hill beyond the tower, they +took the right hand path to the Scalea river, and as it had not rained +they got across without getting very wet. But that road is not so good +as the one to Diamante, because the river is sometimes swollen, and +people with laden mules have to wait even as much as three days before +they can try the ford, and moreover there is bad air there, which +brings fever. + +At last they struck the long beach and began to trudge through the sand. + +"And what shall we do to-morrow?" asked Sebastiano. + +Ruggiero was whistling loudly to show his younger brother that he was +not tired nor afraid of anything. At the question he stopped suddenly, +and faced the blazing blue sea. + +"We can go to America," he said, after a moment's reflection. + +Little Sebastiano did not seem at all surprised by the proposition, but +he remained in deep thought for some moments, stamping up a little +hillock of sand between his bare feet. + +"We are not old enough to be married yet," he remarked at last. + +"That is true," admitted Ruggiero, reluctantly. + +Possibly, the close connection between going to America and being +married may not be apparent to the poor untutored foreign mind. It would +certainly not have been understood a hundred miles north of Sebastiano's +heap of sand. And yet it is very simple. In Calabria any strong young +fellow with a decently good character can find a wife with a small +dowry, though he be ever so penniless. Generally within a week, and +always within a fortnight, he emigrates alone, taking all his wife's +money with him and leaving her to work for her own living with her +parents. He goes to Buenos Ayres or Monte Video. If, at the end of four, +five or six years he has managed to increase the money so as to yield a +small income, and if his wife behaves herself during his absence, he +comes home again and buys a piece of land and builds a house. His +friends do not fail to inform him of his wife's conduct, and he holds +her dowry as a guarantee of her fidelity. But if he fails to enrich +himself, or if she is unfaithful to him, he never comes back at all. It +is thus clear that a penniless young man cannot go to America until he +is married. + +"That is very true," Ruggiero repeated. + +"And we must eat," said Sebastiano, who knew by experience the truth of +what he said. + +"And we are always hungry. It is very strange. I am hungry now, and yet +we had the beans only this morning. It is true that the plate was not +full, and there were two of us. I wish we were like the son of Antonio, +who never eats. I heard his mother telling the chemist so last winter." + +"He is dead," said Sebastiano. "Health to us!" he added, according to +custom. + +"Health to us!" repeated Euggiero. "Perhaps he died because he did not +eat. Who knows? I should, I am sure. Is he dead? I did not know. Come +along! If Don Antonino is not away we shall get some bread." + +So they trudged on through the sand. It was still very hot on the +yellowish white beach, under the great southern sun in September, but +the Children of the King had been used to bearing worse hardships than +heat, or cold either, and the thought of the big brown loaves in Don +Antonino's wine-shop was very cheering. + +At last they reached the foot of the terraced village that rises with +its tiers of white and brown houses from the shore to the top of the +hill. Not so big nor so prosperous a place as Verbicaro, but much bigger +and richer than Diamante. There are always a good many fishing boats +hauled up on the beach, but you will not often see a cargo boat +excepting in the autumn. Don Antonino keeps the cook-shop and the wine +cellar in the little house facing the sea, before you turn to the right +to go up into the village. He is an old sailor and an honest fellow, and +comes from Massa, which is near Sorrento. + +A vast old man he is, with keen, quiet grey eyes under heavy lids that +droop and slant outward like the lifts of a yard. He is thickset, heavy, +bulky in the girth, flat-footed, iron-handed, slow to move. He has a +white beard like a friar, and wears a worsted cap. His skin, having lost +at last the tan of thirty years, is like the rough side of light brown +sole leather--a sort of yellowish, grey, dead-leaf colour. He is very +deaf and therefore generally very silent. He has been boatswain on board +of many a good ship and there are few ports from Batum to San Francisco +where he has not cast anchor. + +The boys saw him from a long way off, and their courage rose. He often +came to Verbicaro to buy wine and had known their father, and knew them. +He would certainly give them a piece of bread. As he saw them coming +his quiet eyes watched them, and followed them as they came up the +beach. But he did not turn his head, nor move hand or foot, even when +they were close to him. He looked so solid and determined to stand still +where he was, in the door of his shop, that you might have taken him for +an enormous lay figure of a man, made of carved oak and dressed up for a +sign to his own business. The two lads touched their ragged woollen caps +and stood looking at him, wondering whether he would ever move. At last +his grey eyes twinkled. + +"Have you never seen a Christian before?" he inquired in a deep gruff +voice. + +He did not seem to be in a good humour. The boys drew back somewhat in +awe, and sat down to rest on the stones by the wall. Still Antonino's +eyes followed them, though he did not move. Sebastiano looked up at him +uneasily from time to time, but Ruggiero gazed steadily at the sea with +the affectation of proud indifference to scrutiny, which is becoming in +a boy of twelve years. At last the old man stirred, turned slowly as on +a pivot and went into the shop. + +"Is it not better to speak to him?" asked Sebastiano of his brother in +a whisper. + +"No. He is deaf. If he did not understand us he would be angry and would +give us no bread." + +Presently Don Antonino came out again. He held half a loaf and a big +slab of goat's-milk cheese between his huge thumb and finger. He paused +exactly on the spot where he had stood so long, and seemed about to +become absorbed in the contemplation of the empty fishing boats lying in +the sun. Sebastiano watched him with hungry eyes, but Ruggiero again +stared at the sea. After several minutes the old boatswain got under way +again and came to them, holding out the food to them both. + +"Eat," he said laconically. + +They both jumped up and thanked him, and pulled at their ragged caps +before they took the bread and cheese from his hand. He nodded gravely, +which was his way of explaining that he could not hear but that it was +all right, and then he watched them as they set to work. + +"Like wolves," he said solemnly, as he looked on. + +The place was quite deserted at that hour. Only now and then a woman +passed, with an earthen jar of water on her head and her little tin +bucket and rope in her hand. The public well is not fifty yards from +Antonino's house, up the brook and on the left of it. The breeze was +dying away and it was very hot, though the sun was already behind the +high rocks of the cape. + +"Where are the beasts?" asked Don Antonino, as the boys swallowed their +last mouthful. + +Ruggiero threw his head back and stuck out his chin, which signifies +negation in the south. He knew it was of little use to speak unless he +could get near the old man's ear and shout. + +"And what are you doing here?" asked the latter. + +Speech was now unavoidable. Ruggiero stood on tiptoe and the old man +bent over sideways, much as a heavily laden Dutch galliot heels to a +stiff breeze. + +"The mother is dead!" bawled the boy in his high strong voice. + +Oddly enough the tears came into his eyes for the first time, as he +shouted at the deaf old man, and at the same moment little Sebastiano's +lower lip trembled. Antonino shook his head in rough sympathy. + +"We have also beaten Don Pietro Casale, and so we have run away," yelled +the boy. + +Antonino grunted thoughtfully and his grey eyes twinkled as he slowly +righted himself and stood up again. Very deliberately he went into the +shop again and presently came back with a big measure of weak wine and +water. + +"Drink," he said, holding out the jug. + +Again the two boys pulled at their caps and each raised the jug +respectfully toward the old man before drinking. + +"To health," each said, and Antonino nodded gravely. + +Then Ruggiero took the jug inside and rinsed it, as he knew it was his +duty to do and set it on the table. When he came back he stood beside +his brother, waiting for Don Antonino to speak. A long silence followed. + +"Sleep," said the old man. "Afterwards we will talk." + +He took his old place in the doorway and stared steadily out to sea. The +boys lay down beside the house and having eaten and drunk their fill +and walked a matter of fifteen miles, were sound asleep in three +minutes. + +At sunset Ruggiero sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. Don Antonino was +no longer at the door, and the sound of several men's voices came from +within, mingled with the occasional dull rattle of coarse glasses on +wooden tables. + +"O!" Ruggiero called softly to his brother. Then he added a syllable and +called again, "O-e!" Little Sebastiano woke, sat up and looked about +him, rubbing his eyes in his turn. + +"What has happened?" he inquired, only half awake. + +"By the grace of God we have eaten, we have drunk and we have slept," +said Ruggiero by way of answer. + +Both got up, shook themselves and stood with their hands in their +pockets, looking at the sea. They were barefooted and barelegged, with +torn breeches, coarse white shirts much patched about the shoulders, and +ragged woollen caps. Presently they turned as by a common instinct and +went and stood before the open door, peering in at the guests. Don +Antonino was behind his black counter measuring wine. His wife was with +him now and helping him, a cheerful, clean woman having a fair +complexion, grey hair and round sharp eyes with red lids--a stranger in +Calabria like her husband. She held the neck of a great pear-shaped +demijohn, covered with straw, of which the lower part rested on the +counter. Antonino held a quart jug to be filled while she lowered the +mouth, and he poured the measure each time into a barrel through a black +tin funnel. They both counted the measures in audible tones, checking +each other as it were. The wine was very dark and strong and the smell +filled the low room and came out through the door. Half-a-dozen men sat +at the tables, mostly eating ship biscuit of their own and goat's-milk +cheese which they bought with their wine. They were rough-looking +fellows, generally in checked flannel shirts, and home-spun trousers. +But they all wore boots or shoes, which are in the south a distinctive +sign of a certain degree of prosperity. Most of them had black beards +and smart woollen caps. They were men who got their living principally +by the sea in one way or another, but none of them looked thorough +seamen. They talked loud and with a certain air of boasting, they were +rough, indeed, but not strongly built nor naturally easy in their +movements as sailors are. Their eyes were restless and fiery, but the +glance was neither keen nor direct. Altogether they contrasted oddly +with Don Antonino, the old boatswain. This part of Calabria does not +breed genuine sea folk. + +Antonino took no notice of the boys as they stood outside the door, but +went quietly on with his work, measuring quart after quart of wine and +pouring it into the barrel. + +"If it were a keg, I could carry it for him," said Ruggiero, "but I +cannot lift a barrel yet." + +"We could roll it, together," suggested Sebastiano thoughtfully. + +Presently Don Antonino finished his job and bunged the barrel with a +cork and a bit of old sailcloth. Then he looked up and stood still. The +boys were not quite sure whether he was watching them or not, for it was +already dusk. His wife lit a small German petroleum lamp and hung it in +the middle of the room, and then went to the fireplace in the dark +corner where something was cooking. One of the guests shouted to +Antonino. + +"There is a martingane at San Nicola," he bawled. + +Antonino turned his head slowly to the speaker and waited for more. + +"Bound east," continued the man. "From Majuri." + +"What is wrong with her?" inquired the old host. + +Boats going west, that is, towards Naples and Civita Vecchia often put +in to the small natural harbours to wait for the night wind. Those going +east never do except for some especial reason. + +The man said nothing, but fixed his eyes on Antonino and slowly filled +his pipe, evidently intending to convey some secret piece of information +by the look and action. But the old sailor's stolid face did not betray +the slightest intelligence. He turned away and deliberately took +half-a-dozen salted sprats from a keg behind the counter and laid them +in a dish preparatory to cleaning them for his own supper. The man who +had spoken to him seemed annoyed, but only shrugged his shoulders +impatiently and went on eating and drinking. + +Antonino took a jug of water and went outside to wash his fish. The two +boys offered to do it for him, but he shook his head. He did not speak +until he had almost finished. + +"We will fish to-night," he said at last, in a low voice, pouring a +final rinsing of water into the dish. "Sleep in the sand under the third +boat from the rocks. I will wake you when I am ready." + +He looked from one to the other of the lads with a keen glance, and then +laid one huge finger against his lips. He drained the water from his +dish and went in again. + +"Come along," said Ruggiero softly. "Let us find the boat and get out of +the way." + +The craft was a small "gozzo," or fisherman's boat, not above a dozen or +fourteen feet long, sharp and much alike at bow and stern, but with a +high stem surmounted by a big ball of wood, very convenient for hanging +nets upon. It was almost dark by this time, but the boys saw that she +was black as compared with the other boats on both sides of her. She +was quite empty and lay high and dry on three low chocks. Ruggiero lay +down, getting as close to the keel as he could and Sebastiano followed +his example. They lay head to head so that they could talk in a whisper. + +"Why are we not to speak of his fishing?" asked the younger boy. + +"Who knows? But if we do as he tells us he will give us more bread +to-morrow." + +"He is very good to us." + +"Because we beat Don Pietro Casale. Don Pietro cheated him last year. I +saw the cottonseed oil he mixed with the good, in that load we brought +down." + +"Perhaps the fishing is not for fish," suggested little Sebastiano, +curling himself up and laying his head on the end of the chock. + +They did not know what time it was when Don Antonino gently stirred them +with his big foot. They sprang up wide awake and saw in the starlight +that he had a pair of oars and a coil of rope in his hands. + +"As I launch her, take the chocks from behind and put them in front," he +said in a low voice. + +Then he laid the oars softly in the bows and dropped the rope into the +bottom, and began to push the boat slowly down to the sea. The boys did +as he had told them to do, and in a few minutes the bows were in the +rippling water. The old sailor took off his shoes and stockings and put +them on board, and rolled up his trousers. Then with a strong push he +sent her down over the pebbles and got upon the bows as she floated out. +To look at his heavy form you would not have thought that he could move +so lightly and quickly when he pleased. In a moment he was standing over +the oars and backing to the beach again for the boys to get in. They +stood above their knees in the warm water and handed him the chocks +before they got on board. He nodded as though satisfied, but said +nothing as he pulled away towards the rocky point. The lads sat silently +in the stern, wondering whither he was taking them. He certainly had +brought no fishing tackle with him. There was not even a torch and +harpoon aboard for spearing the fish. He pulled rapidly and steadily as +though he were going on an errand and were in a hurry, keeping close +under the high rocks as soon as he was clear of the reefs at the cape. +At last, nearly an hour after starting, the boys made out a great +deserted tower just ahead. Then Antonino stopped pulling, unshipped his +oars one after the other and muffled them just where the strap works on +the thole-pin, by binding bits of sailcloth round them. He produced the +canvas and the rope-yarn from his pockets, and the boys watched his +quick, workmanlike movements without understanding what he was doing. +When he began to pull again the oars made no noise against the tholes, +and he dipped the blades gently into the water, as he pulled past the +tower into the sheltered bay beyond. + +Then a vessel loomed up suddenly under the great cliffs, and a moment +later he was under her side, tapping softly against the planking. The +boys held their breath and watched him. Presently a dark head appeared +above the bulwarks and remained stationary for a while. Antonino stood +up in his boat so as to lessen the distance and make himself more easily +recognisable. Then a hand appeared beside the head and made a gesture, +then dived down and came up again with the end of a rope, lowering it +down into the boat. Antonino gave the line to Ruggiero and then stepped +off upon the great hook on the martingane's side to which the chain +links for beaching, got hold of the after shroud and swung himself on +board. + +Now it may be as well to say here what a martingane is. She is a +good-sized, decked vessel, generally between five-and-twenty and a +hundred tons, with good beam and full bows, narrow at the stern and +rather high out of water unless very heavily laden. She has one stout +mast, cross-trees, and a light topmast. She has an enormous yard, much +longer than herself, on which is bent the high peaked mainsail. She +carries a gaff-top-sail, fore-staysail, jib and flying-jib, and can rig +out all sorts of light sails when she is before the wind. She is a good +sea boat, but slow and clumsy, and needs a strong crew to handle her. + +The two boys who sat in the fishing boat alongside the martingane on +that dark night had no idea that all sea-going vessels were not called +ships; but there was something mysteriously attractive to them in the +black hull, the high tapering yard, and the shadowy rigging. They were +certainly not imaginative boys, but they could not help wondering where +the great dark thing had been and whither she might be going. They did +not know what going to sea meant, nor what real deep-sea vessels were +like, and they even fancied that this one might have been to America. +But they understood well enough that they were to make no noise, and +they kept their reflections to themselves, silently holding on to the +end of the rope as they sat in their places. + +They did not wait very long. In a few minutes Antonino and the other man +came to the side, carrying an odd-looking black bundle, sewn up in what +Ruggiero felt was oiled canvas as he steadied it down into the stern of +the little boat, and neatly hitched round from end to end with +spun-yarn, so as to be about the shape of an enormous sausage. The two +men lowered it without much caution; it was heavy but rather limp. Then +came another exactly like the first, which they also lowered into the +boat, and a moment later Don Antonino came over the side as quickly and +noiselessly as he had gone up, and shoved off quietly into the +starlight. + +Half an hour later he ran alongside of a narrow ledge of rock, +apparently quite inaccessible from the land above, but running up along +the cliff in such a way that, in case of danger from the sea, a man +could get well out of reach of the breakers. He went ashore, taking the +end of his own coil of rope with him. He made it fast in the dark +shadow, and he must have known the place very well, for there was but +one small hole running under a stone wedged in a cleft of the rock, +through which he could pass the line. He got back into the boat. + +"Get ashore, boys," he said, "and wait here. If you see a revenue boat, +with coast guards in it, coming towards you as though the men wanted to +speak to you, cast off the end of the rope and let it run into the sea. +Then run up the ledge there, and climb the rock, the faster the better. +There is a way up. But keep out of sight when it is day, by lying flat +in the hollow there. If anybody else comes in a boat, and says nothing, +but just takes the rope, do not hinder him. Let him take it, and he will +take you too, and give you a couple of biscuits." + +Don Antonino pushed off a little, letting the rope run out. Then he +made his end of it fast to the two ends of the black bundles, and +backing out as far as he could, he let them both down gently into the +water, and pulled away, leaving the Children of the King alone on the +ledge. He had managed to bring the rope down through the cleft, so that +it could not easily be seen from the sea. The boys waited some time +before either of them spoke, although the old fellow was deaf. + +"Those things looked like dead men," said Sebastiano at last. + +"But they are not," answered Ruggiero confidently. "Now I know why Don +Antonino is so rich. He smuggles tobacco." + +"If we could smuggle tobacco, too, it would be a fortune," remarked the +younger boy. "He would give us bread every day, with cheese, and wine to +drink." + +"We shall see." + +They sat a long time, waiting for something to happen, and then fell +asleep, curling themselves up in the hollow as they had been told to do. +At dawn they awoke and began to look out for the revenue boat. But she +did not appear in sight. The hours were very long and it was very hot, +and they had nothing to eat or drink. Then all at once they saw what +seemed to them the most beautiful vision they could remember. A big +felucca shot round the rocks, still under way from the breeze she had +found in the little bay. Her full white sails still shivered in the sun, +and the boys could see the blue light that passed up under her keel and +was reflected upon her snow-white side as she ceased to move just in +front of them. + +A big man with a red beard and a white shirt stood at the helm and fixed +his eyes on the point where the lads were hiding. He evidently saw them, +for he nodded to a man near him and gave an order. In a moment the dingy +was launched and a sailor came ashore. He jumped nimbly out, holding the +painter of his boat in one hand, glanced at the boys, who stood up as +soon as they saw that they were discovered, and cast off the end of the +rope, keeping hold of it lest it should run. Then without paying any +more attention to the boys, he went on board again taking the end with +him. + +"And we?" shouted Ruggiero after him, as he pulled away facing them. + +"I do not know you," he answered. + +"But we know you and Don Antonino," said Sebastiano, who was +quick-witted. + +"Wait a while," replied the sailor. + +The man at the helm spoke to him while the others were hauling up the +bundles out of the water and getting them on board. The dingy came +rapidly back and the sailor sterned her to the rock for the boys to get +in. In a few minutes they were over the side of the felucca.[1] They +pulled at their ragged caps as they came up to the man at the helm, who +proved to be the master. + +[Footnote 1: A felucca is a two-masted boat of great length in +proportion to her beam, and generally a very good sailer. She carries +two very large lateen sails, uncommonly high at the peak, and one jib. +She is sometimes quite open, sometimes half-decked, and sometimes fully +decked, according to her size. She carries generally from ten to thirty +tons of cargo, and is much used in the coasting trade, all the way from +Civita Vecchia to the Diamante. The model of a first-rate felucca is +very like that of a Viking's ship which was discovered not many years +since in a mound in Norway.] + +"What do you want?" he asked roughly, but he looked them over from head +to foot, one at a time. + +"The mother is dead," said Ruggiero, "and, moreover, we have beaten Don +Pietro Casale and run away from Verbicaro, and we wish to be sailors." + +"Verbicaro?" repeated the master. "Land folk, then. Have you ever been +to sea?" + +"No, but we are strong and can work." + +"You may come with me to Sorrento. You will find work there. I am +short-handed. I daresay you are worth a biscuit apiece." + +He spoke in the roughest tone imaginable, and his black eyes--for he had +black eyes and thick black hair in spite of his red beard--looked angry +and fiery while he talked. Altogether you would have thought that he was +in a very bad temper and not at all disposed to take a couple of +starving lads on board out of charity. But he did not look at all such a +man as those awkward, gaudily dressed, unsteady fellows the boys had +seen in Antonino's shop on the previous night. He looked a seaman, every +inch of him, and they instinctively felt that as he stood there at the +helm he knew his business thoroughly and could manage his craft as +coolly in a winter storm as on this flat September sea, when the men +were getting the sweeps out because there was not a breath of wind to +stir the sails. + +"Go forward and pick beans for dinner," he said. + +That was the first job given the Children of the King when they went to +sea. For to sea they went and turned out seamen in due time, as good as +the master who took them first, and perhaps a little better, though that +is saying much. + +And so I have told you who the Children of the King are and how they +shipped as boys on board of a Sorrento felucca, being quite alone in the +world, and now I will tell you of some things which happened to them +afterwards, and not quite so long ago. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Ten years have passed since the ever-memorable day on which the Children +of the King hurt their fists so badly in battering Don Pietro Casale's +sharp nose. They are big, bony men, now, with strongly marked features, +short yellow hair and fair beards. So far they are alike, and at first +sight might be taken for twin brothers. But there is a marked difference +between them in character, which shows itself in their faces. Ruggiero's +eye is of a colder blue, is less mobile and of harder expression than +Sebastiano's. His firm lips are generally tightly closed, and his square +chin is bolder than his brother's. He is stronger, too, though not by +very much, and though he is more silent and usually more equable, he has +by far the worse temper of the two. At sea there is little to choose +between them. Perhaps, on the whole, Sebastiano has always been the +favourite amongst his companions, while Ruggiero has been thought the +more responsible and possibly the more dangerous in a quarrel. Both, +however, have acquired an extraordinarily good reputation as seamen, and +also as boatmen on the pleasure craft of all sizes which sail the gulf +of Naples during the summer season. + +They have made several long voyages, too. They have been to New York and +to Buenos Ayres and have seen many ports of Europe and America, and much +weather of all sorts north and south of the Line. They have known what +it is to be short of victuals five hundred miles from land with contrary +winds; they have experienced the delights of a summer at New Orleans, +waiting for a cargo and being eaten alive by mosquitoes; they have +looked up, in January, at the ice-sheeted rigging, when boiling water +froze upon the shrouds and ratlines, and the captain said that no man +could lay out upon the top-sail yard, though the north-easter threatened +to blow the sail out of the bolt-ropes--but Ruggiero got hold of the lee +earing all the same and Sebastiano followed him, and the captain swore a +strange oath in the Italo-American language, and went aloft himself to +help light the sail out to windward, being still a young man and not +liking to be beaten by a couple of beardless boys, as the two were +then.[2] And they have seen many strange sights, sea-serpents not a few, +and mermaids quite beyond the possibility of mistake, and men who can +call the wind with four knots in a string and words unlearnable, and +others who can alter the course of a waterspout by a secret spell, and a +captain who made a floating beacon of junk soaked in petroleum in a +tar-barrel and set it adrift and stood up on the quarter-deck calling on +all the three hundred and sixty-five saints in the calendar out of the +Neapolitan almanack he held--and got a breeze, too, for his pains, as +Ruggiero adds with a quiet and somewhat incredulous smile when he has +finished the yarn. All these things they have seen with their eyes, and +many more which it is impossible to remember, but all equally +astonishing though equally familiar to everybody who has been at sea ten +years. + +[Footnote 2: The writer knows of a Sorrentine captain, commanding a +large bark who, when top-sails are reefed in his watch regularly takes +the lee earing, which, as most landsmen need to be told, is the post of +danger and honour.] + +And now in mid-June they are at home again, since Sorrento is their home +now, and they are inclined to take a turn with the pleasure boats by +way of a change and engage themselves for the summer, Ruggiero with a +gentleman from the north of Italy known as the Conte di San Miniato, and +Sebastiano with a widowed Sicilian lady and her daughter, the Marchesa +di Mola and the Signorina Beatrice Granmichele, generally, if +incorrectly, spoken of as Donna Beatrice. + +Now the Conte di San Miniato, though only a count, and reputed to be out +at elbows, if not up to his ears in debt, is the sole surviving +representative of a very great and ancient family in the north. But how +the defunct Granmichele got his title of Marchese di Mola, no one knows +precisely. Two things are certain, that his father never had a title at +all, and that he himself made a large fortune in sulphur and paving +stones, so that his only daughter is much of an heiress, and his elderly +widow has a handsome income to spend as she pleases, owns in Palermo a +fine palace--historical in other hands--is the possessor of a smartish +yacht, a cutter of thirty tons or so, goes to Paris once and to Monte +Carlo twice in every year, brings her own carriage to Sorrento in the +summer, and lives altogether in a luxurious and highly correct manner. + +She is a tall, thin woman of forty years or thereabouts, with high +features, dark eyes, a pale olive complexion, black hair white at the +temples, considerable taste in dress and an absolute contempt for +physical exertion, mental occupation and punctuality. + +Donna Beatrice, as they call her daughter, is a very pretty girl, aged +nineteen or nearly, of greyhound build, so to say, by turns amazingly +active and astonishingly indolent, capricious and decided in her +caprices while they last, passionately fond of dancing, much inclined to +amuse herself in her own way when her mother is not looking, and +possessing a keen sense of prime and ultimate social ratios. She is +unusually well educated, speaks three languages, knows that somehow +North and South America are not exactly the same as the Northern and +Southern States, has heard of Virgil and the Crusades, can play a waltz +well, and possesses a very sweet little voice. She is undoubtedly +pretty. Brown, on the whole, as to colouring--brown skin, liquid brown +eyes, dark brown hair--a nose not regular but attractive, a mouth not +small but expressive, eyebrows not finely pencilled, neither arched nor +straight, but laid on as it were like the shadows in a clever charcoal +drawing, with the finger, broad, effective, well turned, carelessly set +in the right place by a hand that never makes mistakes. + +It is the intention of the Marchesa di Mola to marry her daughter to the +very noble and out-at-elbows Count of San Miniato before the summer is +out. It is also the intention of the Count to marry Beatrice. It is +Beatrice's intention to do nothing rashly, but to take as much time as +she can get for making up her mind, and then to do exactly as she +pleases. She perfectly appreciates her own position and knows that she +can either marry a rich man of second-rate family, or a poor man of good +blood, a younger son or a half ruined gentleman at large like San +Miniato, and she hesitates. She is not quite sure of the value of money +yet. It might be delightful to be even much richer than she is, because +there are so many delightful things to be done in the world with money +alone. But it might turn out to be equally agreeable to have a great +name, to be somebody, to be a necessary part of society in short, +because society does a number of agreeable things not wholly dependent +upon cash for being pleasant, and indeed often largely dependent on +credit. + +San Miniato attracts her, and she does not deny the fact to herself. He +is handsome, tall, fair, graceful and exceedingly well dressed. He was +several years in a cavalry regiment and is reputed to have left the +service in order to fight with a superior officer whom he disliked. In +reality his straitened means may have had something to do with the step. +At all events he scratched his major rather severely in the duel which +took place, and has the reputation of a dangerous man with the sabre. It +is said that the major's wife had something to do with the story. At +present San Miniato is about thirty years of age. His only known vice is +gambling, which is perhaps a chief source of income to him. Every one +agrees in saying that he is the type of the honourable player, and that, +if he wins on the whole, he owes his winnings to his superior coolness +and skill. The fact that he gambles rather lends him an additional +interest in the eyes of Beatrice, whose mother often plays and who would +like to play herself. + +Ruggiero, who is to be San Miniato's boatman this summer, is waiting +outside the Count's door, until that idle gentleman wakes from his late +sleep and calls him. The final agreement is yet to be made, and Ruggiero +makes calculations upon his fingers as he sits on the box in the +corridor. The Count wants a boat and three sailors by the month and if +he is pleased, will keep them all the season. It became sufficiently +clear to Ruggiero during the first interview that his future employer +did not know the difference between a barge and a felucca, and he has +had ocular demonstration that the Count cannot swim, for he has seen him +in the water by the bathing-houses--a thorough landsman at all points. +But there are two kinds of landsmen, those who are afraid, and those who +are not, as Ruggiero well knows. The first kind are amusing and the +sailors get more fun out of them than they know of; the second kind are +dangerous and are apt to get more out of the sailor than they pay for, +by bullying him and calling him a coward. But on the whole Ruggiero, +being naturally very daring and singularly indifferent to life as a +possession, hopes that San Miniato may turn out to be of the +unreasonably reckless rather than of the tiresomely timid class, and is +inclined to take his future master's courage for granted as he makes his +calculations. + +"I will take the Son of the Fool and the Cripple," he mutters +decisively. "They are good men, and we can always have the Gull for a +help when we need four." + +A promising crew, by the names, say you of the North, who do not +understand Southern ways. But in Sorrento and all down the coast, most +seafaring men get nicknames under which their real and legal +appellations disappear completely and are totally forgotten. + +The Fool, whose son Ruggiero meant to engage, had earned his title in +bygone days by dancing an English hornpipe for the amusement of his +companions, the Gull owed his to the singular length and shape of his +nose, and the Cripple had in early youth worn a pair of over-tight +boots on Sundays, whereby he had limped sadly on the first day of every +week, for nearly two years. So that the crew were all sound in mind and +body in spite of their alarming names. + +Ruggiero sat on the box and waited, meditating upon the probable +occupations of gentlemen who habitually slept till ten o'clock in the +morning and sometimes till twelve. From time to time he brushed an +almost imperceptible particle of dust from his very smart blue cloth +knees, and settled the in-turned collar of the perfectly new blue +guernsey about his neck. It was new, and it scratched him disagreeably, +but it was highly necessary to present a prosperous as well as a +seamanlike appearance on such an important occasion. Nothing could have +been more becoming to him than the dark close-fitting dress, showing as +it did the immense breadth and depth of his chest, the clean-cut sinewy +length of his limbs and the easy grace and strength of his whole +carriage. His short straight fair hair was brushed, too, and his young +yellow beard had been recently trimmed. Altogether a fine figure of a +man as he sat there waiting. + +Suddenly he was aware of a wonderful vision moving towards him down the +broad corridor--a lovely dark face with liquid brown eyes, an exquisite +figure clad in a well-fitted frock of white serge, a firm, smooth step +that was not like any step he had ever heard. He rose quickly as she +passed him, and the blood rushed to his face, up to the very roots of +his hair. + +Beatrice was too much of a woman not to see the effect she produced upon +the poor sailor, and she nodded gracefully to him, in acknowledgment of +his politeness in rising. As she did so she noticed on her part that the +poor sailor was indeed a very remarkable specimen of a man, such as she +had not often seen. She stopped and spoke to him. + +"Are you the Count of San Miniato's boatman?" she asked in her sweet +voice. + +"Yes, Eccellenza," answered Ruggiero, still blushing violently + +"Then he has engaged the boat? We want a boat, too--the Marchesa di +Mola--can you get us one?" + +"There is my brother, Eccellenza." + +"Is he a good sailor?" + +"Better than I, Eccellenza." + +Beatrice looked at the figure before her and smiled graciously. + +"Send him to us at twelve o'clock," she said. "The Marchesa di Mola--do +not forget." + +"Yes, Eccellenza." + +Ruggiero bowed respectfully, while Beatrice nodded again and passed on. +Then he sat