Chapter XII: A Troubled Night

"Ah, Love! but a day
And the world is changed!
The sun's away,
And the bird estranged;
The wind has dropped,
And the sky's deranged;
Summer has stopped."
R. BROWNING.

Francesca kept up bravely all through the long hours of that Whitsun Monday; at dinner she talked a little more than usual to cover Carlo's silence, but it was hard work, and she gave a sigh of relief when at length the ordeal was over, and she was free to go away alone. Carlo stood up to open the door for her, and as she passed him she looked up into his eyes and smiled; but once within the friendly shelter of the drawing-room her own filled with tears. She would have given much to run up to her room and have a good cry; that was out of the question, however, for she could not plead a headache when by doing so she should lose Carlo's good-night. The sound of the dining-room door opening made her beat a hasty retreat from the lamplight; she stood in the shade, and made as though she were looking out of the window, while she hurriedly dried her eyes, for not for the world would she have been caught crying. Mr. Britton, coming into the room, descried the slim figure in its black lace dress, and came towards her.

"My sweet Fran," he said, "if you will not think me the laziest old uncle in the world, I am going to bid you good-night. Here is a budget of letters which I shall get through better in my own room."

"Must you really see to them now?" she said. "Why, it is not half a holiday if business follows you out here."

Something in her voice made him look at her more attentively. He saw that she was in trouble, recollected that Carlo had scarcely spoken to her through dinner, and very naturally leapt to the conclusion that there had been a quarrel between the lovers.

"I have a long letter from Kate, which, perhaps, you'll like to see," he said. "She and Clare seem getting on grandly at the North Cape. They know nothing of your betrothal. May I tell them the news when I answer this?"

"I think I will tell them myself," she said, her color deepening a little. "I will put in a line to-morrow, if I may."

The tears welled up into her eyes again; she turned hastily and drew his attention to the distant view of Vesuvius with crimson flame leaping up, and summer lightning brightening the sky in the background. But Mr. Britton was too fond of her to be put aside; he began to feel really anxious about her future. "Dear little niece," he said, gently, "you must forgive an old uncle's anxiety, but are you quite happy in your betrothal? Are you quite sure that you have chosen the happiest life?"

"I am sure that I have chosen the only man in the world whom I could love," she said, recovering herself, and looking up into her uncle's face with such a sweet, bright, love-lit smile that he could only inwardly protest that no man living was worthy of her.

"Yet something is troubling you to-night?" he said, uneasily.

"Yes," she said, her lips quivering; "there is something troubling Carlo; he is going to talk it over with father, and--and I am not quite sure how father will take it."

Mr. Britton looked grave.

"Dear child, of one thing you may at least be sure," he said, gently, "your father cares for nothing but your happiness."

The words fitted in only too well with her own forebodings.

"Oh, why will people think of nothing but that?" she exclaimed. "What is happiness to me when Carlo is in the question? Uncle"--she looked up at him, appealingly--"promise me that whatever happens you will never think him to blame;--there are things no outsider can understand. Promise me that you will always be his friend."

"Well, he must be a cold-hearted person who could refuse such a petition from such lips," he said, stooping to kiss her. "Don't be unhappy, dear little Fran; there never yet was a betrothal which was all sunshine. Wait a little, and your clouds will disperse. Nine o'clock! I must be off to my desk."

"I will send up your coffee, then. Good-night," said Francesca, feeling a little comforted at having enlisted such a helper as Uncle George on Carlo's side.

She sat down near the lamp, and unfolded her cousin's letter, trying hard to feel some interest in the account of the voyage, and the midnight sun, and the adventures which always seemed to occur to any one who travelled with Clare. But it would not do; the words conveyed nothing to her mind; she could only listen for the sound of approaching steps, for the long delay made her feel certain that Carlo was at that moment telling her father of his decision.

At length, after what seemed to her a very long time, she heard the dining-room door sharply opened and closed, then quick steps crossing the vestibule. She listened breathlessly, and, by a sudden impulse, started to her feet, but the next instant she sank down again almost as though some one had struck her, for she had heard the front door closed, and knew that her father must have forbidden Carlo to see her again.

After that she felt no inclination to cry, only a sense of cold and wretchedness--a dull, aching misery. She sat crouched up on the sofa, still holding Kate's letter in her hand. Presently the clock struck ten, and the study bell was sharply rung. In a minute Dino appeared at the drawing-room door.

