Chapter XIV: A Drop of the Paternal Blood

I

Leila requested Teresina to wait upon her at dinner instead of Giovanni, and talked to her very pleasantly on several unimportant matters. The maid, finding her in such good-humour, ventured upon a delicate subject, and mentioned Siora Bettina, who intended making a short excursion to Monte Berico. Ah, how Teresina would have liked to accompany her! Signora Fantuzzo had told her of one of the Fathers there who was a wonderful confessor. Would not the Signorina herself like to make this little excursion? Monte Berico was such a beautiful spot, and Siora Bettina would be a delightful companion. Such a good creature, poor Siora Bettina! They could start in the morning at six o'clock, reaching Vicenza at eight, and go directly up to Monte Berico. If they wished to, they could catch the eleven o'clock train home. But there was no hurry, for there were plenty of trains back. As Leila made no remark, Teresina volunteered to suggest this arrangement to Signora Fantuzzo.

Leila sat with a far-away look on her face that told Teresina nothing. Still, it was encouraging not to meet with a definite refusal. Giovanni came in with a telegram, but not even when he had left the room did the maid venture to press Leila for an immediate answer. The telegram was from Sior Momi, who had been expected to arrive by the last train, and now announced that he would not come until the following day. Towards nine o'clock the archpriest and his chaplain appeared, expecting to find Sior Momi at home. They entered the drawing-room unannounced, the archpriest leading the way, with his familiar, drawling greeting, "Con permesso!"

Leila was playing. It was no longer "Aveu," but some other music she remembered to have played when Massimo had been there. Greatly annoyed, she rose from the piano. Over and above her own particular grounds for disliking the two priests, she loathed the archpriest's tone of familiarity, his coarse wit, and his want of personal cleanliness. Neither could she bear the chaplain's mannerisms. Her reception was glacial. She gave no order for the lamps to be lighted nor for coffee to be served as usual, and when the archpriest mentioned that his sister-in-law had been disappointed at not having seen her, she offered no word of excuse. The chaplain spoke of a poor mother at Lago, whom he wished the two ladies to visit, and Leila's only response was to inquire where the woman lived, without saying whether or no she intended to visit her. Hereupon the archpriest advised her not to delay their visit, as his sister-in-law was going away very soon, to be gone a day or perhaps two. Leila showed astonishment. To be gone two days? Yes, very probably. Don Tita remarked that the chaplain was going to say Mass at the church of Santa Maria on the morrow, and he would ask Siora Bettina to be there, that the ladies might then arrange for their visit. Having brought his little speech to a close he sealed it with a "Sipo, sipo! Just so, just so!" The archpriest's "just so!" always meant leave-taking. If he said it in his own house, his visitor was intended to understand that it was time for him to go. If he said it in the house of another, gently rubbing his thighs the while, he intended it as meaning that he himself was about to depart. He had indeed half risen from his chair when an unexpected question from Leila made him sit down again. She inquired where his sister-in-law was going. The archpriest's expression, which had been frosty enough up to this moment, now thawed into genial warmth, and the chaplain's watery eyes, which had been roaming aimlessly among the books on a table near at hand, were quickly raised to Leila's face, and rested there while the archpriest explained wordily that his sister-in-law had long wished to perform her devotions at the sanctuary on Monte Berico, that she furthermore intended going on to Castelletto del Garda to visit the nuns of the Order of the Holy Family, but that she would have to give up this part of the excursion unless she could find a travelling companion.

"I asked," said Leila, "because I think I myself might like to go with her, at least to Monte Berico."

"Oh!" cried the archpriest in great glee, "nothing could be better! Nothing could be better!"

Leila hastened to add that she could not promise at present, that she would think it over, and that, at any rate, she must consult her father. Having said good-night, the archpriest departed with the chaplain, voicing his satisfaction in an undertone: "Good! Good! Splendid!" He had hardly left the room, however, when he came back again that he might see Leila alone, and confidently assure her that the inspiration to go to Monte Berico had really been sent by Our Lady herself, and that, if she went, she must see Father ..., naming the monk whose praises Signora Fantuzzo had sung to Teresina.

