Chapter XVI: Night and Flames

I

Having made her hurried entrance into a first-class compartment, Leila detained the porter on one pretext and another, so that there was no danger of his running up against Signora Fantuzzo before the train was clear of the station, should she have come out of the café in search of her companion. There were four other persons in Leila's compartment--an old lady with a daughter of about thirty, a young commercial traveller, and a music-hall _chanteuse_ in shabby finery. Leila was conscious that her face and neck were crimson, and did not doubt but that her excitement had been noticed, though in reality no one had as yet paid the slightest attention to her. The young man went on talking with the daughter, and the _chanteuse_ went on sucking lemon-drops and sniffing at a bottle of scent. The train sped along, hastening away from Vicenza, away from the Montanina, bearing Leila ever nearer to _him_. Her heart was beating in time with the quick and rhythmic clinking of the wheels, and she felt as if her thoughts as well as her sight were muffled in a thick veil. Involuntarily she glanced at her travelling companions from time to time, observing, as through a hot mist, the vulgar rivalry that was going on between the two young women for the attentions of the commercial traveller.

The music-hall singer got out at Verona, and the other two ladies, who were going to Bergamo, changed at Rovato. As no one else had entered the carriage Leila was left alone with the commercial traveller. She did not even notice this circumstance. Since Verona her state of mind had been undergoing a change, and now doubts and anxieties forced themselves where before had been nothing but exhilaration and confidence. During the first hour of her flight Leila had seen clearly before her in the distant country the main features of the coming event, meeting of two souls, a delirium of delight, and then mist and whatever fate might decree. The nearer she drew to the event, however, the less distinct did her anticipation of it become, while a host of embarrassing and hitherto unconsidered details loomed ever more clearly. She feared she would lack courage to show herself at the right moment, feared lest she had undertaken a task her pride would not allow her to accomplish, feared he might look upon her as shameless or cowardly. Meanwhile the train was travelling onward, and its onward rush seemed to her symbolical of blind forces obeying her will, that had no longer any restraining power.

It was raining when the train reached Porto Ceresio and there was a mist over the mountains, so that only their lower slopes showed darkly, encircling the grey and wrinkled sheet of water. Leila was glad of the mist. It gave her a feeling of approaching him unseen. She was also glad that no steamer lay at the pier, that no steamer was yet in sight. All this made the moment of meeting seem more distant and less real. When at last a black spot appeared off the promontory on the left, her heart began to throb as it had done in the train at Vicenza. As she stepped on board the boat, her breath almost left her, and she stood for a moment half dazed on the gangway.

There were very few passengers on deck. Leila took a seat astern, and seemed as if she were intent upon gazing into the water, but she saw nothing. The dull, mechanical thudding of the pistons and of her heart was all she was conscious of. The ticket-collector was obliged to ask twice where she was going. She longed to say "Lugano," but she stammered "San Mamette" instead, as if compelled to do so by destiny. She inquired how far it was to San Mamette, and was relieved to hear that they would not be there for an hour yet, and would touch at Lugano first. Her gaze wandered off across the water, resting sometimes upon the quivering network of innumerable circlets that the rain was stamping upon it, sometimes upon the dark base of the hills. When the steamer slackened speed near Melide, she thought they had reached Lugano, but sank back into her state of torpor once more on learning that Lugano was the next stopping-place, and even failed to notice when they passed beneath the bridge. Presently the good-natured ticket-collector came up to point out the direction in which San Mamette lay--over yonder towards the east, where the lake, blending with the mist, stretched away like an ocean. Over yonder lay mystery.

Soon the great hotels of Lugano passed before her gaze, followed by the dripping houses and dusky gardens, sloping upwards into the mist. One, two, three stopping-places. Passengers coming and going. A cry of "Gandria, Santa Margherita, Oria, San Mamette, Osteno, Cima, Porlezza!" Slowly the steamer is pushed off, and the throbbing of the pistons begins again. They are under way; the boat swings slowly about, bringing her prow towards the mists of the upper lake; the dripping houses, the hotels, the gardens of Lugano are left behind, and are soon lost to sight.

Then suddenly a fresh breeze seemed to sweep through Leila's soul. All her reasons for taking this step asserted themselves imperiously. Alone and motionless, beneath the fine rain, she looked about her, feeling happy and secure. It had stopped raining when they reached Gandria. The lake in front of the steamer showed black beneath the ruffling of a strong wind, and the mist had begun to climb the hills' wet flanks. Galbiga, Bisgnago, and the Valsolda dolomites loomed majestically against the sky, and in the far distance Legnone stood out, a grey giant among smoke-like clouds.

Soon the boat met the wind. Leila's clothes and veil flew back like streamers from a flag, but still she did not move. The wind, the dark lake, the wild black hills, filled her soul with exultation. The wind was shouting to her: "Are you indeed here?" The silent hills on her right and left were thinking: "She is here, indeed!" In front of her the dolomites were revealing all their tragic history, as if to a watcher who understood.

"Signora," said the ticket-collector, "the next station is San Mamette."

She felt suddenly strong and resolute, and when the steamer drew up at the landing-stage she stepped ashore with a firm tread. A few peasants got off also, but owing to the weather, there were no loiterers either in the _piazza_ or at the wharf. The guard on duty there pointed out the Valsolda Hotel, near at hand. She entered the narrow vestibule. It was dark and deserted, and neither hearing nor seeing any one, she stood waiting, undecided whether to go upstairs or not. At last some one came down, and catching sight of her, hurried away again, evidently to summon the proprietor, who soon appeared.

