Chapter XIX: A Hero

WHEN she had given Maud's message to Mr. Marian, and he had gone to his daughter, Enid felt sure that Maud would not need her presence for some time, so she availed herself of the opportunity to take a walk.

Of late she had been in the house far more than was good for her, and her health had suffered in consequence. She had striven to be cheerful for her cousin's sake; but the many hours passed in the sick room, and the extent to which her sympathy and forbearance had been taxed, could not fail to exert a depressing influence on her. She felt sad and weary as she stepped into the street.

It was late in the afternoon, and the air was growing fresh. Enid liked to have a purpose in her walk, and she thought of an errand that would take her to the Borgo Santo Spirito, at the other side of the city. She passed along the Via Sistina, and descended the Spanish Steps.

She was crossing the piazza below, when someone uttered her name in a high, resonant voice, and looking round she found Miss Guy beside her. Enid was surprised to see her, for this lady had left the "pension" some weeks earlier, and Enid believed that she had returned to England. The surprise was hardly an agreeable one, but Enid did her best to respond cordially to the eagerness with which Miss Guy greeted her. Just as they were parting, she laid her hand on Enid's arm, and said, "Has your cousin heard the news about Miss Amory?"

"What news?" replied Enid in surprise.

"Ah! I thought very likely you might not have heard. I only got the news yesterday in a letter from London. She is engaged to be married."

"Is she really?" said Enid, interested at once. "Do you know to whom she is engaged? It is no one whom I know, I suppose?"

"Why, of course," said Miss Guy, laughing. "Who should it be but Mr. Dakin?"

Something like an electric shock seemed to pass through Enid as she heard the words; but the very extent to which she was startled prevented her from showing any particular emotion.

"Is it so?" she said, quietly. "Then I hope they will be happy. Miss Amory is very bright and pretty. But I must really be going on—good-bye." And she walked quickly away, whilst Miss Guy stood looking after her with a malicious smile on her face.

Enid had received a painful surprise; but the immediate effect of the news was to act as a stimulant to both body and mind. She walked on with a quick, vigorous step, and her head held high. A feeling of scorn had been awakened within her which gave her a curious sense of exaltation. She even felt a sort of wonder at herself that she should have heard such news and be so little affected by it. She thought of her cousin, and hoped that she would not be seriously disturbed when she learned what had come to pass. It seemed almost as if the fact had little interest for her, save as it might affect her cousin in her weak condition. It caused anxiety on Maud's account, that was all. Enid smiled to think how brief a time had passed since Julius Dakin had sought to win her for his wife. Well, the love he had offered then could not have been worth much. It would be foolish to grieve over the loss of so light a thing. And uplifted by pride, Enid felt wise and strong enough to defy this startling event to disturb her serenity of mind.

She walked on briskly, accomplished her errand, and then, yearning for a breath of purer air than could be had in the close ill-smelling streets of the Borgo, she ascended the straight steep street which leads to the church and convent of St. Onofrio, the home and tomb of Tasso, on the slopes of the Janiculum. She passed the convent and went on up the hill, lingering for a few moments at the spot where Tasso was wont to sit beneath his famous oak, which, crippled and propped, still lives to put forth leaves in an honoured old age. The view from this point is very fine, but finer still from the newly-made terrace above, to which Enid now ascended by a flight of stone steps.

Many times during her stay in Rome had she climbed that hill for the sake of the view it afforded; yet often as her eyes had been gladdened by the prospect, it seemed to her that it had never looked so lovely as now. Yet why did the sight bring tears to her eyes—for tears they certainly were which shone on the long dark lashes, and in her heart was a sore sense of bitterness and disappointment?

When Enid reached home, and went to her cousin's room, she found Mrs. Marian seated, knitting in hand, by Maud's side, whilst the face of the invalid wore a more tranquil expression than Enid had seen on it for some time. She looked at her cousin with a meaning smile which seemed to say, "You see I have done all that could be expected of me, and am trying to make the best of it."

But when presently Mrs. Marian went out and left them alone, Maud had little to say about what had passed.

"I have done my duty, Enid," was all she remarked; "but I won't pretend that I liked doing it, or that I feel wonderfully happy now it is done."

"But you will feel happier, though," said Enid.

Maud made no reply. Enid asked no questions. She felt that the less that was said about experiences so mortifying to Maud's pride the better. The strong prejudice Maud had conceived towards her father's wife could not be overcome in a day. Enid believed that in the end Mrs. Marian's gentle, loving disposition would win for her the affection of her stepdaughter; but this must be the work of time.

Meanwhile, in the days that followed, Enid watched anxiously the intercourse between the two, fearing lest anything should occur to check the slow growth of mutual esteem.

But Mrs. Marian was a model of discretion. She understood the character with which she had to deal, and she did not attempt to overstep the limits which Maud's manner tacitly imposed. She was careful not to give the young lady too much of her company, nor to annoy her with fussy attentions. Yet in many ways, Maud was made to feel the worth of Mrs. Marian's kind thoughtfulness, and her perfect comprehension of an invalid's needs.