"Captain Britton is very busy, signorina," said the old butler, "and does not wish to be disturbed again to-night. He would be much obliged if the signorina would read prayers."

The good old servant had no idea how much he conveyed to his young mistress in that commonplace message. The words cut her to the heart, but with the true womanly instinct to hide her wounds, she stood up quickly and said in her usual voice, "Very well, Dino: bring in the books, then."

And steadily she went through the usual form, her voice never once faltering, nor did she give way till the door of her own room was safely locked, and she was alone for that night of doubt, and suspense, and grief.

Meanwhile Captain Britton was not much happier than the two lovers whose separation he had decreed. He felt as soon as he had dismissed Dino that he had done a cowardly thing; but the thought of meeting Francesca that night, or of reading prayers in his present frame of mind, was more than he could endure.

At heart the Captain was a kind man; he would have liked to please all with whom he came in contact, if only they would be pleased in his own way; but to have his plans crossed, to be disappointed in any matter upon which he had set his heart, was too much for so proud a temper to bear.

Nor could he at all understand Carlo's knight-errantry. That a brother under the circumstances should be beside himself with anger, should afterwards give the traitor a good horsewhipping, or even challenge him--this he could have understood and approved; but the quiet surrender of home, country, profession, and personal happiness, in the hope of preventing the evil, this was altogether beyond him.

The Captain liked well enough to do a good action, but it must be an action that would be approved of men; nothing would have induced him to take a line that would expose him to censure; if he did a generous thing he would take good care that it should win him the pleasant and cheering approval of his friends and acquaintance.

And yet, in spite of his anger with Carlo's Quixotic scheme, he was too kind-hearted a man not to regret the harsh and wholly unjustifiable words which had escaped him in the heat of the moment. Keen shame made the color mount to his forehead as he remembered that he had insulted a guest at his own table. The thought of this troubled him more than anything. It haunted him all through the night. He regretted deeply the pain he must give to Francesca; he felt bitterly disappointed that the marriage should now be out of the question. He was still indignant with Carlo's blind foolishness in going on the stage; but everything faded into insignificance before the one great regret,--a regret which would follow the Captain to his grave,--that for once in his life he had been guilty of a breach of hospitality.

If sleep refused to visit either Carlo or Francesca that night, it was equally cruel to Captain Britton. He tossed and turned till the bed-clothes were in a state of chaotic confusion; he tried the window open, he tried the window shut, he tried a light, he tried total darkness, he paced the room, he counted alternate black and white sheep going through a gate, he ate bread, he smoked a cigar,--in fact, he tried all the remedies for sleeplessness he had ever heard of.

At last he gave up all thoughts of rest for that night, and began to wonder how his neighbor was faring; the young Italian's face haunted him. Now he saw him boyish, eager, and impulsive, coming nearly five years ago to tell of his love for Francesca, and receiving his sentence of probation with an odd mixture of hope, despair, and courtesy. Again he recalled the day--only three weeks ago, in reality, though it seemed more like three months--when Sibyl had run down to find him in the olive-garden, bearing that significant card with the words, "Avvocato Carlo Poerio Donati," which conveyed to him so much. He remembered hastening back to the house, and could see again in imagination the bright look of hope which had flashed like sudden sunshine over Carlo's face when he had told him to go and find Francesca in the belvedere. And then, lastly, and most vividly of all, he recalled that face as he had last seen it. Such anger once seen is never forgotten; and the Captain knew that so generous and sweet-tempered a man must have been almost maddened by pain before his face could have worn that look of vindictive fury, before his eyes could have blazed with the fierce glow that recalled to him the eyes of a wounded lion. Had the Captain been a coward, or even a man with highly strung nerves, he would have trembled before such a look, for to meet such eyes is to look death in the face. But, with all his faults, he was a staunch, brave-hearted Englishman, and all that he had felt was a great surprise when the fierce gleam had suddenly died away, and Carlo had turned sharply round on his heel and left him without a word.

He wondered what had happened to him afterwards, and began to feel troubled as he remembered the desolateness of the Villa Bruno.