"You wish for----?" the man began.

"A room," said Leila unsteadily.

During the few seconds she had waited the silence of this unfamiliar place struck her as hostile. It was the first freezing contact with those harsh realities with which she had failed to reckon while planning her flight, but which she had vaguely foreseen on the journey. She did not know how she managed to say "A room." Fortunately, the proprietor, a kind-hearted little man, saw at once that she was a lady and evidently embarrassed, and treated her with the utmost consideration. He told her that the housemaid would show her such rooms as were vacant--there were, indeed, but few people in the house--and Leila started upstairs somewhat reassured. Following the maid into a large corner-room on the second floor, she declared that she would take that, without looking farther. She asked the girl where she slept, hoping to have her near, but not liking to say so because she was ashamed of her timidity. The girl, who slept at some distance, was far from imagining that the young lady was timid, and inquired if she could do anything more for her. No, no, nothing more. Did the Signorina wish to dine? Leila felt that she would be unable to eat, but she ordered a light supper to be brought to her room, that the girl might be obliged to return, and thus give her an opportunity to inquire about Dasio. On finding herself alone for the night she called herself a coward and a fool, and to hearten herself, allowed her thoughts to dwell on her father, on the Velo priests, and the schemes and intrigues from which she had escaped. And at the same time a vision of Donna Fedele came into her mind. She saw her great dark eyes beneath the lofty brow with its delicate arch of white hair: she heard the golden voice saying, "Dear girl! What have you done?" But after all, thought Leila, what was done was done.

Would it not be well to send him a line before the meeting? She rang for writing materials and tried to write, sitting for a long time lost in thought, with the pen between her fingers. But presently the difficulties of the task appalled her. Might not all be spoiled by a single ambiguous sentence, a single ill-chosen word, a single even slightly clumsy phrase, that would escape her notice? After all, it would be better not to write. Her presence alone must tell everything. Yes, of course it would! She wondered she had not thought of this before. But immediately she was filled with terror at the idea of a chance meeting, and so she remained, torn between doubts, and feeling perilously near to tears.

Through the open window could be seen, far away, amid the darkness of the night, a small point of light slowly revolving and flashing over the surface of the waters and along the coast. Out of the shadow there would start for an instant white cottages, great boulders, or a wooded slope, sought out by that light as by a watchful eye passing all things in careful review. Leila saw the slim cone of light moving slowly towards her, felt herself and her surroundings enveloped in the white blaze of the inquisitorial eye, and then all was engulfed in darkness once more. Far up on the black mountain-side, near the sky that was hardly less dark, other electric flames shone in a row. She could hear the noise of the waves, and the whole scene gave her the impression of a night of enchantment in the wildest, strangest corner of the earth. She forgot her own doubts and fears for the moment and followed the movements of the electric flash along the wooded base of the mountains and across the ruffled waters, in search of groups of houses. One of those groups might be Dasio. Again the white light flashed upon her, and trembled an instant on either hand before leaving her entirely. She sprang backwards into the room.

Weary at last, she flung herself upon the bed without undressing.

It was a long, never-ending night. From time to time the flashlight flooded the room, and Leila was glad of this, for it seemed as if the luminous eye were keeping a vigil in her stead. Just before dawn she fell asleep, but awoke again almost immediately, grieved at having slept despite her resolution not to do so. Later she rose with numbed limbs, and closed the windows. The flashlight and the other lights along the mountain's brow were no longer to be seen. Beneath her window she saw a _pergola_, a muddy courtyard, some narrow grass-plots, and, a few yards beyond, the slumbering lake reflecting the heavy, unbroken masses of cloud. She lay down on the bed again. Day was coming, and she would soon know her fate.

II

Leila rose and dressed at six o'clock. In washing herself she flooded the room, but nevertheless rang the bell for more water. The maid saw at once that the Signorina had not turned back the bedclothes, and glanced wonderingly from her to the bed. Leila blushed, but did not offer any explanation. Having apologised for the state of the floor, she inquired, half unconscious of hypocrisy, if it were far to Puria. She knew well enough from Massimo's letter that one could walk there from Dasio in twenty minutes. The girl replied that it took less than an hour to go to Puria, and upon Leila's request, promised to find a boy to accompany her, and act as guide.

"At what time will you start?" she inquired.

"At seven."

Exhausted by her long fast and long hours of sleeplessness, Leila ate her breakfast with a good appetite. She inquired about the lights she had seen in the night, and was informed that a torpedo-boat bearing a powerful searchlight was always on duty and that the flames upon the hillside were the electric lights along the funicular railway of Santa Margherita and at the Hotel Belvedere. At seven she started with her guide, astonished at her own calmness and resolution.

The guide was a lad of about twelve, with sparkling eyes and obstinately silent lips. Leila could get nothing out of him save monosyllables, but, indeed, all she desired to know was that he knew the way to Puria and Dasio. As they walked towards Loggio she looked neither to right nor left, for the higher she climbed the faster did her heart throb, partly from fatigue, partly because her resolution was weakening. At the first turning of the steps above the oratory of San Carlo she was obliged to stop and rest. The sun was not shining, but the air was sultry. A party of young people, all laughing merrily, passed her. The girls were teasing the men for not daring to gather some clusters of cyclamen growing on the brink of a precipice above a mountain torrent. With the agility of a squirrel the little guide suddenly scampered away, returning presently with a bunch of cyclamen, which he silently presented to Leila. She placed the flowers upon her breast, reflecting that fate had sent them to her for _him_, and that she would not have dared to gather them with her own hand. On reaching the top of the hill, where the path turns to the left, and leads down to the Campo region, she stopped to rest once more. Here the whole of upper Valsolda lay stretched beneath her. In the centre, high above everything, lay Dasio, its campanile and a few roofs alone stretching upwards out of its nest of verdure. Seated on the grass Leila inquired the names of all the villages, and then let her glance fall upon the small yellow-white campanile beneath the mighty rocks. From the tower she raised her eyes to the heights above it, seeking for the point that had reminded Massimo of the one he had gazed upon at the Montanina, while she played "Aveu." She fixed upon one that was surrounded by mist, towards the centre of the group that slopes downward from the highest summit on the east. Her heart swelled at the memory of the music.

