Chapter IV: Shears (2)

Massimo would have liked to reply to this, but Donna Fedele dismissed him, saying: "Go now, go!" with her usual sweet smile, wherein there was just a suspicion of irony.

Massimo took the road to the upper Val d'Astico, that led farthest away from the Montanina. Passing the village of Barcarola, he left the Pedescala bridge on his right, and went down through the fields to the banks of the Astico, where for some time he watched the green water flowing rapidly by, listening to its even murmur and to the beating of his own heart. The sky was veiled with grey; the mountains that guard the stream on either side, enveloped in heavy mists, looked like silent cloaked mourners.

* * * * *

Shortly after nine o'clock Donna Fedele's unpretentious carriage was slowly toiling upwards towards the Montanina. To her great surprise, on turning in the direction of the candelabrum chestnut, she heard the querulous tinkling of the bell of Santa Maria ad Montes. It was always Don Aurelio who said Mass there, from time to time, on certain festivals. Was it possible he had not started? Leaving her carriage at the chestnut-tree, she went up to the little church on foot, and entered. It was empty, but some one was moving in the sacristy. On going to see who it was, she found herself face to face with Don Emanuele. She could not check an exclamation of surprise, and turned quickly away, while the chaplain sank on his knees upon the prayer-stool, to prepare himself for the Mass. Presently the little altar-boy told her that the Mass would be for the repose of the soul of Signora Trento, this being the anniversary of her death. The priest's preparation lasted a long time, and twice again the querulous little bell tinkled. Donna Fedele, seated near the small stone holy-water font with its frieze of "alpine-stars," reflected, not without some pity, how difficult it would be for the poor chaplain to recover from his unpleasant surprise. When she thought how furious he had made her, she experienced a sense of remorse and humility. Amongst the leaves of the mystic vine adorning the choir, she noticed the words of Christ: "_Ego sum vitis, vos palmites_." The little demon of sarcasm that dwelt in her brain took his revenge by suggesting to her that perhaps Don Emanuele was an unfruitful tendril, but she despised herself for such thoughts as these, coming to her in church, even while contemplating the Lord's vine. "At least," she told herself, "the chaplain would be a green tendril, while I am but a withered one." Signor Marcello came in, and not having expected her to be there, thanked her by a glance, believing she had come for the anniversary. Leila came in behind him. Don Emanuele said Mass with all the gravity of an ascetic and a prelate. Of the three participants Signor Marcello showed the most devotion, and having put on his eye-glasses, stood reading the "Imitation of Christ" from the beginning of Mass to the end, without once sitting down. Leila was not praying, and her glance often wandered through the little side-door to the green landscape of the Velo Park and the bright strip of field between the chestnuts, that she had crossed in the night. Donna Fedele glanced often and sadly at Signor Marcello, who seemed to her to have grown even thinner, while his face was worse than pale, it was yellow. She also studied Leila, who looked dissatisfied and sullen. She could not help thinking of her coming interview with this girl, and although she reproached herself for her distraction, of poor Alberti's grief should Leila's answer be a refusal, and of the mixed feelings of regret and satisfaction that such an answer would bring to Signor Marcello. For Don Aurelio had told her that Signor Marcello would certainly rejoice in her loyalty should she refuse, but in the event of her consenting he would feel that in Massimo Alberti he was regaining some part of his son, and that the danger of Leila's falling again into her parents' power, or forming some unfortunate union later on, would be definitely removed. The soft, persistent murmur of the little fountain in the small vestibule behind her soothed her melancholy; all this uncertainty would soon come to an end, the interview would be a thing of the past, and its consequences, whatever they might be, would pass away also; perhaps she herself would soon be no more. She gave no further thought to anything but the eternal words the priest was uttering. The quarter of an hour's drive had sufficed to increase her suffering. During the Communion she was obliged to sit down, and she felt that she looked like a dead woman. The lad who was serving the Mass stared at her as he stood waiting with the two flasks for the priest to present the chalice, and she smiled inwardly on perceiving his look of amazement. When Mass was over, her indomitable will helped her to rise and pass out by the side-door, followed by Leila, while Signor Marcello remained behind a moment longer. His profuse thanks embarrassed Donna Fedele, who, however, concluded it would be wiser to accept them in silence.

"I came partly because I wanted a walk with Leila," said she. "And, as I am here I should also like to ask you for some advice."

He seemed somewhat surprised.

"Certainly," he answered, "any advice I can give."

Whenever these two talked together there was a tone of respectful affection in their voices; her voice was almost timidly affectionate. While they were on the way up to the Villa, the little altar-boy came to say that Don Emanuele could not come to take coffee, as he had an engagement.

"I am the obstacle," thought Donna Fedele.

"And what do you think of the news about Don Aurelio?" said she.

Signor Marcello's frame was shaken by silent indignation, the lines on his brow deepened, and his clear eyes flashed angrily.