On rejoining his companion, who was waiting for him halfway to the gate, the archpriest walked rapidly away beside him, with the step of one who is gratified and full of hope. He asked no more than that the girl should approach the Sacraments of her own free will. It would perhaps have been better had the archpriest served God and the Church more intelligently, with greater wisdom, and with more of the warmth of the true evangelical spirit, but it could not be denied that he was an honest and faithful servant. Like many of his fellow-priests, he had very little true charity for such as erred in matters of faith, and he would have pitched them cheerfully from the crags of Mea into the rushing Astico beneath, calling them "poor, unhappy creatures" as he did so. But for sins of any other description he had a rough tolerance and a forgiving heart, for to do him justice he took a broader view of the world and conduct than from the standpoint of the rigid dogmatist. His conviction was that Leila was a wayward girl, ignorant in matters of religion, and quite capable of committing blunders both in conduct and practice; but that, after all, if she would but set herself right with the Church, one might safely rely on the indulgence of Him who had seen fit to give her the nature of an unbroken colt. In his secret soul he laughed at Don Emanuele for hoping to make a nun of her. To Don Emanuele, the pilgrimage to Monte Berico was but a first step, and he dared not rejoice overmuch, when he considered the influence Donna Fedele was continuously wielding over the girl. He was, moreover, in possession of a piece of alarming information, which, should it reach Leila's ears, would certainly cause her to turn ever more eagerly to the Villino delle Rose. Carolina Gorlago was not at Cantù, but at Padua, hiding in Camin's house. This intrigue which had not been dropped, which was reprehensible in itself, and doubly so because it was boldly incautious, might throw discredit upon the culprit's ecclesiastical friends. And who would profit by this if not Donna Fedele? She was undoubtedly working to bring about the Camin-Alberti marriage. Fortunately, however, Leila shrank from this union, as her attempted suicide proved clearly enough, and, fortunately also, Donna Fedele would be compelled to be away for some time. This fact was also known at the parsonage. Don Emanuele would not allow himself to hope for anything worse than an operation and a long convalescence. He was even willing to assume that she would recover, although this was more than she deserved, for the probability justified him in adopting decisive measures during her absence in Turin. The first step to be taken was to turn the girl's thoughts towards God, and to discover a means of once more arousing within her that rebellious contempt for the world that had moved her to attempt to take her life. Then the prospect of peace and safety in a religious life must be skilfully held out to her, but it must be a religious life carefully suited to her. Castelletto del Garda would not do at all. That was foolish Siora Bettina's idea. Leila was not fitted by Nature to teach or to nurse the sick. She must enter a contemplative order. Thus did Don Emanuele, trotting towards Velo beside the archpriest, ruminate upon all these considerations, but he carefully kept them to himself.

* * * * *

As Leila returned to the piano she thought: "After all, perhaps I have a drop of my father's blood in my veins!"

She would not allow the lamps to be lighted, and going to her room presently, stationed herself at the window. The east was bright with countless stars, and above the great crest of black, majestic forest the sharp mountain edge fretted the clear sky. Leila saw neither the sky, the crest of forest, nor the peaks of Summano. Her mind was centred upon a fixed purpose, and her unseeing glance rested upon the encompassing shadows, while her slender frame trembled and quivered with the wild beating of her heart.

II

On the following morning Don Emanuele came to say Mass at Santa Maria at half-past seven, half an hour earlier than was his wont. Siora Bettina, who had arrived before him, informed him that Leila was out. The maid Teresina believed she had gone to Villino delle Rose, but, in reality, she had climbed up to the rhododendron patch once more. Don Emanuele, putting on his look of extreme godliness, considered for a moment, and then begged Siora Bettina to wait for him after Mass. He said Mass with profound devotion, and then, bending low over his kneeling-stool in the sacristy, with his head in his hands, he prayed at great length, that the Lord would grant him strength and guidance in his struggle against the demon who was seeking to frustrate the plans for Leila's salvation, by raising up two of his own handmaidens against them, one a creature of pride, Donna Fedele, the other a creature of lust, Carolina Gorlago. He prayed on and on with all the confidence of the inferior who is on terms of comparative familiarity with his superior, terms established in part through long intercourse, in part by services rendered by the suppliant. While a rivulet of pious Latin still flowed from his lips, he passed unconsciously from mental prayer to thoughts that clustered about a further anxiety concerning possibilities that were troubling him most seriously, and that were incessantly appearing, disappearing, and flashing forth again before his mental vision. One consideration would become entangled in another, and Don Emanuele could neither see the end of the tangle nor did he know where to look for it. At such moments of anxiety the rivulet of Latin would cease to flow from his tight lips. At last, however, he discovered the right end to pull in order to loosen the very heart of the tangle. He pulled and pulled, and the cord ran out straight and easily as if Providence had planned this snare for Don Emanuele's especial benefit, that this fisher of souls might have the merit of finding the right way, and go on unwinding until he should have demonstrated that all this tangle of knots, loops, and twists could be straightened out into one divine length of cord, for the manufacturing of his own net. Such, at least, was the fisher's honest conviction.