Again, she seemed to hear triumphant voices about her as she had done on first entering Valsolda waters, and rising to her feet, struggling with her emotion, she started onwards. On the Dasio road, beyond Puria, she ordered the boy, who was walking in front of her, to tell her should he see any one coming towards them. They met a charcoal-burner, a Customs guard, and a woman with a basket of mushrooms. Leila reflected that she might ask for Dr. Alberti, but she lacked the courage to do so. Below the last hill, shaded by chestnut-trees, upon the little bridge close to a chapel, she leaned against the handrail, exhausted and trembling, and almost despairing of being able to go on. There was an old woman gathering nuts near by, and Leila sent the boy to inquire if she knew Dr. Alberti. The old woman, who was deaf and half imbecile, did not understand. Leila straightened herself with an effort, and glanced into the chapel as she passed, but its gaudiness repelled her. She felt that had there been naught else than the Crucifix there she would have flung herself on her knees in prayer. But as it was, she passed on.

On reaching the narrow, steep path to Drano, two minutes' walk below Dasio, she sat down on the lowest step, and ordered the boy to go on to the hotel. He was simply to inquire if Dr. Alberti was at home, and then return to her with the answer. The reply, for which she waited in feverish agitation, was that the doctor was out.

She remained for some time, her face hidden in her hands, thinking and feeling herself utterly alone. Uncovering her face at last, she fixed her eyes, as if in appeal, upon the clustering verdure that clothed the opposite bank of the valley. All was peace and indifference. She sent the boy back to ask some one from the hotel to come and speak with her.

A pleasant-mannered girl soon appeared. It was no easy task for Leila to inquire for Alberti, but as she could not avoid doing so, she preferred to do it in this way, rather than at the hotel and in the presence of any number of inquisitive strangers. She learned that the doctor had been summoned to Muzzaglio two hours before. On setting out he had said that he would be back by ten o'clock, and now the clock was about to strike nine. If the Signorina wished to go and meet him, she could not possibly miss him. She must go by Pian di Nava and San Rocco.

"You can stop at Pian di Nava, not a quarter of an hour's walk from here. He is sure to pass that way."

Hereupon the girl tried to explain the way to the little guide, who was unfamiliar with the region, but as he did not seem to understand, she herself offered to act as guide, and led Leila upwards through the poor but clean village, as far as the public washing-place, where she pointed out the path that turned westwards from there.

"That is the path," she said. "You will reach Pian di Nava in about five minutes."

Leila paid the boy, dismissed him, and started on alone. She left the path at a point where it crossed a field, and sat down to wait beneath the trees shading one side of it, whence she could see all the windings of the path in front of her.

III

That morning Massimo had risen at dawn, having slept hardly at all. On the preceding day he had been to Lugano to hire the boat that would bring Benedetto's remains from Porto Ceresio to Oria. And now that this was arranged, he had only to wait for the summons to take part in the sad ceremony, but meanwhile he was passing through great mental anguish. The memory of Maironi was still dear and sacred to him, and he would have been happy to render private homage to his master, but this public homage signified participation in beliefs and ideas which were no longer his own. To refuse it would amount to an insult, to grant it would amount almost to hypocrisy. Benedetto represented the Catholic Creed in its entirety, imperishable faith in the Church, meek and humble obedience to authority. Massimo had ceased to believe. He had begun by separating himself from Rome intellectually, by persuading himself that Roman Catholicism was doomed to perish; then, rapidly, had come the separation from the Divine and risen Christ. But despite the apparent suddenness of the change, the old faith died hard, and his outlook on life was still coloured by the traditional beliefs of Christianity. The first step, the freedom from Rome, would have been sweet to him, had the breaking away from Rome not meant also the breaking away from his own past as a champion of the Catholic Faith. But his horror of a subsequent sinking towards agnosticism was so great, and filled him with such intense despair, that he was at times assailed by violent and fleeting paroxysms of reaction. That very night as he thought of the state of his own conscience and of Benedetto, he had lighted the candle in a spasm of pain and hope, and had knelt on his bed before the picture of the meeting of the Saviour and Peter upon the waters. Groaning with misery, he had prayed for faith, faith, and again for faith! But soon the flame that had illumined his soul died down once more. The silent surroundings had seemed to scoff at him as he had scoffed at himself. When he had put out the light he crushed his face into his pillow, his heart calling out to Leila. Again he scoffed at himself for his foolish cowardice, and angrily repelled the image that would not be driven from his heart, and did but bend before these violent outbursts, as a reed before the wind, only to rise again immediately. He forced himself to think of the sick man at Muzzaglio he must visit on the morrow, whose unhappy marriage had brought him to drink, and who had become half imbecile, living in a foul hovel with four goats and a black sheep. He never came down to Castello or to Puria save to exchange milk for spirits. The birth of a kid or lamb was the signal for a series of orgies, and the man was known throughout the countryside as the "savage." At the present moment he was recovering from pneumonia, and Massimo was making every effort to raise him out of his state of abject misery. With the aid of two kind women from Dasio he had got him decently clean and had removed him to an empty stable (for Muzzaglio consisted entirely of stables), and placed him upon a couch fit for a human being. Every morning the doctor himself carried him eggs, broth, and the small quantity of wine the man could not do without. He had made up his mind to see his patient's wife and persuade her to take her husband back into the house from which she had driven him because he was a drunkard. He must also make her promise not to sell the black sheep which she hated, this hatred of hers filling the sick man with childish terror whenever reconciliation and reunion were mentioned. "She will sell the sheep!" he would cry. "She will sell the sheep!"