Donna Fedele thought he must have heard the news from Massimo. No, Alberti had not told him on his return from Lago, and he had gone out very early that morning. Don Emanuele had brought the news. And how had he brought it! He had simply come without sending any word, and Signor Marcello to his intense astonishment had found the chaplain in the sacristy, where he had expected to find Don Aurelio. Don Emanuele had then said that the archpriest had ordered him to come as a substitute for Don Aurelio. It had almost required a corkscrew to drag from him the information that Don Aurelio had requested the archpriest to take his place, that Don Aurelio was not ill, and that he had gone away, leaving a letter in which he said that he recognised that it was his duty to go. Donna Fedele's fine brow became overcast also, and a flash of scorn lit up her great dark eyes. Leila knew, too, of what had happened, for Signor Marcello had returned to the villa to tell her. She now observed coldly that Don Aurelio had done quite right, and said no more. A fleeting cloud passed over Donna Fedele's pale face. She controlled herself, however, and taking the girl's arm, told her that after a short talk with Signor Marcello, she was going to ask her to show her that special corner of the Velo Park which she, Leila, had often spoken of as being so beautiful. Leila consented coldly.

Signor Marcello asked whether Donna Fedele would prefer his study or a garden-seat. She chose the study, and smiled, as if to tell him that the advice she was seeking was of a delicate and personal nature. Once there her face assumed a sweet seriousness which ennobled it with the dignified beauty which is nearer to immortality than to youth, and is the inheritance of years spent in doing good and guided by a pure conscience.

"My dear friend," said she, addressing him thus for the first time in her life, "if one to whom you were bound by ties of respect and affection should charge you with a mission through a third person, instructing you also through this person not to speak to him directly concerning it, and you, having performed the mission, should find it no longer possible to communicate with your friend through the intermediary, would you appeal to him in spite of his first injunction, or what would you do?"

While she was speaking very slowly and deliberately, Signor Marcello's eyes brightened with a sad smile, for he recognised the instructions he had given Don Aurelio.

"I was in the wrong," said he. "I suppose this walk----"

She nodded assent, and he went on:

"We must talk the matter over together. Forgive me!"

Donna Fedele protested warmly. His desire for secrecy was quite natural. But Signor Marcello still persisted.

"No, no! Forgive me!"

There were no tears in her eyes, only her lids trembled slightly. It was the first return, after long years, to an intimacy which, though it had never overstepped the bounds of duty, was conscious, nevertheless, of the sweet secret that each cherished. With the passing of time the sweet secret had faded. Only its faint perfume remained, hardly perceptible in his soul, but stronger in hers. But now, slowly but irresistibly, the wave of memory was rolling backwards, bringing great sweetness to Donna Fedele's heart and great sadness to Signor Marcello, upon whose mind it was being borne that his was the fault that her youth had faded without marriage, without maternity, and for one long moment neither of them spoke.

Donna Fedele was the first to break the silence.

"I so thoroughly understand your feeling in this matter," said she.

Signor Marcello took her hand and pressed it, and she added softly:

"My poor friend!"

Still he was silent, and still he pressed her hand. But presently he spoke with a fair amount of composure. He told her how the thought of this marriage had first come to him. He had made Leila his heir, and on the very night of Alberti's arrival, in the course of conversation, he had sought to give her an inkling of this by speaking of the Montanina, letting her see that the idea that this Montanina his dear ones had so loved should pass into the hands of strangers would be most painful to him. She had thwarted him. Knowing her character, he could only suppose that pride had prompted this resistance to what might seem a reward for the loyalty of her affection. Or perhaps she had acted thus because she wished to be free to dispose of herself one day. All this had deeply grieved him, and in recalling talks he had had in days gone by with his poor wife, he had assured himself that the girl, who was passionate by nature, would certainly end by marrying, and that it would be wise for him to hasten this event that he might influence her choice. The accident that had brought his son's dearest friend to the Montanina had seemed to him truly providential, and immediately, indeed the very next morning, he had taken Don Aurelio into his confidence.

"My first plan was," he concluded, "that you should ascertain Leila's feelings. But now, I do not know why, I have grown very impatient. And so please tell her straight out that should she consent to marry Alberti, I should die happy."

"Do not speak of dying, dear friend!"

"We will not discuss that," replied the old man shortly.

She had wanted to question him about his health, but she no longer dared to do so. She did venture, however, to point out to him that, should Leila refuse to accept his legacy, the Montanina must go into other hands, notwithstanding the marriage. He replied that as soon as Leila and Alberti became engaged he would alter his will and leave the villa to Alberti.

"Let us hope that all may end well," said Donna Fedele, rising and smiling her own smile again. "Shall I find you here after my talk with Leila?"

"Yes, you will find me here. I would wager now you are thinking, 'How that old man clings to his home! How can he expect to hold it, in a way, even after----'"

Donna Fedele checked him. "Don't, don't! Be quiet! Be quiet!"

She left the room. Signor Marcello took a Bible which always lay on his table, and read the eighteenth chapter of the First Book of Kings, the chapter of the "knitting together" of the souls of Jonathan and David. As a child he had wept over the fate of the noble prince Jonathan, who had been his favourite hero. Once more he read that vivid, dramatic story, and reflected that Jonathan, falling in Mount Gilboa, must have rejoiced in the thought that henceforth his friend would sit upon the throne to which he himself had been born.

* * * * *

In the drawing-room Donna Fedele found Leila waiting, reclining in an easy-chair, her parasol in her hand.