Meanwhile Siora Bettina was asking herself if she had not better peep in at the door of the sacristy, for she had been waiting a long time seated in front of the altar, and her devotions were exhausted. She had found it difficult to keep her mind from wandering off to the splashing of the fountain in the vestibule, in preventing herself from wondering where the water came from, where it went to, and whether it were cold and pure. Then there was a spot on the green carpet that covered the steps leading to the altar, to which, all too often, her eyes would revert, and which excited her curiosity as to whether it were a grease spot of long standing or the result of a recent wetting. No, it would not do to look into the sacristy, so she sought to cast off the temptations of fountain and spot, by meditating for her own edification on Don Emanuele's sanctity and on the state of mystic abstraction that was detaining him so long.

He rose from his knees at last, but his expression was no brighter than when he had first knelt down. Requesting the altar-boy to go and see if Leila had returned, he followed him out of the sacristy, and signed to Siora Bettina to join him in the little porch. The boy soon returned and reported that the Signorina was still absent.

Don Emanuele now addressed himself to Signora Fantuzzo, and related the conversation that had taken place between Leila and the archpriest on the preceding evening. Siora Bettina, who had not seen her brother-in-law since the conversation in question, received the impression from the chaplain's recital that Don Tita's and Don Emanuele's prayers had been graciously answered, her own humble petitions having perhaps helped somewhat. She asked what she was to do next. First of all she must wait for Leila and tell her that she had been informed by the archpriest that Leila was thinking of accompanying her to the sanctuary at Monte Berico, and perhaps also to Castelletto del Garda. Siora Bettina hastened to correct what she took to be a slip of the tongue. She had not had her information from the archpriest, but from Don Emanuele himself. The chaplain, however, requested her to keep back his name, and to mention the archpriest only. "To tell the truth," Siora Bettina ventured timidly, "my brother-in-law has not.... Never mind!" Don Emanuele broke in. "The Lord wishes you to speak as I shall instruct you," and Siora Bettina in all humility and good faith bowed to his superior knowledge of the Divine intentions.

But his edifying instructions did not end here. Probably the Signorina would tell her, as she had told the archpriest, that she must first obtain her father's permission. Now, this permission must be made to extend to Castelletto del Garda also. Siora Bettina brightened visibly. She was longing to go to Castelletto, but would never dare to go so far alone. A different companion, Teresina for instance, would have been more acceptable to her, but out of devotion to her spiritual guide, she gladly accepted the slight drawback of Leila's company. She was also pleased on her brother-in-law's account. He had already formed a scheme for placing these sisters of the Order of the Holy Family in charge of some charitable institution in his future diocese, and was anxious to obtain some necessary information direct from them. Observing her satisfaction, Don Emanuele reflected for a moment, and then proposed that they should continue their conversation while they walked along the Lago road. Bettina became vaguely aware that he had something still more important to impart, and that he wished to make his disclosure in a spot less exposed to interruptions. In fact, as soon as they had reached the shade of the great chestnuts on the Lago road, Don Emanuele, his eyes now fixed upon the ground, now glancing around to see that no one was in sight, began with a preamble on the absolute necessity that Siora Bettina should keep silent concerning what he had decided to communicate to her. Without mentioning him directly, he made her understand that the archpriest was to be kept in ignorance. The very thought of hiding anything from the archpriest sent the blood coursing painfully through her veins, but as Don Emanuele, in a tone of honest conviction and lofty authority, was now speaking of a path that Providence Itself had pointed out to him for the saving of two souls, she concluded that the path was too narrow for three to walk abreast, and waited for the Word, in the pleased consciousness of having been chosen as an instrument. The Word was to the following effect. As Signorina Leila had alluded to the necessity of obtaining the paternal consent, Siora Bettina could now dispense with consulting the girl herself. She must interview Sior Momi instead, who would return from Padua at one o'clock, and ask his permission (in the archpriest's name as well) to propose the pilgrimage to Monte Berico and Castelletto del Garda to his daughter. Then she must proceed to make this proposal and to fix the day. "To-morrow is too soon," said Don Emanuele. "Arrange for the day after." Had he himself been an all-powerful Providence, he could not have mapped out the future with greater assurance and more calmly settled the affairs of other people.