down again and waited, but his fingers no longer moved in +calculations and his expression had changed. He sat still and stared in +the direction of the corner beyond which the young girl had disappeared. +He was conscious for the first time in his life that he possessed a +heart, for the thing thumped and kicked violently under his blue +guernsey, and he looked down at his broad chest with an odd expression +of half-childish curiosity, fully expecting to see an outward and +visible motion corresponding with the inward hammering. But he saw +nothing. Solid ribs and solid muscles kept the obstreperous machine in +its place. + +"Malora!" he ejaculated to himself. "Worse than a cat in a sack!" + +His hands, too, were quite cold, though it was a warm day. He noticed +the fact as he passed his thumb for the hundredth time round his neck +where the hard wool scratched him. To tell the truth he was somewhat +alarmed. He had never been ill a day in his life, had never had as much +as a headache, a bad cold or a touch of fever, and he began to think +that something must be wrong. He said to himself that if such a thing +happened to him again he would go to the chemist and ask for some +medicine. His strength was the chief of his few possessions, he thought, +and it would be better to spend a franc at the chemist's than to let it +be endangered. It was a serious matter. Suppose that the young lady, +instead of speaking to him about a boat, had told him to pick up the box +on which he was sitting--one of those big boxes these foreigners travel +with--and to carry it upstairs, he would have cut a poor figure just at +that moment, when his heart was thumping like a flat-fish in the bottom +of a boat, and his hands were trembling with cold. If it chanced again, +he would certainly go to Don Ciccio the chemist and buy a dose of +something with a strong bad taste, the stronger and the worse flavoured +the better, of course, as everyone knew. Very alarming, these symptoms! + +Then he fell to thinking of the young lady herself, and she seemed to +rise before him, just as he had seen her a few moments earlier. The +signs of his new malady immediately grew worse again, and when it +somehow struck him that he might serve her, and let Sebastiano be +boatman to the Count, the pounding at his ribs became positively +terrifying, and he jumped up and began to walk about. Just then the door +opened suddenly and San Miniato put out his head. + +"Are you the sailor who is to get me a boat?" he asked. + +"Yes, Eccellenza," answered Ruggiero turning quickly, cap in hand. +Strange to say, at the sound of the man's voice the alarming symptoms +totally disappeared and Ruggiero was quite himself again. + +He remembered also that he had been engaged for the Count, through the +people of the hotel, on condition of approval, and that it would be +contrary to boatman's honour to draw back. After all, too, women in a +boat were always a nuisance at the best, and he liked the Count's face, +and decided that he was not of the type of landsmen who are frightened. +The interview did not last long. + +"I shall wish to make excursions in all directions," said San Miniato. +"I do not know anything about the sea, but I dislike people who make +difficulties and talk to me of bad weather when I mean to go anywhere. +Do you understand?" + +"We will try to content your excellency," answered Ruggiero quietly. + +"Good. We shall see." + +So Ruggiero went away to find the Son of the Fool, and the Cripple, and +to engage them for the summer, and to deliver to his brother the message +from the Marchesa di Mola. The reason why Ruggiero did not take +Sebastiano as one of his own crew was a simple one. There lived and +still lives at Sorrento, a certain old man known as the Greek. The Greek +is old and infirm and has a vicious predilection for wine and cards, so +that he is quite unfit for the sea. But he owns a couple of smart +sailing boats and gets a living by letting them to strangers. It is +necessary, however, to have at least one perfectly reliable man in +charge of each, and so soon as the Children of the King had returned +from their last long voyage the Greek had engaged them both for this +purpose, as being in every way superior to the common run of boatmen who +hung about the place waiting for jobs. It was consequently impossible +that the two brothers could be in the same boat's crew during the +summer. + +Ruggiero found the Cripple asleep in the shade, having been out all +night fishing, and the Son of the Fool was seated not far from him, +plaiting sinnet for gaskets. The two were inseparable, so far as their +varied life permitted them to be together, and were generally to be +found in the same crew. Average able seamen both, much of the same +height and build, broad, heavy fellows good at the oar, peaceable and +uncomplaining. + +While Ruggiero was talking with the one who was awake, his own brother +appeared, and Ruggiero gave him the message, whereupon Sebastiano went +off to array himself in his best before presenting himself to the +Marchesa di Mola. The Son of the Fool gathered up his work. + +"Mola?" he repeated in a tone of inquiry. + +Ruggiero nodded carelessly. + +"A Sicilian lady who has a cutter?" + +"Yes." + +"Her daughter is going to marry a certain Conte di San Miniato--a great +signore--of those without soldi." + +The sailor coiled the plaited sinnet neatly over his bare arm, but +looked up as Ruggiero uttered an exclamation. + +"What is the matter with you?" he asked. + +Ruggiero's face was quite red and his broad chest heaved as he bit his +lip and thrust his hands into his pockets. His companion repeated his +question. + +"Nothing is the matter," answered Ruggiero. "Wake up the Cripple and see +if there is everything for rigging the boat. We must have her out this +afternoon. The Conte di San Miniato of whom you speak is our signore." + +"Oh! I understand!" exclaimed the Son of the Fool. "Well--you need not +be so anxious. I daresay it is not true that he has no money, and at all +events the Greek will pay us." + +"Of course, the Greek will pay us," answered Ruggiero thoughtfully. "I +will be back in half an hour," he added, turning away abruptly. + +He walked rapidly up the steep paved ascent which leads through the +narrow gorge from the small beach to the town above. A few minutes later +he entered the chemist's shop for the first time in his life in search +of medicine for himself. He took off his cap and looked about him with +some curiosity, eying the long rows of old-fashioned majolica drug jars, +and the stock of bottles of all colours and labels in the glass cases. +The chemist was a worthy old creature with a white beard and solemn +ways. + +"What do you want?" he inquired. + +"A little medicine, but good," answered Ruggiero, looking critically +along the shelves, as though to select a remedy. "A little of the best," +he added, jingling a few silver coins in his pockets and wondering how +much the stuff would cost. + +"But what kind of medicine?" asked the old man. "Do you feel ill? +Where?" + +"Here," answered Ruggiero bringing his heavy bony hand down upon his +huge chest with a noise that made the chemist start, and then chuckle. + +"Just there, eh?" said the latter ironically. "You have the health of a +horse. Go to dinner." + +"I tell you it is there," returned Ruggiero. "Sometimes it is quite +quiet, as it is now, but sometimes it jumps and threshes like a dolphin +at sea." + +"H'm! The heart, eh?" The old man came round his counter and applied his +ear to Ruggiero's breast. "Regular as a steam engine," he said. "When +does it jump, as you call it? When you go up hill?" + +Ruggiero laughed. + +"Am I old or fat?" he inquired contemptuously. "It happened first this +morning. I was waiting in the hotel and a lady came by and spoke to +me--about a certain boat." + +"A lady? H'm! Young perhaps, and pretty?" + +"That is my business. Then half an hour later I was talking to the Son +of the Fool. You know him I daresay. And it began to jump again, and I +said to myself, '"Health is the first thing," as the old people say.' So +I came for the medicine." + +The chemist chuckled audibly. + +"And what were you talking about?" he asked. "The lady?" + +"It is true," answered Ruggiero in a tone of reflection. "The Son of the +Fool was telling me that the lady is to marry my signore." + +"And you want medicine!" cried the old man, laughing aloud. "Imbecile! +Have you never been in love?" + +Ruggiero stared at him. + +"Eh! A girl here and there--in Buenos Ayres, in New Orleans--what has +that to do with it? You--what the malora--the plague--are you talking +about? Eh? Explain a little." + +"You had better go back to Buenos Ayres, or to some other place where +you will not see the lady any more," said the chemist. "You are in love +with her. That is all the matter." + +"I, with a gran' signora, a great lady! You are crazy, Don Ciccio!" + +"Crazy or not--tell me to-morrow whether your heart does not beat every +time she looks at you. As for her being a great lady--we are men, and +they are women." + +The chemist had socialistic ideas of his own. + +"To please you," said Ruggiero, "I will go and see her now, and I will +be back in an hour to tell you that you do not understand your business. +My brother is to go there at twelve and I will go with him. Of course I +shall see her." + +He turned to go, but stopped suddenly on the threshold and came back. + +"There!" he cried triumphantly. "There it is again, but not so hard this +time. Is the lady here, now?" He pushed his chest against the old man's +ear. + +"Madonna mia! What a machine!" exclaimed the latter, after listening a +moment. "If I had a heart like that!" + +"Now you see for yourself," said Ruggiero. "I want the best medicine." + +But again the chemist broke into a laugh. + +"Medicine! A medicine for love! Do you not see that it began to beat at +the thought of seeing her? Go and try it, as you proposed. Then you will +understand." + +"I understand that you are crazy. But I will try it all the same." + +Thereupon Ruggiero strode out of the shop without further words, +considerably disappointed and displeased with the result of the +interview. The chemist apparently took him for a fool. It was absurd to +suppose that the sight of any woman, or the mention of any woman, could +make a man's heart behave in such a way, and yet he was obliged to admit +that the coincidence was undeniable. + +He found his brother just coming out of the house in which they lodged, +arrayed at all points exactly like himself. Sebastiano's young beard was +not quite so thick, his eyes were a little softer, his movements a +trifle less energetically direct than Ruggiero's, and he was, perhaps, +an inch shorter; but the resemblance was extraordinary and would have +struck any one. + +They were admitted to the presence of the Marchesa di Mola in due time. +She lay in a deep chair under the arches of her terrace, shaded by brown +linen curtains, languid, idle, indifferent as ever. + +"Beatrice!" she called in a lazy tone, as the two men stood still at a +respectful distance, waiting to be addressed. + +But instead of Beatrice, a maid appeared at a door at the other end of +the terrace--a fresh young thing with rosy cheeks, brown hair, +sparkling black eyes and a pretty figure. + +"Call Donna Beatrice," said the Marchesa. Then, as though exhausted by +the effort of speaking she closed her eyes and waited. + +The maid cast a quick glance at the two handsome sailors and disappeared +again. Ruggiero and Sebastiano stood motionless, only their eyes turning +from side to side and examining everything with the curiosity habitual +in seamen. + +Presently Beatrice entered, looked at them both for a moment and then +went up to her mother. + +"It is for the boat, mamma," she said. "Do you wish me to arrange about +it?" + +"Of course," answered the Marchesa opening her eyes and immediately +shutting them again. + +Beatrice stepped aside and beckoned the two men to her. To Ruggiero's +infinite surprise, he again felt the blood rushing to his face, and his +heart began to pound his ribs like a fuller's hammer. He glanced at his +brother and saw that he was perfectly self-possessed. Beatrice looked +from one to the other in perplexity. + +"You are so much alike!" she exclaimed. "With which of you did I speak +this morning?" + +"With me, Eccellenza," said Ruggiero, whose own voice sounded strangely +in his ears. "And this is my brother," he added. + +The arrangement was soon made, but during the short interchange of +questions and answers Ruggiero could not take his eyes from Beatrice's +face. Possibly he was not even aware that it was rude to stare at a +lady, for his education had not been got in places where ladies are +often seen, or manners frequently discussed. But Beatrice did not seem +at all disturbed by the scrutiny, though she was quite aware of its +pertinacity. A woman who has beauty in any degree rarely resents the +genuine and unconcealed admiration of the vulgar. On the contrary, as +the young girl dismissed the men, she smiled graciously upon them both, +and perhaps a little the more upon Ruggiero, though there was not much +to choose. + +Neither of them spoke as they descended the stairs of the hotel, and +went out through the garden to the gate. When they were in the square +beyond Ruggiero stopped. Sebastiano stood still also and looked at him. + + +"Does your heart ever jump and turn somersaults and get into your mouth, +when you look at a woman, Bastianello?" he asked. + +"No. Does yours?" + +"Yes. Just now." + +"I saw her, too," answered Sebastiano. "It is true that she is very +fresh and pretty, and uncommonly clean. Eh--the devil! If you like her, +ask for her. The maid of a Marchesa is sure to have money and to be a +respectable girl." + +Ruggiero was silent for a moment and looked at his brother with an odd +expression, as though he were going to say something. Unfortunately for +him, for Sebastiano, for the maid, for Beatrice, and for the count of +San Miniato, too, he said nothing. Instead, he produced half a cigar +from his cap, and two sulphur matches, and incontinently began to smoke. + +"It is lucky that both boats are engaged on the same day," observed +Sebastiano. "The Greek will be pleased. He will play all the numbers at +the lottery." + +"And get very drunk to-night," added Ruggiero with contempt. + +"Of course. But he is a good padrone, everybody says, and does not cheat +his men." + +"I hope not." + +By and by the two went down to the beach again, and Sebastiano looked +about him for a crew. The Marchesa wanted four men in her boat, or even +five, and Sebastiano picked out at once the Gull, the Son of the +American, Black Rag--otherwise known as Saint Peter from his resemblance +to the pictures of the Apostle as a fisherman--and the Deaf Man. The +latter is a fellow of strange ways, who lost his hearing from falling +into the water in winter when overheated, and who has almost lost the +power of speech in consequence, but a good sailor withal, tough, +untiring, and patient. + +They all set to work with a good will, and before four o'clock that day +the two boats were launched, ballasted and rigged, the sails were bent +to the yards and the brasses polished, so that Ruggiero and Sebastiano +went up to their respective masters to ask if there were any orders for +the afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + +Ruggiero found out before long that his master for the summer was +eccentric in his habits, judging from the Sorrentine point of view in +regard to order and punctuality. Ruggiero's experience of fine gentlemen +was limited indeed, but he could not believe that they all behaved like +San Miniato, whose temper was apparently as changeable as his tastes. +Sometimes he went to bed at nine o'clock and rose at dawn. Sometimes on +the other hand he got up at seven in the evening and went to bed by +daylight. Sometimes everything Ruggiero did was right, and sometimes +everything was wrong. There were days when the Count could not be +induced to move from the Marchesa di Mola's terrace between noon and +midnight or later, and again there were days when he went off in his +boat in the morning and did not return until the last stragglers on the +terrace of the hotel were ready to go to bed. He was irregular even in +playing, which was after all his chief pastime. Possibly he knew of +reasons why it should be good to gamble on one day and not upon +another. Then he had his fits of amateur seamanship, when he would +insist upon taking the tiller from Ruggiero's hand. The latter, on such +occasions, remained perched upon the stern in case of an emergency. San +Miniato was a thorough landsman and never understood why the wind always +seemed to change, or die away, or do something unexpected so soon as he +began to steer the boat. From time to time Ruggiero, by way of a mild +hint, held up his palm to the breeze, but San Miniato did not know what +the action meant. Ruggiero trimmed the sails to suit the course chosen +by his master as well as possible, but straightway the boat was up in +the wind again if she had been going free, or was falling off if the +tacks were down and the sheets well aft. San Miniato was one of those +men who seem quite incapable of doing anything sensible from the moment +they leave the land till they touch it again, when their normal common +sense returns, and they once more become human beings. + +On the other hand nothing frightened him, though he could not swim a +stroke. More than once Ruggiero allowed him almost to upset the boat in +a squall, and more than once, when, steering himself, and when there was +a fresh breeze, drove her till the seas broke over the bows, and the +green water came in over the lee gunwale--just to see whether the Count +would change colour. In this, however, he was disappointed. San +Miniato's temper might change and his tastes might be as variable as the +moon, or the weather, but his face rarely expressed anything of what he +felt, and if he felt anything at such times it was assuredly not fear. +He had good qualities, and courage was one of them, if courage may be +called a quality at all. Ruggiero was not at all sure that his new +master liked the sea, and it is possible that the Count was not sure of +the fact himself; but for the time, it suited him to sail as much as +possible, because Beatrice Granmichele was fond of it, and would +therefore amuse herself with excursions hither and thither during the +summer. As her mother rarely accompanied her, San Miniato could not, +according to the customs of the country, join her in her boat, and the +next best thing was to keep one for himself and to be as often as +possible alongside of her, and ready to go ashore with her if she took +a fancy to land in some quiet spot. + +The Marchesa di Mola, having quite made up her mind that her daughter +should marry San Miniato, and being almost too indolent about minor +matters to care for appearances, would have allowed the two to be +together from morning till night under the very least shadow of a +chaperon's supervision, if Beatrice herself had shown a greater +inclination for San Miniato's society than she actually did. But +Beatrice was the only one of the party who had arrived at no distinct +determination in the matter. San Miniato attracted her, and was very +well in his way, but that was all. Amidst the shoals of migratory +Neapolitans with magnificent titles and slender purses, who appeared, +disported themselves and disappeared again, at the summer resort, it was +quite possible that one might be found with more to recommend him than +San Miniato could boast. Most of them were livelier than he, and +certainly all were noisier. Many of them had very bright black eyes, +which Beatrice liked, and they were all dressed a little beyond the +extreme of the fashion, a fact of which she was too young to understand +the psychological value in judging of men. Some of them sang very +prettily, and San Miniato did not possess any similar accomplishment. +Indeed, in the young girl's opinion, he approached dangerously near to +being a "serious" man, as the Italians express it, and but for his known +love of gambling he might have seemed to her altogether too dull a +personage to be thought of as a possible husband. It is not easy to +define exactly what is meant in Italian by a "serious" man. The word +does not exactly translate the French equivalent, still less the English +one. It means something in the nature of a Philistine with a little +admixture of Ciceronism--pass the word--and a dash of Cato Censor to +sour the whole--a delight to school-masterly spirits, a terror to lively +damsels, the laughing-stock of the worldly wise and only just too wise +to find a congenial atmosphere in the every-day world. However, as San +Miniato just escaped the application of the adjective I have been trying +to translate, it is enough to say that he was not exactly a "serious +man," being excluded from that variety of the species by his passion +for play, which was dominant, and by the incidents of his past history, +which had not been dull. + +It is true that a liking for cards and a reputation for success gained +in former love affairs are not in any sense a substitute for the outward +and attractive expressions of a genuine and present passion, but they +are better than nothing when they serve to combat such a formidable +imputation as that of "seriousness." Anything is better than that, and +as Beatrice Granmichele was inclined to like the man without knowing +why, she made the most of the few stories about him which reached her +maiden ears, and of his taste for gaming, in order to render him +interesting in her own eyes. He did, indeed, make more or less pretty +speeches to her from time to time, of a cheerfully complimentary +character when he had won money, of a gracefully melancholy nature when +he had lost, but she was far too womanly not to miss something very +essential in what he said and in his way of saying it. A woman may love +flattery ever so much and have ever so strong a moral absorbent system +with which to digest it; she does not hate banality the less. There is +no such word as banality in the English tongue, but there might be, and +if there were, it would mean that peculiarly tasteless and saltless +nature of actions and speeches done and delivered by persons who are +born dull, or who are mentally exhausted, or are absent-minded, or very +shy, but who, in spite of natural or accidental disadvantages are +determined to make themselves agreeable. The standard of banality +differs indeed for every woman, and with every woman for almost every +hour of the day, and men of the world who husband their worldly +resources are aware of the fact. Angelina at three in the afternoon, +fresh from rest and luncheon--if both agree with her--is wreathed in +smiles at a little speech of Edwin's which would taste like sweet +camomile tea after dry champagne, at three in the morning, when the +Hungarian music is ringing madly in her ears and there are only two more +waltzes on the programme. Music, dancing, lights and heat are to a woman +of the world what strong drinks are to a normal man; they may not +intoxicate, but they change the humour. Fortunately for San Miniato the +young lady whom he wished to marry was not just at present exposed to +the action of those stimulants, and her moods were tolerably even. If he +had been at all eloquent, the same style of eloquence would have done +almost as well after dinner as after breakfast. But the secret springs +of love speech were dried up in his brain by the haunting consciousness +that much was expected of him. He had never before thought of marrying +and had not yet in his life found himself for any length of time +constantly face to face in conversation with a young girl, with +limitations of propriety and the fear of failure before his eyes. The +situation was new and uncomfortable. He felt like a man who has got a +hat which does not belong to him, which does not fit him and which will +not stay on his head in a high wind. The consequence was that his talk +lacked interest, and that he often did not talk at all. Nevertheless, he +managed to show enough assiduity to keep himself continually in the +foreground of Beatrice's thoughts. Being almost constantly present she +could not easily forget him, and he held his ground with a determination +which kept other men away. When a man can make a woman think of him +half-a-dozen times a day and can prevent other men from taking his place +when he is beside her, he is in a fair way to success. + +On a certain evening San Miniato had a final interview with the Marchesa +di Mola in which he expressed all that he felt for Beatrice, including a +little more, and in which he described his not very prosperous financial +condition with mitigated frankness. The Marchesa listened dreamily in +the darkness on the terrace while her daughter played soft dance music +in the dimly lighted room behind her. Beatrice probably had an idea of +what was going on outside, upon the terrace, and was trying to make up +her own mind. She played waltzes very prettily, as women who dance well +generally do, if they play at all. + +When San Miniato had finished, the Marchesa was silent for a few +seconds. Then she tapped her companion twice upon the arm with her fan, +in a way which would have seemed lazy in any one else, but which, for +her, was unusually energetic. + +"How well you say it all!" she exclaimed. + +"And you consent, dear Marchesa?" asked the Count, with an eagerness +not all feigned. + +"You say it all so well! If I could say it half so well to +Beatrice--there might be some possibility. But Beatrice is not like +me--nor I like you--and so--" + +She broke off in the middle of the sentence with an indolent little +laugh. + +"If she were like you," said San Miniato, "I would not hesitate long." + +There was an intonation in his voice that pleased the middle-aged woman, +as he had intended. + +"What would you do?" she asked, fanning herself slowly in the dark. + +"I would speak to her myself." + +"Heavens!" Again the Marchesa laughed. The idea seemed eccentric enough +in her eyes. + +"Why not?" + +"Why not? Dearest San Miniato, do not try to make me argue such insane +questions with you. You know how lazy I am. I can never talk." + +"A woman need not talk in order to be persuaded. It is enough that the +man should. Let me try." + +"I will shut my ears." + +"I will kneel at your feet." + +"I shall go to sleep." + +"I could wake you." + +"How?" + +"By telling you that I mean to speak to Donna Beatrice myself." + +"Such an idea would wake the dead!" + +"So much the better. They would hear me." + +"They would not help you, if they heard you," observed the Marchesa. + +"They could at least bear witness to the answer I should receive." + +"And suppose, dear friend, that the answer should not be what you wish, +or expect--would you care to have witnesses, alive or dead?" + +"Why should the answer be a negative?" + +"Because," replied the Marchesa, turning her face directly to his, +"because Beatrice is herself uncertain. You know well enough that no man +should ever tell a woman he loves her until he is sure that she loves +him. And that is not the only reason." + +"Have you a better one?" asked San Miniato with a laugh. + +"The impossibility of it all! Imagine, in our world, a man deliberately +asking a young girl to marry him!" + +San Miniato smiled, but the Marchesa could not see the expression of his +face. + +"We do not think it so impossible in Piedmont," he answered quietly. + +"I am surprised at that." The lady's tone was rather cold. + +"Are you? Why? We are less old-fashioned, that is all." + +"And is it really done in--in good families?" + +"Often," answered San Miniato, seeing his advantage and pressing it. "I +could give you many instances without difficulty, within the last few +years." + +"The plan certainly saves the parents a great deal of trouble," observed +the Marchesa, lazily shutting her eyes and fanning herself again. + +"And it places the decision of the most vital question in life in the +hands of the two beings most concerned." + +San Miniato spoke rather sententiously, for he knew how to impress his +companion and he meant to be impressive. + +"No doubt," answered the Marchesa. "No doubt. But," she continued, +bringing up the time-honoured argument, "the two young people most +concerned are not always the people best able to judge of their own +welfare." + +"Of course they are not," assented San Miniato, readily enough, and +abandoning the point which could be of no use to him. "Of course not. +But, dearest Marchesa, since you have judged for us--and there is no one +else to judge--do you not think that you might leave the rest in my +hands? The mere question to be asked, you know, in the hope of a final +answer--the mere technicality of love-making, with which you can only be +familiar from the woman's point of view, and not from the man's, as I +am. Not that I have had much experience---" + +"You?" laughed the Marchesa, touching his hand with her fan. "You +without much experience! But you are historical, dearest friend! Who +does not know of your conquests?" + +"I, at least, do not," answered San Miniato with well-affected modesty. +"But that is not the question. Let us get back to it. This is my plan. +The moon is full to-morrow and the weather is hot. We will all go in my +boat to Tragara and dine on the rocks. It will be beautiful. Then after +dinner we can walk about in the moonlight--slowly, not far from you, as +at the end of this terrace. And while you are looking on I, in a low +voice, will express my sincere feelings to Donna Beatrice, and ask the +most important of all questions. Does not that please you? Is it not +well combined?" + +"But why must we take the trouble to go all the way to Capri? What sense +is there in that?" + +"Dearest Marchesa, you do not understand! Consider the surroundings, the +moonlight, the water rippling against the rocks, the soft breeze--a +little music, too, such as a pair of mandolins and a guitar, which we +could send over--all these things are in my favour." + +"Why?" asked the Marchesa, not understanding in the least how he could +attach so much value to things which seemed to her unappreciative mind +to be perfectly indifferent. + +"Besides," she added, "if you want to give a party, you can illuminate +the garden of the hotel with Chinese lanterns. That would be much +prettier than to picnic on uncomfortable rocks out in the sea with +nothing but cold things to eat and only the moon for an illumination. I +am sure Beatrice would like it much better." + +San Miniato laughed. + +"What a prosaic person you are!" he exclaimed. "Can you not imagine that +a young girl's disposition may be softened by moonlight, mandolins and +night breezes?" + +"No. I never understood that. And after all if you want moonlight you +can have it here. If it shines at Capri it will shine at Sorrento. At +least it seems to me so." + +"No, dearest Marchesa," answered San Miniato triumphantly. "There you +are mistaken." + +"About the moon?" + +"Yes, about the moon. When it rises we do not see it here, on account of +the mountains behind us." + +"But I have often seen the moon here, from this very place," objected +the Marchesa. "I am sure it is not a week ago that I saw it. You do not +mean to tell me that there are two moons, and that yours is different +from mine!" + +"Very nearly. This at least I say. When the moon is full we can see it +rise from Tragara, and we can not see it from this place." + +"How inexplicable nature is!" exclaimed the Marchesa fanning herself +lazily. "I will not try to understand the moon any more. It tires me. A +lemonade, San Miniato--ring for a lemonade. I am utterly exhausted." + +"Shall I ask Donna Beatrice's opinion about Tragara?" inquired San +Miniato rising. + +"Oh yes! Anything--only do not argue with me. I cannot bear it. I +suppose you will put me into that terrible boat and make me sit in it +for hours and hours, until all my bones are broken, and then you will +give me cold macaroni and dry bread and warm wine and water, and the +sailors will eat garlic, and it will be insufferable and you will call +it divine. And of course Beatrice will be so wretched that she will not +listen to a word you say, and will certainly refuse you without +hesitation. A lemonade, San Miniato, for the love of heaven! My throat +is parched with this talking." + +When the Marchesa had got what she wanted, San Miniato sat down beside +Beatrice at the piano, in the sitting room. + +"Donna Beatrice gentilissima," he began, "will you deign to tell me +whether you prefer the moon to Chinese lanterns, or Chinese lanterns to +the moon?" + +"To wear?" asked the young girl with a laugh. + +"If you please, of course. Anything would be becoming to you--but I mean +as a question of light. Would you prefer a dinner by moonlight on the +rocks of Tragara with a couple of mandolins in the distance, or would +you like better a party in the hotel gardens with an illumination of +paper lanterns? It is a most important question, I assure you, and must +be decided very quickly, because the moon is full to-morrow." + +"What a ridiculous question!" exclaimed Beatrice, laughing again. + +"Why ridiculous?" + +"Because you ought to know the answer well enough. Imagine comparing the +moon with Chinese lanterns!" + +"Your mother prefers the latter." + +"Oh, mamma--of course! She is so practical. She would prefer carriage +lamps on the trees--gas if possible! When are we going to Tragara? Where +is it? Which boat shall we take? Oh, it is too delightful! Can we not go +to-night?" + +"We can do anything which Donna Beatrice likes," answered San Miniato. +"But if you will listen to me, I will explain why to-morrow would be +better. In the first place, we have dined once this evening, so that we +could not dine again." + +"We could call it supper," suggested Beatrice. + +"Of course we could, if we could eat it at all. But it is also ten +o'clock, and we could not get to Tragara before one or two in the +morning. Lastly, your mother would not go." + +"Will she go to-morrow?" asked Beatrice with sudden anxiety. "Have you +asked her?" + +"She will go," answered San Miniato confidently. "We must make her +comfortable. That is the principal thing." + +"Yes. She shall have her maid and we must take a chair for her to sit +in, and another to carry her, and two porters, and a lamp, and a table, +and a servant to wait on her. And she will want champagne, well iced, +and a carpet for her feet, and a screen to keep the wind from her, if +there is any, and several more things which I shall remember. But I know +all about it, for we once made a little excursion from Taormina and +dined out of doors, and I know exactly what she wants." + +"Very well, she shall have everything," said San Miniato smiling at the +catalogue of the Marchesa's wants. "If she will only go, we will do all +we can." + +"When it is time, let the two porters come in here with the chair and +take her away," answered Beatrice. "Dear mamma! She will be much too +lazy to resist. What fun it will be!" + +And everything was done as Beatrice had wished. San Miniato made a list +of things absolutely indispensable to the Marchesa. The number of +articles was about two hundred and their bulk filled a boat which was +despatched early in the following afternoon to be rowed over to Tragara +and unloaded before the party arrived. + +Ruggiero and his brother worked hard at the preparations, silent, +untiring and efficient as usual, but delighted in their hearts at the +prospect of something less monotonous than the daily sail or the daily +row within sight of Sorrento. To men who have knocked about the sea for +years, from Santa Cruz to Sebastopol, the daily life of a sailor on a +little pleasure boat lacks interest, and if circumstances had been, +different Ruggiero would probably have shipped before now as boatswain +on board one of the neat schooners which are yearly built at the Piano +di Sorrento, to be sold with their cargoes of salt as soon as they reach +Buenos Ayres. But Ruggiero had contracted that malady of the heart which +had taken him to the chemist's for the first time in his life, and which +materially hindered the formation of any plan by which he might be +obliged to leave his present situation. Moreover the disease showed no +signs of yielding; on the contrary, the action of the vital organ +concerned became more and more spasmodic and alarming, while its +possessor grew daily leaner and more silent. + +The last package had been taken down, the last of the score of articles +which the Marchesa was sure to want with her in the sail boat before +she reached the spot where the main cargo of comforts would be waiting; +the last sandwich, the last box of sweetmeats, the iced lemonade, the +wraps and the parasols were all stowed away in their places. Then San +Miniato went to fetch the Marchesa, marshalling in his two porters with +their chair between them. + +"Dearest Marchesa," said the Count, "if you will give yourself the +trouble to sit in this chair, I will promise that no further exertion +shall be required of you." + +The Marchesa di Mola looked up with a glance of sleepy astonishment. + +"And why in that chair, dearest friend? I am so comfortable here. And +why have you brought those two men with you?" + +"Have you forgotten our dinner at Tragara?" asked San Miniato. + +"Tragara!" gasped the Marchesa. "You are not going to take me to +Tragara! Good heavens! I am utterly exhausted! I shall die before we get +to the boat." + +"Altro e parlar di morte--altro e morire," laughed San Miniato, quoting +the famous song. "It is one thing to talk of death, it is quite another +to die. Only this little favour Marchesa gentilissima--to seat yourself +in this chair. We will do the rest." + +"Without a hat? Just as I am? Impossible! Come in an hour--then I shall +be ready. My maid, San Miniato--send for Teresina. Dio mio! I can never +go! Go without us, dearest friend--go and dine on your hideous rocks and +leave us the little comfort we need so much!" + +But protestations were vain. Teresina appeared and fastened the hat of +the period upon her mistress's head. The hat of the period chanced to be +a one-sided monstrosity at that time, something between a cart wheel, an +umbrella and a flower garden, depending for its stability upon the +proper position of several solid skewers, apparently stuck through the +head of the wearer. This headpiece having been adjusted the Marchesa +asked for a cigarette, lighted it and looked about her. + +"It is really too much!" she exclaimed. "Button my gloves, Teresina. I +shall not go after all, not even to please you, dearest friend. What a +place of torture this world is! How right we are to try and get a +comfortable stall in the next! Go away, San Miniato. It is quite +useless." + +But San Miniato knew what he was doing. With gentle strength he made her +rise from her seat and placed her in the chair. The porters lifted their +burden, settled the straps upon their shoulders, the man in front +glanced back at the man behind, both nodded and marched away. + +"This is too awful!" sighed the Marchesa, as she was carried out of the +door of the sitting room. "How can you have the heart, dearest friend! +An invalid like me! And I was supremely comfortable where I was." + +But at this point Beatrice appeared and joined the procession, radiant, +fresh as a fragrant wood-flower, full of life as a young bird. Behind +her came Teresina, the maid, necessary at every minute for the +Marchesa's comfort, her pink young cheeks flushed with pleasure and her +eyes sparkling with anticipation, fastening on her hat as she walked. + +"I was never so happy in my life," laughed Beatrice. "And to think that +you have really captured mamma in spite of herself! Oh, mamma, you will +enjoy it so much! I promise you shall. There is iced champagne, and the +foot warmer and the marrons glaces and the lamp and everything you +like--and quails stuffed with truffles, besides. Now do be happy and let +us enjoy ourselves!" + +"But where are all these things?" asked the Marchesa. "I shall believe +when I see." + +"Everything is at Tragara already," answered Beatrice tripping down the +stairs beside her mother's chair. "And we really will enjoy ourselves," +she added, turning her head with a bewitching smile, and looking back at +San Miniato. "What a general you are!" + +"If you could convince the Minister of War of that undoubted fact, you +would be conferring the greatest possible favour upon me," said the +Count. "He would have no trouble in persuading me to return to the army +as commander-in-chief, though I left the service as a captain." + +So they went down the long winding way cut through the soft tufo rock +and found the boat waiting for them by the little landing. The Marchesa +actually took the trouble to step on board instead of trusting herself +to the strong arms of Ruggiero. Beatrice followed her. As she set her +foot on the gunwale Ruggiero held up his hand towards her to help her. +It was not the first time this duty had fallen to him, but she was more +radiantly fresh to-day than he had ever seen her before, and the spasm +that seemed to crush his heart for a moment was more violent than usual. +His strong joints trembled at her light touch and his face turned white. +She felt that his hand shook and she glanced at him when she stood in +the boat. + +"Are you ill, Ruggiero?" she asked, in a kindly tone. + +"No, Excellency," he answered in a low voice that was far from steady, +while the shadow of a despairing smile flickered over his features. + +He put up his hand to help Teresina, the maid. She pressed it hard as +she jumped down, and smiled with much intention at the handsome sailor. +But she got no answer for her look, and he turned away and shoved the +boat off the little stone pier. Bastianello was watching them both, and +wishing himself in Ruggiero's place. But Ruggiero, as he believed, had +loved the pretty Teresina first, and Ruggiero had the first right to +win her if he could. + +So the boat shot out upon the crisping water into the light afternoon +breeze, and up went foresail and mainsail and jib, and away she went on +the port tack, San Miniato steering and talking to Beatrice--which +things are not to be done together with advantage--the Marchesa lying +back in a cane rocking-chair and thinking of nothing, while Teresina +held the parasol over her mistress's head and shot bright glances at the +sailors forward. And Ruggiero and Bastianello sat side by side amidships +looking out at the gleaming sea to windward. + +"What hast thou?" asked Bastianello in a low voice. + +"The pain," answered his brother. + +"Why let thyself be consumed by it? Ask her in marriage. The Marchesa +will give her to thee." + +"Better to die! Thou dost not know all." + +"That may be," said Bastianello with a sigh. + +And he slowly began to fake down the slack of the main halyard on the +thwart, twisting the coil slowly and thoughtfully as it grew under his +broad hands, till the rope lay in a perfectly smooth disk beside him. +But Ruggiero changed his position and gazed steadily at Beatrice's +changing face while San Miniato talked to her. + +So the boat sped on and many of those on board misunderstood each other, +and some did not understand themselves. But what was most clear to all +before long was that San Miniato could not make love and steer his trick +at the same time. + +"Are we going to Castellamare?" asked Bastianello in a low voice as the +boat fell off more and more under the Count's careless steering. + +Ruggiero started. For the first time in his life he had forgotten that +he was at sea. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + +San Miniato did not possess that peculiar and common form of vanity +which makes a man sensitive about doing badly what he has never learned +to do at all. He laughed when Ruggiero advised him to luff a little, and +he did as he was told. But Ruggiero came aft and perched himself on the +stern in order to be at hand in case his master committed another +flagrant breach of seamanship. + +"You will certainly take us to the bottom of the bay instead of to +Tragara," observed the Marchesa languidly. "But then at least my +discomforts will be over for ever. Of course there is no lemonade on +board. Teresina, I want lemonade." + +In an instant Bastianello produced a decanter out of a bucket of snow +and brought it aft with a glass. The Marchesa smiled. + +"You do things very well, dearest friend," she said, and moistened her +lips in the cold liquid. + +"Donna Beatrice has had more to do with providing for your comfort than +I," answered the Count. + +The Marchesa smiled lazily, sipped about a teaspoonful from the glass +and handed it to her maid. + +"Drink, Teresina," she said. "It will refresh you." + +The girl drank eagerly. + +"You see," said the Marchesa, "I can think of the comfort of others as +well as of my own." + +San Miniato smiled politely and Beatrice laughed. Her laughter hurt the +silent sailor perched behind her, as though a glass had been broken in +his face. How could she be so gay when his heart was beating so hard for +her? He drew his breath sharply and looked out to sea, as many a +heart-broken man has looked across that fair water since woman first +learned that men's hearts could break. + +It was a wonderful afternoon. The sun was already low, rolling down to +his western bath behind Capo Miseno, northernmost of all his daily +plunges in the year; and as he sank, the colours he had painted on the +hills at dawn returned behind him, richer and deeper and rarer for the +heat he had given them all day. There, like a mass of fruit and flowers +in a red gold bowl, Sorrento lay in the basin of the surrounding +mountains, all gilded above and full of rich shadows below. Over all, +the great Santangelo raised his misty head against the pale green +eastern sky, gazing down at the life below, at the living land and the +living sea, and remembering, perhaps, the silent days before life was, +or looking forward to the night to come in which there will be no life +left any more. For who shall tell me that the earth herself may not be a +living, thinking, feeling being, on whose not unkindly bosom we wear out +our little lives, but whose high loves are with the stars, beyond our +sight, and her voice too deep and musical for ears used to our shrill +human speech? Who shall say surely that she is not conscious of our +presence, of some of our doings when we tear her breast and lay burdens +upon her neck and plough up her fair skin with our hideous works, or +when we touch her kindly and love her, and plant sweet flowers in soft +places? Who shall know and teach us that the summer breeze is not her +breath, the storm the sobbing of her passion, the rain her woman's +tears--that she is not alive, loving and suffering, as we all have been, +are, or would be, but greater than we as the star she loves somewhere is +greater and stronger than herself? And we live upon her, and feed on her +and all die and are taken back into her whence we came, wondering much +of the truth that is hidden, learning perhaps at last the great secret +she keeps so well. Her life, too, will end some day, her last blossom +will have bloomed alone, her last tears will have fallen upon her own +bosom, her last sob will have rent the air, and the beautiful earth will +be dead for ever, borne on in the sweep of the race that will never end, +borne along yet a few ages, till her sweet body turns to star-dust in +the great emptiness of a night without morning. + +But Ruggiero, plain strong man of the people, hard-handed sailor, was +not thinking of any of these things as he sat in his narrow place on the +stern behind his master, mechanically guiding the tiller in the latter's +unconscious hand, while he gazed silently at Beatrice's face, now turned +towards him in conversation, now half averted as she looked down or out +to sea. Ruggiero listened, too, to the talk, though he did not +understand all the fine words Beatrice and San Miniato used. If he had +never been away from the coast, the probability is that he would have +understood nothing at all; but in his long voyages he had been thrown +with men of other parts of Italy and had picked up a smattering of what +Neapolitans call Italian, to distinguish it from their own speech. Even +as it was, the most part of what they said escaped him, because they +seemed to think so very differently from him about simple matters, and +to be so heartily amused at what seemed so dull to him. And he began to +feel that the hurt he had was deep and not to be healed, while he +reflected that he was undoubtedly mad, since he loved this lady so much +while understanding her so little. The mere feeling that she could talk +and take pleasure in talking beyond his comprehension wounded him, as a +sensitive half-grown boy sometimes suffers real pain when his boyishness +shows itself among men. + +Why, for instance, did the young girl's cheek flush and her eyes +sparkle, when San Miniato talked of Paris? Paris was in France. Ruggiero +knew that. But he had often heard that it was not so big a place as +London, where he had been. Therefore Beatrice must have some other +reason for liking it. Most probably she loved a Frenchman, and Ruggiero +hated Frenchmen with all his heart. Then they talked about the theatre +and Beatrice was evidently interested. Ruggiero had once seen a puppet +show and had not found it at all funny. The theatre was only a big +puppet show, and he could pay for a seat there if he pleased; but he did +not please, because he was sure that it would not amuse him to go. Why +should Beatrice like the theatre? And she liked the races at Naples, +too, and those at Paris much better. Why? Everybody knew that one horse +could run faster than another, without trying it, but it could not +matter a straw which of two, or twenty, got to the goal first. Horses +were not boats. Now there was sense in a boat race, or a yacht race, or +a steamer race. But a horse! He might be first to-day, and to-morrow if +he had not enough to eat he might be last. Was a horse a Christian? You +could not count upon him. And then they began to talk of love and +Ruggiero's heart stood still, for that, at least, he could understand. + +"Love!" laughed Beatrice, repeating the word. "It always makes one +laugh. Were you ever in love, mamma?" + +The Marchesa turned her head slowly, and lifted her sleepy eyes to look +at her daughter, before she answered. + +"No," she said lazily. "I was never in love. But you are far too young +to talk of such things." + +"San Miniato says that love is for the young and friendship for the +old." + +"Love," said San Miniato, "is a necessary evil, but it is also the +greatest source of happiness." + +"What a fine phrase!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You must be a professor in +disguise." + +"A professor of love?" asked the Count with a very well executed look of +tenderness which did not escape Ruggiero. + +"Hush, for the love of heaven!" interposed the Marchesa. "This is too +dreadful!" + +"We were not talking of the love of heaven," answered Beatrice +mischievously. + +"I was thinking at least of a love that could make any place a heaven," +said San Miniato, again helping his lack of originality with his eyes. + +Ruggiero reflected that it would be but the affair of a second to unship +the heavy brass tiller and bring it down once on the top of his master's +skull. Once would be enough. + +"Whose love?" asked Beatrice innocently. + +San Miniato looked at her again, then turned away his eyes and sighed +audibly. + +"Well?" asked Beatrice. "Will you answer. I do not understand that +language. Whose love would make any place--Timbuctoo, for instance--a +heaven for you?" + +"Discretion is the only virtue a man ought to exhibit whenever he has a +chance," said San Miniato. + +"Perhaps. But even that should be shown without ostentation." Beatrice +laughed. "And you are decidedly ostentatious at the present moment. It +would interest mamma and me very much to know the object of your +affections." + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed the Marchesa with affected horror. + +"Yes, mamma," answered the young girl. "Here I am. Do you want some more +lemonade?" + +"She is quite insufferable," said the Marchesa to San Miniato, with a +languid smile. "But really, San Miniato carissimo, this conversation--a +young girl---" + +Ruggiero wondered what she found so obnoxious in the words that had been +spoken. He also wondered how long it would take San Miniato to drown if +he were dropped overboard in the wake of the boat. + +"If that is your opinion of your daughter," said the latter, "we shall +hardly agree. Now I maintain that Donna Beatrice is the contrary of +insufferable--the most extreme of contraries. In the first place---" + +"She is very pretty," said Beatrice demurely. + +"I was not going to say that," laughed San Miniato. + +"Ah? Then say something else." + +"I will. Donna Beatrice has two gifts, at least, which make it +impossible that she should ever be insufferable, even when her beauty is +gone." + +"Dio mio!" ejaculated the young girl. "The compliments are beginning in +good earnest!" + +"It was time," said San Miniato, "since your mother---" + +"Dear Count," interrupted Beatrice, "do not talk any more about mamma. I +am anxious to get at the compliments. Do pray let your indiscretion be +as ostentatious as possible. I cannot wait another second." + +"No need of waiting," answered San Miniato, again addressing himself to +the Marchesa. "Donna Beatrice has two great gifts. She is kind, and she +has charm." + +There being no exact equivalent for the word "charm" in the Italian +language, San Miniato used the French. Ruggiero began to puzzle his +brains, asking himself what this foreign virtue could be which his +master estimated so highly. He also thought it very strange that +Beatrice should have said of herself that she was pretty, and still +stranger that San Miniato should not have said it. + +"Is that all?" asked Beatrice. "I need not have been in such a hurry to +extract your compliments from you." + +"If you had understood what I said," answered San Miniato unmoved, "you +would see that no man could say more of a woman." + +"Kind and charming! It is not much," laughed the young girl. "Unless you +mean much more than you say--and I asked you to be indiscreet!" + +"Kind hearts are rare enough in this world, Donna Beatrice, and as for +charm--" + +"What is charm?" + +"It is what the violet has, and the camelia has not--" + +"Heavens! Are you going to sigh to me in the language of flowers?" + +"Beatrice! Beatrice!" cried the Marchesa, with the same affectation of +horror as before. + +"Dear mamma, are you uncomfortable? Oh no! I see now. You are horrified. +Have I said anything dreadful?" she asked, turning to San Miniato. + +"Anything dreadful? What an idea! Really, Marchesa carissima, I was just +beginning to explain to Donna Beatrice what charm is, when you cut me +short. I implore you to let me go on with my explanation." + +"On condition that Beatrice makes no comments. Give me a cigarette, +Teresina." + +"The congregation will not interrupt the preacher before the +benediction," said Beatrice folding her small hands on her knee, and +looking down with a devout expression. + +"Charm," began San Miniato, "is the something which some women possess, +and which holds the men who love them--" + +"Only those who love them?" interrupted Beatrice, looking up quickly. + +"I thought," said the Marchesa, "that you were not to give us any +comments." She dropped the words one or two at a time between the puffs +of her cigarette. + +"A question is not a comment, mamma. I ask for instruction." + +"Go on, dearest friend," said her mother to the Count. "She is +incorrigible." + +"On the contrary, Donna Beatrice fills my empty head with ideas. The +question was to the point. All men feel the charm of such women as all +men smell the orange blossoms here in May--" + +"The language of flowers again!" laughed Beatrice. + +"You are so like a flower," answered San Miniato softly. + +"Am I?" She laughed again, then grew grave and looked away. + +Ruggiero's hand shook on the heavy tiller, and San Miniato, who supposed +he was steering all the time, turned suddenly. + +"What is the matter?" he asked. + +"The rudder is draking, Excellency," answered Ruggiero. + +"And what does that mean?" asked Beatrice. + +"It means that the rudder trembles as the boat rises and falls with each +sea, when there is a good breeze," answered Ruggiero. + +"Is there any danger?" asked Beatrice indifferently. + +"What danger could there be, Excellency?" asked the sailor. + +"Because you are so pale, Ruggiero. What is the matter with you, +to-day?" + +"Nothing, Excellency." + +"Ruggiero is in love," laughed San Miniato. "Is it not true, Ruggiero?" + +But the sailor did not answer, though the hot blood came quickly to his +face and stayed there a moment and then sank away again. He looked +steadily at the dancing waves to windward, and set his lips tightly +together. + +"I would like to ask that sailor what he thinks of love and charm, and +all the rest of it," said Beatrice. "His ideas would be interesting." + +Ruggiero's blue eyes turned slowly upon her, with an odd expression. +Then he looked away again. + +"I will ask him," said San Miniato in a low voice. "Ruggiero!" + +"Excellency!" + +"We want to know what you think about love. What is the best quality a +woman can have?" + +"To be honest," answered Ruggiero promptly. + +"And after that, what next?" + +"To be beautiful." + +"And then rich, I suppose?" + +"It would be enough if she did not waste money." + +"Honest, beautiful, and economical!" exclaimed Beatrice. "He does not +say anything about charm, you see. I think his description is extremely +good and to the point. Bravo, Ruggiero!" + +His eyes met hers and gleamed rather fiercely for an instant. + +"And how about charm, Ruggiero?" asked Beatrice mischievously. + +"I do not speak French, Excellency," he answered. + +"You should learn, because charm is a word one cannot say in Italian. I +do not know how to say it in our language." + +"Let me talk about flowers to him," said San Miniato. "I will make him +understand. Which do you like better, Ruggiero, camelias or violets?" + +"The camelia is a more lordly flower, Excellency, but for me I like the +violets." + +"Why?" + +"Who knows? They make one think of so many things, Excellency. One would +tire of camelias, but one would never be tired of violets. They have +something--who knows?" + +"That is it, Ruggiero," said San Miniato, delighted with the result of +his experiment. "And charm is the same thing in a woman. One is never +tired of it, and yet it is not honesty, nor beauty, nor economy." + +"I understand, Excellency--e la femmina--it is the womanly." + +"Bravo, Ruggiero!" exclaimed Beatrice again. "You are a man of heart. +And if you found a woman who was honest and beautiful and economical and +'femmina,' as you say, would you love her?" + +"Yes, Excellency, very much," answered Ruggiero. But his voice almost +failed him. + +"How much? Tell us." + +Ruggiero was silent a moment. Then his eyes flashed suddenly as he +looked down at her and his voice came ringing and strong. + +"So much that I would pray that Christ and the sea would take her, +rather than that another man should get her! Per Dio!" + +There was such a vibration of strong passion in the words that Beatrice +started a little and San Miniato looked up in surprise. Even the +Marchesa vouchsafed the sailor a glance of indolent curiosity. Beatrice +bent over to the Count and spoke in a low tone and in French. + +"We must not tease him any more. He is in love and very much in +earnest." + +"So am I," answered San Miniato with a half successful attempt to seem +emotional, which might have done well enough if it had not come after +Ruggiero's heartfelt speech. + +"You!" laughed Beatrice. "You are never really in earnest. You only +think you are, and that pleases you as well." + +San Miniato bit his lip, for he was not pleased. Her answer augured ill +for the success of the plan he meant to put into execution that very +evening. He felt strongly incensed against Ruggiero, too, without in the +least understanding the reason. + +"You will find out some day, Donna Beatrice, that those who are most in +earnest are not those who make the most passionate speeches." + +"Ah! Is that true? How strange! I should have supposed that if a man +said nothing it was because he had nothing to say. But you have such +novel theories!" + +"Is this discussion never to end?" asked the Marchesa, wearily lifting +her hand as though in protest, and letting it fall again beside the +other. + +"It has only just begun, mamma," answered Beatrice cheerfully. "When San +Miniato jumps into the sea and drowns himself in despair, you will know +that the discussion is over." + +"Beatrice! My child! What language!" + +"Italian, mamma carissima. Italian with a little Sicilian, such as we +speak." + +"I am at your service, Donna Beatrice," said the Count. "Would you like +me to drown myself immediately, or are you inclined for a little more +conversation?" + +Ruggiero had now taken the helm altogether. As San Miniato spoke he +nodded to his brother who was forward, intimating that he meant to go +about. He was certainly not in his normal frame of mind, for he had an +evil thought at that moment. Fortunately for every one concerned the +breeze was very light and was indeed dying away as the sun sank lower. +They were already nearing the southernmost point of Capri, commonly +called by sailors the Monaco, for what reason no one knows. To reach +Tragara where the Faraglioni, or needles, rise out of the deep sea close +to the rocky shore under the cliffs, it is necessary to go round the +point. There was soon hardly any breeze at all, so that Bastianello and +the other men shipped half-a-dozen oars and began to row. The operation +of going about involved a change of places in so small a boat and the +slight confusion had interrupted the conversation. A long silence +followed, broken at last by the Marchesa's voice. + +"A cigarette, Teresina, and some more lemonade. Are you still there, San +Miniato carissimo? As I heard no more conversation I supposed you had +drowned yourself as you proposed to do." + +"Donna Beatrice is so kind as to put off the execution until after +dinner." + +"And shall we ever reach this dreadful place, and ever really dine?" +asked the Marchesa. + +"Before sunset," answered San Miniato. "And we shall dine at our usual +hour." + +"At least it will not be so hot as in the hotel, and after all it has +not been very fatiguing." + +"No," said the Count, "I fail to see how your exertions can have tired +you much." + +Ruggiero looked down at his master and at the fine lady as she lay +listlessly extended in her cane chair, and he felt that in his heart he +hated them both as much as he loved Beatrice, which was saying much. But +he wondered how it was that less than half an hour earlier he had been +ready to upset the boat and drown every one in it indiscriminately. +Nevertheless he believed that if there had been a stiff breeze just +then, enough for his purpose, he would have stopped the boat's way, and +then put the helm hard up again, without slacking out a single sheet, +and he knew the little craft well enough to be sure of what would have +happened. Murderous intentions enough, as he thought of it all now, in +the calm water under the great cliff from which tradition says that +Tiberius shot delinquents into space from a catapult. + +The men pulled hard by the lonely rocks, for the sun had almost set and +they knew how sharp the stones are at Tragara, when one must tread them +barefoot and burdened with hampers and kettles and all the paraphernalia +of a picnic. + +Then the light grew rich and deep, and the sea swallows shot from the +misty heights, like arrows, into the calm purple air below, and skimmed +and wheeled, and rose again, startled by the splash of the oars and the +dull knock of them as they swung in the tholes. And the water was like a +mirror in which all manner of rare and lovely things are reflected, with +blots of liquid gold and sheen of soft-hued damask, and great handfuls +of pearls and opals strewn between, and roses and petals of many kinds +of flowers without names. And the air was full of the faint, salt odours +that haunt the lonely places of the sea, sweet and bitter at once as the +last days of a young life fading fast. Then the great needles rose +gigantic from the depths to heaven, and beyond, through the mysterious, +shadowy arch that pierces one of them, was opened the glorious vision of +a distant cloud-lit water, and a single dark sail far away stood still, +as it were, on the very edge of the world. + +Beatrice leaned back and gazed at the scene, and her delicate nostrils +expanded as she breathed. There was less colour in her face than there +had been, and the long lashes half veiled her eyes. San Miniato watched +her narrowly. + +"How beautiful! How beautiful!" she exclaimed twice, after a long +silence. + +"It will be more beautiful still when the moon rises," said San Miniato. +"I am glad you are pleased." + +She liked the simple words better, perhaps, than some of his rather +artificial speeches. + +"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for bringing us here." + +He had certainly taken a great deal of trouble, she thought, and it was +the least she could do, to thank him as she did. But she was really +grateful and for a moment she felt a sort of sympathy for him which she +had not felt before. He, at least, understood that one could like +something better in the world than the eternal terrace of a hotel with +its stiff orange trees, its ugly lanterns and its everlasting gossip and +chatter. He, at least, was a little unlike all those other people, +beginning with her own mother, who think of self first, comfort second, +and of others once a month or so, in the most favourable cases. Yet she +wondered a little about his past life, and whether he had ever spoken to +any woman with that ringing passion she had heard in Ruggiero's voice, +with that flashing look she had seen in the sailor's bright blue eyes. +It would be good to be spoken to like that. It would be good to see the +colour in a man's face change, and come and go, red and white like life +and death. It would be supremely good to be loved once, madly, +passionately, with body, heart and soul, to the very breaking of all +three--to be held in strong arms, to be kissed half to death. + +She stopped, conscious that her mother would certainly not approve such +thoughts, and well aware in her girlish heart that she did not approve +them in herself. And then she smiled faintly. The man of her waking +vision was not like San Miniato. He was more like Ruggiero, the poor +sailor, who sat perched on the stern close behind her. She smiled +uneasily at the idea, and then she thought seriously of it for a moment. +If such a man as Ruggiero appeared, not as a sailor, but as a man of her +own world, would he not be a very lovable person, would he not turn the +heads of the languid ladies on the terrace of the hotel at Sorrento? The +thought annoyed her. Ruggiero, poor fellow, would have given his good +right arm to know that such a possibility had even crossed her +reflections. But it was not probable that he ever would know it, and he +sat in his place, silent and unmoved, steering the boat to her +destination, and thinking of her. + +It was not dusk when the boat was alongside of the low jagged rocks +which lie between the landward needle and the cliffs, making a sort of +rough platform in which there are here and there smooth flat places worn +by the waves and often full of dry salt for a day or two after a storm. +There, to the Marchesa's inexpressible relief, the numberless objects +inscribed in the catalogue of her comforts were already arranged, and +she suffered herself to be lifted from the boat and carried ashore by +Ruggiero and his brother, without once murmuring or complaining of +fatigue--a truly wonderful triumph for San Miniato's generalship. + +There was the table, the screen, and the lamp, the chairs and the +carpet--all the necessary furniture for the Marchesa's dining-room. And +there at her place stood an immaculate individual in an evening coat and +a white tie, ready and anxious to do her bidding. She surveyed the +preparations with more satisfaction than she generally showed at +anything. Then all at once her face fell. + +"Good heavens, San Miniato carissimo," she cried, "you have forgotten +the red pepper! It is all over! I shall eat nothing! I shall die in this +place!" + +"Pardon me, dearest Marchesa, I know your tastes. There is red pepper +and also Tabasco on the table. Observe--here and here." + +The Marchesa's brow cleared. + +"Forgive me, dear friend," she said. "I am so dependent on these little +things! You are an angel, a general and a man of heart." + +"The man of your heart, I hope you mean to say," answered San Miniato, +looking at Beatrice. + +"Of course--anything you like--you are delightful. But I am dropping +with fatigue. Let me sit down." + +"You have forgotten nothing--not even the moon you promised me," said +Beatrice, gazing with clasped hands at the great yellow shield as it +slowly rose above the far south-eastern hills. + +"I will never forget anything you ask me, Donna Beatrice," replied San +Miniato in a low voice. Something told him that in the face of all +nature's beauty, he must speak very simply, and he was right. + +There is but one moment in the revolution of day and night which is more +beautiful than the rising of the full moon at sunset, and that is the +dawn on the water when the full moon is going down. To see the gathering +dusk drink down the purple wine that dyes the air, the sea and the light +clouds, until it is almost dark, and then to feel the darkness growing +light again with the warm, yellow moon--to watch the jewels gathering on +the velvet sea, and the sharp black cliffs turning to chiselled silver +above you--to know that the whole night is to be but a softer day--to +see how the love of the sun for the earth is one, and the love of the +moon another--that is a moment for which one may give much and not be +disappointed. + +Beatrice Granmichele saw and felt what she had never seen or felt +before, and the magic of Tragara held sway over her, as it does over the +few who see it as she saw it. She turned slowly and glanced at San +Miniato's face. The moonlight improved it, she thought. There seemed to +be more vigour in the well-drawn lines, more strength in the forehead +than she had noticed until now. She felt that she was in sympathy with +him, and that the sympathy might be a lasting one. Then she turned quite +round and faced the commonplace lamp with its pink shade, which stood +on the dinner-table, and she experienced a disagreeable sensation. The +Marchesa was slowly fanning herself, already seated at her place. + +"If you are human beings, and not astronomers," she said, "we might +perhaps dine." + +"I am very human, for my part," said San Miniato, holding Beatrice's +chair for her to sit down. + +"There was really no use for the lamp, mamma," she said, turning again +to look at the moon. "You see what an illumination we have! San Miniato +has provided us with something better than a lamp." + +"San Miniato, my dear child, is a man of the highest genius. I always +said so. But if you begin to talk of eating without a lamp, you may as +well talk of abolishing civilisation." + +"I wish we could!" exclaimed Beatrice. + +"And so do I, with all my heart," said San Miniato. + +"Including baccarat and quinze?" enquired the Marchesa, lazily picking +out the most delicate morsels from the cold fish on her plate. + +"Including baccarat, quinze, the world, the flesh and the devil," said +San Miniato. + +"Pray remember, dearest friend, that Beatrice is at the table," observed +the Marchesa, with indolent reproach in her voice. + +"I do," replied San Miniato. "It is precisely for her sake that I would +like to do away with the things I have named." + +"You might just leave a little of each for Sundays!" suggested the young +girl. + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed her mother. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + +While the little party sat at table, the sailors gathered together at a +distance among the rocks, and presently the strong red light of their +fire shot up through the shadows, lending new contrasts to the scene. +And there they slung their kettle on an oar and patiently waited for the +water to boil, while the man known as the Gull, always cook in every +crew in which he chanced to find himself, sat with the salt on one side +of him and a big bundle of macaroni on the other, prepared to begin +operations at any moment. + +Ruggiero stood a little apart, his back against a boulder, his arms +crossed and his eyes fixed on Beatrice's face. His keen sight could +distinguish the changing play of her expression as readily at that +distance as though he had been standing beside her, and he tried to +catch the words she spoke, listening with a sort of hurt envy to the +little silvery laugh that now and then echoed across the open space and +lost itself in the crannies of the rocks. It all hurt him, and yet for +nothing in the world would he have turned away or shut his ears. More +than once, too, the thoughts that had disturbed him while he was +steering in the afternoon, came upon him with renewed and startling +strength. He had in him some of that red old blood that does not stop +for trifles such as life and death when the hour of passion burns, and +the brain reels with overmastering love. + +And Bastianello was not in a much better case, though his was less hard +to bear. The pretty Teresina had seated herself on a smooth rock in the +moonlight, not far from the table, and as the dishes came back, the +young sailor waited on her and served her with unrelaxed attention. +Since Ruggiero would not take advantage of the situation, his brother +saw no reason for not at least enjoying the pleasure of seeing the +adorable Teresina eat and drink as it were from his hand. Why Ruggiero +was so cold, and stood there against his rock, silent and glowering, +Bastianello could not at all understand; nor had he any thought of +taking an unfair advantage. Ruggiero was first and no one should +interfere with him, or his love; but Bastianello, judging from what he +felt himself, fancied that she might have given him some good advice. +Teresina's cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled each time +he brought her some dainty from the master's table, and she thanked him +in the prettiest way imaginable, so that her voice reminded him of the +singing of the yellow-beaked blackbird he kept in a cage at home--which +was saying much, for the blackbird sang well and sweetly. But +Bastianello only said each time that "it was nothing," and then stood +silently waiting beside her till she should finish what she was eating +and be ready for more. Teresina would doubtless have enjoyed a little +conversation, and she looked up from time to time at the handsome sailor +beside her, with a look of enquiry in her eyes, as though to ask why he +said nothing. But Bastianello felt that he was on his honour, for he +never doubted that the little maid was the cause of Ruggiero's disease +of the heart and indeed of all that his brother evidently suffered, and +he was too modest by nature to think that Teresina could prefer him to +Ruggiero, who had always been the object of his own unbounded devotion +and admiration. Presently, when there was nothing more to offer her, and +the party at the table were lighting their cigarettes over their coffee, +he went away and going up to Ruggiero drew him a little further aside +from the group of sailors. + +"I want to tell you something," he began. "You must not be as you are, a +man like you." + +"How may that be?" asked Ruggiero, still looking towards the table, and +not pleased at being dragged from his former post of observation. + +"I will tell you. I have been serving her with food. You could have done +that instead if you had wished. You could have talked to her, and she +would have liked it. It is easy when a woman is sitting apart and a man +brings her good food and wine--you could have spoken a word into her +ear." + +Ruggiero was silent, but he slowly nodded twice, then shook his head. + +"You do not say anything," continued Bastianello, "and you do wrong. +What I tell you is true, and you cannot deny it. After all, we are men +and they are women. Are they to speak first?" + +"It is just," answered Ruggiero laconically. + +"But then, per Dio, go and talk to her. Are you going to begin giving +her the gold before you have spoken?" + +From which question it will be clear to the unsophisticated foreigner +that a regular series of presents in jewelry is the natural +accompaniment of a well-to-do courtship in the south. The trinkets are +called collectively "the gold." + +Ruggiero did not find a ready answer to so strong an argument. Little +guessing that his brother was almost as much in love with Teresina as he +himself was with her mistress, he saw no reason for undeceiving him +concerning his own feelings. Since Bastianello had discovered that he, +Ruggiero, was suffering from an acute attack of the affections, it had +become the latter's chief object to conceal the real truth. It was not +so much, that he dreaded the ridicule--he, a poor sailor--of being known +to love a great lady's daughter; ridicule was not among the things he +feared. But something far too subtle for him to define made him keep his +secret to himself--an inborn, chivalrous, manly instinct, inherited +through generations of peasants but surviving still, as the trace of +gold in the ashes of a rich stuff that has had gilded threads in it. + +"If I did begin with the gold," he said at last, "and if she would not +have me when I spoke afterwards, she would give the gold back." + +"Of course she would. What do you take her for?" Bastianello asked the +question almost angrily, for he loved Teresina and he resented the +slightest imputation upon her fair dealing. + +Ruggiero looked at him curiously, but was far too much preoccupied with +his own thoughts to guess what the matter was. He turned away and went +towards the fire where the Gull was already tasting a slippery string of +the macaroni to find out whether it were enough cooked. Bastianello +shrugged his shoulders and followed him in silence. Before long they +were all seated round the huge earthen dish, each armed with an iron +fork in one hand and a ship biscuit in the other, with which to catch +the drippings neatly, according to good manners, in conveying the full +fork from the dish to the wide-opened mouth. By and by there was a sound +of liquid gurgling from a demijohn as it was poured into the big jug, +and the wine went round quickly from hand to hand, while those who +waited for their turn munched their biscuits. Some one has said that +great appetites, like great passions, are silent. Hardly a word was said +until the wine was passed a second time with a ration of hard cheese and +another biscuit. Then the tongues were unloosed and the strange, uncouth +jests of the rough men circulated in an undertone, and now and then one +of them suffered agonies in smothering a huge laugh, lest his mirth +should disturb the "excellencies" at their table. The latter, however, +were otherwise engaged and paid little attention to the sailors. + +The Marchesa di Mola, having eaten about six mouthfuls of twice that +number of delicacies and having swallowed half a glass of champagne and +a cup of coffee, was extended in her cane rocking-chair, with her back +to the moon and her face to the lamp, trying to imagine herself in her +comfortable sitting room at the hotel, or even in her own luxurious +boudoir in her Sicilian home. The attempt was fairly successful, and the +result was a passing taste of that self-satisfied beatitude which is +the peculiar and enviable lot of very lazy people after dinner. She +cared for nothing and she cared for nobody. San Miniato and Beatrice +might sit over there by the water's edge, in the moonlight, and talk in +low tones as long as they pleased. There were no tiresome people from +the hotel to watch their proceedings, and nothing better could happen +than that they should fall in love, be engaged and married forthwith. +That was certainly not the way the Marchesa could have wished the +courtship and marriage to develop and come to maturity, if there had +been witnesses of the facts from amongst her near acquaintance. But +since there was nobody to see, and since it was quite impossible that +she should run after the pair when they chose to leave her side, +resignation was the best policy, resignation without effort, without +fatigue and without qualms. Moreover, San Miniato himself had told her +that in some of the best families in the north of Italy it was +considered permissible for a man to offer himself directly to a young +lady, and San Miniato was undoubtedly familiar with the usages of the +very best society. It was quite safe to trust to him. + +San Miniato himself would have greatly preferred to leave the +negotiations in the hands of the Marchesa and would have done so had he +not known that she possessed no power whatever over Beatrice. But he saw +that the Marchesa, however much she might desire the marriage, would +never exert herself to influence her daughter. She was far too indolent, +and at heart, perhaps, too indifferent, and she knew the value of money +and especially of her own. San Miniato made up his mind that if he won +at all, it must be upon his own merits and by his own efforts. + +He had not found it hard to lead Beatrice away from the lamp when dinner +was over, and after walking about on the rocks for a few minutes he +proposed that they should sit down near the water, facing the moonlit +sea. Beatrice sat upon a smooth projection and San Miniato placed +himself at her feet, in such a position that he could look up into her +face and talk to her without raising his voice. + +"So you are glad you came here, Donna Beatrice," he said. + +"Very glad," she answered. "It is something I have never seen +before--something I shall never forget, as long as I live." + +"Nor I." + +"Have you a good memory?" + +"For some things, not for others." + +"For what, for instance?" + +"For those I love---" + +"And a bad memory for those whom you have loved," suggested Beatrice +with a smile. + +"Have you any reason for saying that?" asked San Miniato gravely. "You +know too little of me and my life to judge of either. I have not loved +many, and I have remembered them well." + +"How many? A dozen, more or less? Or twenty? Or a hundred?" + +"Two. One is dead, and one has forgotten me." + +Beatrice was silent. It was admirably done, and for the first time he +made her believe that he was in earnest. It had not been very hard for +him either, for there was a foundation of truth in what he said. He had +not always been a man without heart. + +"It is much to have loved twice," said the young girl at last, in a +dreamy voice. She was thinking of what had passed through her mind that +afternoon. + +"It is much--but not enough. What has never been lived out, is never +enough." + +"Perhaps--but who could love three times?" + +"Any man--and the third might be the best and the strongest, as well as +the last." + +"To me it seems impossible." + +San Miniato had got his chance and he knew it. He was nervous and not +sure of himself, for he knew very well that she had but a passing +attraction for him, beyond the very solid inducement to marry her +offered by her fortune. But he knew that the opportunity must not be +lost, and he did not waste time. He spoke quietly, not wishing to risk a +dramatic effect until he could count on his own rather slight histrionic +powers. + +"So it seems impossible to you, Donna Beatrice," he said, in a musing +tone. "Well, I daresay it does. Many things must seem impossible to you +which are rather startling facts to me. I am older than you, I am a man, +and I have been a soldier. I have lived a life such as you cannot dream +of--not worse perhaps than that of many another man, but certainly not +better. And I am quite sure that if I gave you my history you would not +understand four-fifths of it, and the other fifth would shock you. Of +course it would--how could it be otherwise? How could you and I look at +anything from quite the same point of view?" + +"And yet we often agree," said Beatrice, thoughtfully. + +"Yes, we do. That is quite true. And that is because a certain sympathy +exists between us. I feel that very much when I am with you, and that is +one reason why I try to be with you as much as possible." + +"You say that is one reason. Have you many others?" Beatrice tried to +laugh a little, but she felt somehow that laughter was out of place and +that a serious moment in her life had come at last, in which it would be +wiser to be grave and to think well of what she was doing. + +"One chief one, and many little ones," answered San Miniato. "You are +good to me, you are young, you are fresh--you are gifted and unlike the +others, and you have a rare charm such as I never met in any woman. Are +those not all good reasons? Are they not enough?" + +"If they were all true, they would be more than enough. Is the chief +reason the last?" + +"It is the last of all. I have not given it to you yet. Some things are +better not said at all." + +"They must be bad things," answered Beatrice, with an air of innocence. + +She was beginning to understand, at last, that he really intended to +make her a declaration of love. It was unheard of, almost inconceivable. +But there he was at her feet, looking very handsome in the moonlight, +his face turned up to hers with an unmistakable look of devotion in its +rather grave lines. His voice, too, had a new sound in it. Indifferent +as he might be by daylight and in ordinary life, the magic of the place +and scene affected him a little at the present moment. Perhaps a memory +of other years, when his pulse had quickened and his voice had trembled +oddly, just touched his heart now and it responded with a faint thrill. +For a moment at least he forgot his sordid plan, and Beatrice's own +personal attraction was upon him. + +And she was very lovely as she sat there, looking down at him, with +white folded hands, hatless in the warm night, her eyes full of the +dancing rays that trembled upon the softly rippling water. + +"If they are not bad things," she said, speaking again, "why do you not +tell them to me?" + +"You would laugh." + +"I have laughed enough to-night. Tell me!" + +"Tell you! Yes--that is easy to do. But it would be so hard to make you +understand! It is the difference between a word and a thought, between +belief and mere show, between truth and hearsay--more than that--much +more than I can tell you. It means so much to me--it may mean so little +to you, when I have said it!" + +"But if you do not say it, how can I guess it, or try to understand it?" + +"Would you try? Would you?" + +"Yes." + +Her voice was soft, gentle, persuasive. She felt something she had never +felt, and it must be love, she thought. She had always liked him a +little better than the rest. But surely, this was more than mere +liking. She had a strange longing to hear him say the words, to start, +as her instinct told her she must, when he spoke them, to be told for +the first time that she was loved. Is it strange, after all? Young, +imaginative and full of life, she had been brought up to believe that +she was to be married to some man she scarcely knew, after a week's +acquaintance, without so much as having talked five minutes with him +alone; she had been taught that love was a legend and matrimony a matter +of interest. And yet here was the man whom her mother undoubtedly wished +her to marry, not only talking with her as they had often talked before, +with no one to hear what was said, but actually on the verge of telling +her that he loved her. Could anything be more delicious, more original, +more in harmony with the place and hour? And as if all this were not +enough, she really felt the touch and thrill of love in her own heart, +and the leaping wonder to know what was to come. + +She had told him to speak and she waited for his voice. He, on his part, +knew that much was at stake, for he saw that she was moved, and that +all depended on his words. The fewer the better, he thought, if only +there could be a note of passion in them, if only one of them could ring +as all of poor Ruggiero's had rung when he had spoken that afternoon. He +hesitated and hesitation would be fatal if it lasted another five +seconds. He grew desperate. Where were the words and the tone that had +broken down the will of other women, far harder to please than this mere +child? He felt everything at once, except love. He saw her fortune +slipping from him at the very moment of getting it, he felt a little +contempt for the part he was playing and a sovereign scorn for his own +imbecility, he even anticipated the Marchesa's languid but cutting +comments on his failure. One second more, and all was lost--but not a +word would come. Then, in sheer despair and with a violence that +betrayed it, he seized one of Beatrice's hands in both of his and kissed +it madly a score of times. As she interpreted the action, no eloquence +of words could have told her more of what she wished to hear. It was +unexpected, it was passionate; if it had been premeditated, it would +have been a stroke of genius. As it was, it was a stroke of luck for +San Miniato. With the true gambler's instinct he saw that he was winning +and his hesitation disappeared. His voice trembled passionately now with +excitement, if not with love--but it was the same to Beatrice, who heard +the quick-spoken words that followed, and drank them in as a thirsty man +swallows the first draught of wine he can lay hands on, be it ever so +acid. + +At the first moment she had been startled and had almost uttered a short +cry, half of delight and half of fear. But she had no wish to alarm her +mother and the quick thought stifled her voice. She tried to withdraw +her hand, but he held it tightly in his own which were cold as ice, and +she sat still listening to all he said. + +"Ah, Beatrice!" he was saying, "you have given me back life itself! Can +you guess what I have lived through in these days? Can you imagine how I +have thought of you and suffered day and night, and said to myself that +I should never have your love? Can you dream what it must be to a man +like me, lonely, friendless, half heart-broken, to find the one jewel +worth living for, the one light worth seeking, the one woman worth +loving--and then to long for her almost without hope, and so long? It is +long, too. Who counts the days or the weeks when he loves? It is as +though we had loved from the beginning of our lives! Can you or I +imagine what it all was like before we met? I cannot remember that past +time. I had no life before it--it is all forgotten, all gone, all buried +and for ever. You have made everything new to me, new and beautiful and +full of light--ah, Beatrice! How I love you!" + +Rather a long speech at such a moment, an older woman would have +thought, and not over original in choice of similes and epithets, but +fluent enough and good enough to serve the purpose and to turn the +current of Beatrice's girlish life. Yet not much of a love-speech. +Ruggiero's had been better, as a little true steel is better than much +iron at certain moments in life. It succeeded very well at the moment, +but its ultimate success would have been surer if it had reached no ears +but Beatrice's. Neither she nor San Miniato were aware that a few feet +below them a man was lying on his back, with white face and clenched +hands, staring at the pale moonlit sky above him, and listening in stony +despair to every word that was spoken. + +The sight would have disturbed them, had they seen it, though they both +were fearless by nature and not easily startled. Had Beatrice seen +Ruggiero at that moment, she would have learned once and for ever the +difference between real passion and its counterfeit. But Ruggiero knew +where he was and had no intention of betraying himself by voice or +movement. He suffered almost all that a man can suffer by the heart +alone, but he was strong and could bear torture. + +The hardest of all was that he understood the real truth, partly by +instinct and partly through what he knew of his master. Those rough +southern sailors sometimes have a wonderful keenness in discovering the +meaning of their masters' doings. Ruggiero held the key to the +situation. He knew that San Miniato was poor and that the Marchesa was +very rich. He knew very well that San Miniato was not at all in love, +for he knew what love really meant, and he could see how the Count +always acted by calculation and never from impulse. Best of all he saw +that Beatrice was a mere child who was being deceived by the coolly +assumed passion of a veteran woman-killer. It was bitterly hard to bear. +And he had felt a foreboding of it all in the afternoon--and he wished +that he had risked all and brought down the brass tiller on San +Miniato's head and submitted to be sent to the galleys for life. He +could never have forgotten Beatrice; but San Miniato could never have +married her, and that satisfaction would have made chains light and hard +labour a pastime. + +It was too late to think of such things now. Had he yielded to the first +murderous impulse, it would have been better. But he had never struck a +man from behind and he knew that he could not do it in cold blood. Yet +how much better it would have been! He would not be lying now on the +rock, holding his breath and clenching his fists, listening to his +Excellency the Count of San Miniato's love making. By this time the +Count of San Miniato would be cold, and he, Ruggiero, would be +handcuffed and locked up in the little barrack of the gendarmes at +Sorrento, and Beatrice with her mother would be recovering from their +fright as best they could in the rooms at the hotel, and Teresina would +be crying, and Bastianello would be sitting at the door of his brother's +prison waiting to see what happened and ready to do what he could. Truly +all this would have been much better! But the moment had passed and he +must lie on his rock in silence, bound hand and foot by the necessity of +hiding himself, and giving his heart to be torn to pieces by San +Miniato's aristocratic fine gentleman's hands, and burned through and +through by Beatrice's gentle words. + +"And so you really love me?" said San Miniato, sure at last of his +victory. + +"Do you doubt it, after what I have done?" asked Beatrice in a very soft +voice. "Did I not leave my hand in yours when you took it so roughly +and--you know---" + +"When I kissed it--but I want the words, too--only once, from your +beautiful lips---" + +"The words---" Beatrice hesitated. They were too new to her lips, and a +soft blush rose in her cheeks, visible even in the moonlight. + +Ruggiero's heart stood still--not for the first time that day. Would she +speak the three syllables or not? + +As for San Miniato, his excitement had cooled, and he threw all the +tenderness he could muster into, his last request, with instinctive tact +returning to the more quiet tone he had used at the beginning of the +conversation. + +"I ask you, Beatrice mia, to say--" he paused, to give the proper effect +in the right place--"I love you," he said, completing the sentence very +musically and looking up most tenderly into her eyes. + +She sighed, blushed again, and turned her head away. Then quite suddenly +she looked at him once more, pressed his hand nervously and spoke. + +"I love you, carissimo," she said, and rose at the same moment from her +seat. "Come--it is time. Mamma will be tired," she added, while he held +her hand and pressed it to his lips. + +Her confusion had made it easy for him. He would have had difficulty in +ending the scene artistically if she had not unconsciously helped him. + +Ruggiero clenched his hands a little tighter and tried not to breathe. + +"It is a lie," he said in his heart, but his lips never moved, nor did +he stir a limb as he listened to the departing footsteps on the ledge +above. + +Then with the ease of great strength he drew himself along through +cranny and hollow till he was far from where they sat, and had reached +the place where the boats were made fast. It would seem natural to every +one that he should suddenly be standing there to see that all was right, +and that none of the moorings had slipped or chafed against the jagged +rocks. There he stood, gazing at the rippling water, at the tall yards +as they slowly crossed and recrossed the face of the moon, with the +rocking of the boats, at the cliffs to the right and left, at the dim +headland of the Campanella, at all the sights long familiar to +him--seeing none of them and yet feeling that they at least were his own +people, that they understood him and knew what he felt--what he had no +words with which to tell any one, if he had wished to tell it. + +For he who loves and is little loved, or not at all, has no friend, be +he of high estate or low, beyond nature, the deep-bosomed, the +bountiful, the true; and on her he may lean, trusting, and know that he +will not be betrayed. And in time her language will be his. But she will +be heard alone when she speaks with him, and without rival, with the +full right of a woman who gives all her love and asks for a man's soul +in return, recking little of all the world besides. But not all know how +kind she is, how merciful and how sweet. For she does not heal broken +hearts. She takes them as they are into her own, with all the memory and +all the sin, perhaps, and all the bitter sorrow which is the reward of +faith and faithlessness alike. She takes them all, and holds them kindly +in her own breast, as she has taken the torn limbs of martyred saints +and tortured sinners and has softly turned them all into a fragrant +dust. And though the ashes of the heart be very bitter, they are after +all but dust, which cannot feel of itself any more. Yet there may be +something left behind, in the place where it lived and was broken and +died, which is not wholly bad, though there be little good in this +earth where there is no heart. + +Moreover, nature is a silent mistress to all but those who love her, and +she tells no tales as men and women do, and forgets none of the secrets +which are told to her, for they are our treasures--treasures of love and +of hate, of sweetness and of poison, which we lay up in her keeping when +we are alone with her, sure that we shall find again all we have given +up if we require it of her. But as the years blossom, bloom, and fade in +their quick succession, the day will come when we shall ask of her only +the balm and be glad to leave the poison hidden, and to forget how we +would have used it in old days--when we shall ask her only to give us +the memory of a dear and gentle hand--dear still but no longer kind--of +the voice that was once a harmony, and whose harsh discord is almost +music still--of the hour when love was twofold, stainless and supreme. +Those things we shall ask of her and she, in her wonderful tenderness, +will give them to us again--in dreams, waking or sleeping, in the sunlit +silence of lonely places, in soft nights when the southern sea is still, +in the greater loneliness of the storm, when brave faces are set as +stone and freezing hands grasp frozen ropes, and the shadow of death +rises from the waves and stands between every man and his fellows. We +shall ask, and we shall receive. Out of noon-day shadow, out of the +starlit dusk, out of the driving spray of the midtempest, one face will +rise, one hand will touch our own, one loving, lingering glance will +meet ours from eyes that have no look of love for us in them now. These +things our lady nature will give us of all those we have given her. But +of the others, we shall not ask for them, and she will mercifully forget +for us the bitterness of their birth, and life, and death. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + +"I THOUGHT I was never to see you again," observed the Marchesa, as +Beatrice and San Miniato came to her side. + +"Judging from your calm, you were bearing the separation with admirable +fortitude," answered the Count. + +"Dearest friend, one has to bear so much in this life!" + +Beatrice stood beside the table, resting one hand upon it and looking +back towards the place where she had been sitting. San Miniato took the +Marchesa's hand and raised it to his lips, pressed it a little and then +nodded slowly, with a significant look. The Marchesa's sleepy eyes +opened suddenly with an expression of startled satisfaction, and she +returned the pressure of the fingers with more energy than San Miniato +had suspected. She was evidently very much pleased. Perhaps the greatest +satisfaction of all was the certainty that she was to have no more +trouble in the matter, since it had been undertaken, negotiated and +settled by the principals between them. Then she raised her eyebrows +and moved her head a little as though to inquire what had taken place, +but San Miniato made her understand by a sign that he could not speak +before Beatrice. + +"Beatrice, my angel," said the Marchesa, with more than usual sweetness, +"you have sat so long upon that rock that you have almost reconciled me +to Tragara. Do you not think that you could go back and sit there five +minutes longer?" + +Beatrice glanced quickly at her mother and then at San Miniato and +turned away without a word, leaving the two together. + +"And now, San Miniato carissimo," said the Marchesa, "sit down beside me +on that chair, and tell me what has happened, though I think I already +understand. You have spoken to Beatrice?" + +"I have spoken--yes--and the result is favourable. I am the happiest of +men." + +"Do you mean to say that she answered you at once?" asked the Marchesa, +affecting, as usual, to be scandalised. + +"She answered me--yes, dear Marchesa--she told me that she loved me. It +only remains for me to claim the maternal blessing which you so +generously promised in advance." + +Somehow it was a relief to him to return to the rather stiff and +over-formal phraseology which he always used on important occasions when +speaking to her, and which, as he well knew, flattered her desire to be +thought a very great lady. + +"As for my blessing, you shall have it, and at once. But indeed, I am +most curious to know exactly what she said, and what you said--I, who am +never curious about anything!" + +"Two words tell the story. I told her I loved her and she answered that +she loved me." + +"Dearest friend, how long it took you to say those two words! You must +have hesitated a good deal." + +"To tell the truth, there was more said than that. I will not deny the +grave imputation. I spoke of my past life--" + +"Dio mio! To my daughter! How could you--" The Marchesa raised her hands +and let them fall again. + +"But why not?" asked San Miniato, suppressing a smile. "Have I been such +an impossibly bad man that the very mention of my past must shock a +young girl--whom I love?" In the last words he found an opportunity to +practise the expression of a little passion, and took advantage of it, +well knowing that it would be useful in the immediate future. + +"I never said that!" protested the Marchesa. "But we all know something +about you, dear Don Juan!" + +"Calumnies, nothing but calumnies!" + +"But such pretty calumnies--you might almost accept them. I should think +none the worse of you if they were all true." + +"You are charming, dearest Marchesa. I kiss your generous hand! As a +matter of fact, I only told Donna Beatrice--may I call her Beatrice to +you now, as I have long called her in my heart? I only told her that I +had been unhappy, that I had loved twice--once a woman who is dead, once +another who has long ago forgotten me. That was all. Was it so very bad? +Her heart was softened--she is so gentle! And then I told her that a +greater and stronger passion than those now filled my present life, and +last of all I told her that I loved her." + +"And she returned the compliment immediately?" asked the Marchesa, +slowly selecting a sugared chestnut from the plate beside her, turning +it round, examining it and at last putting it into her mouth. + +"How lightly you speak of what concerns life and death!" sighed San +Miniato. "No--Beatrice did not answer immediately. I said much more--far +more than I can remember. How can you ask me to repeat word for word the +unpremeditated outpourings of a happy passion? The flood has swept by, +leaving deep traces--but who can remember where the eddies and rapids +were?" + +"You are very poetical, caro mio. Your language delights me--it is the +language of the heart. Pray give me one of those little cigarettes you +smoke. Yes--and a light--and now the least drop of champagne. I will +drink your health." + +"And I both yours and Beatrice's," answered San Miniato, filling his own +glass. + +"You may put Beatrice first, since she is yours." + +"But without you there would be no Beatrice, gentilissima," said the +Count gallantly, when he had emptied his glass. + +"That is true, and pretty besides. And so," continued the Marchesa in a +tone of languid reflection, "you have actually been making love to my +daughter, beyond my hearing, alone on the rocks--and I gave you my +permission, and now you are engaged to be married! It is too +extraordinary to be believed. That was not the way I was married. There +was more formality in those days." + +Indeed, she could not imagine the deceased Granmichele throwing himself +upon his knees at her feet, even upon the softest of carpets. + +"Then I thank the fates that those days are over!" returned San Miniato. + +"Perhaps I should, too. I am not sure that the conclusion would have +been so satisfactory, if I had undertaken to persuade Beatrice. She is +headstrong and capricious, and so painfully energetic! Every discussion +with her shortens my life by a year." + +"She is an angel in her caprice," answered the Count with conviction. +"Indeed, much of her charm lies in her changing moods." + +"If she is an angel, what am I?" asked the Marchesa. "Such a contrast!" + +"She is the angel of motion--you are the angel of repose." + +"You are delightful to-night." + +While this conversation was taking place, Beatrice had wandered away +over the rocks alone, not heeding the unevenness of the stones and +taking little notice of the direction of her walk. She only knew that +she would not go back to the place where she had sat, not for all the +world. A change had taken place already and she was angry with herself +for what she had done in all sincerity. + +She was hurt and her first illusion had suffered a grave shock almost at +the moment of its birth. She asked herself how it could be possible, if +San Miniato loved her as he had said he did, that he should not feel as +she felt and understand love as she did--as something secret and sacred, +to be kept from other eyes. Her instinct told her easily enough that San +Miniato was at that very moment telling her mother all that had taken +place, and she bitterly resented the thought. It would surely have been +enough, if he had waited until the following day and then formally asked +her hand of the Marchesa. It would have been better, more natural in +every way, just now when they had gone up to the table, if he had said +simply that they loved one another and had asked her mother's blessing. +Anything rather than to feel that he was coolly describing the details +of the first love scene in her life--the thousandth, perhaps, in his +own. + +After all, did she love him? Did he really love her? His passionate +manner when he had seized her hand had moved her strangely, and she had +listened with a sort of girlish wonder to his declarations of devotion +afterwards. But now, in the, calm moonlight and quite alone, she could +hear Ruggiero's deep strong voice in her ears, and the few manly words +he had uttered. There was not much in them in the way of eloquence--a +sailor's picturesque phrase--she had heard something like it before. But +there had been strength, and the power to do, and the will to act in +every intonation of his speech. She remembered every word San Miniato +had spoken, far better than he would remember it himself in a day or +two, and she was ready to analyse and criticise now what had charmed and +pleased her a moment earlier. Why was he going over it all to her +mother, like a lesson learnt and repeated? She was so glad to be +alone--she would have been so glad to think alone of what she had taken +for the most delicious moment of her young life. If he were really in +earnest, he would feel as she did and would have said at once that it +was late and time to be going home--he would have invented any excuse to +escape the interview which her mother would try to force upon him. Could +it be love that he felt? And if not, as her heart told her it was not, +what was his object in playing such a comedy? She knew well enough, from +Teresina, that many a young Neapolitan nobleman would have given his +title for her fortune, but Teresina, perhaps for reasons of her own, +never dared to cast such an aspersion upon San Miniato, even in the +intimate conversation which sometimes takes place between an Italian +lady and her maid--and, indeed, if the truth be told, between maids and +their mistresses in most parts of the world. + +But the doubt thrust itself forward now. Beatrice was quick to doubt at +all times. She was also capricious and changeable about matters which +did not affect her deeply, and those that did were few enough. It was +certainly possible that San Miniato, after all, only wanted her money +and that her mother was willing to give it in return for a great name +and a great position. She felt that if the case had been stated to her +from the first in its true light she might have accepted the situation +without illusion, but without disgust. Everybody, her mother said, was +married by arrangement, some for one advantage, some for the sake of +another. After all, San Miniato was better than most of the rest. There +was a certain superiority about him which she would like to see in her +husband, a certain simple elegance, a certain outward dignity, which +pleased her. But when her mother had spoken in her languid way of the +marriage, Beatrice had resented the denial of her free will, and had +answered that she would please herself or not marry at all. The +Marchesa, far too lacking in energy to sustain such a contest, had +contented herself with her favourite expression of horror at her +daughter's unfilial conduct. Now, however, Beatrice felt that if it had +all been arranged for her, she would have been satisfied, but that since +San Miniato had played something very like a comedy, she would refuse to +be duped by it. She was very bitter against him in the first revulsion +of feeling and treated him more hardly in her thoughts than he, perhaps, +deserved. + +And there he was, up there by the table, telling her mother of his +success. Her blood rose in her cheeks at the thought and she stamped her +foot upon the rock out of sheer anger at herself, at him, at everything +and everybody. Then she moved on. + +Ruggiero was standing at the edge of the water looking out to sea. The +moonlight silvered his white face and fair beard and accentuated the +sharp black line where his sailor's cap crossed his forehead. Wild and +angry emotions chased each other from his heart to his brain and back +again, firing his overwrought nerves and heated blood, as the flame runs +along a train of powder. He heard a light step behind him and turned +suddenly. Beatrice was close upon him. + +"Is that you, Ruggiero," she asked, for she had seen him with his back +turned and had not recognised him at first. + +"Yes, Excellency," he answered in a hoarse voice, touching his cap. + +"What a beautiful night it is!" said the young girl. She often talked +with the men in the boat, and Ruggiero interested her especially at the +present moment. + +"Yes, Excellency," he answered again. + +"Is the weather to be fine, Ruggiero?" + +"Yes, Excellency." + +Ruggiero was apparently not in the conversational mood. He was probably +thinking of the girl he loved--in all likelihood of Teresina, as +Beatrice thought. She stood still a couple of paces from him and looked +at the sea. She felt a capricious desire to make the big sailor talk and +tell her something about himself. It would be sure to be interesting and +honest and strong, a contrast, as she fancied, to the things she had +just heard. + +"Ruggiero---" she began, and then she stopped and hesitated. + +"Yes, Excellency." + +The continual repetition of the two words irritated her. She tried to +frame a question to which he could not give the same answer. + +"I would like you to tell me who it is whom you love so dearly--is she +good and beautiful and sensible, too, as you said?" + +"She is all that, Excellency." His voice shook, not as it seemed to her +with weakness, but with strength. + +"Tell me her name." + +Ruggiero was silent for some moments, and his head was bent forward. He +seemed to be breathing hard and not able to speak. + +"Her name is Beatrice," he said at last, in a low, firm tone as though +he were making a great effort. + +"Really!" exclaimed the young girl. "That is my name, too. I suppose +that is why you did not want to tell me. But you must not be afraid of +me, Ruggiero. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it. +Is it money you need? I will give you some." + +"It is not money." + +"What is it, then?" + +"Love--and a miracle." + +His answers came lower and lower, and he looked at the ground, suffering +as he had never suffered and yet indescribably happy in speaking with +her, and in seeing the interest she felt in him. But his brain was +beginning to reel. He did not know what he might say next. + +"Love and a miracle!" repeated Beatrice in her silvery voice. "Those are +two things which I cannot get for you. You must pray to the saints for +the one and to her for the other. Does she not love you at all then?" + +"She will never love me. I know it." + +"And that would be the miracle--if she ever should? Such miracles have +been done by men themselves without the help of the saints, before now." + +Ruggiero looked up sharply and he felt his hands shaking. He thought she +was speaking of what had just happened, of which he had been a witness. + +"Such miracles as that may happen--but they are the devil's miracles." + +Beatrice was silent for a moment. She was indeed inclined to believe in +a special intervention of the powers of evil in her own case. Had she +not been suddenly moved to tell a man that she loved him, only to +discover a moment later that it was a mistake? + +"What is the miracle you pray for, Ruggiero?" she asked after a pause. + +"To be changed into some one else, Excellency." + +"And then--would she love you?" + +"By Our Lady's grace--perhaps!" The deep voice shook again. He set his +teeth, folded his arms over his throbbing breast, and planted one foot +firmly on a stone before him, as though to await a blow. + +"I am very sorry for you, Ruggiero," said Beatrice in soft, kind tones. + +"God render you your kindness--it is better than nothing," he answered. + +"Is she sorry for you, too? She should be--you love her so much." + +"Yes--she is sorry for me. She has just said so." He raised his clenched +hand to his mouth almost before the words were uttered. Beatrice did not +see the few bright red drops that fell upon the rock as he gnawed the +flesh. + +"Just said so?" she said, repeating his words. "I do not understand? Is +she here to-night?" + +He did not answer, but slowly bent his head, as though in assent. An odd +foreboding of danger shot through the young girl's heart. Little as the +man said, he seemed desperate. It was possible that the girl he loved +might be a Capriote, and that he might have met her and talked with her +while the dinner was going on. He might have strangled her with those +great hands of his. She would not have uttered a cry, and no one would +be the wiser, for Tragara is a lonely place, by day and night. + +"She is here, you say?" Beatrice asked again. "Where is she? Ruggiero, +what is the matter? Have you done her any harm? Have you hurt her? Have +you killed her?" + +"Not yet---" + +"Not yet!" Beatrice cried, in a low horror-struck tone. She had heard +his sharp, agonised breathing as he reeled unsteadily against the rock +behind him. She was a rarely courageous girl. Instead of shrinking she +made a step forward and took him firmly by the arm. + +"What have you done, Ruggiero?" she asked sternly. + +He felt that she was accusing him. His face grew ashy white, and +grave--almost grand, she thought afterwards, for she remembered long the +look he wore. His answer came slowly in deep, vibrating tones. + +"I have done nothing--but love her." + +"Show her to me--take me to her," said Beatrice, still dreading some +horrible deed, she scarcely knew why. + +"She is here." + +"Where?" + +"Here!--Ah, Christ." + +His great hands went out madly as though to take her, then tenderly +touched the loose sleeves she wore, then fell, as though lifeless, to +his sides again. + +Beatrice passed her hand over her eyes and drew back quickly a step. She +was startled and angered, but not frightened. It was almost the +repetition of the waking dream that had flitted through her brain before +she had landed. She had heard the grand ring of passionate love this +once at least--and how? In the voice of a common sailor--out of the +heart of an ignorant fellow who could neither read nor write, nor speak +his own language, a churl, a peasant's son, a labourer--but a man, at +least. That was it--a strong, honest, fearless man. That was why it all +moved her so--that was why it was not an insult that this low-born +fellow should dare to tell her he loved her. She opened her lids again +and saw his great figure leaning back against the rock, his white face +turned upward, his eyes half closed. She went near to him again. +Instantly, he made an effort and stood upright. Her instinct told her +that he wanted neither pity nor forgiveness nor comfort. + +"You are a brave, strong man, Ruggiero; I will always pray that you may +love some one who will love you again--since you can love so well." + +The unspoiled girl's nature had found the right expression, and the only +one. Ruggiero looked at her one moment, stooped and touched the hem of +her white frock with two fingers and then pressed them silently to his +lips. Who knows from what far age that outward act of submission and +vassalage has been handed down in southern lands? There it is to this +day, rarely seen, but still surviving and still known to all. + +Then Ruggiero turned away and went up the sloping rocks again, and +Beatrice stood still for a moment, watching his tall, retreating figure. +She meant to go, too, but she lingered a while, knowing that if ever she +came back to Tragara, this would be the spot where she would pause and +recall a memory, and not that other, where she had sat while San Miniato +played out his wretched little comedy. + +It all rushed across her mind again, bringing a new sense of disgust and +repulsion with it, and a new blush of shame and anger at having been so +deceived. There was no doubt now. The contrast had been too great, too +wide, too evident. It was the difference between truth and hearsay, as +San Miniato had said once that night. There was no mistaking the one for +the other. + +Poor Ruggiero! that was why he was growing pale and thin. That was why +his arm trembled when he helped her into the boat. She leaned against +the rock and wondered what it all meant, whether there were really any +justice in heaven or any happiness on earth. But she would not marry +San Miniato, now, for she had given no promise. If she had done so, she +would not have broken it--in that, at least, she was like other girls of +her age and class. Next to evils of which she knew nothing, the breaking +of a promise of marriage was the greatest and most unpardonable of sins, +no matter what the circumstances might be. But she was sure that she had +not promised anything. + +At that moment in her meditations she heard the tread of a man's heel on +the rocks. The sailors were all barefoot, and she knew it must be San +Miniato. Unwilling to be alone with him even for a minute, she sprang +lightly forward to meet him as he came. He held out his hand to help +her, but she refused it by a gesture and hurried on. + +"I have been speaking with your mother," he said, trying to take +advantage of the thirty or forty yards that still remained to be +traversed. + +"So I suppose, as I left you together," she answered in a hard voice. "I +have been talking to Ruggiero." + +"Has anything displeased you, Beatrice?" asked San Miniato, surprised by +her manner. + +"No. Why do you call me Beatrice?" Her tone was colder than ever. + +"I suppose I might be permitted--" + +"You are not." + +San Miniato looked at her in amazement, but they were already within +earshot of the Marchesa, who had not moved from her long chair, and he +did not risk anything more, not knowing what sort of answer he might +get. But he was no novice, and as soon as he thought over the situation +he remembered others similar to it in his experience, and he understood +well enough that a sensitive young girl might feel ashamed of having +shown too much feeling, or might have taken offence at some detail in +his conduct which had entirely escaped his own notice. Young and +vivacious women are peculiarly subject to this sort of sensitiveness, as +he was well aware. There was nothing to be done but to be quiet, +attentive in small things, and to wait for fair weather again. After +all, he had crossed the Rubicon, and had been very well received on the +other side. It would not be easy to make him go back again. + +"My angel," said the Marchesa, throwing away the end of her cigarette, +"you have caught cold. We must go home immediately." + +"Yes, mamma." + +With all her languor and laziness and selfishness, the Marchesa was not +devoid of tact, least of all where her own ends were concerned, and when +she took the trouble to have any object in life at all. She saw in her +daughter's face that something had annoyed her, and she at once +determined that no reference should be made to the great business of the +moment, and that it would be best to end the evening in general +conversation, leaving San Miniato no further opportunity of being alone +with Beatrice. She guessed well enough that the girl was not really in +love, but had yielded in a measure to the man's practised skill in +love-making, but she was really anxious that the result should be +permanent. + +Beatrice was grateful to her for putting an end to the situation. The +young girl was pale and her bright eyes had suddenly grown tired and +heavy. She sat down beside her mother and shaded her brow against the +lamp with her hand, while San Miniato went to give orders about +returning. + +"My dear child," said the Marchesa, "I am converted; it has been a +delightful excursion; we have had an excellent dinner, and I am not at +all tired. I am sure you have given yourself quite as much trouble about +it as San Miniato." + +Beatrice laughed nervously. + +"There were a good many things to remember," she said, "but I wish +there had been twice as many--it was so amusing to make out the list of +all your little wants." + +"What a good daughter you are to me, my angel," sighed the Marchesa. + +It was not often that she showed so much, affection. Possibly she was +rarely conscious of loving her child very much, and on the present +occasion the emotion was not so overpowering as to have forced her to +the expression of it, had she not seen the necessity for humouring the +girl and restoring her normal good temper. On the whole, a very good +understanding existed between the two, of such a nature that it would +have been hard to destroy it. For it was impossible to quarrel with the +Marchesa, for the simple reason that she never attempted to oppose her +daughter, and rarely tried to oppose any one else. She was quite +insensible to Beatrice's occasional reproaches concerning her +indolence, and Beatrice had so much sense, in spite of her small +caprices and whims, that it was always safe to let her have her own way. +The consequence was that difficulties rarely arose between the two. + +Beatrice smiled carelessly at the affectionate speech. She knew its +exact value, but was not inclined to depreciate it in her own +estimation. Just then she would rather have been left alone with her +mother than with any one else, unless she could be left quite to +herself. + +"You are always very good to me, mamma," she answered; "you let me have +my own way, and that is what I like best." + +"Let you have it, carissima! You take it. But I am quite satisfied." + +"After all, it saves you trouble," laughed Beatrice. + +Just then San Miniato came back and was greatly relieved to see that +Beatrice's usual expression had returned, and to hear her careless, +tuneful laughter. In an incredibly short space of time the boat was +ready, the Marchesa was lifted in her chair and carried to it, and all +the party were aboard. The second boat, with its crew, was left to +bring home the paraphernalia, and Ruggiero cast off the mooring and +jumped upon the stern, as the men forward dipped their oars and began to +pull out of the little sheltered bay. + +There he sat again, perched in his old place behind his master, the +latter's head close to his knee, holding the brass tiller in his hand. +It would be hard to say what he felt, but it was not what he had felt +before. It was all a dream, now, the past, the present and the future. +He had told Beatrice--Donna Beatrice Granmichele, the fine lady--that he +loved her, and she had not laughed in his face, nor insulted him, nor +cried out for help. She had told him that he was brave and strong. Yet +he knew that he had put forth all his strength and summoned all his +courage in the great effort to be silent, and had failed. But that +mattered little. He had got a hundred, a thousand times more kindness +than he would have dared to hope for, if he had ever dared to think of +saying what he had really said. He had been forced to what he had done, +as a strong man is forced struggling against odds to the brink of a +precipice, and he had found not death, but a strange new strength to +live. He had not found Heaven, but he had touched the gates of Paradise +and heard the sweet clear voice of the angel within. It was well for him +that his hand had not been raised that afternoon to deal the one blow +that would have decided his life. It was well that it was the summer +time and that when he had put the helm down to go about there had been +no white squall seething along with its wake of snowy foam from a +quarter of a mile to windward. It would have been all over now and those +great moments down there by the rocks would never have been lived. + +"Through the arch, Ruggiero," said San Miniato to him as the boat +cleared the rocks of the landward needle. + +"Let us go home," said Beatrice, with a little impatience in her voice. +"I am so tired." + +Would she be tired of such a night if she loved the man beside her? +Ruggiero thought not, any more than he would ever be weary of being near +her to steer the boat that bore her--even for ever. + +"It is so beautiful," said San Miniato. + +Beatrice said nothing, but made an impatient movement that betrayed that +she was displeased. + +"Home, Ruggiero," said San Miniato's voice. + +"Make sail!" Ruggiero called out, he himself hauling out the mizzen. A +minute later the sails filled and the boat sped out over the smooth +water, white-winged as a sea-bird under the great summer moon. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + +It was late on the following morning when the Marchesa came out upon her +curtained terrace, moving slowly, her hands hanging listlessly down, her +eyes half closed, as though regretting the sleep she might be still +enjoying. Beatrice was sitting by a table, an open book beside her which +she was not reading, and she hardly noticed her mother's light step. The +young girl had spent a sleepless night, and for the first time since she +had been a child a few tears had wet her pillow. She could not have told +exactly why she had cried, for she had not felt anything like sadness, +and tears were altogether foreign to her nature. But the unsought return +of all the impressions of the evening had affected her strangely, and +she felt all at once shame, anger and regret--shame at having been so +easily deceived by the play of a man's face and voice, anger against him +for the part he had acted, and regret for something unknown but dreamt +of and almost understood, and which could never be. She was too young +and girlish to understand that her eyes had been opened upon the +workings of the human heart. She had seen two sights which neither man +nor woman can ever forget, love and love's counterfeit presentment, and +both were stamped indelibly upon the unspotted page of her maiden +memory. + +She had seen a man whom she had hitherto liked, and whom she had +unconsciously respected for a certain dignity he seemed to have, degrade +himself--and for money's sake, as she rightly judged--to the playing of +a pitiful comedy. As the whole scene came back to her in all +distinctness, she traced the deception from first to last with amazing +certainty of comprehension, and she knew that San Miniato had wilfully +and intentionally laid a plot to work upon her feelings and to produce +the result he had obtained--a poor result enough, if he had known the +whole truth, yet one of which Beatrice was sorely ashamed. She had been +deceived into the expression of something which she had never felt--and +which, this morning, seemed further from her than ever before. It was +bitter to think that any man could say she had uttered those three +words "I love you," when there was less truth in them than in the +commonest, most pardonable social lie. He had planned the excursion, +knowing how beautiful things in nature affected her, knowing exactly at +what point the moon would rise, precisely at what hour that mysterious +light would gleam upon the water, knowing the magic of the place and +counting upon it to supplement his acting where it lacked reality. It +had been clever of him to think it out so carefully, to plan each detail +so thoughtfully, to behave so naturally until his opportunity was all +prepared and ready for him. But for one little mistake, one moment's +forgetfulness of tact, the impression might have remained and grown in +distinctness until it would have secured the imprint of a strong reality +at the beginning of a new volume in her life, to which she could always +look back in the hereafter as to something true and sweet to be thought +of. But his tact had failed him at the critical and supreme moment when +he had got what he wanted and had not known how to keep it, even for an +hour. And his mistake had been followed by a strange accident which had +revealed to Beatrice the very core of a poor human heart that was +beating itself to death, in true earnest, for her sake. + +She had seen what many a woman longs for but may never look upon. She +had seen a man, brave, strong, simple and true, with the death mark of +his love for her upon his face. What matter if he were but an unlettered +sailor, scarcely knowing what moved him nor the words he spoke? Beatrice +was a woman and, womanlike, she knew without proof or testimony that his +heart and hands were clean of the few sins which woman really despises +in man. + +They are not many--be it said in honour of womanly generosity and +kindness--they are not many, those bad deeds which a woman cannot +forgive, and that she is right is truly shown in that those are the sins +which the most manly men despise in others. They are, I think, +cowardice, lying for selfish ends, betraying tales of woman's +weakness--almost the greatest of crimes--and, greatest of all, +faithlessness in love. + +Let a man be brave, honest, discreet, faithful, and a woman will forgive +him all manner of evil actions, even to murder and bloodshed; but let +him flinch in danger, lie to save himself, tell the name of a woman +whose love for him has betrayed her, or break his faith to her without +boldly saying that he loves her no more, and she will not forgive him +while he lives, though she may give him a kindly thought and a few tears +when he is gone for ever. + +So Beatrice, who could never love Ruggiero, understood him well and +judged him rightly, and set him up on a sort of pedestal as the +anti-type of his scheming master. And not only this. She felt deeply for +him and pitied him with all her heart, since she had seen his own almost +breaking before her eyes for her sake. She had always been kind to him, +but henceforth there would be something even kinder in her voice when +she spoke to him, as there would be something harder in her tone when +she talked with San Miniato. + +And now her mother had appeared and settled herself in her lazy way upon +her long chair, and slowly moved her fan, from habit, though too +indolent to lift it to her face. Beatrice rose and kissed her lightly on +the forehead. + +"Good morning, mamma carissima," she said. "Are you very tired after the +excursion?" + +"Exhausted, in mind and body, my angel. A cigarette, my dear--it will +give me an appetite." + +Beatrice brought her one, and held a match for her mother. Then the +Marchesa shut her eyes, inhaled the smoke and blew out four or five +puffs before speaking again. + +"I want to speak to you, my child," she said at last, "but I hardly have +the strength." + +"Do not tire yourself, mamma. I know what you are going to say, and I +have made up my mind." + +"Have you? That will save me infinite trouble. I am so glad." + +"Are you really? Do you know what I mean?" + +"Of course. You are going to marry San Miniato, and we have the best +excuse in the world for going to Paris to see about your trousseau." + +"I will not marry San Miniato," said Beatrice. "I have made up my mind +that I will not." + +The Marchesa started slightly as she took her cigarette from her lips, +and turned her head slowly so that she could look into Beatrice's eyes. + +"You are engaged to marry him," she said slowly. "You cannot break your +word. You know what that means. Indeed, you are quite mad!" + +"Engaged? I? I never gave my word! It is not true!" The blood rose, in +Beatrice's face and then sank suddenly away. + +"What is this comedy?" asked the Marchesa, raising her brows. For the +first time in many years she was almost angry. + +"Ah! If you ask me that, I will tell you. I will tell you everything and +you know that I speak the truth to you as I do to everybody--" + +"Except to San Miniato when you tell him you love him," interrupted the +Marchesa. + +Beatrice blushed again, with anger this time. + +"Yes," she said, after a short pause, "it is quite true that I said I +loved him, and for one moment I meant it. But I made a mistake. I am +sorry, and I will tell him so. But I will tell him other things, too. I +will tell him that I saw through his acting before we left Tragara last +night, and that I will never forgive him for the part he played. You +know as well as I that it was all a play, from beginning to end. I liked +him better than the others because I thought him more manly, more +honest, more dignified. But I have changed my mind. I see the whole +truth now, every detail of it. He planned it all, and he did it very +well--probably he planned it the night before last, out here with you, +while I was playing waltzes. You could not make me marry him, and he got +leave of you to speak to me. Do you think I do not understand it all? +Would you have let me go away last night and sit with him on the rocks, +out of your hearing, without so much as a remark, unless you had +arranged the matter between you? It is not like you, and I know you +meant it. It was all a plot. He had even been there to study the place, +to see the very point at which the moon would rise, the very place where +he would make me sit, the very spot where your table could stand. He +said to himself that I was a mere girl, that of course no man had ever +made love to me and that between the beauty of the night, my liking for +him, and his well arranged comedy, he might easily move me. He did. I am +ashamed of it. Look at the blood in my cheeks! That tells the truth, at +all events. I am utterly ashamed. I would give my right hand to have not +spoken those words! I would almost give my life to undo yesterday if it +could be undone--and undo it I will, so far as I can. I will tell San +Miniato what I think of myself, and then I will tell him what I think of +him, and that will be enough. Do you understand me? I am in earnest." + +The Marchesa had listened to Beatrice's long speech with open eyes, +surprised at the girl's keenness and at her determined manner. Not that +the latter was new in her experience, but it was the first time that +their two wills had been directly opposed in a matter of great +importance. The Marchesa was a very indolent person, but somewhere in +her nature there lay hidden a small store of determination which had +hardly ever expressed itself clearly in her life. Now, however, she felt +that much was at stake. For many reasons San Miniato was precisely the +son-in-law she desired. He would give Beatrice an ancient and +honourable name, a leading position in any Italian society he chose to +frequent, whether in the north or the south, and he was a man of the +world at all points. The last consideration had much weight with the +Marchesa who, in spite of her title and fortune had seen very little of +the men of the great world, and admired them accordingly. Therefore when +Beatrice said she would not marry him, her mother made up her mind that +she should, and the struggle commenced. + +"Beatrice, my angel," she began, "you are mistaken in yourself and in +San Miniato. I am quite unable to go through all the details as you have +done. I only say that you are mistaken." + +Beatrice's lip curled a little and she slowly shook her head. + +"I am not mistaken, mamma," she answered. "I am quite right, and you +know it. Can you deny that what I say is true? Can you say that you did +not arrange with him to take me to Tragara, and to let him speak to me +himself?" + +"It is far too much trouble to deny anything, my dear child. But all +that may be quite true, and yet he may love you as sincerely as he can +love any one. I do not suppose you expect a man of his sense and +education to roll himself at your feet and tear his hair and his clothes +as they do on the stage." + +"A man need not do that to show that he is in earnest, and besides he--" + +"That is not the question," interrupted the Marchesa. "The real question +concerns you much more than it affects him. If you break your promise--" + +"There was no promise." + +"You told him that you loved him, and you admit it. Under the +circumstances that meant that you were willing to marry him. It meant +nothing else, as you know very well." + +"I never thought of it." + +"You must think of it now. You know perfectly well that he wished to +marry you and had my consent. I have spoken to you several times about +it and you refused to have him, saying that you meant to exercise your +own free will. You had an opportunity of exercising it last night. You +told him clearly that you loved him, and that could only mean that your +opposition was gone and that you would marry him. You know what you +will be called now, if you refuse to keep your engagement." + +Beatrice grew slowly pale. Her mother had, for once, a remarkably direct +and clear way of putting the matter, and the young girl began to waver. +If her mother succeeded in proving to her that she had really bound +herself, she would submit. It is not easy to convey to the foreign mind +generally the enormous importance which is attached in Italy to a +distinct promise of marriage. It indeed almost amounts, morally +speaking, to marriage itself, and the breaking of it is looked upon +socially almost as an act of infidelity to the marriage bond. A young +girl who refuses to keep her engagement is called a civetta--an +owlet--probably because owlets are used as a decoy all over the country +in snaring and shooting all small birds. Be that as it may, the term is +a bitter reproach, it sticks to her who has earned it and often ruins +her whole life. That is what the Marchesa meant when she told Beatrice +that she knew what the world would call her, and the threat had weight. + + +The young girl rose from her seat and began to walk to and fro on the +terrace, her head bent, her hands clasped together. The Marchesa slowly +puffed at her cigarette and watched her daughter with half-closed eyes. + +"I never meant it so!" Beatrice exclaimed in low tones, and she repeated +the words again and again, pausing now and then and looking fixedly at +her mother. + +"Dear child," said the Marchesa, "what does it matter? If it were not +such an exertion to talk, I am sure I could make you see what a good +match it is, and how glad you ought to be." + +"Glad! Oh, mamma, you do not understand! The degradation of it!" + +"The degradation? Where is there anything degrading in it?" + +"I see it well enough! To give myself up body and soul to a man I do not +love! And for what? Because he has an old name, and I a new one, and I +can buy his name with my money. Oh, mother, it is too horrible! Too low! +Too vile!" + +"My angel, you do not know what strong words you are using--" + +"They are not half strong enough--I wish I could--" + +But she stopped and began to walk up and down again, her sweet young +face pale and weary with pain, her fingers twisting each other +nervously. A long silence followed. + +"It is of no use to talk about it, my child," said the Marchesa, +languidly taking up a novel from the table beside her. "The thing is +done. You are engaged, and you must either marry San Miniato or take the +consequences and be pointed at as a faithless girl for the rest of your +life." + +"And who knows of this engagement, if it is one, but you and I and he?" +asked Beatrice, standing still. "Would you tell, or I? Or would he +dare?" + +"He would be perfectly justified," answered the Marchesa. "He is a +gentleman, however, and would be considerate. But who is to assure us +that he has not already telegraphed the good news to his friends?" + +"It is too awful!" cried Beatrice, leaning back against one of the +pillars. + +"Besides," said her mother without changing her tone. "You have changed +to-day, you may change again to-morrow--" + +"Stop, for heaven's sake! Do not make me worse than I am!" + +Poor Beatrice stopped her ears with her open hands. The Marchesa looked +at her and smiled a little, and shook her head, waiting for the hands to +be removed. At last the young girl began her walk again. + +"You should not talk about being worse when you are not bad at all, my +dear," said her mother. "You have done nothing to be ashamed of, and all +this is perfectly absurd. You feel a passing dislike for the idea +perhaps, but that will be gone to-morrow. Meanwhile the one thing which +is really sure is that you are engaged to San Miniato, who, as I say, +has undoubtedly telegraphed the fact to his sister in Florence and +probably to two or three old friends. By to-morrow it will be in the +newspapers. You cannot possibly draw back. I have really talked enough. +I am utterly exhausted." + +Beatrice sank into a chair and pressed her fingers upon her eyes, not to +hide them, but by sheer pressure forcing back the tears she felt coming. +Her beautiful young figure bent and trembled like a willow in the wind, +and the soft white throat swelled with the choking sob she kept down so +bravely. There is something half divine in the grief of some women. + +"Dear child," said her mother very gently, "there is nothing to cry +over. Beatrice carissima, try and control yourself. It will soon pass--" + +"It will soon pass--yes," answered the young girl, bringing out the +words with a great effort. During fully two minutes more she pressed her +eyes with all her might. Then she rose suddenly to her feet, and her +face was almost calm again. + +"I will marry him, since what I never meant for a promise really is one +and has seemed so to you and to him. But if I am a faithless wife to +him, I will lay all my sins at your door." + +"Beatrice!" cried the Marchesa, in real horror this time. She crossed +herself. + +"I am young--shall I not love?" asked the young girl defiantly. + +"Dearest child, for the love of Heaven do not talk so--" + +"No--I will not. I will never say it again--and you will not forget it." + + +She turned to leave the terrace and met San Miniato face to face. + +"Good morning," she said coldly, and passed him. + +"Of course you have telegraphed the news of the engagement to your +sister?" said the Marchesa as soon as she saw him, and making a sign to +intimate that he must answer in the affirmative. + +"Of course--and to all my best friends," he replied promptly with a +ready smile. Beatrice heard his answer just as she passed through the +door, but she did not turn her head. She guessed that her mother had +asked the question in haste in order that San Miniato might say +something which should definitely prove to Beatrice that he considered +himself betrothed. Yesterday she would have believed his answer. To-day +she believed nothing he said. She went to her room and bathed her eyes +in cold water and sat down for a moment before her glass and looked at +herself thoughtfully. There she was, the same Beatrice she saw in the +mirror every day, the same clear brown eyes, the same soft brown hair, +the same broad, crayon-like eyebrows, the same free pose of the head. +But there was something different in the face, which she did not +recognise. There was something defiant in the eyes, and hard about the +mouth, which was new to her and did not altogether please her, though +she could not change it. She combed the little ringlets on her forehead +and dabbed a little scent upon her temples to cool them, and then she +rose quickly and went out. A thought had struck her and she at once put +into execution the plan it suggested. + +She took a parasol and went out of the hotel, hatless and gloveless, +into the garden of orange trees which lies between the buildings and the +gate. She strolled leisurely along the path towards the exit, on one +side of which is the porter's lodge, while the little square stone box +of a building which is the telegraph office stands on the other. She +knew that just before twelve o'clock Ruggiero and his brother were +generally seated on the bench before the lodge waiting for orders for +the afternoon. As she expected, she found them, and she beckoned to +Ruggiero and turned back under the trees. In an instant he was at her +side. She was startled to see how pale he was and how suddenly his face +seemed to have grown thin. She stopped and he stood respectfully before +her, cap in hand, looking down. + +"Ruggiero," she said, "will you do me a service?" + +"Yes, Excellency." + +"Yes, I know--but it is something especial. You must tell no one--not +even your brother." + +"Speak, Excellency--not even the stones shall hear it." + +"I want you to find out at the telegraph office whether your master has +sent a telegram anywhere this morning. Can you ask the man and bring me +word here? I will walk about under the trees." + +"At once, Excellency." + +He turned and left her, and she strolled up the path. She wondered a +little why she was doing this underhand thing. It was not like her, and +whatever answer Ruggiero brought her she would gain nothing by it. If +San Miniato had spoken the truth, then he had really believed the +engagement already binding, as her mother had said. If he had lied, that +would not prevent his really telegraphing within the next half hour, +and matters would be in just the same situation with a slight difference +of time. She would, indeed, in this latter case, have a fresh proof of +his duplicity. But she needed none, as it seemed to her. It was enough +that he should have acted his comedy last night and got by a stratagem +what he could never have by any other means. Ruggiero returned after two +or three minutes. + +"Well?" inquired Beatrice. + +"He sent one at nine o'clock this morning, Excellency." + +For one minute their eyes met. Ruggiero's were fierce, bright and clear. +Beatrice's own softened almost imperceptibly under his glance. If she +had seen herself at that moment she would have noticed that the hard +look she had observed in her own face had momentarily vanished, and that +she was her gentle self again. + +"One only?" she asked. + +"Only one, Excellency. No one will know that I have asked, for the man +will not tell." + +"Are you sure? What did you say to him? Tell me." + +"I said to him, 'Don Gennaro, I am the Conte di San Miniato's sailor. +Has the Conte sent any telegram this morning, to any one, anywhere?' +Then he shook his head; but he looked into his book and said, 'He sent +one to Florence at nine o'clock.' Then I said, 'I thank you, Don +Gennaro, and I will do you a service when I can.' That was for good +manners. Then I said, 'Don Gennaro, please not to tell any one that I +asked the question, and if you tell any one I will make you die an evil +death, for I will break all your bones and moreover drown you in the +sea, and go to the galleys very gladly.' Then Don Gennaro said that he +would not tell. And here I am, Excellency." + +In spite of all she was suffering, Beatrice laughed at Ruggiero's +account of the interview. It was quite evident that Ruggiero had +repeated accurately every word that had been spoken, and he looked the +man to execute the threat without the slightest hesitation. Beatrice +wondered how the telegraph official had taken it. + +"What did Don Gennaro do when you frightened him, Ruggiero?" she asked. + +"He said he would not tell and got a little white, Excellency. But he +will say nothing, and will not complain to the syndic, because he knows +my brother." + +"What has that to do with it?" asked Beatrice with some curiosity. + +"It is natural, Excellency. For if Don Gennaro went to the syndic and +said, 'Signor Sindaco, Ruggiero of the Children of the King has +threatened to kill me,' then the syndic would send for the gendarmes and +say, 'Take that Ruggiero of the Children of the King and put him in, as +we say, and see that he does not run away, for he will do a hurt to +somebody.' And perhaps they would catch me and perhaps they would not. +Then Bastianello, my brother, would wait in the road in the evening for +Don Gennaro, and would lay a hand on him, perhaps, or both. And I think +that Don Gennaro would rather be dead in his telegraph office than alive +in Bastianello's hands, because Bastianello is very strong in his hands, +Excellency. And that is all the truth." + +"But I do not understand it all, Ruggiero, though I see what you mean. I +am afraid it is your language that is different from mine." + +"It is natural, Excellency," answered the sailor, a deep blush spreading +over his white forehead as he stood bareheaded before her. "You are a +great lady and I am only an ignorant seaman." + +"I do not mean anything of the sort, Ruggiero," said Beatrice quickly, +for she saw that she had unintentionally hurt him, and the thought +pained her strongly. "You speak very well and I have always understood +you perfectly. But you spoke of the King's Children and I could not make +out what they had to do with the story." + +"Oh, if it is that, Excellency, I ask your pardon. I do not wonder that +you did not understand. It is my name, Excellency." + +"Your name? Still I do not understand---" + +"I have no other name but that--dei figli del Re--" said Ruggiero. "That +is all." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Beatrice. + +"It is the truth, Excellency, and to show you that it is the truth here +is my seaman's license." + +He produced a little flat parchment case from his pocket, untied the +thong and showed Beatrice the first page on which, was inscribed his +name in full. + +"Ruggiero of the Children of the King, son of the late Ruggiero, native +of Verbicaro, province of Calabria--you see, Excellency. It is the +truth." + +"I never doubt anything you say, Ruggiero," said Beatrice quietly. + +"I thank you, Excellency," answered the sailor, blushing this time with +pleasure. "For this and all your Excellency's kindness." + +What a man he was she thought, as he stood there before her, bareheaded +in the sun-shot shade under the trees, the light playing upon his fair +hair and beard, and his blue eyes gleaming like drops from the sea! What +boys and dwarfs other men looked beside him! + +"Do you know how your family came by that strange name, Ruggiero?" she +asked. + +"No, Excellency. But they tell so many silly stories about us in +Verbicaro. That is in Calabria where I and my brother were born. And +when our mother, blessed soul, was dying--good health to your +Excellency--she blessed us and said this to us. 'Ruggiero, Sebastiano, +dear sons, you could not save me and I am going. God bless you,' said +she. 