Massimo left the hotel before seven o'clock, went to see a sick child, and then returned for the basket with the eggs, the broth, and the wine. On reaching Muzzaglio he found the convalescent sitting up, and after listening patiently to the endless chatter of the two old women who were nursing him, once more turned back to Dasio. A herd of cows was grazing among the pastures of San Rocco, and the ceaseless tinkling of the bells rose above the sound of the river below. He dropped upon the grass and sat listening to the river, fancying that he was back in his room at the Montanina listening to the voice of the Posina, and the old heartache seized him. He walked on, slowly, pausing for a moment in the wood to notice a cluster of cyclamen, in gazing at which he sought to banish the thought of Leila, and then, keeping mechanically onward, he reached the level stretch of Pian di Nava.

Then it was that he saw, not two hundred yards away, a lady in a light summer dress, seated on the upper edge of the field in front of him. He paid no further attention to her, for almost every day visitors from Loggio or San Mamette came up to Dasio. The lady was seated beyond the path and some twenty yards towards the right. As Massimo approached, walking slowly, she rose to her feet. Her movement made him glance carelessly in her direction, but he did not recognise her, and turning his face towards the path once more, kept on his way. She started, swayed forward, and then checked herself. Thereupon he also stopped and once more looked at her. She was so pale and her face was so agitated that he would not have recognised her even now had not her eyes been fixed upon him in a glassy stare. He hesitated, trembled, and felt his being turned to stone. She bowed her head, and, staggering, leaned against the tree under which she had been sitting. Massimo stopped short. He saw it was Leila, but could not believe his own eyes, and raised his hat stupidly, unconscious of his own movement. She lifted her pale, tear-stained face to him imploringly, and her lips moved. He was forced to conclude that she stood in need of some slight service, though to seek his help was clearly embarrassing to her. At the same instant an idea flashed across his mind.

"You are here with Donna Fedele?" he asked, quickly putting himself on the defensive. Evidently Donna Fedele had brought this about, had persuaded the girl to consent, or had coerced her into so doing. It seemed the only possible explanation of Leila's presence. But Leila shook her head and looked down.

"Are you with your father, then?" the young man asked, more astonished than ever. Again Leila shook her head.

Then at last her humble, shrinking attitude conveyed an inkling of the truth to Massimo, and he began to understand. But not even now did he venture to utter a word, to make a movement that should betray his consciousness of the sweet truth. Leaning towards her, half blind with emotion and with a beating heart, he murmured:

"Are you alone?"

Leila hid her face in her hands without answering. The young man seized her hands, and felt them steadily but slowly yielding, in a wave of self-abandonment such as no spoken word could have expressed. He murmured incoherent words and offered her his arm, feeling that she would shrink from being led by the hand here, where at any moment some one might pass, but still unwilling to relinquish his hold of her.

Aflame with happiness, Leila had once more become mistress of herself, while Massimo, whose head reeled, did not know which direction to take. He turned towards Dasio. Leila did not speak, but the arm he held guided him gently in the opposite direction, towards the woods. Once among the trees, he put his arm round her and they kissed for the first time, yet not passionately, but almost reverently. Then Leila dropped her face upon Massimo's breast.

And he, no longer bewildered, his face bent low into her sweet hair, murmured:

"It is for ever?"

Her only answer was to press her head closer to his breast. They heard women's voices in the wood, and Leila, raising her head, started forward in front of Massimo, turning often to glance at him. On passing the cluster of cyclamen that Massimo had noticed but a short time before, he gathered one for her and smiled. She kissed the hand that held out the flower, and then spoke for the first time:

"Why do you smile?"

The low, familiar voice thrilled him. He was more sure than ever now that he was not dreaming, and more than ever did reality appear as a dream. That voice had been familiar to him only in coldness, in scorn, and in anger. These words, trivial in themselves, were the sweet and solemn notes of an unknown chord of love. For some minutes its sweetness so overcame Massimo that he could not speak to tell her, as he did at last, how the sound of the river had reminded him of the Montanina, and how he had stood gazing upon the cyclamen, forcing himself to banish her image that was scorching his heart. The old fire burned again in Leila's eyes at the story of his past suffering, and betrayed the remorse she felt for her long injustice.

"You are the one who have much to forgive," said he, tenderly, thinking of his own unjust thoughts of her. But the past came back to each with such overwhelming force that neither could speak, in protest or in exclamation. They walked on in silence as far as the open pasture-lands of San Rocco, where the river thundered its greeting to them.

"Listen," said Massimo.

Leila closed her eyes, for the difference in the landscape prevented this deep voice from awakening in her memories of the Posina. The sharp mountain air and the tinkling of bells from the pastures reminded her only of the wild slope where the rhododendrons grew, and where love had conquered.