"At Monte Berico," he went on, "you will closely observe the Signorina's bearing on approaching the Sacraments. After Mass, go directly to the station. When you get there, tell your companion that you are not feeling well, and have decided not to go on to Castelletto, but to hear a Mass at the church of the _Santo_ instead. You will then take the eleven o'clock train to Padua. After Mass suggest to the Signorina that, out of respect to her father, it would be fitting for her to pay a visit to his apartment, where there might be letters, papers, or cards for him. Now that apartment harbours a person who has no right to be there, for it was publicly given out here that she was going into Lombardy, and was separating definitely from Signor Camin. Signorina Leila must meet this person. It is necessary that she should meet her. I believe I have nothing further to add."

Poor Siora Bettina was so horrified that she stopped short.

"Good Lord! Good Lord, Don Emanuele!" she cried. She could put up with the disappointment of not going to Castelletto, she could put up with the many falsehoods, but the scene that would be sure to follow this meeting! She had a vague idea of the nature of the relations existing between Sior Momi and Carolina, but her scrupulous conscience had never allowed her to dwell on the subject, and now that Don Emanuele had opened her eyes, the prospect of meeting the woman filled her with horror. She asked anxiously whether she must indeed do this. The priest gave her a silent answer, bending his head and joining his hands piously, as if in humble submission to the Higher Will, which they were both bound to obey.

"You may say I am ignorant, Don Emanuele! You may say I am stupid, but----" Poor Siora Bettina did not dare to go beyond this pathetic admission, and confess that she failed to grasp the reason for all these tactics. Don Emanuele understood well enough, but did not enlighten her. His plan was based on certain fragile chances, too slight for definition, and he was not going to imperil his scheme by an explanation. He relied upon the impression which contact with what was degrading should make upon Leila. Should it induce her to take refuge in a religious life, an important result would follow ... the Trento fortune would not be swallowed up by her father's depravities. Thus was poor Sior Momi secretly cast overboard by his ally the chaplain, who, however, continued piously to hope that the scandal in Padua might result in much good to Momi's soul.

Instead of satisfying Siora Bettina's anxiety, he inquired blandly if she proposed to turn back or to walk on by way of Lago and Sant'Ubaldo.

"I myself am going to read my office," he announced, bringing out his breviary.

Siora Bettina knew that Don Emanuele always avoided showing himself in public in the company of women. She chose the Lago--Sant' Ubaldo route, fearing to meet Leila on her way home from the Villino, for, as she had been instructed to see Sior Momi first, such a meeting would have proved embarrassing. The chaplain had believed she would choose the other and shorter way, and as he himself had no desire to meet Leila there was nothing left for him save to stop where he was, open his breviary, and say:

"Well, then----"

And although Siora Bettina longed to implore him to relieve her of the obligation he had forced upon her, she could only murmur a melancholy farewell and start on her way to Lago.

Don Emanuele did not move until she was out of sight; then he went slowly onward. On reaching the first legitimate break in his devotions he closed the book and pocketed it again. He had just passed through the rows of Lago cottages and was walking along the road that skirts the base of the hill upon which stands the little church of Sant' Ubaldo. He was thinking of Don Aurelio and of the power that he, Don Emanuele, had exercised in that priest's affairs. It was he who had sent almost daily information to Rome concerning the doings, sayings, and omissions of the suspected priest, colouring all things in accordance with what he suspected and not what he saw. The archpriest's future bishopric was of his promoting also. It was he who had spoken to his uncle the Cardinal concerning Don Tita, who had set forth his fearless ecclesiasticism, his veneration for tradition, his merry good-nature and affability, which could not fail to render him popular.