'Our Lady help you. Remember, you are the Children of the King.' +Then she said, 'Remember' again, as though she would say something more. +But just at that very moment Christ took her, and she did not speak +again, for she was dead--good health to your Excellency for a thousand +years. And so it was." + +"And what happened then?" asked Beatrice, strangely interested and +charmed by the man's simple story. + +"Then we beat Don Pietro Casale, Excellency, and spoiled all his face +and head. We were little boys, twelve and ten years old, but there was +the anger to give us strength. And so we ran away from Verbicaro, +because we had no one and we had to eat, and had beaten Don Pietro +Casale, who would have had us put in prison if he had caught us. But +thanks to Heaven we had good legs. And so we ran away, Excellency." + +"It is very interesting. But what were those stories they told about you +in Verbicaro?" + +"Silly stories, Excellency. They say that once upon a time King Roger +came riding by with all his army and many knights; and all armed +because there was war. And he took Verbicaro from the Turks and gave it +to a son of his who was called the Son of the King, as I would give +Bastianello half a cigar or a pipe of tobacco in the morning--it is true +he always has his own--and so the Son of the King stayed in that place +and lived there, and I have heard old men say that when their +fathers--who were also old, Excellency--were boys, many houses in +Verbicaro belonged to the Children of the King. But then they ate +everything and we have had nothing but these two hands and these two +arms and now we go about seeking to eat. But thanks to Heaven--and +to-day is Saturday--we have been able to work enough. And that is the +truth, Excellency." + +"What a strange tale!" exclaimed the young girl. "But to-day is Tuesday, +Ruggiero. Why do you say it is Saturday?" + +"I beg pardon of your Excellency, it is a silly custom and means +nothing. But when a man says he is well, or that there is a west wind, +or that his boat is sound, he says 'to-day is Saturday,' because it +might be Friday and he might have forgotten that. It is a silly custom, +Excellency." + +"Do not call me excellency, Ruggiero," said Beatrice. "I have no right +to be called so." + +"And what could I call you when I have to speak to you, Excellency? I +have been taught so." + +"Only princes and dukes and their children are excellencies," answered +Beatrice. "My father was only a Marchese. So if you wish to please me, +call me 'signorina.' That is the proper way to speak to me." + +"I will try, Excellency," answered Ruggiero, opening his blue eyes very +wide. Beatrice laughed a little. + +"You see," she said, "you did it again." + +"Yes, Signorina," replied Ruggiero. "But I will not forget again. When +the tongue of the ignorant has learned a word it is hard to change it." + +"Well, good-day Ruggiero. Your story is very interesting. I am going to +breakfast, and I thank you for what you did for me." + +"It is not I who deserve any thanks. And good appetite to you, +Signorina." She turned and walked slowly back towards the hotel. + +"And may Our Lady bless you and keep you, and send an angel to watch +over every hair of your blessed head!" said Ruggiero in a low voice as +he watched her graceful figure retreating in the distance. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + +After what had happened on the previous evening Ruggiero had expected +that Beatrice would treat him very differently. He had assuredly not +foreseen that she would call him from his seat by the porter's lodge, +ask an important service of him, and then enter into conversation with +him about the origin of his family and the story of his own life. His +slow but logical mind pondered on these things in spite of the +disordered action of his heart, which had almost choked him while he had +been talking with the young girl. Instead of going back to his brother, +he turned aside and entered the steep descending tunnel through the rock +which leads down to the sea and the little harbour. + +Two things were strongly impressed on his mind. First, the nature of the +service he had done Beatrice in making that enquiry at the telegraph +office, and secondly her readiness to forget his own reckless conduct at +Tragara. Both these points suggested reflections which pleased him +strangely. It was quite clear to him that Beatrice distrusted San +Miniato, though he had of course no idea of the nature of the telegram +concerning which she had wanted information. He only understood that she +was watching San Miniato with suspicion, expecting some sort of foul +play. But there was an immense satisfaction in that thought, and +Ruggiero's eyes sparkled as he revolved it in his brain. + +As for the other matter, he understood it less clearly. He was quite +conscious of the enormity of his misdeed in telling a lady, and a great +lady, according to his view, that he loved her, and in daring to touch +the sleeves of her dress with his rough hands. He could not find it in +him to regret what he had done, but he was prepared for very hard +treatment as his just reward. It would not have surprised him if +Beatrice had then and there complained of him to her mother or to San +Miniato himself, and the latter, Ruggiero supposed, would have had no +difficulty in having him locked up in the town gaol for a few weeks on +the rather serious ground of misdemeanour towards the visitors at the +watering-place. A certain amount of rather arbitrary power is placed in +the hands of the local authorities in all great summer resorts, and it +is quite right that it should be so--nor is it as a rule unjustly used. + +But Beatrice had acted very differently, very kindly and very +generously. That was because she was naturally so good and gentle, +thought Ruggiero. But the least he had expected was that she would never +again speak to him save to give an order, nor say a kind word, no matter +what service he rendered her, or what danger he ran for her sake. And +now, a moment ago, she had talked with him with more interest and kindly +condescension than she had ever shown before. He refused, and rightly, +to believe that this was because she had needed his help in the matter +of the telegram. She could have called Bastianello, who was in her own +service, and Bastianello would have done just as well. But she had +chosen to employ the man who had so rudely forgotten himself before her +less than twenty-four hours earlier. Why? Ruggiero, little capable, by +natural gifts or by experience, of dealing with such questions, found +himself face to face with a great problem of the human self, and he +knew at once that he could never solve it, try as he might. His +happiness was none the less great, nor his gratitude the less deep and +sincere, and with both these grew up instantly in his heart the strong +determination to serve her at every turn, so far as lay in his power. + +It was not much that he could do, he reflected, unless she would show +him the way as she had done this very morning. But, considering the +position of affairs, and her evident distrust of her betrothed, it was +not impossible that similar situations might arise before long. If they +did, Ruggiero would be ready, as he had now shown himself, to do her +bidding with startling directness and energy. He was well aware of his +physical superiority over every one else in Sorrento, and he was dimly +conscious that a threat from him was something which would frighten most +men, and which none could afford to overlook. He remembered poor Don +Gennaro's face just now, when he had quietly told him what he might +expect if he did not hold his tongue. Ruggiero had never valued his life +very highly, and since he had loved Beatrice he did not value it a +straw. This state of mind can make a man an exceedingly dangerous +person, especially when he is so endowed that he can tear a new horse +shoe in two with his hands, and break a five franc piece with his thumbs +and forefingers as another man breaks a biscuit. + +As Ruggiero came out of the tunnel and reached the platform of rock from +which the last part of the descent goes down to the sea in the open air, +he stood still a moment and expressed his determination in a low tone. +There was no one near to hear him. + +"Whatever she asks," he said. "Truly it is of great importance what +becomes of me! If it is a little thing it costs nothing. If it is a +great thing--well, I will do it if I can. Then I will say, +'Excellency'--no--'Signorina, here it is done. And I beg to kiss your +Excellency's hand, because I am going to the galleys and you will not +see me any more.' And then they will put me in, and it will be finished, +and I shall always have the satisfaction." + +Ruggiero produced a fragment of a cigar from his cap and a match from +the same safe place and began to smoke, looking at the sea. People not +used to the peculiarities of southern thought would perhaps have been +surprised at the desperate simplicity of Ruggiero's statement to +himself. But those who have been long familiar with men of his country +and class must all have heard exactly such words uttered more than once +in their experience, and will remember that in some cases at least they +were not empty threats, which were afterwards very exactly and +conscientiously fulfilled by him who uttered them, and who now either +wears a green cap at Ponza or Ischia, or is making a fortune in South +America, having had the luck to escape as a stowaway on a foreign +vessel. + +Nor did it strike Ruggiero as at all improbable that Beatrice might some +day wish to be rid of the Conte di San Miniato, and might express such a +wish, ever so vaguely, within Ruggiero's hearing. He had the bad taste +to judge her by himself, and of course if she really hated her betrothed +she would wish him to die. It was a sin, doubtless, to wish anybody +dead, and it was a greater sin to put out one's hands and kill the +person in question. But it was human nature, according to Ruggiero's +simple view, and of course Beatrice felt like other human beings in +this matter and all the principal affairs of life. He had made up his +mind, and he never repeated the words he had spoken to himself. He was a +simple man, and he puffed at his stump of a black cigar and strolled +down to the boat to find out whether the Cripple and the Son of the Fool +had spliced that old spare mooring-rope which had done duty last night +and had been found chafed this morning. + +Meanwhile the human nature on which Ruggiero counted so naturally and +confidently was going through a rather strange phase of development in +the upper regions where the Marchesa's terrace was situated. + +Beatrice walked slowly back under the trees. Ruggiero's quaint talk had +amused her and had momentarily diverted the current of her thoughts. But +the moment she left him, her mind reverted to her immediate trouble, and +she felt a little stab of pain at the heart which was new to her. The +news that San Miniato had actually sent a telegram was unwelcome in the +extreme. He had, indeed, said in her presence that he had sent several. +But that might have been a careless inaccuracy, or he might have +actually written the rest and given them to be despatched before coming +upstairs. To doubt that the one message already sent contained the news +of his engagement, seemed gratuitous. It was only too sure that he had +looked upon what had passed at Tragara as a final decision on the part +of Beatrice, and that henceforth she was his affianced bride. Her mother +had not even found great difficulty in persuading her of the fact, and +after that one bitter struggle she had given up the battle. It had been +bitter indeed while it had lasted, and some of the bitterness returned +upon her now. But she would not again need to force the tears back, +pressing her hands upon her eyes with desperate strength as she had +done. It was useless to cry over what could not be helped, and since she +had made the great mistake of her life she must keep her word or lose +her good name for ever, according to the ideas in which she had been +brought up. But it would be very hard to meet San Miniato now, within +the next quarter of an hour, as she inevitably must. Less hard, perhaps, +than if she had convicted him of falsehood in the matter of the +telegram, as she had fully expected that she could--but painful enough, +heaven knew. + +There was an old trace of oriental fatalism in her nature, passed down +to her, perhaps, from some Saracen ancestor in the unknown genealogy of +her family. It is common enough in the south, often profoundly leavened +with superstition, sometimes existing side by side with the most +absolute scepticism, but its influence is undeniable, and accounts for a +certain resignation in hopeless cases which would be utterly foreign to +the northern character. Beatrice had it, and having got the worst of the +first contest she conceived that further resistance would be wholly +useless, and accepted the inevitable conclusion that she must marry San +Miniato whether she liked him or not. But this state of mind did not by +any means imply that she would marry him with a good grace, or ever +again return in her behaviour towards him to the point she had reached +on the previous evening. That, thought Beatrice, would be too much to +expect, and was certainly more than she intended to give. She would be +quite willing to show that she had been deceived into consenting, and +was only keeping her word as a matter of principle. San Miniato might +think what he pleased. She knew that whatever she did, he would never +think of breaking off the engagement, since what he wanted was not +herself but her fortune. She shut her parasol with a rather vicious snap +as she went into the cool hall out of the sun, and the hard look in her +face was more accentuated than before, as she slowly ascended the steps. + +The conversation between her mother and San Miniato during her short +absence had been characteristic. They understood each other perfectly +but neither would have betrayed to the other, by the merest hint, the +certainty that the marriage was by no means agreeable to poor Beatrice +herself. + +"Dearest Marchesa," said San Miniato, touching her hand with his lips, +and then seating himself beside her, "tell me that you are not too much +exhausted after your exertions last night? Have you slept well? Have you +any appetite?" + +"What a good doctor you would make, dear friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa +with a little smile. + +And so they exchanged the amenities usual at their first meeting in the +day, as though they had not been buying and selling an innocent soul, +and did not appreciate the fact in its startling reality. Several more +phrases of the same kind were spoken. + +"And how is Donna Beatrice?" inquired San Miniato at last. + +"Why not call her Beatrice?" asked the Marchesa carelessly. "She is very +well. You just saw her." + +"I fancy it would seem a little premature, a little familiar to call her +so," answered the Count, who remembered his recent discomfiture. "For +the present, I believe she would prefer a little more ceremony. I do not +know whether I am right. Pray give me your advice, Marchesa carissima." + +"Of course you are right--you always are. You were right about the moon +yesterday--though I did not notice that it was shining here when we came +home," she added thoughtfully, not by any means satisfied with the +insufficient demonstration he had given her at first. + +"No doubt," replied San Miniato indifferently. He took no further +interest in the movements of the satellite since he had gained his +point, and the Marchesa was far too lazy to revive the discussion. "I am +glad you agree with me about my behaviour," he continued. "It is of +course most important to maintain as much as possible the good +impression I was so fortunate as to make last night, and I have had +enough experience of the world to know that it will not be an easy +matter." + +"No, indeed--and with Beatrice's character, too!" + +"The most charming character I ever met," said San Miniato with +sufficient warmth. "But young, of course, as it should be and subject to +the enchanting little caprices which belong to youth and beauty." + +"Yes, which always belong to youth and beauty," assented the Marchesa. + +"And I am quite prepared, for instance, to be treated coldly to-day and +warmly to-morrow, if it so pleases the dear young lady. She will always +find me the same." + +"How good you are, dearest friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa, thoroughly +understanding what he meant, and grateful to him for his tact, which was +sometimes, indeed, of the highest order. + +"It would be strange if I were not happy and satisfied," he answered, +"and ready to accept gratefully the smallest favour with which it may +please Donna Beatrice to honor me." + +He was indeed both happy and satisfied, for he saw no reason to suppose +that the Granmichele fortune could now slip from his grasp. Moreover he +had considerable confidence in himself and his powers, and he thought it +quite probable that the scene of the previous evening might before long +be renewed with more lasting effect. Beatrice was young and capricious; +there is nothing one may count on so surely as youth and caprice. +Caprice is sure to change, but who is sure that the faith kept for ten +years will not? In youth love is sure to come some day, but when that +day is past is it ever sure that he will come again? San Miniato knew +these things and many more like them, and was wise in his generation as +well as a man of the world, accustomed to its ways from his childhood +and nourished with the sour milk of its wisdom from his earliest youth +upward. + +So he quietly conveyed to the Marchesa the information that he +understood Beatrice's present mood and that he would not attach more +importance to it than it deserved. They talked a little longer together, +both for the present avoiding any reference to the important +arrangements which must soon be discussed in connection with the +marriage contract, but both taking it entirely for granted that the +marriage itself was quite agreed upon and settled. + +Then Beatrice returned and sat down silently by the table. + +"Have you been for a little walk, my angel?" enquired her mother. + +"Yes, mamma, I have been for a little walk." + +"You are not tired then, after our excursion, Donna Beatrice?" enquired +San Miniato. + +"Not in the least," answered the young girl, taking up a book and +beginning to read. + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed her mother in amazement. "My child! What are you +reading! Maupassant! Have you quite forgotten yourself?" + +"I am trying to, mamma. And since I am to be married--what difference +does it make?" + +She spoke without laying down the volume. San Miniato pretended to pay +no attention to the incident, and slowly rolled a fat cigarette between +his fingers to soften it before smoking. The Marchesa made gestures to +Beatrice with an unusual expenditure of energy, but with no effect. + +"It seems very interesting," said the latter. "I had no idea he wrote so +well. It seems to be quite different from Telemaque--more amusing in +every way." + +Then the Marchesa did what she had not done in many years. She asserted +her parental authority. Very lazily she put her feet to the ground, laid +her fan, her handkerchief and her cigarette case together, and rose to +her feet. Coming round the table she took the forbidden book out of +Beatrice's hands, shut it up and put it back in its place. Beatrice made +no opposition, but raised her broad eyebrows wearily and folded her +hands in her lap. + +"Of course, if you insist, I have nothing to say," she remarked, "any +more than I have anything to do since you will not let me read." + +The Marchesa went back to her lounge and carefully arranged her +belongings and settled herself comfortably before she spoke. + +"I think you are a little out of temper, Beatrice dear, or perhaps you +are hungry, my child. You so often are. San Miniato, what time is it?" + +"A quarter before twelve," answered the Count. + +"Of course you will breakfast with us. Ring the bell, dearest friend. We +will not wait any longer." + +San Miniato rose and touched the button. + +"You are as hospitable as you are good," he said. "But if you will +forgive me, I will not accept your invitation to-day. An old friend of +mine is at the other hotel for a few hours and I have promised to +breakfast with him. Will you excuse me?" + +Beatrice made an almost imperceptible gesture of indifference with her +hand. + +"Who is your friend?" she asked. + +"A Piedmontese," answered San Miniato indifferently. "You do not know +him." + +"We are very sorry to lose you, especially to-day, San Miniato +carissimo," said the Marchesa. "But if it cannot be helped--well, +good-bye." + +So San Miniato went out and left the mother and daughter together again +as he had found them. It is needless to say that the Piedmontese friend +was a fiction, and that San Miniato had no engagement of that kind. He +had hastily resolved to keep one of a different nature because he +guessed that in Beatrice's present temper he would make matters more +difficult by staying. And in this he was right, for Beatrice had made up +her mind to be thoroughly disagreeable and she possessed the elements of +success requisite for that purpose--a sharp tongue, a quick instinct and +great presence of mind. + +San Miniato descended the stairs and strolled out into the orange +garden, looking at his watch as he left the door of the hotel. It was +very hot, but further away from the house the sea breeze was blowing +through the trees. He was still smoking the cigarette he had lighted +upstairs, and he sat down on a bench in the shade, took out a pocket +book and began to make notes. From time to time he looked along the +path in the direction of the hotel, which was hidden from view by the +shrubbery. Then the clock struck twelve and a few minutes later the +church bells began to ring, as they do half a dozen times a day in Italy +on small provocation. Still San Miniato went on with his calculations. + +Before many minutes more had passed, a trim young figure appeared in the +path--a young girl, with pink cheeks and bright dark eyes, no other than +Teresina, the Marchesa's maid. She carried some sewing in her hand and +looked nervously behind her and to the right and left as she walked. But +there was no one in the garden at that hour. The guests of the hotel +were all at breakfast, and the servants were either asleep or at work +indoors. The porter was at his dinner and the sailors were presumably +eating their midday bread and cheese down by the boats, or dining at +their homes if they lived near by. The breeze blew pleasantly through +the trees, making the broad polished leaves rustle and the little green +oranges rock on the boughs. + +As soon as San Miniato caught sight of Teresina he put his note-book +into his pocket and rose to his feet. His face betrayed neither +pleasure nor surprise as he sauntered along the path, until he was close +to her. Then both stopped, and he smiled, bending down and looking into +her eyes. + +"For charity's sake, Signor Conte!" cried the girl, drawing back, +blushing and looking behind her quickly. "I ought never to have come +here. Why did you make me come?" + +"What an idea, Teresina!" laughed San Miniato softly. "And if you ask me +why I wanted you to come, here is the reason. Now tell me, Teresinella, +is it a good reason or not?" + +Thereupon San Miniato produced from his waistcoat pocket a little limp +parcel wrapped in white tissue paper and laid it in Teresina's hand. It +was heavy, and she guessed that it contained something of gold. + +"What is it?" she asked quickly. "Am I to give it to the Signorina?" + +"To the Signorina!" San Miniato laughed softly again and laid his hand +very gently on the girl's arm. "Yes," he whispered, bending down to her. +"To the Signorina Teresinella, who can have all she asks for if she will +only care a little for me." + +"Heavens, Signor Conte!" cried Teresina. "Was it to say this that you +made me come?" + +"This and a great deal more, Teresina bella. Open your little parcel +while I tell you the rest. Who made you so pretty, carissima? Nature +knew what she was doing when she made those eyes of yours and those +bright cheeks, and those little hands and this small waist--per Dio--if +some one I know were as pretty as Teresinella, all Naples would be at +her feet!" + +He slipped his arm round her, there in the shade. Still she held the +package unopened in her hand. She grew a little pale, as he touched her, +and shrank away as though to avoid him, but evidently uncertain and +deeply disturbed. The poor girl's good and evil angels were busy +deciding her fate for her at that moment. + +"Open your little gift and see whether you like the reason I give you +for coming here," said San Miniato, who was pleased with the turn of the +phrase and thought it as well to repeat it. "Open it, Teresinella, +bella, bella--the first of as many as you like--and come and sit beside +me on the bench there and let me talk a little. I have so much to say to +you, all pretty things which you will like, and the hour is short, you +know." + +Poor girl! He was a fine gentleman with a very great name, as Teresina +knew, and he was young still and handsome, and had winning ways, and she +loved gold and pretty speeches dearly. She looked down, still shrinking +away from him, till she stood with her back to a tree. Her fresh young +face was almost white now and her eyelids trembled from time to time, +while her lips moved though she was not conscious of what she wanted to +say. + +"Ah, Teresina!" he exclaimed, with a nicely adjusted cadence of passion +in the tone. "What are you waiting for, my little angel? It is time to +love when one is young and the world is green, and your eyes are bright, +carina! When the heart beats and the blood is warm! And you are made for +love--that mouth of yours--like the red carnations--one kiss +Teresinella--that is all I ask--one kiss and no more,--here in the shade +while no one is looking--one kiss, carina mia--there is no sin in +kissing--" + +And he tried to draw her to him. But either Teresina was naturally a +very good girl, or her good angel had demolished his evil adversary in +the encounter which had taken place. There is an odd sort of fierce +loyalty very often to be found at the root of the Sicilian character. +She looked up suddenly and her eyes met his. She held out the little +package still unopened. + +"You have made a mistake, Signor Conte," she said, quietly enough. "I am +an honest girl, and though you are a great signore I will tell you that +if you had any honour you would not be making love to me out here in the +garden while you are paying court to the Signorina when you are in the +house, and doing your best to marry her. It is infamous enough, what you +are doing, and I am not afraid to tell you so. And take back your gold, +for I do not want it, and it is not clean! And so good-day, Signor +Conte, and many thanks. When you asked me to come here, I thought you +had some private message for the Signorina." + +During Teresina's speech San Miniato had not betrayed the slightest +surprise or disappointment. He quietly lighted a cigarette and smiled +good-humouredly all the time. + +"My dear Teresina," he said, when she had finished, "what in the world +do you think I wanted of you? Not only am I paying court to your +signorina, as you say, but I am already betrothed to her, since last +night. You did not know that?" + +"The greater the shame!" exclaimed the girl, growing angry. + +"Not at all, my dear child. On the contrary, it explains everything in +the most natural way. Is it not really natural that on the occasion of +my betrothal I should wish to give you a little remembrance, because you +have always been so obliging, and have been with the Marchesa since you +were a child? I could not do anything else, I am sure, and I beg you to +keep it and wear it. And as for my telling you that you are pretty and +young and fresh, I do not see why you need be so mortally offended at +that. However, Teresina, I am sorry if you misunderstood me. You will +keep the little chain?" + +"No, Signor Conte. Take it. And I do not believe a word you say." + +She held out the parcel to him, but he, still smiling, shook his head +and would not take it. Then she let it drop at his feet, and turned +quickly and left him. He watched her a moment, and his annoyance at his +discomfiture showed itself plainly enough, so soon as she was not there +to see it. Then he shrugged his shoulders, stooped and picked up the +package, restored it to his waistcoat pocket and went back to his bench. + +"It is a pity," he muttered, as he took out his note-book again. "It +would have been such good practice!" + +An hour later Bastianello was sitting alone in the boat, under the +awning, enjoying the cool breeze and wishing that the ladies would go +for a sail while it lasted, instead of waiting until late in the +afternoon as they generally did, at which time there was usually not a +breath of air on the water. He was smoking a clay pipe with a cane stem, +and he was thinking vaguely of Teresina, wondering whether Ruggiero +would never speak to her, and if he never did, whether he, Bastianello, +might not at last have his turn. + +A number of small boys were bathing in the bright sunshine, diving off +the stones of the breakwater and running along the short pier, brown +urchins with lithe thin limbs, matted black hair and beady eyes. +Suddenly Bastianello was aware of a small dark face and two little hands +holding upon the gunwale of his boat. He knew the boy very well, for he +was the son of the Son of the Fool. + +"Let go, Nenne!" he said; "do you take us for a bathing house?" + +"You have a beautiful pair of padroni, you and your brother," observed +Nenne, making a hideous face over the boat's side. + +Bastianello did not move, but stretched out his long arm to take up the +boat-hook, which lay within his reach. + +"If you had seen what I saw in the garden up there just now," continued +the small boy. "Madonna mia, what a business!" + +"Eh, you rascal? what did you see?" asked the sailor, turning the +boat-hook round and holding it so that he could rap the boy's knuckles +with the butt end of it. + +"There was the Count, who is Ruggiero's padrone, trying to kiss your +signora's maid, and offering her the gold, and she--yah!" Another +hideous grimace, apparently of delight, interrupted the narrative. + +"What did she do?" asked Bastianello quietly. But he grew a shade paler. + +"Eh? you want to know now, do you? What will you give me?" inquired the +urchin. + +"Half a cigar," said Bastianello, who knew the boy's vicious tastes, and +forthwith produced the bribe from his cap, holding it up for the other +to see. + +"What did she do? She threw down the gold and called him an infamous +liar to his face. A nice padrone Ruggiero has, who is called a liar and +an infamous one by serving maids. Well, give me the cigar." + +"Take it," said the sailor, rising and reaching out. + +The urchin stuck it between his teeth, nodded his thanks, lowered +himself gently into the water so as not to wet it, and swam cautiously +to the breakwater, holding his head in the air. + +Bastianello sat down again and continued to smoke his pipe. There was a +happy look in his bright blue eyes which had not been there before. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + + +Bastianello sat still in his boat, but he no longer looked to seaward, +facing the breeze. He kept an eye on the pier, looking out for his +brother, who had not appeared since the midday meal. The piece of +information he had just received was worth communicating, for it raised +Teresina very much in the eyes of Bastianello, and he did not doubt that +it would influence Ruggiero in the right direction. Bastianello, too, +was keen enough to see that anything which gave him an opportunity of +discussing the girl with his brother might be of advantage, in that it +might bring Ruggiero to the open expression of a settled purpose--either +to marry the girl or not. And if he once gave his word that he would +not, Bastianello would be no longer bound to suffer in silence as he had +suffered so many weeks. The younger of the brothers was less passionate, +less nervous and less easily moved in every way than the elder, but he +possessed much of the same general character and all of the same +fundamental good qualities--strength, courage and fidelity. In his +quiet way he was deeply and sincerely in love with Teresina, and meant, +if possible and if Ruggiero did not take her, to make her his wife. + +At last Ruggiero's tall figure appeared at the corner of the building +occupied by the coastguard station, and Bastianello immediately whistled +to him, giving a signal which had served the brothers since they were +children. Ruggiero started, turned his head and at once jumped into the +first boat he could lay hands on and pulled out alongside of his +brother. + +"What is it?" he asked, letting his oars swing astern and laying hold on +the gunwale of the sail boat. + +"About Teresina," answered Bastianello, taking his pipe from his mouth +and leaning towards his brother. "The son of the Son of the Fool was +swimming about here just now, and he hauled himself half aboard of me +and made faces. So I took the boat-hook to hit his fingers. And just +then he said to me, 'You have a beautiful pair of masters you and your +brother.' 