Exhausted with emotion and fatigue, the colour suddenly fled from her face, and she told Massimo that she must rest. Anxious and alarmed, he placed her on the grass, and, taking her hands in his, began stroking and caressing them. She sat looking earnestly into his face, her eyes shining with tenderness and love. She would not let him go to fetch water for her from the river, and presently, becoming more composed, she took one of Massimo's hands in hers and murmured:

"How could you forgive me so soon?"

"Oh, as to that ..." he cried, and the question he had been withholding ever since she had confessed that she was alone now fell from his lips: "But you yourself...?"

She understood at once, and told him she felt unable to explain in words, but that, if he wished it, she would do so in writing. In answer to a further question, he learned that she had arrived the night before and had taken a room at San Mamette. Only one other question did Massimo venture to ask: Did her father know? Leila assured him that Donna Fedele alone had been told, but not until after her own departure. A troubled silence followed; then Massimo proposed that they should return to Dasio, where she would be able to rest and refresh herself; and she agreed immediately, as if it were her part not to acquiesce but simply to obey.

They started slowly, she leaning on his arm in silence. He was beginning to be uneasy concerning the comments her presence might give rise to at the hotel. He thought he saw a look of pain in her eyes, as if she wondered at his silence. He dropped her arm, and, placing his own round her, drew her lovingly to him. She murmured anxiously:

"Have I done wrong?"

Massimo held her closer.

"My wife!" he said.

She laid her head upon his shoulder.

"I have always, always loved you!" she whispered.

At the entrance to the wood they met the women whose voices they had heard some time before. The peasants saluted, and looked curiously at the Signorina. Massimo felt it would be a mistake to feign overmuch, to exert overmuch caution in order to avoid arousing suspicion. When the women had disappeared, he told Leila that he should present her to the hotel people as his future wife.

"Yes, yes! But for your sake, not for mine! It was for your sake before!" she said.

She wanted him to understand that if the presence of strangers had made her cautious in her demonstrations of affection, it was out of regard for his reputation rather than for her own. She asked him, eager to hear him declare the contrary, whether he would not repent later having presented her as his future wife. Meanwhile they had reached the narrow valley that sweeps down from Pian di Nava to Terra Morta and the little cemetery. Leila paused on catching sight of the church and houses of Dasio nestling amidst the verdure, beneath the two colossal masses of dolomite, one facing south and the other west, that meet at right angles and form the Passo Stretto.

"Not yet," said she. But she quickly regretted her words, as if they had meant disobedience; and she would have gone on, despite her dread of the hotel and her desire to make this sweet hour as long as possible. Massimo allowed her to rest for a few minutes--for a few minutes only, because she was so pale! The sky was still overcast, and mist rested upon the grey heights. The unbroken verdure, the ashen tints of the landscape, seemed in silent sympathy with those two souls that were so full of each other.

"Ah!" Leila cried, enraptured, at last, "if only we could live here always!" And she closed her eyes. Massimo was silent. It would be a dream of delight indeed. But did Leila realise what it meant to live at Dasio? He concluded it would be wiser not to answer, but his silence made the young girl wonder.

"No?" said she, and smiled.

"Yes," he made answer, "but it would be well to try it first--to try living here for a few days first."

She stared at him. Her longing glance said: "Can I live here with you for a few days now?" Feeling that perhaps he had spoken imprudently, he took advantage of the fine rain that was beginning to fall to suggest that they should go on again.

Thoughts of the future, called forth by Leila's words as to their living together at Dasio, had roused them to a sense of reality. They were silent, each trying to escape from the delirious present and to deal calmly with the problem of the future. An impulse of true love had brought her here. She had taken no thought for the morrow. To be sure Massimo had said "For ever!" and had called her "wife!" but what then? She would not have allowed thought of the morrow to trouble her had she not seen that it was troubling him. She would have taken up her abode at Dasio without hesitation. She was quite indifferent to what people might say, but her anxiety was to do or say nothing of which he might disapprove. She gazed into his face, seeking anxiously to read his thoughts. He was silently struggling against this ecstasy of happiness, struggling to be a man and not a headstrong youth, that he might wisely and firmly control, not only his own actions but also those of the woman who was to become his wife. Now the fever of joy would prevail, and he would look at Leila, this incredible reality, in a way that made her smile; now his manly resolution would assert itself and cast a shadow across his brow.

"And Donna Fedele!" he cried suddenly. "What do you suppose she thinks?"

Leila could imagine easily enough what she thought. "There is only one person in the world capable of such madness!" Leila did not wish to say this, however, and stooped to read an inscription carved upon a stone in a low wall facing the path.

To GIUSEPPINA LORIO

_Who perished here by the hand of an assassin._

Leila shuddered as she pictured to herself a tragedy of passion, a heart as fiery as her own pierced by steel or lead.

"I would not be murdered," she said; "but to die now, suddenly, would be joy indeed!"

Massimo spoke no word, but he looked reprovingly at her.

"No, no!" Leila murmured. "I wish to live, to live, to live!"

They entered the village, and for his sake she became more cautious even than he was, not even turning to look at him until they had reached the threshold of the hotel, when she flung him a burning glance. Massimo asked the proprietress to show the Signorina, who was going to stay a few hours, to a room and take her orders for luncheon, which she would take in her own room. While he was speaking, a messenger from San Mamette arrived with Donna Fedele's telegram. He read it and put it in his pocket without comment, and said goodbye to Leila, saying that he must pay some visits at Puria; but before going he went to his room to write a few lines to Donna Fedele.