"Are we really going?" said she.

Donna Fedele seemed to hear in that question all the sarcasm of one who has discovered what others are seeking to hide, and would fain publish the discovery. Leila's voice and her eyes both said: "This walk is a pretext. You are here to talk to me. You have just consulted Papa on this same subject, and perhaps now the talk with me is no longer necessary."

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Because," said Leila, rising from her chair, but lingering near it, "it seems to me you cannot really want a walk. If you could only see how pale you are! Look in the glass. If you have something to tell me, you can say it here."

Her tone, not her language, was rude.

"Yes, dear," Donna Fedele answered with a note of icy command, "I have something to tell you, but not here."

Leila started without a word.

"On the present occasion I have Signor Marcello's authority to speak to you," Donna Fedele added very gently, tempering the pressure of her command. Leila now had no further doubt concerning the existence of a plot in which her friend had a part. Massimo's absence, Donna Fedele's determination to speak to her in a secluded spot, confirmed her suspicion that Donna Fedele was charged with a mission from Massimo, and was acting with Signor Marcello's consent, a consent which she had perhaps wrested from him but a moment since. She resented all this ardour for the sake of Massimo, and the moral force that she imagined to have been used against Signor Marcello. Frowning and in silence she went down the garden path in front of her companion, who could not keep up with her, and was obliged to ask her to go more slowly. Leila pointed to a garden-seat beneath the walnuts, near the Riderella. Would not that do? To her blunt question Donna Fedele replied with equal bluntness:

"No, dear."

Leila said no more. The two women entered the park by the wooden gate.

"How beautiful!" said Donna Fedele.

Leila pouted contemptuously. How could she say "How beautiful!" when they had only just passed the gate? The view was just the same from the high-road. After all, Donna Fedele might be very clever, but she had little feeling for Nature.

Leila walked on, and following a rough grass track, turned to the right between the chestnuts and a small stream that flowed through the narrow valley. A little farther on the track lost itself in a flowery meadow-land between high, shady banks. Donna Fedele sat down here in the shade of the walnuts and rested a little, gazing thoughtfully into the dark waters. Presently she turned to Leila, who was still standing, and tracing figures in the grass with the point of her parasol, saying gently:

"Do you know what Signor Marcello spoke to me about?"

"Perhaps I do," said Leila, still tracing.

"That is good. What was it?"

"I shall not say."

"I can quite understand your not wishing to," said Donna Fedele indulgently. "It is a very delicate and personal question. All the same, it is much better to discuss it. In any case, you have expressed your wishes and no one can coerce you."

"My wishes?" Leila cried with a start. "My wishes?"

"Well, did you not tell Signor Marcello you would never consent to be his heir?"

Leila's hostile and unwilling manner suddenly changed, and she stopped tracing with the point of her parasol.

"We discussed that and other matters as well. I want to talk to you about that now. Sit down, and don't make me twist my neck."

"It will be of no use," the girl said impatiently.

"Perhaps not, but nevertheless you must listen to me. Why are you determined to make this poor old man so unhappy?"

"Because I am willing to sacrifice everything to him except my self-respect."

Donna Fedele raised her voice somewhat and smiled, to show that she did not take this rude remark seriously.

"Do you think I would advise anything that could wound your self-respect?"

Leila answered sharply, and with downcast eyes:

"You see things in one light, and I in another."

Then she cast a glance at Donna Fedele, as if to say, "It is your turn now. What answer have you to that?"

Donna Fedele made no answer at all. She waited a moment and then played her second card.

"And when Signor Marcello is gone, what will become of his son's affianced bride?"

"Perhaps she herself may be gone too," the girl retorted promptly.

Donna Fedele was unmoved. "Perhaps," said she. "But if she should still be here?"

Leila played among the grasses with her parasol for an instant, and then said:

"It will be soon enough to think of that then."

"Child, child!"

"No, woman!" cried Leila. "And I thought you would understand me better!"

As she spoke her eyes filled with tears, and Donna Fedele longed to tell her that she did indeed understand her only too well, but checked herself in order not to spoil her plan of action.

"Think of your future, dear," she said gently.

"I cannot decide my future," Leila answered calmly.

Then Donna Fedele took the third step.

"Don't you see that all this is a source of anxiety to Signor Marcello?"

Silence.

"It is such a great anxiety to him," Donna Fedele went on, "that if he could only see you settled, and that at once, he would be quite happy."

The word "settled" was a mistake. Leila felt hot with resentment and cold at the same moment.

"Ah!" she cried. "And so he wishes to see me settled. That is just what I thought. And the means by which I am to be settled, by a strange coincidence, happens to be ready to hand!"

The point of the sunshade jabbed the grass fiercely.

Donna Fedele felt very angry. She raised her eyebrows and gazed severely and narrowly at her companion, who was still stabbing the ground restlessly.

"What do you mean by that?"

Leila in her turn, threw her a nervous glance, and then brought her attention back again to the parasol.

"Oh, you know well enough!" said she. "A strange coincidence has provided the means of settling me. By a strange coincidence also, some one who should have gone to Lago came to the Montanina. By another strange coincidence this some one is a young man, unmarried, and seeking to get settled too. He is fairly clever at speculating, and knows how to play his cards. A series of strange coincidences--nothing more!"