Perhaps it was well that they were not together long at this time. Whether she were happier or not in consequence of having obeyed the voice of conscience, Maud's health improved from that day with rapid strides. Her recovery seemed now assured. She was strong enough to bear a short journey, and by the recommendation of the medical man, apartments were taken for her at Frascati, a charming summer resort on one of the slopes of the Alban Hills.

Mr. Marian thought that when he had seen his daughter settled at Frascati, he might return to the business which now urgently required his presence. Naturally he wished to take his bride with him. They had passed a strange honeymoon, but perhaps the hours of painful suspense and anxiety they had spent together had drawn their hearts closer to each other than they would have come in hours of mere pleasure-seeking. It hardly seemed right to leave with Enid the sole charge of the invalid. But when Maud received a hint of the difficulty, she at once made a suggestion which removed it.

"Let us ask Miss Strutt to go with us to Frascati," she said. "She knows the place well, and has often spent weeks there making sketches of the scenery. You need have no fear for us if she consents, for she is the most prudent old Scotch-woman you could find anywhere. And Enid likes her. It would please Enid, and she deserves to be considered, for she has had a sad time with me of late. She little thought what she was taking upon herself when she agreed to come abroad with me."

To the satisfaction of everyone concerned, Miss Strutt willingly consented to accompany the girls to Frascati. Enid had now to busy herself with preparations for their departure. The studio had to be dismantled, and its pretty things packed away in boxes. This was melancholy work. Maud had desired that her treasures should be so packed that they might easily be forwarded to her in London.

"For I shall never come back to work at the Studio Mariano," she said with a sigh.

"You think so now," Enid had replied, "but you will feel differently when you are strong again. There is no reason why you should not come back."

"I know; but I shall not do so," Maud said. "It has all been such a failure somehow."

Enid understood, and said no more.

One afternoon when Enid returned from spending some time at the studio, Maud asked her if she had seen Miss Strutt.

"No," said Enid. "I knocked at her door, but she was out."

"She has been here. She did not know that you were at the studio. She hoped she might meet you on the way back. Only think, Enid; she says that Mrs. Dakin and Julius came home last night."

"Indeed!" Enid bent hastily to inhale the perfume of a pot of heliotrope which stood near the window.

"Are not you glad, Enid?"

Enid ignored the question, and said, "Did Miss Strutt tell you any news of Julius Dakin?"

"No, indeed. What news should she tell me?"

"Oh, I did not know if you had heard. I was told the other day that he was engaged to Miss Amory."

"Who told you that?"

"It was Miss Guy."

"Then I don't believe it is true," said Maud.

"Oh yes, I think it is true," returned Enid nervously.

"Why should you? You know we have not always found Miss Guy's statements trustworthy."

Enid was silent. It had never occurred to her to doubt the accuracy of the intelligence given by Miss Guy.

"Do you hope that it is not true, Maud?" she asked presently.

"For some reasons I do," replied her cousin quietly.

Enid was still giving her attention to the flowers. She had not ventured to look at her cousin, but now as Maud spoke, she stole a glance at her. It was not as she had feared. Maud's face did indeed wear a thoughtful expression as she leaned back upon her cushions; but was hardly a troubled look. She had not grown pale, nor did she show any sign of excessive agitation. And when Enid looked again, Maud was actually smiling.

"When did Miss Guy tell you this?" she asked.

"More than a week ago," said Enid. "I met her in the Piazza di Spagna, as I was going for a walk."

"And you never told me—you never said a word of it till now. You naughty Enid! I know why you kept it from me. You thought, did you not, that it would hurt me to hear of Julius Dakin's engagement?"

Enid coloured guiltily, and could say nothing.

"I thought so," said Maud, laughing. "Well, I will be frank with you. Some time ago it might have disturbed me to hear such news. I believe I was silly enough to think that I—I cared for Julius Dakin. But I was cured of that folly when I heard the way in which he spoke of me that day in the studio. I don't know whether it was my heart or my vanity that felt the wound, but it was a wound. I could never feel the same towards Julius Dakin afterwards."

"It was very wrong of him to say what he did," said Enid.

"And yet he was right. The truth in his words made them sting the more. I was a joke as an artist—I can see that now."

"You were not, Maud," replied Enid; "you have a genuine love for everything that is beautiful; you have fine taste; you have the instincts of an artist."

"Without the power," observed Maud, drily. "Well, we will not discuss that. I am thinking about Miss Amory. I never liked the idea of Julius' marrying her, even after I had ceased to have silly fancies about myself; but now I really do not care whether he marries her or not. It is wonderful the change in one that an illness like mine makes. I feel quite another being, and my past life, with all its hopes and fears, seems a long, long way off, and so dreamlike—the experience of some one else rather than my own. Still, I am surprised at Julius Dakin. He always used to laugh so at Miss Amory; I never thought he could really care for her. But she is very rich, and men are incomprehensible beings."