The idea of now winning a precious and imperilled soul for the convent sent the blood coursing joyously through his veins. Instead of raising his face to the breeze, and delighting in his own valour, he bowed his head before God, like a faithful servant upon whom his astonished master heaps praise for some great service rendered. Then, forgetting to be humble, he allowed himself to triumph gently over Donna Fedele, identifying himself, as it were, with the Providence who had decreed this illness in order that it might become more difficult for her to hinder his pious plans, and that, through suffering, she might be brought to recognise her evildoing. The road he was following as he thus mused had been Don Aurelio's daily walk, and at such times Nature had spoken in her myriad voices to that pure and humble soul, who with St. Francis welcomed all things as his brothers. But poor Don Emanuele, never doubting the worth of his appreciation of St. Francis, passed along with no strange, mystical sense of a life in natural things, without even a glance at flower or leaf. The only God he knew spoke in those false imaginings of his own mind--he saw no other light but that narrow one within his own soul.

III

When Giovanni announced Siora Bettina, Sior Momi was busy writing to Carolina, from whom he had parted during a quarrel that had arisen between them on account of the woman's jealousy of Teresina. He was now informing her that this same Teresina had not only left his room in disorder, but had as yet failed to show her face, and he added that he really feared he should die in this stupid hole without his precious Moma. Siora Bettina followed Giovanni into the room before he had finished announcing her, thus giving Sior Momi barely time to turn over the sheet and display the whiteness of an immaculate page. He started to his feet, much embarrassed by the disordered state of his garments, and overwhelmed his visitor with excuses and his servant with reproaches. "For mercy's sake! Oh, Giovanni, Giovanni! In this state, my dear madam!" As he was minus both waistcoat and cravat, he hastily buttoned his frock-coat and turned up the collar. At sight of his bare neck and voluminous expanse of shirtfront, Siora Bettina had felt most uncomfortable, but the upturned collar and snugly-buttoned coat having transformed him into a sort of symbolic statue of up-to-date modesty, the good lady regained her composure somewhat, confessed that it had been all her fault, and that she had followed at the footman's heels so closely because, as she must speak to Sior Momi in private, she had wished him to receive her in the study.

Signora Fantuzzo began by saying timidly that she had come to ask a great favour. Sior Momi blinked rapidly, wondering what tiresome subject she was going to broach.

"Anything I can do for you ..." he said, without enthusiasm.

Siora Bettina smiled, forcing herself to be friendly, and stated that for many reasons she had long desired to undertake a certain short journey, for which the right moment appeared to have arrived, for it would accommodate her brother-in-law the archpriest to have her go now; but that there was an obstacle in the way of her carrying out her plan. Here she paused, fixed her eyes on Sior Momi, and smiled with a meaning that she believed was rapidly being made clear to him.

"Money?" Momi wondered. "Can it be money?" and he grew very red.

"I am all alone," Siora Bettina went on. "And, you see ... it is so unpleasant to travel alone!"

"Upon my soul!" the amazed Momi exclaimed to himself, as it suddenly struck him that she was going to ask him to accompany her.

"I am very sorry," he began, "but----" Here he stopped, his mouth open, and his face wearing an expression so eloquent that Siora Bettina could not help understanding. Her outraged modesty made her shrink into herself, and she sought vainly to hide her scandalised face behind the handle of her parasol. The fear betrayed on that red-and-yellow countenance was so monstrous that she was as incapable of protesting against it as she would have been of pronouncing an improper word.

"My only hope is in Signorina Leila!" she hastened to say. "I have come to ask your permission to take her with me if she would like to go."

Sior Momi, who was greatly relieved, again repeated, "I am sorry," adapting his tone as well as he could to the altered circumstances.