Donna Fedele's eyebrows went up higher than ever, and her voice, which had been trembling, now sounded icy.

"Do you know that you are also insulting me?"

The point of the parasol stopped tracing.

"No, I am not insulting you. I am only insulting him--that man who came so accidentally. You, perhaps, really believe he came by chance."

"Poor Leila!" sighed Donna Fedele, without anger and with deep pity.

"Oh, no, no!" said Leila softly. "It is not 'poor Leila!' at all."

After this both remained silent for a time, and sat gazing into the water that was flowing onwards with a mournful lament. At last Donna Fedele repeated:

"Yes. Poor Leila! And you do not know why I say so. It is because I can read your heart."

"You cannot read my heart."

Donna Fedele felt that this denial was an admission. She waited a moment longer, and then, with an air of determination, asked the girl if she had heard any slander concerning Alberti.

"What do you think I could have heard?" she answered scornfully. "And in any case do you suppose I should care?"

This time Donna Fedele could not contain herself.

"Oh, but you do care! How can you deny it in the face of your anger which has been aroused simply because you believe the stupid calumny that he is on the look-out for a fortune?" And the poor invalid rose, not without difficulty.

"That concerns me!" Leila exclaimed, forgetting for an instant to help her friend. She quickly begged her pardon, however, and offered to fetch the little carriage that had gone up to the Montanina stables. Donna Fedele made an effort to do without it, but when she had taken a few steps she was obliged to admit, with her brave smile, that she could not manage to walk. She must see Signor Marcello, and so Leila went on to send her carriage for her.

* * * * *

Signor Marcello came anxiously to the door of his study to meet Donna Fedele. She entered the room quietly, saying the conversation had not been satisfactory, but she believed that, by careful management, they might still succeed. Signor Marcello immediately inquired, with a gentle and pathetic expectancy, if Leila's old love still burned too warmly in her heart. Donna Fedele held out her hand to him, but did not answer. He held it without pressing it, for he feared a disappointing answer. Silence alone spoke between them.

"Then, if that is so----" said he at last.

Donna Fedele told him that Leila's attitude in the drawing-room had indicated that she was not only antagonistic, but also overwhelmed with suspicion, how she herself had then changed her plan in order not to risk definite failure, how she had spoken of Alberti and found the girl fierce against him, so fierce that her violence could only be explained by conflicting sentiments. Leila was convinced that he had come to Velo for the express purpose of arranging a rich marriage for himself. If they could persuade her that this was untrue, they might still carry the day. But of course great prudence was necessary. Signor Marcello begged her to advise him. The only advice she could offer, however, was that he should no longer detain Alberti at the Montanina, nor even seek to persuade him to remain, for she had no doubt he would wish to leave at once. At this point she deemed it prudent to tell Signor Marcello of the interview she had had with the young man, who was now awaiting her return. Then, almost timidly, and with her sweetest smile, she proffered her help in the delicate and difficult task that lay before them.

"It is only natural that I should wish to help. Don't you see that, dear friend?" she said, realising his gratitude. They parted without more words, but with a long handclasp.

* * * * *

On reaching the Villino, Donna Fedele found that Massimo had not yet returned, nor did he appear until nearly noon. At the gate he met the maid, who informed him that her mistress had returned at half-past eleven, but had forgotten to leave word at the Montanina that he would not be there to lunch, and had therefore dispatched her with a message. While walking up the short drive Massimo reflected, with alternate waves of despair and of hope, first, that the news must be unfavourable, because if all had gone well Donna Fedele, instead of sending a message, would surely have sent him off to the Montanina instead; then, that the news must be favourable, because if all had not gone well, she would probably not have forgotten to mention his absence. The maid had smiled at him; this was a good sign, but Donna Fedele did not come out to meet him, and that was a bad sign.

As a matter of fact she did come to meet him, but only as far as the verandah that ran in front of the villa. She had seen him at the gate and now met him here, neither in the house nor really out of doors, neither smiling nor downcast. He read his fate upon her face, and murmured quickly:

"I knew!"

She did not at once speak the words of comfort of which her heart was full, but simply held out her hands to him, and although he tried to appear composed, she saw him turn so pale that she felt she must give him some encouragement.

"I cannot deny that things do not look very bright," she said, "but perhaps they may not be so bad, after all. I will tell you all about it. Come with me." And her familiar smile once more illumined her face. When they were seated in the little study on the ground-floor, she related all the particulars of her interview with Leila, omitting nothing and hiding nothing. Her words were like so many lashes to him, but he listened without flinching.

"Very well," said he, when his friend ceased speaking. "After all, the girl is only very silly!" As he spoke his face flushed hotly with all the anger he had held in check.

"She is not silly," Donna Fedele retorted. "But I am afraid she was insincere with me. I really fear some one has been talking to her about that intrigue you were supposed to have had in Milan. But I have another idea also."

Massimo did not ask her what it was. At that moment he felt he was no longer in love. His one desire was to get away, and never to return. He regretted having thought, even for a day, of abandoning the field of strife for Truth and Righteousness, and of yielding to a great love. He said to himself that he was grateful to this girl's petty, foolish pride, which was setting him free again. He rose to his feet, and to Donna Fedele he seemed to have grown taller by several inches.