"DEAR MOTHER FEDELE,--Leila is here. Perhaps I did not deserve that you should remind me of my duty as a gentleman. I beg you to ask Signor da Camin for his daughter's hand on my behalf.

"Your
"MASSIMO."

He gave the letter to the messenger and hastened away to Puria.

Meanwhile the proprietress had been singing Massimo's praises to Leila, hoping thus to pave the way to further exploration. She spoke of his kindness, of his skill, and of her own hope that he might be appointed parish doctor to the Valley.

"Perhaps you are a relative of his?" she ventured at last.

Instead of answering, Leila asked for writing materials.

Massimo did not return from Puria until two hours later. He had gone there in feverish haste, but had walked home slowly, and without even remembering to glance at the friendly peak of dolomite. He felt as if his reason must weaken, such was the tumult of thoughts and sentiments within him. He had asked for the hand of an heiress without thought for her wealth, but he might easily be suspected of having enticed Leila to Valsolda in order to oblige her father to consent to a union between them. He was so appalled by this reflection that he asked himself whether it would not be better to sacrifice his happiness rather than submit to such a suspicion. Now he determined to speak to Leila of this matter, now he was terrified by the thought that perhaps, in the ardour of her passion, she would fail to understand him, and doubting the strength of his devotion, reproach him for being unable to face the comment of the world as she herself had done. Torn by this fear, he wrung his hands, at the same time seeking to convince himself that it was vain, that this horrible suspicion would come to no one, and that, should it do so, Leila would know how to banish it. On reaching the hotel once more he was wet with perspiration, but as pale as death. Learning that Leila had not come down, he went to his own room, and almost immediately word was brought him that the Signorina was in the garden, and had asked for him. He forgot his gloomy thoughts, and joined Leila where she was sitting on the wall at the foot of the garden, near the fir-tree and a small fountain. In her hand she held a letter, and rose on catching sight of him. She told him that she had lunched in her room and had then done some writing. Massimo held out his hand, believing the letter must be for him, written to tell him of that which Leila had declared herself unable to utter, the story of the change that had taken place within her. Before giving him the letter she showed him the address: "Signor Girolamo da Camin, Velo d'Astico (Vicenza)." Massimo withdrew his hand.

"No," said she; "you are to read it, only please do not do so in my presence. You have not lunched? Then read it while you are lunching. I am going to rest for a little while."

Massimo escorted the young girl as far as the door. She seemed to have read his thoughts, and to have noted some slight reserve in his manner. At the moment of leaving him she fixed her glance upon him. The fine, slightly bewildered eyes seemed to grow larger, as her lips murmured:

"Do you love me?"

"Now and for ever!" said he.

Massimo went to his room and read as follows:

"TO MY FATHER.

"What I have done and what I propose to do will seem very strange to you. I ask you to grant me immediately that liberty which I shall acquire by law in the course of a few months. I cannot tell you as yet how I shall use it, but this I can and do tell you, that of the income that is mine I shall demand only enough to live here modestly and alone. I shall not inquire how you dispose of the rest. For the present I need nothing. Later on I will write again.

"Greetings,
"LEILA."

"P.S.--Should circumstances make it necessary for a few days, I shall accept the hospitality of Donna Fedele Vayla di Brea, this being a more suitable arrangement."

A flood of love and joy swelled his heart, and he drew a long breath of happiness and relief. She must take nothing, absolutely nothing, from her father! How much more he felt that she was his very own now, without her wealth! How he longed to press her to his heart! But she must re-write the letter at once and say she would neither demand nor accept anything from her father. He could not possibly postpone telling her of his joy and of the firm decision at which he had arrived, and started to go downstairs to her. Before reaching the bottom of the stairs, however, he had had time to reflect. It would not be fitting for him to see her in her room, and so he went to the garden to wait for her. It had begun to rain lightly again, but, regardless of this, Massimo sat down on the wall where she had sat before. It suddenly struck him that in her letter Leila had purposely refrained from mentioning him, nor had she dated her note, whereas he had revealed everything through the mission he had confided to Donna Fedele. It might be necessary to send her a telegram, asking her to suspend her action. Or would it not rather be better for Leila to tell her father openly how matters stood?

She did not come to him, and growing impatient, Massimo began walking up and down the garden. Leila appeared at a window, saw him, and suddenly disappeared again. Massimo could not resist going to meet her on the stairs. He knew there was no one in that wing of the house, a Milanese family who had arrived over night having been out on the hills since dawn.

"I am happy!" he cried.

She fell upon his breast, clasped her hands behind his neck, and whispered:

"Was the letter right?"

They went out to the shelter of the fir-tree, he speaking eagerly, but in an undertone, she silent and happy, drinking in his passionate words. The girl said at last that she did not wish to be a burden to him, but that she was glad to give way to him, and that, as he wished it, she would write another letter, saying that she relinquished all right to the income. Upon hearing of Massimo's letter to Donna Fedele, she told him about the journey to Turin, and he heard the sad truth for the first time. But even Leila had no idea that to postpone the operation even for a few days might prove fatal to the invalid.

Surprised and deeply grieved, he complained of not having known of all this in time to offer to accompany Donna Fedele to Turin. Leila glanced at him. She feared lest her thought, put into words, might sound like selfishness, but her eyes said plainly: "Do you not see that in that case we should not be here together?" He understood, and smiled in recognition. A common feeling of unworthiness kept them from returning to the subject, and moreover, it was time for Leila to re-write her letter.