"I am sorry, but I have no idea whether she would care to go." He then inquired where Signora Fantuzzo was going, and by what route. He was glad that Monte Berico was on the programme, and remarked that he himself had made a pilgrimage there years ago, as a member of a religious association. Of Castelletto he had never even heard, but on learning of the monastery, and noticing Siora Bettina's embarrassment--for as a matter of fact she was not in the habit of deceiving, and took no pleasure in so doing--he interpreted her very obvious nervousness as a sign that this little journey was part of the pious scheme friend Molesin had communicated to him. Assuming his most idiotic expression, he gurgled, with a short laugh:

"A very good opportunity--aho, aho!" happily conscious that the giggle and the words might mean anything--approval, irony, or laughing scepticism.

Presently he inquired if Leila had been consulted. No, not yet, but if Sior Momi felt inclined to allow.... Here Momi acquiesced with a bow. Perhaps, then, it would be well to see the Signorina at once. The archpriest himself was anxious that she should avail herself of this opportunity of going to the sanctuary on Monte Berico, and he would like her to decide immediately, without first consulting certain dangerous persons.

"Quite right!" said Sior Momi. "Quite right, I am sure!"

Having thus elliptically expressed his agreement with Siora Bettina's and the archpriest's opinion of "certain dangerous persons," he rang the bell and ordered Giovanni to show the visitor into the drawing-room, and to call the Signorina.

"Arrange everything yourself," he said, on taking leave of Signora Fantuzzo. "It will be all quite right, quite right, I am sure."

As soon as he was alone once more he rang for Teresina. He had long since become aware of her devotion to Leila, and now he talked to her of his daughter as if he had been talking into a gramophone.

He began by telling her of Siora Bettina's plans, adding that he had refrained from raising any difficulties because it was not his intention to force his authority upon his daughter in any way, but that he greatly feared they were trying to push her in a direction of which he distinctly disapproved. His one wish was to find a good husband for Leila. Having accomplished this, he would turn the property over to him, and return to his old life in Padua. But he must know the girl's inclinations. This Signora Fantuzzo seemed a good creature, and the archpriest was a holy man. If Leila were really destined to lead a life of devotion, why, of course, he must bow to the will of the Lord, but if, on the other hand, she were destined to remain in the world, his duty as a father made it imperative for him to safeguard her against these pilgrimages and these visits to nunneries.

"Do you catch my meaning?" Sior Momi concluded. He had been blinking fast while delivering his cunning speech, but had never dropped the idiotic expression he was wont to assume when conversing with his equals.

"Mark my words!" said Teresina. "You can safely let Signorina Leila visit a hundred nunneries. There is not the slightest danger. And if she performs her religious duties at Monte Berico to-morrow, it will be a very good thing!"

* * * * *

"Well done!" she exclaimed later, on learning that Leila had promised to start with Siora Bettina on the day after the morrow for Monte Berico and Castelletto. Sior Momi, who also seemed astonished, sent to invite the archpriest, the chaplain, and Siora Bettina to dinner on the next day. That same evening, before going to bed, he begged Leila to allow him a few moments' conversation. He addressed her in an undertone, in a half-serious, half-joking manner, and gave her to understand that he had an idea the Velo priests and Siora Bettina had some designs upon her, and that he felt it his duty to put her on her guard. With a great show of gravity he added that he himself disapproved of those designs, and that it would give him great pain should she allow them to be carried out. Leila listened in icy silence.

"Is there anything more?" she inquired, when he had finished speaking. "Thank you," she said, and left him.

IV

The archpriest had been summoned to Vicenza by the Bishop to receive the official communication of his appointment, and so could not attend Sior Momi's dinner-party, but the chaplain and Siora Bettina came. Bettina, who was some hundred yards in front of the priest, suddenly came to a standstill by the steps of the little church. Thereupon the chaplain stopped too. Siora Bettina, looking behind her to see if he were coming, made a sign that conveyed nothing to him, and then, to his utter amazement and great indignation, actually started to meet him. It had just struck the poor woman that, after all, she had not made the precise purpose of their pilgrimage to Monte Berico clear to Leila. She had indeed mentioned one of the monks who was an admirable confessor, but the girl had said nothing from which they might conclude that she intended to avail herself of his ministrations. It would be too late to discuss this to-morrow on the journey. What should she do? There was nothing for it but to consult the oracle.

"Go, go all the same," was the oracle's reply. "Don't worry, don't be anxious."