'Why?' I asked, and I held the boat-hook ready. But I would +not have hurt the boy, because he is one of ours. So he told me that he +had just seen the Count up there in the garden of the hotel, trying to +kiss Teresina and offering her the gold, and I gave him half a cigar to +tell me the rest, because he would not, and made faces." + +"May he die murdered!" exclaimed Ruggiero in a low voice, his face as +white as canvas. + +"Wait a little, she is a good girl," answered Bastianello. "Teresina +threw the gold upon the ground and told the Count that he was an +infamous one and a liar. And then she went away. And I think the boy was +speaking the truth, because if it were a lie he would have spoken in +another way. For it was as easy to say that the Count kissed her as to +say that she would not let him, and he would have had the tobacco all +the same." + +"May he die of a stroke!" muttered Ruggiero. + +"But if I were in your place," said his brother calmly, "I would not do +anything to your padrone, because the girl is a good girl and gave him +the good answer, and as for him--" Bastianello shrugged his shoulders. + +"May the sharks get his body and the devil get his soul!" + +"That will be as it shall be," answered Bastianello. "And it is sure +that if God wills, the grampuses will eat him. But we do not know the +end. What I would say is this, that it is time you should speak to the +girl, because I see how white you get when we talk of her, and you are +consuming yourself and will have an illness, and though I could work for +both you and me, four arms are better than two, in summer as in winter. +Therefore I say, go and speak to her, for she will have you and she will +be better with you than near that apoplexy of a San Miniato." + +Ruggiero did not answer at once, but pulled out his pipe and filled it +and began to smoke. + +"Why should I speak?" he asked at last. There was a struggle in his +mind, for he did not wish to tell Bastianello outright that he did not +really care for Teresina. If he betrayed this fact it would be hard +hereafter to account for his own state, which was too apparent to be +concealed, especially from his brother, and he had no idea that the +latter loved the girl. + +"Why should you speak?" asked Bastianello, repeating the words, and +stirring the ashes in his pipe with the point of his knife. "Because if +you do not speak you will never get anything." + +"It will be the same if I do," observed Ruggiero stolidly. + +"I believe that very little," returned the other. "And I will tell you +something. If I were to speak to Teresina for you and say, 'Here is my +brother Ruggiero, who is not a great signore, but is well grown and has +two arms which are good, and a matter of seven or eight hundred francs +in the bank, and who is very fond of you, but he does not know how to +say it. Think well if you will have him,' I would say, 'and if you will +not, give me an honest answer and God bless you and let it be the end.' +That is how I would speak, and she would think about it for a week or +perhaps two, and then she would say to me, 'Bastianello, tell your +brother that I will have him.' Or else she would say, 'Bastianello, tell +your brother that I thank him, but that I have no heart in it.' That is +what she would say." + +"It may be," said Ruggiero carelessly. "But of course she would thank, +and say 'Who is this Ruggiero?' and besides, the world is full of +women." + +Bastianello was about to ask the interpretation of this rather +enigmatical speech when there was a stir on the pier and two or three +boats put out, the men standing in them and sculling them stern +foremost. + +"Who is it?" asked Bastianello of the boatman who passed nearest to him. + +"The Giovannina," answered the man. + +She had returned from her last voyage to Calabria, having taken macaroni +from Amalfi and bringing back wine of Verbicaro. A fine boat, the +Giovannina, able to carry twenty tons in any weather, and water-tight +too, being decked with hatches over which you can stretch and batten +down tarpaulin. A pretty sight as she ran up to the end of the +breakwater, old Luigione standing at the stern with the tiller between +his knees and the slack of the main-sheet in his hand. She was running +wing and wing, with her bright new sails spreading far over the water on +each side. Then came a rattle and a sharp creak as the main-yard swung +over and came down on deck, the men taking in the bellying canvas with +wide open arms and old Luigione catching the end of the yard on his +shoulder while he steered with his knees, his great gaunt profile black +against the bright sky. Down foresail, and the good felucca forges ahead +and rounds the little breakwater. Let go the anchor and she is at rest +after her long voyage. For the season has not been good and she has been +hauled on a dozen beaches before she could sell her cargo. The men are +all as brown as mahogany, and as lean as wolves, for it has been a +voyage with share and share alike for all the crew and they have starved +themselves to bring home more money to their wives. + +Then there is some bustle and confusion, as Luigione brings the papers +ashore and friends crowd around the felucca in boats, asking for news +and all talking at once. + +"We have been in your town, Ruggiero," said one of the men, looking down +into the little boat. + +"I hope you gave a message from me to Don Pietro Casale," answered +Ruggiero. + +"Health to us, Don Pietro is dead," said the man, "and his wife is not +likely to live long either." + +"Dead, eh?" cried Bastianello. "He is gone to show the saints the nose +we gave him when we were boys." + +"We can go back to Verbicaro when we please," observed Ruggiero with a +smile. + +"Lend a hand on board, will you?" said the sailor. + +So Ruggiero made the boat fast with the painter and both brothers +scrambled over the side of the felucca. They did not renew their +conversation concerning Teresina, and an hour or two later they went up +to the hotel to be in readiness for their masters, should the latter +wish to go out. Ruggiero sat down on a bench in the garden, but +Bastianello went into the house. + +In the corridor outside the Marchesa's rooms he met Teresina, who +stopped and spoke to him as she always did when she met him, for though +she admired both the brothers, she liked Bastianello better than she +knew--perhaps because he talked more and seemed to have a gentler +temper. + +"Good-day, Bastianello," she said, with a bright smile. + +"And good-day to you, Teresina," answered Bastianello. "Can you tell me +whether the padroni will go out to-day in the boat?" + +"I think they will not," answered the girl. "But I will ask. But I think +they will not, because there is the devil in the house to-day, and the +Signorina looks as though she would eat us all, and that is a bad sign." + +"What has happened?" asked Bastianello. "You can tell me, because I will +tell nobody." + +"The truth is this," answered Teresina, lowering her voice. "They have +betrothed her to the Count, and she does not like it. But if you say +anything--." She laughed a little and shook her finger at him. + +Bastianello threw his head back to signify that he would not repeat what +he had heard. Then he gazed into Teresina's eyes for a moment. + +"The Count is worse than an animal," he said quietly. + +"If you knew how true that is!" exclaimed Teresina, blushing deeply and +turning away. "I will ask the Marchesa if she will go out," she added, +as she walked quickly away. + +Bastianello waited and in a few moments she came back. + +"Not to-day," she said. + +"So much the better. I want to say something to you, Teresina. Will you +listen to me? Can I say it here?" Bastianello felt unaccountably +nervous, and when he had spoken he regretted it. + +"I hope it is good news," answered the girl. "Come to the window at the +end of the corridor. We shall be further from the door there, and there +is more air. Now what is it?" she asked as they reached the place she +had chosen. + +"It is this, Teresina," said Bastianello, summoning all his courage for +what was the most difficult undertaking of his life. "You know my +brother Ruggiero." + +"Eh! I should think so! I see him every day." + +"Good. He also sees you every day, and he sees how beautiful you are, +and now he knows how good you are, because the little boy of the Son of +the Fool saw you with that apoplexy of a Count in the garden to-day, and +heard what you said, and came and told me, and I told Ruggiero because +I knew how glad he would be." + +"Dio mio!" cried Teresina. She had blushed scarlet while he was +speaking, and she covered her face with both hands. + +"You need not hide your face, Teresina," said Bastianello, with a little +emotion. "You can show it to every one after what you have done. And so +I will go on, and you must listen. Ruggiero is not a great signore like +the Count of San Miniato, but he is a man. And he has two arms which are +good, and two fists as hard as an ox's hoofs, and he can break +horse-shoes with his hands." + +"Can you do that?" asked Teresina with an admiring look. + +"Since you ask me--yes, I can. But Ruggiero did it before I could, and +showed me how, and no one else here can do it at all. And moreover +Ruggiero is a quiet man and does not drink nor play at the lotto, and +there is no harm in a game of beggar-my-neighbour for a pipe of tobacco, +on a long voyage when there is no work to be done, and--" + +"Yes, I know," said Teresina, interrupting him. "You are very much +alike, you too. But what has this about Ruggiero to do with me, that +you tell me it all?" + +"Who goes slowly, goes safely, and who goes safely goes far," answered +Bastianello. "Listen to me. Ruggiero has also seven hundred and +sixty-three francs in the bank, and will soon have more, because he +saves his money carefully, though he is not stingy. And Ruggiero, if you +will have him, will work for you, and I will also work for you, and you +shall have a good house, and plenty to eat and good clothes besides the +gold--" + +"But Bastianello mio!" cried Teresina, who had suspected what was +coming, "I do not want to marry Ruggiero at all." + +She clasped her hands and gazed into the sailor's eyes with a pretty +look of confusion and regret. + +"You do not want to marry Ruggiero!" Bastianello's expression certainly +betrayed more surprise than disappointment. But he had honestly pleaded +his brother's cause. "Then you do not love him," he said, as though +unable to recover from his astonishment. + +"But no--I do not love him at all, though he is so handsome and good." + +"Madonna mia!" exclaimed Bastianello, turning sharply round and moving +away a step or two. He was in great perturbation of spirit, for he loved +the girl dearly, and he began to fear that he had not done his best for +Ruggiero. + +"But you did love him a few days ago," he said, coming back to +Teresina's side. + +"Indeed, I never did!" she said. + +"Nor any one else?" asked Bastianello suddenly. + +"Eh! I did not say that," answered the girl, blushing a little and +looking down. + +"Well do not tell me his name, because I should tell Ruggiero, and +Ruggiero might do him an injury. It is better not to tell me." + +Teresina laughed a little. + +"I shall certainly not tell you who he is," she said. "You can find that +out for yourself, if you take the trouble." + +"It is better not. Either Ruggiero or I might hurt him, and then there +would be trouble." + +"You, too?" + +"Yes, I too." Bastianello spoke the words rather roughly and looked +fixedly into Teresina's eyes. Since she did not love Ruggiero, why +should he not speak? Yet he felt as though he were not quite loyal to +his brother. + +Teresina's cheeks grew red and then a little pale. She twisted the cord +of the Venetian blind round and round her hand, looking down at it all +the time. Bastianello stood motionless before her, staring at her thick +black hair. + +"Well?" asked Teresina looking up and meeting his eyes and then lowering +her own quickly again. + +"What, Teresina?" asked Bastianello in a changed voice. + +"You say you also might do that man an injury whom I love. I suppose +that is because you are so fond of your brother. Is it so?" + +"Yes--and also--" + +"Bastianello, do you love me too?" she asked in a very low tone, +blushing more deeply than before. + +"Yes. I do. God knows it. I would not have said it, though. Ah, +Teresina, you have made a traitor of me! I have betrayed my +brother--and for what?" + +"For me, Bastianello. But you have not betrayed him." + +"Since you do not love him--" began the sailor in a tone of doubt. + +"Not him, but another." + +"And that other--" + +"It is perhaps you, Bastianello," said Teresina, growing rather pale +again. + +"Me!" He could only utter the one word just then. + +"Yes, you." + +"My love!" Bastianello's arm went gently round her, and he whispered the +words in her ear. She let him hold her so without resistance, and looked +up into his face with happy eyes. + +"Yes, your love--did you never guess it, dearest?" She was blushing +still, and smiling at the same time, and her voice sounded sweet to +Bastianello. + +Only a sailor and a serving-maid, but both honest and both really +loving. There was not much eloquence about the courtship, as there had +been about San Miniato's, and there was not the fierce passion in +Bastianello's breast that was eating up his brother's heart. Yet +Beatrice, at least, would have changed places with Teresina if she +could, and San Miniato could have held his head higher if there had +ever been as much honesty in him as there was in Bastianello's every +thought and action. + +For Bastianello was very loyal, though he thought badly enough of his +own doings, and when Beatrice called Teresina away a few minutes later, +he marched down the corridor with resolute steps, meaning not to lose a +moment in telling Ruggiero the whole truth, how he had honestly said the +best things he could for him and had asked Teresina to marry him, and +how he, Bastianello, had been betrayed into declaring his love, and had +found, to his amazement, that he was loved in return. + +Ruggiero was sitting alone on one of the stone pillars on the little +pier, gazing at the sea, or rather, at a vessel far away towards Ischia, +running down the bay with every stitch of canvas set from her jibs to +her royals. He looked round as Bastianello came up to him. + +"Ruggiero," said the latter in a quiet tone. "If you want to kill me, +you may, for I have betrayed you." + +Ruggiero stared at him, to see whether he were in earnest or joking. + +"Betrayed me? I do not understand what you say. How could you betray +me?" + +"As you shall know. Now listen. We were talking about Teresina to-day, +you and I. Then I said to myself, 'I love Teresina and Ruggiero loves +her, but Ruggiero is first. I will go to Teresina and ask her if she +will marry him, and if she will, it is well. But if she will not, I will +ask Ruggiero if I may court her for myself.' And so I did. And she will +tell you the truth, and I spoke well for you. But she said she never +loved you. And then, I do not know how it was, but we found out that we +loved each other and we said so. And that is the truth. So you had +better get a pig of iron from the ballast and knock me on the head, for +I have betrayed my brother and I do not want to live any more, and I +shall say nothing." + +Then Ruggiero who had not laughed much for some time, felt that his +mouth was twitching raider his yellow beard, and presently his great +shoulders began to move, and his chest heaved, and his handsome head +went back, and at last it came out, a mighty peal of Homeric laughter +that echoed and rolled down the pier and rang clear and full, up to the +Marchesa's terrace. And it chanced that Beatrice was there, and she +looked down and saw that it was Ruggiero. Then she sighed and drew back. + +But Bastianello did not understand, and when the laugh subsided at last, +he said so. + +"I laughed--yes. I could not help it. But you are a good brother, and +very honest, and when you want to marry Teresina, you may have my +savings, and I do not care to be paid back." + +"But I do not understand," repeated Bastianello, in the greatest +bewilderment. "You loved her so--" + +"Teresina? No. I never loved Teresina, but I never knew you did, or I +would not have let you believe it. It is much more I who have cheated +you, Bastianello, and when you and Teresina are married I will give you +half my earnings, just as I now put them in the bank." + +"God be blessed!" exclaimed Bastianello, touching his cap, and staring +at the same vessel that had attracted Ruggiero's attention. + +"She carries royal studding-sails," observed Ruggiero. "You do not often +see that in our part of the world." + +"That is true," said Bastianello. "But I was not thinking of her, when I +looked. And I thank you for what you say, Ruggiero, and with my heart. +And that is enough, because it seems that we know each other." + +"We have been in the same crew once or twice," said Ruggiero. + +"It seems to me that we have," answered his brother. + +Neither of the two smiled, for they meant a good deal by the simple +jest. + +"Tell me, Ruggiero," said Bastianello after a pause, "since you never +loved Teresina, who is it?" + +"No, Bastianello. That is what I cannot tell any one, not even you." + +"Then I will not ask. But I think I know, now." + +Going over the events of the past weeks in his mind, it had suddenly +flashed upon Bastianello that his brother loved Beatrice. Then +everything explained itself in an instant. Ruggiero was such a +gentleman--in Bastianello's eyes, of course--it was like him to break +his heart for a real lady. + +"Perhaps you do know," answered Ruggiero gravely, "but if you do, then +do not tell me. It is a business better not spoken of. But what one +thinks, one thinks. And that is enough." + +A crowd of brown-skinned boys were in the water swimming and playing, as +they do all day long in summer, and dashing spray at each other. They +had a shabby-looking old skiff with which they amused themselves, +upsetting and righting it again in the shallow water by the beach beyond +the bathing houses. + +"What a boat!" laughed Bastianello. "A baby can upset her and it takes a +dozen boys to right her again!" + +"Whose is she?" enquired Ruggiero idly, as he filled his pipe. + +"She? She belonged to Black Rag's brother, the one who was drowned last +Christmas Eve, when the Leone was cut in two by the steamer in the Mouth +of Procida. I suppose she belongs to Black Rag himself now. She is a +crazy old craft, but if he were clever he could patch her up and paint +her and take foreigners to the Cape in her on fine days." + +"That is true. Tell him so. There he is. Ohe! Black Rag!" + +Black Rag came down the pier to the two brothers, a middle-aged, +bow-legged, leathery fellow with a ragged grey beard and a +weather-beaten face. + +"What do you want?" he asked, stopping before them with his hands in his +pockets. + +"Bastianello says that old tub there is yours, and that if you had a +better head than you have you could caulk her and paint her white with a +red stripe and take foreigners to the Bath of Queen Giovanna in her on +fine days. Why do you not try it? Those boys are making her die an evil +death." + +"Bastianello always has such thoughts!" laughed the sailor. "Why does he +not buy her of me and paint her himself? The paint would hold her +together another six months, I daresay." + +"Give her to me," said Ruggiero. "I will give you half of what I earn +with her." + +Black Rag looked at him and laughed, not believing that he was in +earnest. But Ruggiero slowly nodded his head as though to conclude a +bargain. + +"I will sell her to you," said the sailor at last. "She belonged to that +blessed soul, my brother, who was drowned--health to us--to-day is +Saturday--and I never earned anything with her since she was mine. I +will sell her cheap." + +"How much? I will give you thirty francs for her." + +Bastianello stared at his brother, but he made no remark while the +bargain was being made, nor even when Ruggiero finally closed for fifty +francs, paid the money down and proceeded to take possession of the old +tub at once, to the infinite and forcibly expressed regret of the lads +who had been playing with her. Then the two brothers hauled her up upon +the sloping cement slip between the pier and the bathing houses, and +turned her over. The boys swam away, and Black Rag departed with his +money. + +"What have you bought her for, Ruggiero?" asked Bastianello. + +"She has copper nails," observed the other examining the bottom +carefully. "She is worth fifty francs. Your thought was good. To-morrow +she will be dry and we will caulk the seams, and the next day we will +paint her and then we can take foreigners to the Cape in her if we have +a chance and the signori do not go out. Lend a hand, Bastianello; we +must haul her up behind the boats." + +Bastianello said nothing and the two strong men almost carried the old +tub to a convenient place for working at her. + +"Do you want to do anything more to her to-night?" asked Bastianello. + +"No." + +"Then I will go up." + +"Very well." + +Ruggiero smiled as he spoke, for he knew that Bastianello was going to +try and get another glimpse of Teresina. The ladies would probably go to +drive and Teresina would be free until they came back. + +He sat down on a boat near the one he had just bought, and surveyed his +purchase. He seemed on the whole well satisfied. It was certainly good +enough for the foreigners who liked to be pulled up to the cape on +summer evenings. She was rather easily upset, as Ruggiero had noticed, +but a couple of bags of pebbles in the right place would keep her steady +enough, and she had room for three or four people in the stern sheets +and for two men to pull. Not bad for fifty francs, thought Ruggiero. And +San Miniato had asked about going after crabs by torchlight. This would +be the very boat for the purpose, for getting about in and out of the +rocks on which the crabs swarm at night. Black Rag might have earned +money with her. But Black Rag was rather a worthless fellow, who drank +too much wine, played too much at the public lottery and wasted his +substance on trifles. + +Ruggiero's purchase was much discussed that evening and all the next day +by the sailors of the Piccola Marina. Some agreed that he had done well, +and some said that he had made a mistake, but Ruggiero said nothing and +paid no attention to the gossips. On the next day and the day after that +he was at work before dawn with Bastianello, and Black Rag was very much +surprised at the trim appearance of his old boat when the brothers at +last put her into the water and pulled themselves round the little +harbour to see whether the seams were all tight. But he pretended to put +a good face on the matter, and explained that there were more rotten +planks in her than any one knew of and that only the nails below the +water line were copper after all, and he predicted a short life for +Number Fifty Seven, when Ruggiero renewed the old licence in the little +harbour office. Ruggiero, however, cared for none of these things, but +ballasted the tub properly with bags of pebbles and demonstrated to the +crowd that she was no longer easy to upset, inviting any one who pleased +to stand on the gunwale and try. + +"But the ballast makes her heavy to pull," objected Black Rag, as he +looked on. + +"If you had arms like the Children of the King," retorted the Cripple, +"you would not trouble yourself about a couple of hundredweight more or +less. But you have not. So you had better go and play three numbers at +the lottery, the day of the month, the number of the boat and any other +one that you like. In that way you may still make a little money if you +have luck. For you have made a bad bargain with the Children of the +King, and you know it." + +Black Rag was much struck by the idea and promptly went up to the town +to invest his spare cash in the three numbers, taking his own age for +the third. As luck would have it the two first numbers actually turned +up and he won thirty francs that week, which, as he justly observed, +brought the price of the boat up to eighty. For if he had not sold her +he would never have played the numbers at all, and no one pretended that +she was worth more than eighty francs, if as much. + +Then, one morning, San Miniato found Ruggiero waiting outside his door +when he came out. The sailor grew leaner and more silent every day, but +San Miniato seemed to grow stouter and more talkative. + +"If you would like to go after crabs this evening, Excellency," said the +former, "the weather is good and they are swarming on the rocks +everywhere." + +"What does one do with them?" asked San Miniato. "Are they good to eat?" + +"One knows that, Excellency. We put them into a kettle with milk, and +they drink all the milk in the night and the next day they are good to +cook." + +"Can we take the ladies, Ruggiero?" + +"In the sail boat, Excellency, and then, if you like, you and the +Signorina can go with me in the little one with my brother, and I will +pull while Bastianello and your Excellency take the crabs." + +"Very well. Then get a small boat ready for to-night, Ruggiero." + +"I have one of my own, Excellency." + +"So much the better. If the ladies will not go, you and I can go alone." + +"Yes, Excellency." + +San Miniato wondered why Ruggiero was so pale. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + + +Again the mother and daughter were together in the cool shade of their +terrace. Outside, it was very hot, for the morning breeze did not yet +stir the brown linen curtains which kept out the glare of the sea, and +myriads of locusts were fiddling their eternal two notes without pause +or change of pitch, in every garden from Massa to Scutari point, which +latter is the great bluff from which they quarry limestone for road +making, and which shuts off the amphitheatre of Sorrento from the view +of Castellamare to eastward. The air was dry, hot and full of life and +sound, as it is in the far south in summer. + +"And when do you propose to marry me?" asked Beatrice in a discontented +tone. + +"Dearest child," answered her mother, "you speak as though I were +marrying you by force to a man whom you detest." + +"That is exactly what you are doing." + +The Marchesa raised her eyebrows, fanned herself lazily and smiled. + +"Are we to begin the old argument every morning, my dear?" she asked. +"It always ends in the same way, and you always say the same dreadful +things to me. I really cannot bear it much longer. You know very well +that you bound yourself, and that you were quite free to tell San +Miniato that you did not care for him. A girl should know her own mind +before she tells a man she loves him--just as a man should before he +speaks." + +"San Miniato certainly knows his own mind," retorted Beatrice viciously. +"No one can accuse him of not being ready and anxious to marry me--and +my fortune." + +"How you talk, my angel! Of course if you had no fortune, or much less +than you have, he could not think of marrying you. That is clear. I +never pretended the contrary. But that does not contradict the fact that +he loves you to distraction, if that is what you want." + +"To distraction!" repeated Beatrice with scorn. + +"Why not, dearest child? Do you think a man cannot love because he is +poor?" + +"That is not the question, mamma!" cried Beatrice impatiently. "You know +it is not. But no woman can be deceived twice by the same comedy, and +few would be deceived once. You know as well as I that it was all a play +the other night, that he was trying to find words, as he was trying to +find sentiments, and that when the words would not be found he thought +it would be efficacious to seize my hand and kiss it. I daresay he +thought I believed him--of course he did. But not for long--oh! not for +long. Real love finds even fewer words, but it finds them better, and +the ring of them is truer, and one remembers them longer!" + +"Beatrice!" exclaimed the Marchesa. "What can you know of such things! +You talk as though some man had dared to speak to you--" + +"Do I?" asked the girl with sudden coldness, and a strange look came +into her eyes, which her mother did not see. + +"Yes, you do. And yet I know that it is impossible. Besides the whole +discussion is useless and wears me out, though it seems to interest you. +Of course you will marry San Miniato. When you have got past this absurd +humour you will see what a good husband you have got, and you will be +very happy." + +"Happy! With that man!" Beatrice's lip curled. + +"You will," answered her mother, taking no notice. "Happiness depends +upon two things in this world, when marriage is concerned. Money and a +good disposition. You have both, between you, and you will be happy." + +"I never heard anything more despicable!" cried the young girl. "Money +and disposition! And what becomes of the heart?" + +The Marchesa smiled and fanned herself. + +"Young girls without experience cannot understand these things," she +said. "Wait till you are older." + +"And lose what looks I have and the power to enjoy anything! And you say +that you are not forcing me into this marriage! And you try to think, or +to make me think, that it is all for the best, and all delightful and +all easy, when you are sacrificing me and my youth and my life and my +happiness to the mere idea of a better position in society--because poor +papa was a sulphur merchant and bought a title which was only confirmed +because he spent a million on a public charity--and every one knows +it--and the Count of San Miniato comes of people who have been high and +mighty gentlemen for six or seven hundred years, more or less. That is +your point of view, and you know it. But if I say that my father worked +hard to get what he got and deserved it, and was an honest man, and that +this great personage of San Miniato is a penniless gambler, who does not +know to-day where he will find pocket money for to-morrow, and has got +by a trick the fortune my father got by hard work--then you will not +like it. Then you will throw up your hands and cry 'Beatrice!' Then you +will tell me that he loves me to distraction, and you will even try to +make me think that I love him. It is all a miserable sham, mamma, a vile +miserable sham! Give it up. I have said that I will marry him, since it +appears that I have promised. But do not try to make me think that I am +marrying him of my own free will, or he marrying me out of +disinterested, pure, beautiful, upright affection!" + +Having delivered herself of these particularly strong sentiments, +Beatrice was silent for a while. As for the Marchesa, she was either +too wise, or too lazy, to answer her daughter for the present and she +slowly fanned herself, lying quite still in her long chair, her eyes +half closed and her left hand hanging down beside her. + +Indeed Beatrice, instead of becoming more reconciled with the situation +she had accepted, was growing more impatient and unhappy every day, as +she realised all that her marriage with San Miniato would mean during +the rest of her natural life. She had quite changed her mind about him, +and with natures like hers such sudden changes are often irrevocable. +She could not now understand how she could have ever liked him, or found +pleasure in his society, and when she thought of the few words she had +spoken and which had decided her fate, she could not comprehend the +state of mind which had led her into such a piece of folly, and she was +as angry with herself as, for the time being, she was angry with all the +world besides. + +She saw, too, and for the first time, how lonely she was in the world, +and a deep and burning longing for real love and sympathy took +possession of her. She had friends, of course, as young girls have, of +much her own age and not unlike her in their inexperienced ideas of +life. But there was not one of them at Sorrento, nor had she met any one +among the many acquaintances she had made, to whom she would care to +turn. Even her own intimate associates from childhood, who were far away +in Sicily, or travelling elsewhere, would not have satisfied her. They +could not have understood her, their answers to her questions would have +seemed foolish and worthless, and they would have tormented her with +questions of their own, inopportune, importunate, tiresome. She herself +did not know that what she craved was the love or the friendship of one +strong, honest man. + +It was strange to find out suddenly how wide was the breach which +separated her from her mother, with whom she had lived so happily +throughout her childhood and early youth, with whom she had agreed--or +rather, who had agreed with her--on the whole almost without a +discussion. It was hard to find in her now so little warmth of heart, so +little power to understand, above all such a display of determination +and such quiet force in argument. Very indolent women are sometimes very +deceptive in regard to the will they hold in reserve, but Beatrice could +not have believed that her mother could influence her as she had done. +She reflected that it had surely been within the limits of the +Marchesa's choice to take her daughter's side so soon as she had seen +that the latter had mistaken her own feelings. She need not have agreed +with San Miniato, on that fatal evening at Tragara, that the marriage +was definitely settled, until she had at least exchanged a word with +Beatrice herself. + +The future looked black enough on that hot summer morning. The girl was +to be tied for life to a man she despised and hated, to a man who did +not even care for her, as she was now convinced, to a man with a past of +which she knew little and of which the few incidents she had learned +repelled her now, instead of attracting her. She fancied how he had +spoken to those other women, much as he had spoken to her, perhaps a +little more eloquently as, perhaps, he had not been thinking of their +fortunes but of themselves, but still always in that high-comedy tone +with the studied gesture and the cadenced intonation. She did not know +whether they deserved her pity, those two whom he pretended to have +loved, but she was ready to pity them, nameless as they were. The one +was dead, the other, at least, had been wise enough to forget him in +time. + +Then she thought of what must happen after her marriage, when he had got +her fortune and could take her away to the society in which he had +always lived. There, of course, he would meet women by the score with +whom he was and long had been on terms of social intimacy far closer +than he had reached with her in the few weeks of their acquaintance. +Doubtless, he would spend such time as he could spare from gambling, in +conversation with them. Doubtless, he had many thoughts and memories and +associations in common with them. Doubtless, people would smile a little +and pity the young countess. And Beatrice resented pity and the thought +of it. She would rather pity others. + +Evil thoughts crossed her young brain, and she said to herself that she +might perhaps be revenged upon the world for what she was suffering, +for the pain that had already come into her young life, for the wretched +years she anticipated in the future, for her mother's horrible logic +which had forced her into the marriage, above all for San Miniato's +cleverly arranged scene by which the current of her existence had been +changed. San Miniato had perhaps gone too far when he had said that +Beatrice was kind. She, at least, felt that there was anything but +kindness in her heart now, and she desired nothing so much as to make +some one suffer something of what she felt. It was wicked, doubtless, as +she admitted to herself. It was bad and wrong and cruel, but it was not +heartless. A woman without heart would not have felt enough to resent +having felt at all, and moreover would probably be perfectly well +satisfied with the situation. + +The expression of hardness deepened in the young girl's face as she sat +there, silently thinking over all that was to come, and glancing from +time to time at her mother's placid countenance. It was really amazing +to see how much the Marchesa could bear when she was actually roused to +a sense of the necessity for action. Her constitution must have been +far stronger than any one supposed. She must indeed have been in +considerable anxiety about the success of her plans, more than once +during the past few days. Yet she was outwardly almost as unruffled and +as lazy as ever. + +"Dearest child," she said at last, "of course, as I have said, I cannot +argue the point with you. No one could, in your present state of mind. +But there is one thing which I must say, and which I am sure you will be +quite ready to understand." + +Beatrice said nothing, but slowly turned her head towards her mother +with a look of inquiry. + +"I only want to say, my angel, that whatever you may think of San +Miniato, and however much you may choose to let him know what you think, +it may be quite possible to act with more civility than you have used +during the last few days." + +"Is that all?" asked Beatrice with a hard laugh. "How nicely you turn +your phrases when you lecture me, mamma! So you wish me to be civil. +Very well, I will try." + +"Thank you, Beatrice carissima," answered her mother with a sigh and a +gentle smile. "It will make life so much easier." + +Again there was a long silence, and Beatrice sat motionless in her +chair, debating whether she should wait where she was until San Miniato +came, as he was sure to do before long, or whether she should go to her +room and write a letter to some intimate friend, which would of course +never be sent, or, lastly, whether she should not take Teresina and go +down to her bath in the sea before the midday breakfast. While she was +still hesitating, San Miniato arrived. + +There was something peculiarly irritating to her in his appearance on +that morning. He was arrayed in perfectly new clothes of light gray, +which fitted him admirably. He wore shoes of untanned leather which +seemed to be perfectly new also, and reflected the light as though they +were waxed. His stiff collar was like porcelain, the single pearl he +wore in his white scarf was so perfect that it might have been false. +His light hair and moustache were very smoothly brushed and combed and +his face was exasperatingly sleek. There was a look of conscious +security about him, of overwhelming correctness and good taste, of pride +in himself and in his success, which Beatrice felt to be almost more +than she could bear with equanimity. He bent gracefully over the +Marchesa's hand and bowed low to the young girl, not supposing that hers +would be offered to him. In this he was mistaken, however, for she gave +him the ends of her fingers. + +"Good morning," she said gently. + +The Marchesa looked at her, for she had not expected that she would +speak first and certainly not in so gentle a tone. San Miniato inquired +how the two ladies had slept. + +"Admirably," said Beatrice. + +"Ah--as for me, dearest friend," said the Marchesa, "you know what a +nervous creature I am. I never sleep." + +"You look as though you had rested wonderfully well," observed Beatrice +to San Miniato. "Half a century, at least!" + +"Do I?" asked the Count, delighted by her manner and quite without +suspicion. + +"Yes. You look twenty years younger." + +"About ten years old?" suggested San Miniato with a smile. + +"Oh no! I did not mean that. You look about twenty, I should say." + +"I am charmed," he answered, without wincing. + +"It may be only those beautiful new clothes you have on," said Beatrice +with a sweet smile. "Clothes make so much difference with a man." + +San Miniato did not show any annoyance, but he made no direct answer and +turned to the Marchesa. + +"Marchesa gentilissima," he said, "you liked my last excursion, or were +good enough to say that you liked it. Would you be horrified if I +proposed another for this evening--but not so far, this time?" + +"Absolutely horrified," answered the Marchesa. "But I suppose that if +you have made up your mind you will bring those dreadful men with their +chair, like two gendarmes, and they will take me away, whether I like it +or not. Is that what you mean to do?" + +"Of course, dearest Marchesa," he replied. + +"Donna Beatrice has taught me that there is no other way of +accomplishing the feat. And certainly no other way could give you so +little trouble." + +"What is the excursion to be, and where?" asked Beatrice pretending a +sudden interest. + +"Crab-hunting along the shore, with torches. It is extremely amusing, I +am told." + +"After horrid red things that run sidewise and are full of legs!" The +Marchesa was disgusted. + +"They are green when they run about, mamma," observed Beatrice. "I +believe it is the cooking that makes them red. It will be delightful," +she added, turning to San Miniato. "Does one walk?" + +"Walk!" exclaimed the Marchesa, a new horror rising before her mental +vision. + +"We go in boats," said San Miniato. "In the sail boat first and then in +a little one to find the crabs. I suppose, Marchesa carissima, that +Donna Beatrice may come with me in the skiff, under your eye, if she is +accompanied by your maid?" + +"Of course, my dear San Miniato! Do you expect me to get into your +little boat and hunt for reptiles? Or do you expect that Beatrice will +renounce the amusement of getting wet and covered with seaweed and +thoroughly unpresentable?" + +"And you, Donna Beatrice? Do you still wish to come?" + +"Yes. I just said so." + +"But that was at least a minute ago," answered San Miniato. + +"Ah--you think me very changeable? You are mistaken. I will go with you +to find crabs to-night. Is that categorical? Must you consult my mother +to know what I mean?" + +"It will not be necessary this time," replied the Count, quite unmoved. +"I think we understand each other." + +"I think so," said Beatrice with a hard smile. + +The Marchesa was not much pleased by the tone the conversation was +taking. But if Beatrice said disagreeable things, she said them in a +pleasant voice and with a moderately civil expression of face, which +constituted a concession, after all, considering how she had behaved +ever since the night at Tragara, scarcely vouchsafing San Miniato a +glance, answering him by monosyllables and hardly ever addressing him +at all. + +"My dear children," said the elder lady, affecting a tone she had not +assumed before, "I really hope that you mean to understand each other, +and will." + +"Oh yes, mamma!" assented Beatrice with alacrity. "With you to help us I +am sure we shall come to a very remarkable understanding--very +remarkable indeed!" + +"With originality on your side, and constancy on mine, we may accomplish +much," said San Miniato, very blandly. + +Beatrice laughed again. + +"Translate originality as original sin and constancy as the art of +acting constantly!" she retorted. + +"Why?" enquired San Miniato without losing his temper. He thought the +question would be hard to answer. + +"Why not?" asked Beatrice. "You will not deny me a little grain of +original sin, will you? It will make our life so much more varied and +amusing, and when I say that you act constantly--I only mean what you +said of yourself, that you are constant in your actions." + +"You