"You don't ask what my idea is," said she.

"I was to have telegraphed to Don Aurelio," Massimo replied. "But I will go to him instead."

"You don't ask what I think," his friend repeated, raising her voice and emphasising her words. "Well, what is this idea?" he demanded, more to satisfy her than from any curiosity he felt. Thereupon, with some hesitation, she gave him her impression of Leila's feelings. Massimo showed himself bitterly incredulous. During luncheon he hardly spoke, nor did he eat. His friend having mentioned Don Aurelio, he remarked that he should see him that very evening. They took their coffee in the verandah.

"I think you are wise to leave at once, at all events," Donna Fedele whispered when the maid had withdrawn. "But you must not judge Leila so hastily. Let me get to the bottom of things first. I will keep you posted."

Massimo replied that he was sorry he had called the Signorina "silly," but that it was no use thinking any more about her. So slight a thing as the affected mispronunciation of a word had once sufficed to cure him of his attachment to another girl, and between Signorina Leila and himself there was a lack of sympathy in outlook that was far more serious than any lack of sympathy in culture.

"Could I not leave at once?" he demanded suddenly, looking at his watch. There was a train at two thirty-seven. Might he not send Signor Marcello a line, saying he had been unexpectedly summoned to Milan, and to beg him to forward his luggage?

Donna Fedele protested. On the contrary, he must go to the Montanina immediately, and say that when Don Aurelio had confided to him his intention of going away, his first impulse had been not to allow him to go alone, but that his friend had requested him to remain and do several things for him after his departure. At this point Massimo broke in. Certainly! And this was no pretext, but the truth. And to think he had forgotten! He must go to Sant' Ubaldo at all costs. He could not possibly leave before six o'clock.

"Go up to Sant' Ubaldo and talk to Lúzia," said Donna Fedele. "As to the books, I will arrange to have them brought here, and the furniture also. You will see--sooner or later you will return to these parts, and then certain proprieties will make it impossible for you to stay at the Montanina, and you will put up at the Villino delle Rose!"

She smiled as she spoke, and the young man saw she was alluding to a local custom that forbade a betrothed couple to dwell under the same roof. "No, no!" said he. The lady laughed outright.

"How is that? Don't you wish to come to me? Are you afraid of compromising me?"

"You know what I mean!" the young man said. "You know what I mean!" And he took a hasty leave, even forgetting his hat, which the maid brought after him to the garden, while Donna Fedele's silvery laugh echoed behind her.

* * * * *

After the unpleasant interview Leila took refuge in the gallery at the head of the stairs leading from the drawing-room, and remained there, watching to see when Donna Fedele would leave Signor Marcello's study. Sooner than she had expected she heard Donna Fedele open the door between the billiard-room and the salon, and saw her enter and glance about her as if looking for some one. Leila drew back to avoid being seen, dreading to be summoned, and remained quiet until the tinkling of the bell above the door told that Donna Fedele had gone away without asking for her. And so it was all over. They would not worry her any more. But still she was not satisfied. A sense of weariness and discomfort in all that she tried to do had taken the place of her previous irritation. Until an hour ago she had delighted in contemplating herself in the attitude of repelling love by pride, as by pride she had repelled riches. And now a cruel doubt was torturing her. What if, after all, there had been no plot, and Alberti had really come to the Montanina by chance? But in any case she was bound to despise him for not having spoken openly to her, and in thinking of him as a fool she thought she had struck a fatal blow at the passion of which she was ashamed. She determined to go to Lago to distract her thoughts, and hear what they were saying there about Don Aurelio's flight. Thinking she might meet Alberti if she went by the usual road, she took the path under the chestnuts, and sank upon the first seat she came to, trying to quiet her restlessness by listening to the murmur of the wind, and by watching the breeze swaying the long meadow grass. And at last dreams conquered. _He_ came upon her unawares in the Velo Park at night, amidst the whispering of the wind, in the wavering moonlight, beneath the fragrant rain of blossoms from the acacias. He flung his arm about her, drew her towards him, and pressed his lips to hers, and then the vision suddenly faded.

The luncheon-bell roused her to a sense of painful reality. At the entrance to the villa she met the maid who had come with Donna Fedele's message. At this moment of reaction against the mockery of her dream the message was a welcome one. She found Signor Marcello already at the table, and wearing an expression that promised nothing pleasant. His greeting was of the slightest, and his manner made her blood boil, for she attributed it to her persistent refusal to become his heir rather than to the other and true reason. Why should he try to force upon her what he might think a great favour, but for which she had no desire? She was obstinately silent. Signor Marcello was the first to relent, although the thought of the girl's having told Donna Fedele that her self-respect forbade her acceptance of his fortune still rankled. Such a remark betokened much pride and little affection, the old man had reflected. He observed presently, however, in a fairly mild tone, that she had eaten nothing. Leila could hardly bear this display of tenderness, which always followed any outburst of displeasure on his part. As soon as she had had her coffee she withdrew, that she might hide the tears which were ready to fall, though she could not have explained exactly what prompted them.