While she was writing in her own room, and Massimo was lunching, the Milanese family returned. They were dishevelled, wet, tired, and laden with mountain flowers, cyclamen, aconite blossoms, ferns, mushrooms, strawberries, goat-cheeses and empty bottles. There was no further hope of silence and quiet conversation in the garden. When Leila came downstairs with her letter Massimo immediately proposed that they should start on her way back.

He looked at his watch. It was nearly three o'clock.

"We will spend four hours going down," said he.

They started amid wind and sunshine. A strong breeze had sprung up, and changed the face of earth and sky. The blue was breaking through in all directions. The pasture-lands of Rancò, the chestnut-groves of Drano, the sharp and naked summits--everything sparkled. They left the Puria road at the point where the girl from the hotel had talked with Leila, and went along the narrow country path that lost itself in the soft bosom of a broad valley where the waters of Passo Stretto sang as they swung merrily southward. The path appeared again suddenly, following the waters, rising beside them to the little stone bridge that spans them by a bold spring upwards from the lower bank to the higher, at a point where boulders pressed hard upon the rebellious stream. Before reaching this rustic bridge, which seemed more a part of Nature's work than of man's, the path ran close to a cavern, large enough to shelter two or three persons. The cavern faced north and commanded a view of the slopes of Dasio, of the Passo Stretto, and of the amphitheatre of rocks that dominated the whole. Massimo and Leila sat down here to rest.

"And which is the dolomitic peak?" she asked.

Massimo stared at her in amazement. What did she know of the dolomitic peak? She bent her head and remained silent. He took one of her hands between his own, and repeated his question more anxiously and pressingly. What did she know of it?

"I should like to answer you with Schumann's melody, and put my whole soul into it," said she, softly, but without raising her head.

Massimo knew now that Donna Fedele had spoken, and he silently pressed the dear imprisoned hand that quivered in his as memory brought back the "Aveu" to both minds.

"Show me the peak," said Leila.

He pointed it out above the crest of the opposite range. It was a small tooth leaning against the sky, and biting into it just below the summit, towards the east.

"I thought it was that one," said she, "but the effect is different from the Montanina drawing-room."

"Did you look for it there?" Massimo asked, for the sake of the sweet answer he expected. But he did not wait for the answer after all, but inquired how Donna Fedele had come to repeat his words about the peak. Again Leila bent her head low.

"I read them all," said she.

"All my letters?"

"Yes, all, I think."

Then he realised that she must be aware of the bitter judgment he had passed upon her.

"And still you came?"

"Had I not read, I should not have come."

Massimo was still clasping the dear little hand, and he continued to stroke it in silence, as if seeking to free it from an affront it had suffered.

"I read the last one," said Leila, "up among the rhododendrons of Priaforà. It was then I came to a decision, and laid my plans."

She smiled as she thought of Siora Bettina, and Massimo had little trouble in drawing from her the story of her flight. Half angrily, half gaily she told of the Velo priests and Signora Fantuzzo's manœuvrings, confessed her own hypocrisy, and made even Massimo laugh by her description of the journey from Arsiero to Vicenza. But never once did she mention her father. As Massimo held her hand, he pulled gently at the ring she wore. She took it off and offered it to him with a sad and earnest glance. The young man read the words "To Leila." Then he remembered that his poor friend Andrea had told him of the dispute he had had with his fiancée about this very name. In silence he placed the ring upon her finger once more, and, still in silence, released her hand.

"I was naughty," she said softly, "and he was so good!"

Again Massimo sought Leila's hand.

"At the time of his death Andrea's father wished me to take his son's place," said he. "Andrea himself must have put this desire into his father's heart. We will never forget him, dear, will we? Never until death! Would you like me to call you Leila in memory of him?"

"Yes, yes!" she cried, deeply moved. Both in turn pressed the ring to their lips.

"He used to talk to me about you very often," said Leila. Massimo made no answer. Together they rose as by a tacit understanding, and crossing the bridge, followed the rapidly rising path, which now followed the curving bank, now forced its way into narrow, shady gorges, through which flowed tinkling rivulets. Leila was the first to break the silence.

"I fear I am too wicked, too strange to make you happy."

Massimo smiled.

"Leila may have been both wicked and strange," said he, "but Leila is not."

Walking by his side, she took his hand and said softly:

"Yes, henceforward I will always be Leila. What do you wish Leila to be like?"

"I wish her to be more gentle than I am, and her only peculiarity must be that she can love a poor, struggling doctor, who offers her nothing but a life of hardship," said Massimo.

Leila clasped his arm passionately, as she reproached him.

"Leave that kind of thing for others to say," said she.

But hardly had she uttered the words than she blushed and begged him to forgive her.

"We shall stay here, shall we not?"

Massimo explained that, as yet, he could not be sure of this. He had come to Valsolda intending to apply for the post of parish doctor, but had abandoned the idea because the appointment appeared to have been practically offered to some one else. But this other man had now withdrawn, and there was some hope for Massimo himself. He had therefore decided to apply. If he failed to be appointed he could not remain here. In that case he must try somewhere else.

"To-morrow," said he, "I am going to call on all the mayors."

"To-morrow!" Leila cried in dismay. "Shall I not see you to-morrow, then?"

"Perhaps you may, and perhaps not. But Leila must realise that we cannot be together as we have been to-day until the answers from Velo d'Astico arrive."