so rarely spare me a compliment, Donna Beatrice, that you must +forgive me for not having understood that one sooner. Accept my best +thanks--" + +"And agree to the expression of my most distinguished sentiments, as the +French say at the end of a letter," said Beatrice, rising. "And now that +I have complimented everybody, and been civil, and pleased everybody, +and have been thanked and have taken all the original sin of the party +upon my own shoulders, I will go and have a swim before breakfast. +Good-bye, mamma. Good-bye, Count." + +With a quick nod, she turned and left them, and went in search of +Teresina, whose duty it was to accompany her to the bath. The maid was +unusually cheerful, though she had not failed to notice the change in +Beatrice's manner which had taken place since the day of the betrothal, +and she understood it well enough, as she had told Bastianello. Moreover +she pitied her young mistress sincerely and hated San Miniato with all +her heart; but she was so happy herself that she could not possibly hide +it. + +"You are very glad that I am to be married, Teresina," said Beatrice as +they went out of the house together, the maid carrying a large bag +containing bathing things. + +"I, Signorina? Do you ask me the real truth? I do not know whether to be +glad or sorry. I pray you, Signorina, tell me which I am to be." + +"Oh--glad of course!" returned Beatrice, with a bitter little laugh. "A +marriage should always be a matter for rejoicing. Why should you not be +glad--like every one else?" + +"Like you, Signorina?" asked Teresina with a glance at the young girl's +face. + +"Yes: Like me." And Beatrice laughed again in the same way. + +"Very well, Signorina. I will be as glad as you are. I shall find it +very easy." + +It was Beatrice's turn to look at her, which she did, rather +suspiciously. It was clear enough that the girl had her doubts. + +"Just as glad as you are, Signorina, and no more," said Teresina again, +in a lower voice, as though she were speaking to herself. + +Beatrice said nothing in answer. As they reached the end of the path +through the garden, they saw Ruggiero and his brother sitting as usual +by the porter's lodge. Both got up and came quickly forward. +Bastianello took the bag from Teresina's hand, and the maid and the two +sailors followed Beatrice at a little distance as she descended the +inclined tunnel. + +It was pleasant, a few minutes later, to lie in the cool clear water and +look up at the blue sky above and listen to the many sounds that came +across from the little harbour. Beatrice felt a sense of rest for the +first time in several days. She loved the sea and all that belonged to +it, for she had been born within sight of it and had known it since she +had been a child, and she always came back to it as to an element that +understood her and which she understood. She swam well and loved the +easy, fluent motion she felt in the exercise, and she loved to lie on +her back with arms extended and upturned face, drinking in the light +breeze and the sunshine and the deep blue freshness of sky and water. + +While she was bathing Bastianello and Teresina sat together behind the +bathing-house, but Ruggiero retired respectfully to a distance and +busied himself with giving his little boat a final washing, mopping out +the water with an old sponge, which he passed again and again over each +spot, as though never satisfied with the result. He would have thought +it bad manners indeed to be too near the bathing-place when Beatrice was +in swimming. But he kept an eye on Teresina, whom he could see talking +with his brother, and when she went into the cabin, he knew that +Beatrice had finished her bath, and he found little more to do in +cleaning the old tub, which indeed, to a landsman's eye, presented a +decidedly smart appearance in her new coat of white paint, with a +scarlet stripe. When he had finished, he sauntered up to the wooden +bridge that led to the bathing cabins and sat down on the upper rail, +hooking one foot behind the lower one. Bastianello, momentarily +separated from Teresina, came and stood beside him. + +"A couple of fenders would save the new paint on her, if we are going +for crabs," he observed, thoughtfully. + +Ruggiero made that peculiar side motion of the head which means assent +and approval in the south. + +"And we will bring our own kettle for the crabs, and get the milk from +the hotel," continued the younger brother, who anticipated an extremely +pleasant evening in the society of Teresina. "And I have told Saint +Peter to bring the torches, because he knows where to get them good," +added Bastianello who did not expect Ruggiero to say anything. "What +time do we go?" + +"Towards an hour and a half of the night," said Ruggiero, meaning two +hours after sunset. "Then the padroni will have eaten and the rocks will +be covered with crabs, and the moon will not be yet risen. It will be +dark under Scutari till past midnight, and the crabs will sit still +under the torch, and we can take them with our hands as we always do." + +"Of course," answered Bastianello, who was familiar with the sport, "one +knows that." + +"And I will tell you another thing," continued Ruggiero, who seemed to +warm with the subject. "You shall pull stroke and I will pull bow. In +that way you will be near to Teresina and she will amuse herself the +better, for you and she can take the crabs while I hold the torch." + +"And the Signorina and the Count can sit together in the stern," said +Bastianello, who seemed much pleased with the arrangement. "The best +crabs are between Scutari and the natural arch." + +"One knows that," assented Ruggiero, and relapsed into silence. + +Presently the door of the cabin opened and Beatrice came out, her cheeks +and eyes fresh and bright from the sea. Of course Bastianello at once +ran to help Teresina wring out the wet things and make up her bundle, +and Beatrice came towards Ruggiero, who took off his cap and stood +bareheaded in the sun as she went by, and then walked slowly behind her, +at a respectful distance. To reach the beginning of the ascent they had +to make their way through the many boats hauled up beyond the slip upon +the dry sand. Beatrice gathered her light skirt in her hand as she +passed Ruggiero's newly painted skiff, for she was familiar enough with +boats to know that the oil might still be fresh. + +"It is quite dry, Excellency," he said. "The boat belongs to me." + +Beatrice turned with a smile, looked at it and then at Ruggiero. + +"What did I tell you the other day, Ruggiero?" she asked, still smiling. +"You were to call me Signorina. Do you remember?" + +"Yes, Signorina. I beg pardon." + +Beatrice saw that Teresina had not yet left the cabin with her bag, and +that Bastianello was loitering before the door, pretending or really +trying to help her. + +"Do you know what Teresina has been telling me, Ruggiero?" asked +Beatrice, stopping entirely and turning towards him as they stood in the +narrow way between Ruggiero's boat and the one lying next to her. + +"Of Bastianello, Signorina?" + +"Yes. That she wants to marry him. She told me while I was dressing. You +know?" + +"Yes, Signorina, and I laughed when he told me the story the other day, +over there on the pier." + +"I heard you laughing, Ruggiero," answered Beatrice, remembering the +unpleasant impression she had received when she had looked down from the +terrace. His huge mirth had come up as a sort of shock to her in the +midst of her own trouble. "Why did you laugh?" she asked. + +"Must I tell you, Signorina?" + +"Yes." + +"It was this. Bastianello had a thought. He imagined to himself that I +loved Teresina--I!--" + +Ruggiero broke off in the sentence and looked away. His voice shook with +the deep vibration that sometimes pleased Beatrice. He paused a moment +and then went on. + +"I, who have quite other thoughts. And so he said with himself, +'Ruggiero loves and is afraid to speak, but I will speak for him.' But +it was honest of him, Signorina, for he loved her himself. And so he +asked her for me first. But she would not. And then, between one word +and another, they found out that they loved. And I am very glad, for +Teresina is a good girl as she showed the other day in the garden, and +the little boy of the Son of the Fool saw it when she threw the gold at +that man's feet--" + +He stopped again, suddenly realising what he was saying. But Beatrice, +quick to suspect, saw the look of pained embarrassment in his face and +almost guessed the truth. She grew pale by degrees. + +"What man?" she asked shortly. + +Ruggiero turned his head and looked away from her, gazing out to +seaward. + +"What was the man's name?" she asked again with the stern intonation +that anger could give her voice. + +Still Ruggiero would not speak. But his white face told the truth well +enough. + +"On what day was it?" she enquired, as though she meant to be answered. + +"It was the day when you talked with me about my name, Signorina." + +"At what time?" + +"It must have been between midday and one o'clock." + +Beatrice remembered how on that day San Miniato had given a shallow +excuse for not remaining to breakfast at that hour. + +"And what was his name?" she now asked for the third time. + +"Excellency--Signorina--do not ask me!" Ruggiero was not good at lying. + +"It was the Conte di San Miniato, Ruggiero," said Beatrice in a low +voice that trembled with anger. Her face was now almost as white as the +sailor's. + +Ruggiero said nothing at first, but turned his head away again. + +"Per Dio!" he ejaculated after a short pause. But there was no mistaking +the tone. + +Beatrice turned away and with bent head began to walk towards the +ascent. She could not help the gesture she made, clenching her hands +once fiercely and then opening them wide again; but she thought no one +could see her. Ruggiero saw, and understood. + +"She is saying to herself, 'I must marry that infamous animal,'" thought +Ruggiero. "But I do not think that she will marry him." + +At the foot of the ascent, Beatrice turned and looked back. Teresina and +Bastianello were coming quickly along the little wooden bridge, but +Ruggiero was close to her. + +"You have not done me a good service to-day, Ruggiero," she said, but +kindly, dreading to wound him. "But it is my fault, and I should not +have pressed you as I did. Do not let the thought trouble you." + +"I thank you, Signorina. And it is true that this was not a good +service, and I could bite out my tongue because it was not. But some +Saint may give me grace to do you one more, and that shall be very +good." + +"Thank you, Ruggiero," said Beatrice, as the maid and the other sailor +came up. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + + +Beatrice did not speak again as she slowly walked up the steep ascent to +the hotel. Bastianello and Teresina exchanged a word now and then in a +whisper and Ruggiero came last, watching the dark outline of Beatrice's +graceful figure, against the bright light which shone outside at the +upper end of the tunnel. Many confused thoughts oppressed him, but they +were like advancing and retreating waves breaking about the central rock +of his one unalterable purpose. He followed Beatrice till they reached +the door of the house. Then she turned and smiled at him, and turned +again and went in. Bastianello of course carried the bag upstairs for +Teresina, and Ruggiero stayed below. + +He was very calm and quiet throughout that day, busying himself from +time to time with some detail of the preparations for the evening's +excursion, but sitting for the most part alone, far out on the +breakwater where the breeze was blowing and the light surf breaking just +high enough to wet his face from time to time with fine spray. He had +made up his mind, and he calmly thought over all that he meant to do, +that it might be well done, quickly and surely, without bungling. +To-morrow, he would not be sitting out there, breathing in the keen salt +air and listening to the music of the surging water, which was the only +harmony he had ever loved. + +His was a very faithful and simple nature, and since he had loved +Beatrice, it had been even further simplified. He thought only of her, +he had but one object, which was to serve her, and all he did must tend +to the attainment of that one result. Now, too, he had seen with his +eyes and had understood in other ways that she was to be married against +her will to a man she hated and despised, and who was already betraying +her. He did not try to understand how it all was, but his instinct told +him that she had been tricked into saying the words she had spoken to +San Miniato at Tragara, and that she had never meant them. That at least +was more comprehensible to him than it might have been to a man of +Beatrice's own class. Her head had been turned for a moment, as Ruggiero +would have said, and afterwards she had understood the truth. He had +heard many stories of the kind from his companions. Women were +changeable, of course. Every one knew that. And why? Because men were +bad and tempted them, and moreover because they were so made. He did not +love Beatrice for any moral quality she might or might not possess, he +was far too human, and natural and too little educated to seek reasons +for the passion that devoured him. Since he felt it, it was real. What +other proof of its reality could he need? It never entered his head to +ask for any, and his heart would not have beaten more strongly or less +rudely for twenty reasons, on either side. + +And now he was strangely happy and strangely calm as he sat there by +himself. Beatrice could never love him. The mere idea was absurd beyond +words. How could she love a common man like himself? But she did not +love San Miniato either, and unless something were done quickly she +would be forced into marrying him. Of course a mother could make her +daughter marry whom she pleased. Ruggiero knew that. The only way of +saving Beatrice was to make an end of San Miniato, and that was a very +simple matter indeed. San Miniato would be but a poor thing in those +great hands of Ruggiero's, though he was a well grown man and still +young and certainly stronger than the average of fine gentlemen. + +Of course it was a great sin to kill San Miniato. Murder was always a +sin, and people who did murder and died unabsolved always went straight +into eternal fire. But the eternal fire did not impress Ruggiero much. +In the first place Beatrice would be free and quite happy on earth, and +in the natural course of things would go to Heaven afterwards, since she +could have no part whatever in San Miniato's destruction. Secondly, San +Miniato would be with Ruggiero in the flames, and throughout all +eternity Ruggiero would have the undying satisfaction of having brought +him there without any one's help. That would pay for any amount of +burning, in the simple and uncompromising view of the future state which +he took. + +So he sat on the block of stone and listened to the sea and thought it +all over quietly, feeling very happy and proud, since he was to be the +means of saving the woman he loved. What more could any man ask, if he +could not be loved, than to give his soul and his body for such a good +and just end? Perhaps Ruggiero's way of looking at the present and +future state might have puzzled more than one theologian on that +particular afternoon. + +While Ruggiero was deciding matters of life and death in his own way, +with absolute certainty of carrying out his intentions, matters were not +proceeding smoothly on the Marchesa's terrace. The midday breakfast had +passed off fairly well, though Beatrice had again grown silent, and the +conversation was carried on by San Miniato with a little languid help +from the Marchesa. The latter was apparently neither disturbed nor out +of humour in consequence of the little scene which had taken place in +the morning. She took a certain amount of opposition on Beatrice's part +as a matter of course, and was prepared to be very long-suffering with +the girl's moods, partly because it was less trouble than to do battle +with her, and partly because it was really wiser. Beatrice must grow +used to the idea of marriage and must be gradually accustomed to the +daily companionship of San Miniato. The Marchesa, in her wisdom, was +well aware that Beatrice would never see as much of him when he was her +husband as she did now that they were only engaged. San Miniato would +soon take up his own life of amusement by day and night, in his own +fashion, and Beatrice on her side would form her own friendships and her +own ties as best pleased her, subject only to occasional interference +from the Count, when he chanced to be in a jealous humour, or when it +happened that Beatrice was growing intimate with some lady who had once +known him too well. + +After breakfast, as usual, they drank coffee and smoked upon the +terrace, which Beatrice was beginning to hate for its unpleasant +associations. Before long, however, she disappeared, leaving her mother +and San Miniato together. + +The latter talked carelessly and agreeably at first, but insensibly led +the conversation to the subject of money in general and at last to the +question of Beatrice's marriage settlement in particular. He was very +tactful and would probably have reached this desired point in the +conversation in spite of the Marchesa, had she avoided it. But she was +in the humour to discuss the matter and let him draw her on without +opposition. She had thought it all over and had determined what she +should do. San Miniato was surprised, and not altogether agreeably, by +her extreme clearness of perception when they actually arrived at the +main discussion. + +"You are aware, San Miniato mio," she was saying, "that my poor husband +was a very rich man, and you are of course familiar--you who know +everything--with the laws of inheritance in our country. As our dear +Beatrice is an only child, the matter would have been simple, even if he +had not made a will. I should have had my widow's portion and she would +have had all the rest, as she ultimately will." + +"Of course, dearest Marchesa. I understood that. But it is most kind of +you to tell me about the details. In Beatrice's interest--and her +interests will of course be my first concern in life--" + +"Of course, carissimo," said the Marchesa, interrupting him. "Can I +doubt it? Should I have chosen you out of so many to be my son-in-law if +I had not understood from the first all the nobility and uprightness of +your fine character?" + +"How good you are to me!" exclaimed San Miniato, who mistrusted the +preamble, but was careful not to show it. + +"Not at all, dear friend! I am never good. It is such horrible trouble +to be either good or bad, as you would know if you had my nerves. But we +were speaking of my poor husband's will. One half of his fortune of +course he was obliged to leave to his daughter. He could dispose of the +other half as he pleased. I believe it was that admirable man, the first +Napoleon, who invented that just law, was it not? Yes, I was sure. My +husband left the other half to me, provided I should not marry--he was a +very thoughtful man! But if I did, the money was to go to Beatrice at +once. If I did not, however, I was--as I really am--quite free to +dispose of it as I pleased." + +"How very just!" exclaimed San Miniato. + +"Do you think so? Yes. But further, I wish to tell you that he set aside +a sum out of what he left Beatrice, to be her dowry--just a trifle, you +know, to be paid to her husband on the marriage, as is customary. But +all the remainder, compared with which the dowry itself is +insignificant, does not pass into her hands until she is of age, and of +course remains entirely in her control." + +"I understand," said San Miniato in a tone which betrayed some +nervousness in spite of his best efforts to be calm, for he had +assuredly not understood before. + +"Of course you understand, dearest friend," answered the Marchesa. "You +are so clever and you have such a good head for affairs, which I never +had. I assure you I never could understand anything about money. It is +all so mysterious and complicated! Give me one of your cigarettes, I am +quite exhausted with talking." + +"I think you do yourself injustice, dearest Marchesa," said San Miniato, +offering her his open case. "You have, I think, a remarkably good +understanding for business. I really envy you." + +The Marchesa smiled languidly, and slowly inhaled the smoke from the +cigarette as he held the match for her. + +"I have no doubt you learned a great deal from the Marchese," continued +San Miniato. "I must say that he displayed a keenness for his +daughter's interests such as merits the sincerest admiration. Take the +case, which happily has not arisen, dearest friend. Suppose that +Beatrice should discover that she had married a mere fortune-hunter. The +man would be entirely in your power and hers. It is admirably arranged." + +"Admirably," assented the Marchesa without a smile. "It would be +precisely as you say. Beyond a few hundred thousand francs which he +would control as the dowry, he could touch nothing. He would be wholly +dependent on his wife and his mother-in-law. You see my dear husband +wished to guard against even the most improbable cases. How thankful I +am that heaven has sent Beatrice such a man as you!" + +"Always good! Always kind!" San Miniato bent his head a little lower +than was necessary as he looked at his watch. He had something in his +eyes which he preferred to hide. + +Just then Beatrice's step was heard on the tiled floor of the +sitting-room, and neither the Marchesa nor San Miniato thought it worth +while to continue the conversation with the danger of being overheard. + +So the afternoon wore on, bright and cloudless, and when the air grew +cool Beatrice and her mother drove out together along the Massa road, +and far up the hill towards Sant' Agata. They talked little, for it is +not easy to talk in the rattling little carriages which run so fast +behind the young Turkish horses, and the roads are not always good, even +in summer. But San Miniato was left to his own devices and went and +bathed, walking out into the water as far as he could and then standing +still to enjoy the coolness. Ruggiero saw him from the breakwater and +watched him with evident interest. The Count, as has been said before, +could not swim a stroke, and was probably too old to learn. But he liked +the sea and bathing none the less, as Ruggiero knew. He stayed outside +the bathing-house fully half an hour, and then disappeared. + +"It was not worth while," said Ruggiero to himself, "since you are to +take another bath so soon." + +Then he looked at the sun and saw that it lacked half an hour of sunset, +and he went to see that all was ready for the evening. He and +Bastianello launched the old tub between them, and Ruggiero ballasted +her with two heavy sacks of pebbles just amidships, where they would be +under his feet. + +"Better shift them a little more forward," said Bastianello. "There will +be three passengers, you said." + +"We do not know," answered Ruggiero. "If there are three I can shift +them quickly when every one is aboard." + +So Bastianello said nothing more about it, and they got the kettle and +the torches and stowed them away in the bows. + +"You had better go home and cook supper," said Ruggiero. "I will come +when it is dark, for then the others will have eaten and I will leave +two to look out." + +Bastianello went ashore on the pier and his brother pulled the skiff out +till he was alongside of the sailboat, to which he made her fast. He +busied himself with trifles until it grew dark and there was no one on +the pier. Then he got into the boat again, taking a bit of strong line +with him, a couple of fathoms long, or a little less. Stooping down he +slipped the line under the bags of ballast and made a timber-hitch with +the end, hauling it well taut. With the other end he made a bowline +round the thwart on which he was sitting, and on which he must sit to +pull the bow oar in the evening. He tied the knot wide enough to admit +of its running freely from side to side of the boat, and he stowed the +bight between the ballast and the thwart, so that it lay out of sight in +the bottom. The two sacks of pebbles together weighed, perhaps, from a +half to three-quarters of a hundredweight. + +When all was ready he went ashore and shouted for the Cripple and the +Son of the Fool, who at once appeared out of the dusk, and were put on +board the sailboat by him. Then he pulled himself ashore and moored the +tub to a ring in the pier. It was time for supper. Bastianello would be +waiting for him, and Ruggiero went home. + +As the evening shadows fell, Beatrice was seated at the piano in the +sitting-room playing softly to herself such melancholy music as she +could remember, which was not much. It gave her relief, however, for she +could at least try and express something of what would not and could +not be put into words. She was not a musician, but she played fairly +well, and this evening there was something in the tones she drew from +the instrument which many a musician might have envied. She threw into +her touch all that she was suffering and it was a faint satisfaction to +her to listen to the lament of the sad notes as she struck them and they +rose and fell and died away. + +The door opened and San Miniato entered. She heard his footstep and +recognised it, and immediately she struck a succession of loud chords +and broke into a racing waltz tune. + +"You were playing something quite different, when I came to the door," +he said, sitting down beside her. + +"I thought you might prefer something gay," she answered without looking +at him and still playing on. + +San Miniato did not answer the remark, for he distrusted her and fancied +she might have a retort ready. Her tongue was often sharper than he +liked, though he was not sensitive on the whole. + +"Will you sing something to me?" he asked, as she struck the last chords +of the waltz. + +"Oh yes," she replied with an alacrity that surprised him, "I feel +rather inclined to sing. Mamma," she cried, as the Marchesa entered the +room, "I am going to sing to my betrothed. Is it not touching?" + +"It is very good of you," said San Miniato. + +The Marchesa smiled and sank into a chair. Beatrice struck a few chords +and then, looking at the Count with half closed eyes, began to sing the +pathetic little song of Chiquita. + + "On dit que l'on te marie + Tu sais que j'en vais mourir--" + +Her voice was very sweet and true and there was real pathos in the words +as she sang them. But as she went on, San Miniato noticed first that she +repeated the second line, and then that she sang all the remaining +melody to it, singing it over and over again with an amazing variety of +expression, angrily, laughingly, ironically and sadly. + + "--Tu sais que j'en vais mourir!" + +She ended, with a strange burst of passion. + +She rose suddenly to her feet and shut the lid down sharply upon the +key-board. + +"How perfectly we understand each other, do we not?" she said sweetly, a +moment later, and meeting San Miniato's eyes. + +"I hope we always shall," he answered quietly, pretending not to have +understood. + +She left him with her mother and went out upon the terrace and looked +down at the black water deep below and at the lights of the yachts and +the far reflections of the stars upon the smooth bay, and at the distant +light on Capo Miseno. The night air soothed her a little, and when +dinner was announced and the three sat down to the table at the other +end of the terrace her face betrayed neither discontent nor emotion, and +she joined in the conversation indifferently enough, so that San Miniato +and her mother thought her more than usually agreeable. + +At the appointed time the two porters appeared with the Marchesa's +chair, and Teresina brought in wraps and shawls, quite useless on such a +night, and the little party left the room in procession, as they had +done a few days earlier when they started for Tragara. But their mood +was very different to-night. Even the Marchesa forgot to complain and +let herself be carried down without the least show of resistance. On the +first excursion none of them had quite understood the other, and all of +them except poor Ruggiero had been in the best of humours. Now they all +understood one another too well, and they were silent and uneasy when +together. They hardly knew why they were going, and San Miniato almost +regretted having persuaded them. Doubtless the crabs were numerous along +the rocky shore and they would catch hundreds of them before midnight. +Doubtless also, the said crustaceans would be very good to eat on the +following day. But no one seemed to look forward to the delight of the +sport or of the dish afterwards, excepting Teresina and Bastianello who +whispered together as they followed last. Ruggiero went in front +carrying a lantern, and when they reached the pier it was he who put the +party on board, made the skiff fast astern of the sailboat and jumped +upon the stern, himself the last of all. + +The night breeze was blowing in gusts off the shore, as it always does +after a hot day in the summer, and Ruggiero took advantage of every +puff of wind, while the men pulled in the intervals of calm. The +starlight was very bright and the air so clear that the lights of Naples +shone out distinctly, the beginning of the chain of sparks that lies +like a necklace round the sea from Posilippo to Castellamare. The air +was soft and dry, so that there was not the least moisture on the +gunwale of the boat. Every one was silent. + +Then on a sudden there was a burst of music. San Miniato had prepared it +as a surprise, and the two musicians had passed unnoticed where they sat +in the bows, hidden from sight by the foresail so soon as the boat was +under way. Only a mandolin and a guitar, but the best players of the +whole neighbourhood. It was very pretty, and the attempt to give +pleasure deserved, perhaps, more credit than it received. + +"It is charming, dearest friend!" was all the Marchesa vouchsafed to +say, when the performers paused. + +Beatrice sat stony and unmoved, and spoke no word. She said to herself +that San Miniato was again attempting to prepare the scenery for a +comedy, and she could have laughed to think that he should still delude +himself so completely. Teresina would have clapped her hands in applause +had she dared, but she did not, and contented herself with trying to see +into Bastianello's eyes. She was very near him as she sat furthest +forward in the stern-sheets and he pulled the starboard stroke oar, +leaning forward upon the loom, as the gust filled the sails and the boat +needed no pulling. + +"You do not care for the mandolin, Donna Beatrice?" said San Miniato, +with a sort of disappointed interrogation in his voice. + +"Have I said that I do not care for it?" asked the young girl +indifferently. "You take too much for granted." + +Grim and silent on the stern sat Ruggiero, the tiller in his hand, his +eye on the dark water to landward constantly on the look-out for the +gusts that came down so quickly and which could deal treacherously with +a light craft like the one he was steering. But he had no desire to +upset her to-night, nor even to bring the tiller down on his master's +head. There was to be no bungling about the business he had in hand, no +mistakes and no wasting of lives. + +The mandolin tinkled and the guitar strummed vigorously as they neared +Scutari point, vast, black and forbidding in the starlight. But a gloom +had settled upon the party which nothing could dispel. It was as though +the shadow of coming evil had overtaken them and were sweeping along +with them across the dark and silent water. There was something awful in +the stillness under the enormous bluff, as Ruggiero gave the order to +stop pulling and furl the sails, and he himself brought the skiff +alongside by the painter, got in and kept her steady, laying his hand +upon the gunwale of the larger boat. Bastianello stood up to help +Beatrice and Teresina. + +"Will you come, Donna Beatrice?" asked San Miniato, wishing with all his +heart that he had never proposed the excursion. + +It seemed absurd to refuse after coming so far and the young girl got +into the skiff, taking Ruggiero's hand to steady herself. It did not +tremble to-night as it had trembled a few days ago. Beatrice was glad, +for she fancied that he was recovering from his insane passion for her. +Then San Miniato got over, rather awkwardly as he did everything so +soon as he left the land. Then Teresina jumped down, and last of all +Bastianello. So they shoved off and pulled away into the deep shadow +under the bluffs. There the cliff rises perpendicularly seven hundred +feet out of the water, deeply indented at its base with wave-worn caves +and hollows, but not affording a fast hold anywhere save on the broad +ledge of the single islet of rock from which a high natural arch springs +suddenly across the water to the abrupt precipice which forms the +mountain's base. + +Calmly, as though it were an every-day excursion, Ruggiero lighted a +torch and held it out when the boat was alongside of the rocks, showing +the dark green crabs that lay by dozens motionless as though paralysed +by the strong red glare. And Bastianello picked them off and tossed them +into the kettle at his feet, as fast as he could put out his hands to +take them. Teresina tried, too, but one almost bit her tender fingers +and she contented herself with looking on, while San Miniato and +Beatrice silently watched the proceedings from their place in the stern. + + +Little by little Ruggiero made the boat follow the base of the +precipice, till she was under the natural arch. + +"Pardon, Excellency," he said quietly, "but the foreigners think this is +a sight with the torches. If you will go ashore on the ledge, I will +show it you." + +The proposal seemed very natural under the circumstances, and as the +operation of picking crabs off the rocks and dropping them into a +caldron loses its interest when repeated many times, Beatrice +immediately assented. + +The larger boat was slowly following and the tinkle of the mandolin, +playing waltz music, rang out through the stillness. Ruggiero brought +the skiff alongside of the ledge where it was lowest. + +"Get ashore, Bastianello," he said in the same quiet tone. Bastianello +obeyed and stood ready to help Beatrice, who came next. + +As she stepped upon the rock Ruggiero raised the torch high with one +hand, so that the red light fell strong and full upon her face, and he +looked keenly at her, his eyes fixing themselves strangely, as she could +see, for she could not help glancing down at him as she stood still +upon the ledge. + +"Now Teresina," said Ruggiero, still gazing up at Beatrice. + +Teresina grasped Bastianello's hand and sprang ashore, happy as a child +at the touch. San Miniato was about to follow and had already risen from +his seat. But with a strong turn of his hand Ruggiero made the stern of +the skiff swing out across the narrow water that is twenty fathoms deep +between the mountain and the islet. + +"What are you doing?" asked San Miniato impatiently. "Let me land!" + +But Ruggiero pushed the boat's head off and she floated free between the +rocks. + +"You and I can take a bath together," said the sailor very quietly. "The +water is very deep here." + +San Miniato started. There was a sudden change in Ruggiero's face. + +"Land me!" cried the Count in a commanding tone. + +"In hell!" answered the sailor's deep voice. + +At the same moment he dropped the torch, and seizing the bags of +ballast that lay between his feet, hove them overboard, springing across +the thwarts towards San Miniato as he let them go. The line slipped to +the side as the heavy weight sank and the boat turned over just as the +strong man's terrible fingers closed round his enemy's throat in the +darkness. San Miniato's death cry rent the still air--there was a little +splashing, and all was done. + + * * * * * + +So I have told my tale, such as it is, how Ruggiero of the Children of +the King gave himself body and soul to free Beatrice Granmichele from a +life's bondage. She wore mourning a whole year for her affianced +husband, but the mourning in her heart was for the strong, brave, +unreasoning man, who, utterly unloved, had given all for her sake, in +this world and the next. + +But when the year was over, Bastianello married Teresina, and took her +to the home he had made for her by the sea--a home in which she should +be happy, and in which at least there can never be want, for Beatrice +has settled money on them both, and they are safe from sordid poverty, +at all events. + +The Marchesa's nerves were terribly shaken by the tragedy, but she has +recovered wonderfully and still fans herself and smokes countless +cigarettes through the long summer afternoon. + +Of those left, Bastianello and Beatrice are the most changed--both, +perhaps, for the better. The sailor is graver and sterner than before, +but he still has the gentleness which was never his brother's. Beatrice +has not yet learned the great lesson of love in her own heart, but she +knows and will never forget what love can grow to be in another, for she +has fathomed its deepest depth. + +And now you will tell me that Ruggiero did wrong and was a great sinner, +and a murderer, and a suicide, and old Luigione is sure that he is +burning in unquenchable fire. And perhaps he is, though that is a +question neither you nor I can well decide. But one thing I can say of +him, and that you cannot deny. He was a man, strong, whole-hearted, +willing to give all, as he gave it, without asking. And perhaps if some +of us could be like Ruggiero in all but his end, we should be better +than we are, and truer, and more worthy to win the love of woman and +better able to keep it. And that is all I have to say. But when you +stand upon the ledge by Scutari, if you ever say a prayer, say one for +those two who suffered on that spot. Beatrice does sometimes, though no +one knows it, and prayers like hers are heard, perhaps, and answered. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE KING*** + + +******* This file should be named 15187.txt or 15187.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/1/8/15187 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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