A moment later Signor Marcello rose and went into the drawing-room, where he hoped to find Leila. He stood still for a moment, listening for a voice or a step, but he heard no sound. Then he sat down sadly at the piano and began to play. Leila, who was standing in the upper gallery, gazing fixedly upon the steep, green slope, crowned with chestnut-trees, recognised the air by Pergolese on which he had engrafted his own fancies during the night that had followed his fit of unconsciousness. And once again those sensitive fingers were touching the keys in an inimitable fashion, pouring into them all the bitterness of a lonely old man, who had lost everything on earth, and who now felt the icy breath of opposition. She forgave him his black looks at luncheon, and came down slowly and noiselessly to the drawing-room, and sat down near the piano, where Signor Marcello would be sure to see her. He did so immediately and at once stopped playing. She wanted to say, "Go on," but pride held back the words. He stretched out his hand to a music-stand, drew forth a piece at random, placed it open upon the rest, and then sat gazing silently at it, instinctively waiting for a word from her. This time Leila could not avoid murmuring, "What is it?" and so reconciliation began. Signor Marcello turned to replace the piece of music, which was a manuscript copy of an air from that old comic opera called "Le Prigioni di Edimburgo," in the stand, but Leila insisted upon his playing it, believing her request would please him. He began to play, in a happier frame of mind, while Leila sat listening to the music, to which both were utterly indifferent. But soon he flung the manuscript aside, and placing a large volume of Clementi upon the rest, turned to a page that was thickly strewn with pencil-marks. Leila knew the volume, but not this particular page. Signor Marcello leaned forward, his large hands, their fingers crooked like the talons of a hawk, resting upon the keys, his eyes fixed upon the music, and his whole face wrinkled and quivering with the effort of reading and interpretation. He surpassed himself. When he had finished Leila expressed her preference for Clementi, and took the volume into her hands.

"Poor Clementi!" said Signor Marcello. "Who knows where he will end!"

She did not understand at once.

"Where do you suppose he will end?" she questioned.

"Oh, probably in some old book-shop."

She had not the courage to say that even if she could not accept his wealth she would gladly take the book.

"Ah, dear Lord!" sighed the disheartened old man, straightening his shoulders and pressing his face into his hands. Leila, overcome with pity for him, tried to find something to say that should soften the bitterness of her refusal. Each would have gladly welcomed a word of affection from the other, and yet both were silent--she standing, examining the volume of Clementi, he sitting, with his eyes fixed on the empty music-rest and his hands lying motionless upon his knees. Finally, Signor Marcello rose, saying, in a tone of tender melancholy, "Goodbye, dear," and moved on his way to his study. Leila, who was absorbed in the confusion and turmoil of her own feelings, did not at once respond to this exceptionally tender greeting. She roused herself, however, with a start, and softly followed the old man to the door, whispering, "Papa!" And when he turned round in astonishment, she raised her face to his for a kiss.

He kissed her brow gently, his face lighting with satisfaction, and took her hand, saying, "Come with me, dear." She saw that her action had been interpreted as a first sign of yielding to his wishes and hesitated, but presently followed him with beating heart.

They passed into the billiard-room. He closed the door behind her, and then, returning to where she stood, placed both hands upon her head and said, smiling, while his eyes were wet with tears:

"Were you thinking of Andrea?"

At the moment she did not realise the true meaning of this question, and answered, without thinking:

"Yes, Papa."

Then she trembled lest she had brought about a misunderstanding, and also with the emotion of hearing him speak of Andrea.

"God bless you!" said the old man.

She shuddered. Why did he bless her? She longed for him to explain his words, but it was impossible to say anything. The old man had not been moved to bless her through any misunderstanding, but only by her gentle and affectionate action, which always sufficed to make him forget any displeasure. At the bottom of his heart, indeed, the hope was growing that the prayers of one who was no more might persuade Leila to desist from her refusal.

"Goodbye," he repeated. Then, seeing her indecision whether to go or to stay, whether to speak or remain silent, he yielded to an impulse and took her hands again, saying, with a smile: "I saw Signora Vayla after you had a talk together. I want you to know that it was I who thought of a certain plan when a certain person came here, and it was only because I did not want to sacrifice you to my own selfishness. I believed that Andrea himself would approve. But if it be indeed no sacrifice for you to remain as you are, I can but rejoice in the thought."

Leila did not answer, and appeared unwilling to understand. Her silence made Signor Marcello regret he had spoken with such openness. But now he could not unsay his words.

"Go out and get some air," said he. "You should go up to Lago and see what is going on there, now that Don Aurelio has gone."

* * * * *

She had no desire to go out. She would have preferred to shut herself up in her own room and think over Signor Marcello's words, but she dared not give way to the idea. It would be better to walk to Lago. Through the open verandah she passed into the garden, trying to fix her mind upon Don Aurelio's flight, and what the people of Lago were saying. But the very trees she passed seemed to be reminding her of those thoughts from which she shrank. She began walking faster to escape their silent scrutiny, but on the up-hill road, where she was obliged to go more slowly, the great, spreading chestnut-trees renewed the tyranny and hung over her in compassionate lament.