The girl was troubled, and murmured that she feared she was not yet entirely Leila. Massimo did not seem to understand, and begged her to repeat her words.

"Perhaps I don't understand very well," she said. "But I will obey. I will do everything you wish."

She would have liked to follow all the paths that led upwards, that they might never reach San Mamette. When, near the washing-place at Drano, they came out upon the paved way leading to the lofty grazing-lands of Rancò, she wished to explore the woods a few yards farther on. Everything here suggested an excuse for lingering--the gigantic boulders, looming out of the deep shadow, a group of slender locusts, lost amidst the chestnuts and walnut-trees, a huge and venerable chestnut, the patriarch of the grove, a blue line of distant and sun-flooded lake, showing amidst the branches, and at last, where the path climbed upwards into the open, the walls of rock above Dasio, rising bare and mighty, and the slender dolomitic peak, slanting against the sky. She was evidently very tired, but she would gladly have mounted farther still. This, however, Massimo refused to allow.

"Leila obeys," said she.

Although ready enough to climb upwards, she wished to rest at every step when they were descending, at which they both laughed. Below Drano Leila stopped to listen to the murmuring of water, hidden beneath the spot where she stood.

"I should like to know whether it is laughing or crying," said she. "You probably think it is laughing at me, but I believe it is weeping because we shall reach San Mamette so soon."

She inquired if they would pass the waterfall she had seen in the morning, and on learning that they would not, glanced at Massimo, laughing and blushing, but without uttering her wish. It was but slightly out of the way, however, and Massimo yielded to her desire to go that way.

There in the shadowy ravine, enclosed between steep and wooded banks, and cut off at one end by a wall of rock, they passed the last hour of this memorable day, seated hand-in-hand upon a grassy mound opposite the silver stream of falling water.

"All this is like Schubert's music of 'Der Müller und der Bach,'" said Massimo at last. "Oh for a summer of love here alone, always alone!"

Leila looked at him without speaking, so ardently that Massimo's head swam.

"I have an idea," said Leila. "I should like to find a pool of water in which I could see to put my hair tidy."

They followed the stream downwards to a spot where it spread peacefully, forming a quiet mirror. From the bridge they had noticed this sheet of water reflecting the cascade. With a smile Leila begged Massimo to go away. He demurred somewhat, but finally obeyed, and loitered along the Puria path. But presently a silvery laugh called him back. Seated upon the bank, she had let down her magnificent fair hair, where the sun and shadow played together. She had lost the tiny ribbon with which she was in the habit of binding her tresses, and finding it impossible to manage the golden mass, was laughing at her own carelessness and awkward plight. In her lap lay two shell combs, and she was trying, with both hands, to form the heavy wave of hair into a knot at her neck. She looked more lovely than ever, and might well have been the naiad of the waterfall. Massimo stood gazing at her, lost in admiration, and she laughingly begged him to turn round, for she could not possibly manage her hair while he watched her thus. But he was unable to take his eyes from her golden head. Yes, she might indeed have been the naiad of the spot, the fair-haired queen of this little kingdom of rocks, of water, and of forest.

"Stay as you are!" said he at last.

"Yes, indeed!" cried the girl. "And pray what would people think of you, seeing you with a wild creature like this?"

She decided to plait her hair in two braids, and to let them hang over her shoulders. Then she sprang lightly to her feet.

"Will that do?" she inquired, turning her laughing face towards Massimo.

"It is a poem!" said he.

"This Valsolda is a poem indeed," Leila murmured. "Do you think you will be nothing but a doctor here?"

"What else should I be, dear?"

She could not tell, but it seemed to her that he was not the man to be satisfied only with paying medical visits to the peasants.

"I have no faith left," said he. He meant that he had no faith in himself, but Leila, recalling his letters, placed a different interpretation upon his words.

"Neither have I," said she. "And I am so glad you no longer share the faith of those Velo priests!"

"Oh, my dear!" cried Massimo, interrupting her. "What was poor Signor Marcello's faith, and Donna Fedele's and my own mother's? I am losing it, have lost it already indeed, but I would not have Leila lose it. However, I was not speaking of religious faith. I meant faith in myself."

"I have so much faith in you."

Massimo smiled. She cast a rapid glance around her, and seeing no one, bent forward to kiss him.

* * * * *

It was time to start for San Mamette in earnest. They went slowly downwards, speaking little, and bearing themselves with prudent dignity. On reaching the parish church brooding over the roofs of the village, beneath a mighty crag, they paused in front of it. Massimo had decided to leave Leila here and go up to Muzzaglio to see his patient once more. Leaning against the parapet encircling the church place, they made the final arrangements for the morrow. Massimo would not come to San Mamette, nor would he meet her elsewhere, but he would send her a letter towards evening after his visits to the mayors.

"A long letter, please," she begged, and promised to write one herself, which Massimo's messenger would carry back to him. She took the bunch of cyclamen from her bosom, pressed it to her lips, and then offered it to Massimo. Some one was coming up the steps connecting the church place with the village. Massimo kissed the cyclamen again, and then quickly disappeared up the steep path.

V

Shortly after nine o'clock Leila left the hotel and climbed to the church place to find the exact spot where Massimo had taken leave of her. Here her intense longing seemed to find relief. On returning to the hotel she remained at her window until nearly midnight, watching the fantastic flashing of the revolving light, as it leaped from lake to stream, from bank to bank, through the misty atmosphere, and watching the signals glowing on Monte Bisgnago, against the dark sky.

Dreams--dreams--all was a dream! All was night and flames, within her and around her.