Only a fortnight had passed since the gentle Signora Donati had been laid in her grave; he had forgotten all that when in sudden wrath he had driven her son away. Bitterly did he now repent the unkindness. Had he been an imaginative man, he would have conjured up a tragic ending to that night's work, and have suffered yet more; but, luckily, he was not of an imaginative turn, so he was only vaguely and increasingly miserable.

Then he began to think of poor little Francesca, doomed through his angry command never to see her lover again. No; at least he would yield on that point, he would go to see Carlo after breakfast, would apologize to him for his hastiness, and permit him to come once more to the Casa Bella and take leave of Francesca. This idea gave the poor Captain a little relief, but he groaned aloud as he thought of all the grief in store for his child.

At length he heard the welcome sounds of life in the house. The night was over; Rosetta was banging the door-mat vigorously against the porch; Dino was tramping up and down the marble passages, fetching and carrying. Presently there was the refreshing sound of the rap at his door and the servant's familiar summons, "Half-past seven, signor, and a fine morning."

The Captain rose more promptly than usual, unlocked his door, and took in his hot-water can; on the lid there lay an envelope directed to him in Carlo's handwriting. He tore it open with a sense of sickening anxiety.

What was it that brought a sudden mist before his eyes? Only a short, manly letter,--a letter of apology from the man whom he had wronged.

Carlo had forestalled him, and the letter which had cost the writer so much cost the reader yet more. There was very little in it, with its careful English and neat foreign writing; but the words had come straight from the heart, and they went straight as an arrow to the heart of the Captain.

The Brittons, though so long resident in Italy, kept English hours and breakfasted all together at eight o'clock.

The Captain came down that morning with a curiously guilty feeling. Francesca was in the dining-room before him, apparently absorbed in coffee-making. He glanced at her anxiously, and saw that she was pale and worn, and looked as if she had cried till she could cry no longer. She felt her father's anxious glance and winced beneath it. Uncle George, with more tact, made as though he noticed nothing, and adroitly kept the conversation going; while Sibyl was luckily at that unobservant age which takes no account of faces when once they have become familiar. It was an uncomfortable meal, and they all hailed as a relief the appearance of the Captain of the _Pilgrim_, a weather-beaten Scotchman, who had driven over with a telegram which had just arrived for Mr. Britton.

Captain Britton had never felt more glad to have a guest to whom he could show hospitality.

"Come, Captain, you must breakfast with us after your long drive!" he exclaimed, in his hearty voice. "Sibyl, run and tell Dino to lay another place."

"Thank you, sir," said the Captain, drawing a chair to the table; "I breakfasted on the yacht, but I will be glad of a cup of coffee if Miss Britton has some for a late comer. I thought I'd better come over with the telegram, sir," he continued, turning to the owner of the _Pilgrim_, "for I had a feeling it might mean a change of plans."

"Second-sight on your part, Captain," said Mr. Britton, looking up; "I am sorry to say it does mean a change of plans and an end to my holiday. I must go home at once."

"Nothing wrong at Merlebank, I hope?" said his brother, while Francesca and Sibyl listened anxiously.

"Oh, no; it is only a business affair, but I must be home by Friday at latest. I'm afraid the _Pilgrim_ would hardly manage that, Captain, eh?"

There was a general laugh.

"Well, that would be expecting a little too much of a sailing yacht," said Captain Graham. "I'm sorry, sir, you are called back to England. We had looked to have a pleasant cruise."

Mr. Britton sighed.

"No peace to the wicked; eh, Francesca? In this world it is always the way that some people have more work than they wish, and others not so much. I should like a few words with you, John, in the study."

The brothers went off together, and the old Scotch Captain turned to Sibyl.

"What would you say to a cruise, Miss Sibyl? I think that would be just the thing for you. You'd make a fine little sailor."

"Oh, dear Captain Graham, do coax Uncle George to let me!" cried Sibyl, in an ecstasy. "Oh, Fran, wouldn't it be lovely!"

Francesca smiled faintly, not wishing to damp the little girl's pleasure, but feeling a little more wretched than before, as she wondered whether possibly her father might think it best to send her away from home.

"Sea air would do you all the good in the world, miss," said Captain Graham, glancing at her pale face; "it's only a pity none of your cousins are on board, then we should have a merry party. Miss Kate, she doesn't care for the yacht, but the others, why, they are as good as sailors! Miss Lucy and Miss Molly, they kept a watch all through our last cruise; and as to little Miss Flo, why, she'd like to live on board."