She went on ahead again, somewhat downcast and mortified, and in the little porch she met Teresina, who found an excuse for detaining her until the chaplain had passed, walking very stiffly and soberly. When he was some distance away the maid, who had a weight upon her mind, proceeded to relieve her feelings. Where was this Castelletto? How far away? How many days did Siora Bettina intend to remain there? Signora Fantuzzo grew very red, and stammered somewhat as she assured Teresina that she intended to pay the nuns only a short visit. As she answered she saw herself on her knees in the confessional at the sanctuary of Monte Berico. Should she or should she not confess the lie she had been ordered to tell? Absorbed in this consideration, she paid little heed to the beginning of Teresina's speech. The maid was extremely uneasy, and declared she could make nothing of what was going on, because, although the Signorina talked of a speedy return, she had made her put a good deal of linen into the portmanteau, together with several religious books and some holy pictures that had always been in the house, but to which Leila had hitherto been perfectly indifferent. Her very expression seemed changed since this journey had been decided upon. She had got hold of a railway time-table, and did nothing but study it. That very morning, while Teresina was brushing her hair, she had looked up from the time-table to inquire abruptly, "Teresina, would you be sorry if my hair were cut off?" The woman had answered that of course she would, and added, "But why should you talk about cutting it off?" "Oh, you know, it sometimes happens that hair is cut off by thieves." And presently she had asked, "Teresina, did you ever want to become a nun?"

"Just think of that!" the maid concluded. "This is either madness or fever. For the love of Heaven don't make any mistake, don't imagine she has a vocation! She has not, I tell you--not in the slightest degree!"

"Gèsummaria!" thought Signora Fantuzzo, paying but little heed to Teresina's scepticism. And they were not really going to Castelletto after all! And Don Emanuele was in ignorance of all this! She could not suppress a groan, and, her legs almost giving way beneath her, she sank upon a beam that had been left there to serve as a bench. "Oh, oh, oh!" she moaned, but Teresina did not understand the true meaning of these lamentations.

"Never mind," she said. "Only you must insist on bringing her home with you."

"Yes, indeed!" poor Bettina assured her, but she could not keep back another pitiful groan. She rose at last, however, and started up the path. Leila came out to meet her, and inquired with eager interest if she had thought to let the nuns at Castelletto know they were coming. Poor Bettina had so completely lost her head, and the infection of the first lie had spread so rapidly, that she now told an unnecessary falsehood, and declared she had announced their arrival. She had not finished speaking, however, before she longed to recall her words, but she lacked the courage, and was altogether so dazed and bewildered that she hardly knew where she was.

During dinner she never opened her lips either to speak or to eat, notwithstanding Sior Momi's respectful encouragement and the noisy attentions of the new curate of Lago, a fat and florid young man, overflowing with good-humour and banter, which, by reason of its flippancy and frequent impropriety, was most distasteful to Don Emanuele. The merits of his Excellency Don Tita formed the first subject of conversation, and were discussed at length. His promotion was now a matter of public knowledge, and Don Emanuele--who made sure of being appointed secretary to his Excellency, but who was destined to be unceremoniously cut adrift by that same cunning prelate, who had flattered him even while longing for the opportunity of ridding himself of him--Don Emanuele, with unctuous solemnity, took upon himself to deliver a very, panegyric of the new bishop, whom, in his secret soul, he looked upon as a poor creature, and a superior whom it would be easy to lead by the nose. As it happened, however, it was often really the chaplain's nose that was held firmly between the episcopal thumb and finger. Don Emanuele did not praise Don Tita for the virtues he really possessed--for the purity of his life, the firmness of his faith, the number of his charities--but precisely for those attributes which he lacked, such as learning and eloquence. Siora Bettina sat watching him with sad and anxious eyes that said plainly enough, "I _must_ tell you something!" Don Emanuele, believing she wished to reopen the discussion he had warded off on their way to the house, paid no attention to her mute appeal.