Defiant, she hurried on; yet a sob quivered in her throat, and she shook with a strange impulse on passing the footpath leading to the small lake whose waters lay quiet and clear in the shadows of a group of horn-beams.

No one was to be seen among the huts of Lago, but an old woman was drawing water at the fountain in the square. Leila questioned her. Was it really true that Don Aurelio had fled? Gèsu! of course it was true! And what did they say about it up here? "I tell you, Siora, they are all up at Sant' Ubaldo, making a great to-do. They say they are going to do for the archpriest. You go up, Siora, you go up, too! That young gentleman who is staying with you has been talking to them. You go up and talk to them also. You had better go!"

Leila, very pale, stared vacantly at the old woman, wondering whether she should not turn back again.

"Go up! Go up, too!" the other repeated. And Leila felt ashamed at having shown any hesitation. She fancied that she must have given herself away.

"Yes, yes!" she exclaimed. "Of course I am going."

She took the Sant' Ubaldo path, and at a short distance from the carriage-road that leads down to Velo she met two women and a man, who were talking quietly as they walked. "They are all in the wrong," the man was saying--"the priest who ran away like a thief, the archpriest who was bound to get rid of him because he was a good Christian, and the women who will not go to church nor receive the sacraments because the young priest is no longer there."

"That is so," said one of the women approvingly. Then she greeted Leila respectfully.

Leila stopped them. What had happened? The Lago priest had run away, and the women of the village were furious with the archpriest and the bishop also; they had assembled and, together with a few men, had sworn that they would not enter the church again, neither on Sundays nor at Easter, neither for baptism nor for marriage, until their priest's return. A gentleman, a fine, handsome young gentleman, had addressed them wisely and like a good Christian, but had not succeeded in convincing them. The women had also written some words on the doors of the church. And what were they about now? Now they had all dispersed, having arranged to reassemble in the evening. And the young gentleman? He was gone also. "Your servant, your servant, your servant!" and the trio started onward again, leaving Leila to proceed alone. There was no one near the church. She stopped to read what was written on the low side door: "Closed until Don _Urelio_ returns."

She heard steps behind her, and looked round to see Alberti and Lúzia bringing a basin of water and a sponge.

Before Leila caught sight of Massimo he had had time to adopt a manner of calm, courteous indifference. He had done all he could to pacify the turbulent people of Lago. He had sought to exculpate the archpriest and the bishop by declaring that they had evidently been misled by slanderous stories. He had tried in every way to make the people see that by refusing to go to church they would not only be grieving Don Aurelio most deeply, but injuring him with his superiors, for the latter would not fail to say, "What sort of religion has this priest been teaching?" Then he had spoken of the Blessed Sacrament, to which more worship and respect was due than to any priest. He had not succeeded in convincing them, but his conscience was at rest, for he had risen above rancour and resentment, as Don Aurelio himself would have done. And this conquest over self filled him with a great calm that did not desert him even in Leila's presence. He felt himself out of the reach of her unjust prejudices, more firm in his new resolve to look upon the time when love had overcome him as a time of weakness, more determined to stifle a passion that clashed with his self-respect, to keep himself for some other woman who should be more in sympathy with him.

"Good afternoon, Signorina," he said, smiling. "I failed to achieve my purpose in words, and now I am going to see if a sponge will serve me better."

He fell to rubbing the writing vigorously. Leila, who was very pale, asked who had written the words, as if she knew nothing of what had taken place. Massimo flung the sponge into the basin and related everything with the utmost composure. Leila thought at first that Donna Fedele could not have told him of their interview, but it presently struck her that his easy manner was too unlike his usual bearing and was not natural. Meanwhile, a peasant who had come from Masa, catching sight of the basin and sponge, and of the use to which they had been put, paused, and, smiling derisively, advised Massimo to desist, else he might find that trouble was in store for him.

"From what quarter? From you?" Massimo demanded resolutely. The man was somewhat taken aback, and mumbling, "Ah, no, Signore!" walked off, still muttering under his breath.

"Signorina," said Massimo, in the same indifferent tone as that in which he had first addressed her, "are you going on or returning home?"

Leila looked at him in astonishment.

"I must stay here a little longer," he said, reading in her face that she dreaded he might offer to accompany her. A clap of thunder burst from the heavy clouds hanging over Priaforà. There was no immediate fear of rain, for the countryside beyond the foot of the mountain lay in sunshine, and the points of Summano, flushed with a golden glory, stood out against a clear sky. But the clap of thunder helped Leila out of her dilemma.

"I shall go home," she said.

"In that case," Massimo replied, "may I ask you to tell Signor Marcello that I must start for Vicenza, on my way, possibly, to Milan, by the six o'clock train. I have one or two things to do here for Don Aurelio; then I shall come down and say goodbye."

He raised his hat.

"I will not offer you my hand," he added. "It is unfit."

Leila started violently.

"I mean that my hand is too dirty!"