Meanwhile, in the study, the owner of the _Pilgrim_ was trying to do all in his power for his pretty niece. He had guessed, both from her face and his brother's depression, that there must have been a quarrel with young Donati on the previous night. He hoped he might be able to set things straight again before he left, but he had no idea how serious was the state of affairs.

"Look here, John," he said, closing the door of the study, "it has just struck me, why shouldn't you all have a trip in the yacht now she is here? There will be plenty of room for you, and the girls, and young Donati, and a couple of other friends besides, if you like. Now do think of it, for it quite vexes me that the _Pilgrim_ should be all down here to no purpose."

"You are very good," said Captain Britton, hesitatingly; "for myself there is nothing I should so much like; indeed, I must get away somewhere, I feel quite knocked up with this tiresome affair."

"What affair?"

"Why, I meant to have told you all about it to-day. Poor little Francesca's engagement is broken off!"

"Dear me! how is that? You don't mean to say he is tired of her already?"

"No, that's the worst of it; the fellow is desperately in love with her still, but I have had to put a stop to it. I never was so disappointed in a man in my life."

"It's a grave affair," said Mr. Britton, thoughtfully, "for I fancy little Fran's heart is quite given away."

"That is the miserable part of it. I wish she had never seen Donati! I wish I'd never come to this place!" and the poor Captain sighed heavily.

"But have you not, perhaps, been a trifle hasty?" said his brother, remembering the promise he had made to Francesca on the previous night. "Though starting with plenty of insular prejudice against the man I was very much struck with him yesterday. There is something noble about his face. Surely he can't be guilty of any great offence?"

"He is guilty of the greatest offence possible, he is guilty of an utter want of common sense," said the Captain, angrily. "I thought we had made half an Englishman of him, but I might have known that with his Italian blood and his foolish radical ideas we should sooner or later fall foul of one another."

"You are surely not going to break off the engagement because of political differences?" said Mr. Britton, getting quite on to the wrong tack.

"Mere opinions are nothing to me," said the Captain, "but when the fellow acts--acts upon his insane ideas--comes to me and deliberately tells me that he has taken a course which will make his marriage with Francesca out of the question for an indefinite time, what can you expect me to say?"

"I don't wonder you were very much vexed about it."

"Vexed! I was never in such a heat in my life. Wrong as the fellow was, I am bound to apologize to him for what I said. I'll not shirk that, though I do believe the mere sight of him will put me out of temper again."

"You think there is no hope, then, of setting matters straight? Surely you would submit to almost anything rather than put Francesca to so much pain. What if her lover is a little high-flown in his notions? Anything is better than callousness and indifference."

"I can't explain it all to you, for did I do so I should break Donati's confidence, but soon you will see for yourself what line he has taken up, and then you will see that my anger is at least excusable. To permit the engagement to go on is out of the question while he still keeps to his resolution; Miss Claremont, I am sure, would agree with me. He is deliberately choosing a career which is bound to degrade him--he is taking the high road to hell."

The Captain was working himself up into wrathful indignation again. Mr. Britton could only imagine that Donati had avowed his connection with some secret political society such as he believed to exist in Italy. He saw that it was useless to attempt any further remonstrance.

"Then, if this is really quite at an end," he said, hesitatingly, "would it not be doubly desirable that you should all leave the neighborhood for a time? Take a month's cruise in the _Pilgrim_. There is no chance of my using her again till August."

"I wish you could have been with us too," said the Captain, with a sigh. "Must you really go off at once?"

"I must be off this evening, there's no help for it," said Mr. Britton. "I would give much to be with you, but this business will bear no delay--I feel like a school-boy cheated of his holiday. But look, let us decide this matter while Captain Graham is here. When would you like to start?"

"To-morrow--no. To-morrow Count Carossa dines with us--but on Thursday--I really think we might start on Thursday. It's very good of you, George, to propose it. You've no idea what a relief it will be to me, for we are such near neighbors to Donati that it would be very unpleasant to be here."

"Well, that's settled, then," said Mr. Britton. "I'll go and tell Graham to make preparation for you. He will be enchanted to have you on board."