Dinner over, Sior Momi, having consulted Leila by a humble glance, invited his guests to repair to the terrace in front of the villa for coffee. Siora Bettina continued to look appealingly at Don Emanuele, and at last, feeling sure of the cause of her insistence, and having completely lost his patience, he asked Leila's permission to give her a message from his Excellency. He made it clear that he wished to speak to her apart, but was careful not to withdraw quite out of Siora Bettina's hearing, as he handed to Leila a rosary that had been duly blessed, and recommended, in becoming language, that she should hold it in her hand on approaching the Sacraments on the following morning. Leila thanked him, and took the rosary.

Sior Momi himself led the conversation towards the nuns of Castelletto. Steering his bark cautiously between the filial Scylla and the ecclesiastical Charybdis, he declared his satisfaction that his Leila should have the opportunity of visiting them. The facetious priest, who had but slight regard for nuns in general, and was unacquainted with this particular order, mumbled: "They are probably just like all the rest! They are all alike!" Don Emanuele cut him short; Sior Momi gave his modest support to this reproof, and then, turning to his daughter, trotted out the pious relative whom Molesin had so highly praised. "My aunt, you know! My aunt the nun," said he, speaking in his idiotically jerky style. The facetious priest, who knew something about the real Sior Momi, could not help exclaiming to himself: "Fiol de na pipa!--Oh, you son of a pipe!" but aloud he declared that he had simply meant to say that all nuns were good and holy women. Don Emanuele, who had also heard Molesin's praises of the pious aunt, congratulated Momi on the loving remembrance in which he still held her. "You see," he proclaimed, "what a blessing the memory of such a relative is to a family. It is like the protecting wing of an angel, spread above all its members."

Beneath this imaginary wing, Sior Momi assumed a fitting expression of humility.

* * * * *

Don Emanuele did not walk back to Velo with Siora Bettina, but went round by Lago with the new curate. She was waiting for him, however, at the door of the parsonage, and wearing an air of stern resolution, for her heart was full of what Teresina had told her. Breathlessly the poor woman poured it all out upon the impassive chaplain, on whom it appeared to make no more impression than water poured upon marble.

"It is all the more necessary that you should go to Padua," said he. "After that, you can make further plans. If you see that the girl is really anxious to visit Castelletto, go there from Padua."

The dialogue was here interrupted and definitely brought to a close by the clanging of the bells that announced his Excellency's return, and summoned the people to the Seghe station to welcome him home.

V

On reaching her room Leila wrote a short note to Donna Fedele and placed it in her silver chain-bag. Then she opened the portmanteau that Teresina had helped her to pack earlier in the day, removed the books of devotion and the sacred pictures, locked them in a drawer in her writing-desk, and packed some of the rhododendrons and the precious volume of Schumann in the portmanteau in their place. Having drawn an easy-chair before the long mirror in the wardrobe, she sank into it and fell to contemplating her own face in the glass, which was but half lit by the electric lamp, suspended at some distance.

There came a gentle knock at the door. It was her father who desired admittance, and who, having opened the door half way, now poked his head in, stretching his neck to the utmost.

"Money? Do you need money? You are sure you don't? You still have those five hundred lire?"

She was on the point of declaring that she had spent or lost part of the money, that she might ask for more, but suddenly a shudder of loathing seized her. Her veins might contain one drop of her father's blood, but they certainly did not hold two. She answered that she needed nothing. Momi withdrew his head, but presently poked it in again, and said softly:

"You do not intend to take so much money with you, I suppose? Shall I keep it for you? Well, well, no, no!" and seeing the expression of his daughter's face, he vanished into the outer darkness of the corridor, and closed the door. Presently she heard his voice saying humbly:

"We shall see each other in the morning, any way."

Then silence once more encompassed her. She began to undress very slowly, trembling, and with a beating heart. Suddenly, when she was but half undressed, she felt her strength deserting her, and, sinking upon the edge of the bed, she half gave up for an instant the plans she had secretly made. It was a moment of weakness that she quickly recognised, and the mere recognition made her start like the cut of a whip. Oh, no! There should be no cowardice. She would go to him as a slave, as something that was his by right, without thought of the morrow, without thought of anything save of her voluntary submission to his will. Rapidly undressing, she crept into bed and turned out the light.

Feverish visions of the flight she had planned excited and tormented her. She put up both hands and drew down the rhododendrons that hung above her pillow, seeking in them visions of love that should banish all her fears.