The young man smiled, and exhibited the hand that had held the sponge. Leila responded only by the slightest of bows, and took the short cut that leads straight downwards from the church. She could have cried with mortification, for she was sure he had meant to be sarcastic, and she was, moreover, furious with herself for having so readily shown her susceptibility to the sarcasm. At Lago she met Teresina, who had been sent by the master to meet Leila and bring her the key to the Velo Park, in case she might like to come back that way and gather some flowers for the dinner-table. But Leila preferred to go straight home. She did not allude to Alberti's departure, which he had requested her to announce; but the maid did so, however, in a very guarded manner, giving it as her opinion that, in consequence of Don Aurelio's absence, Signor Massimo would cut short his visit at the Montanina. Upon learning that he was to leave that same evening, she gave an exclamation of relief, and, making an excuse that she really must know about his departure, because of some clothes the young man had sent to the wash, she inquired whether Signor Marcello would not try to induce him to stay longer. "Oh, no, no!" Leila exclaimed, with so much assurance that the maid was emboldened to speak out.

"Well, I am glad of that!" she said. Leila remained silent, but the woman's ejaculation struck her as very strange, for heretofore Teresina had been in the habit of speaking of Alberti in a tone of poetic admiration. Teresina, indeed, was only waiting for a word of astonishment or a question, but as Leila showed no intention of breaking the silence, she decided to proceed with her explanation. She remarked with a smile that she had that morning heard fine things concerning Signor Alberti. She had gone down to the station with the cook, who was on her way to the market at Arsiero, and the cook had repeated to her what the servant of Signora Bettina Pagan, the archpriest's sister-in-law, had told her. They knew all about this Signor Alberti up at the parsonage of Velo. They knew that, although he went to church, he was really much worse than Carnesecca as regards religion. And, moreover, he led an evil life with a married woman in Milan. "Indeed!" said Leila, with perfect indifference; and not another word did she utter. The maid, somewhat dismayed by this silence, hastened to proffer her excuses for having spoken of what did not concern her. A shrug of the shoulders was Leila's only answer. At that moment they turned in at the Montanina gate. The maid said no more, and went about her business. Leila stopped, and, leaning against the handrail of the Riderella bridge, gazed into the water, her heart torn between bitter pain and satisfaction. "He is unworthy, then! He is unworthy!" she repeated monotonously to herself, standing there like one turned to stone, while on either side the long, straggling branches of the rose-bushes pressed clusters of red roses against her, and the breeze, laden with the scent of new-mown hay, touched her softly, urging her to listen to the seductive voices of the flowers. "There is still love," they were saying. "There is still life!" But she neither saw nor heard them. For her the future held no love, no life.

* * * * *

Signor Marcello received the news of Massimo's proposed departure with apparent satisfaction. Leila reflected that he would be still better pleased did he but know what the Velo priests had learned. It seemed to her that by telling it she would more thoroughly confirm her own belief in it, but when the moment came to speak a forbidding voice vibrated deep within her. She spoke notwithstanding, her face aflame, but felt as she did so that she was doing wrong, very wrong. Signor Marcello listened with a frown, and when she had finished he observed that the priests of Velo would have done better to keep such things to themselves, and that he did not believe a word of the story. What could those men know about it? But, he added, things being as they were, it was useless to discuss the matter. On leaving the study, Leila crossed the drawing-room, and glancing at the easy-chair in which she had sat waiting, parasol in hand, but a few hours since, she thought of Donna Fedele, and then suddenly remembered a phrase of hers she had forgotten: "They have been telling you something evil...." And the voice deep within her said, "Donna Fedele knows of this story, and does not believe it."

* * * * *

Alberti returned to the Montanina towards four o'clock, and found a telegram from Don Aurelio awaiting him, which said that the priest was starting for Milan. There was also a letter from a Milanese friend, which he saw was too long and not sufficiently important to demand immediate attention, as he was pressed for time. He packed his portmanteaux and then went down to the drawing-room. There was no one there. He glanced at the piano and thought of the pansy that had fallen from Leila's belt and of the music of the "Aveu." Then, suddenly, he imagined himself holding in his arms the woman concerning whom he had been so deceived; but quickly and by a strong effort of his will he recalled his angry contempt for her.

"And so you are really going?" the old man said, with an embarrassment the meaning of which Massimo could not wholly grasp.

"I am really going," he replied. He showed Don Aurelio's telegram, and said that, although the priest had a friend in Milan, he himself wished to be there, at least during these first days, to give him all the help he could. When he came to the conventional expression of thanks, he declared that his gratitude to Signor Marcello was very great, and not for his hospitality alone. Here he paused, his emotion getting the better of him.

Signor Marcello, himself deeply moved, would have been willing to swear, at this moment, that the Velo priests were either mistaken or had lied. He longed to say, "Come back soon!" but restrained himself, and begged the young man to write and give him frequent news of himself and of Don Aurelio. When Massimo looked at his watch and rose to go, Signor Marcello rose also and followed him into the hall, arranging for his luggage to be carried to the station. Then he kissed him twice. "Once for _him_," he said, "and once for myself!"

"I hope you believe I am not unworthy of this," the young man whispered.

The answer came with a ring of conviction that startled him, so charged was it with hidden meaning.

"I believe you."

Massimo had already placed his hand upon the handle of the door above which hung the bell, but he hesitated before opening it.

"Do you wish to say goodbye to Leila?" Signor Marcello asked.

"If I might," Massimo answered, bowing slightly.