"They are indeed," said Enid.

"There is one man, though, whom I thoroughly believe in," said Maud, with sudden energy, "and that is my dreadful friend and mentor, Sidney Althorp. Do you know that he is to be my father's partner? Father has been telling me about it this morning."

"I thought it would be so," replied Enid, "and I am very glad."

"I need not have distressed myself," she thought, as she went away to her own room. "I need not have feared that Maud would break her heart for Julius Dakin's sake. What a difference it would have made to me if I had known the truth before! But I am thankful—oh yes!—I am most thankful that I acted as I did."

Enid locked the door of the Studio Mariano and drew out the key. The action was familiar enough, but to-day it had for her a peculiar significance, for she said to herself that it was the last time. Maud's possessions had already been removed to a place of security. Nothing remained in the apartment except what was the property of the "padrone," and Enid was about to return to him the key.

She paused for a moment on the landing. All was still in the house, for the season was now far advanced, and most of the artists who worked there in the winter had already taken their departure. Enid and her cousin, with Miss Strutt, were to leave Rome on the morrow.

"So," said Enid to herself; half aloud, "it is all over."

There was something so melancholy in the thought, it was so painful to recall all that had happened since the last hours of work and chat which had been spent in that room, that Enid suddenly turned and hurried down the stairs, as if anxious to escape from the place, gave up the key, and was thankful to find herself in the street.

She was passing along the Via Sistina when an alarming thing occurred. Without the least warning a loud report rent the air—so loud, so near, that everyone in the street was painfully startled, and turned with one accord in the direction whence the sound came.

On the other side of the Piazza Barberini a cloud of smoke, or dust could be seen rising.

"A house has fallen!" was the cry.

Such events are not unknown in the history of modern Rome, where tall houses of barrack-like ugliness are being rapidly constructed with little regard to their safety or sanitation, whilst the beauty of the old city is recklessly sacrificed to the supposed necessities of modern life.

Enid found herself borne along in the stream of persons who quickly gathered together from houses and street corners, and made for the scene of the disaster. But mid-way in the piazza they were met by a number of persons hurrying from the spot, and the excitement was increased by the tidings which these brought.

Enid turned to a man standing near, and learned from him that part of an old house, which was being rebuilt, had fallen, and it was feared that several workmen were buried under the "débris."

"Ah, poor fellows!" she exclaimed, sickening with horror at the thought of their suffering. "They will surely be killed."

The man shrugged his shoulders, not unfeelingly, but by way of expressing his sense of their small chance of escape.

Enid waited some minutes longer, but could learn no more. The crowd was increasing at every instant; but the police had mustered too, and were forcibly preventing the people from approaching dangerously near to the wrecked house. As the pressure grew uncomfortable, Enid was glad to extricate herself from the crowd, and returned home by some of the quieter back streets.

Maud had begun to throw off her invalid habits, and was now well enough to receive visitors. When Enid entered her room, she found Mrs. Dakin with her. That lady greeted Enid very warmly.

"Well, Enid," she said, "I little thought to find you still in Rome on my return; but this has been a sad illness of Maud's. However, it is over now, so we will not speak of it. I tell her she is prettier than ever, with her short baby locks and delicate bloom. But you are not looking well, Enid. I declare you have given your roses to your cousin."

"I never had any to give," said Enid rather bluntly—she disliked the least approach to flattery. "My colour was never anything but a good serviceable brown."

"Well, whatever it was—we will not quarrel as to the shade—you have lost it altogether now."

"I have been rather frightened," said Enid. "Did you hear the noise of that house falling?"

"Indeed we did," said Maud. "It startled me dreadfully. I could not think what it meant till the servant came and told us what had happened. Have you heard any particulars?"

Enid told all she knew. They discussed the accident for some minutes.

Then Maud asked Mrs. Dakin if Miss Amory were with her.

"No, indeed," was the reply. "She is not likely to bestow her company on me just now. She is visiting some of the relatives of her 'fiancé.'"

Then, seeing the girls' astonished looks, Mrs. Dakin added quickly—

"Oh, surely you have not heard and believed that ridiculous report?"

"We were told," said Maud, "that there was a prospect of Miss Amory's becoming your daughter-in-law."

"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Dakin in a tone of quiet exasperation. "I should like to know who has spreading that story amongst my acquaintance. And yet perhaps it is only a natural mistake, for Blanche 'is' going to marry a Mr. Dakin, a cousin of my husband."

"Indeed! How strange that is!" said Maud, highly interested. "It has come about very quickly, has it not?"

"With quite marvellous celerity," said Mrs. Dakin, her brows slightly contracted. Evidently the match was not entirely to her mind.

"Is he nice?" asked Maud.

"He is very rich," said Mrs. Dakin drily, "but otherwise, not the sort of man I should have imagined Blanche Amory would choose."

Enid heard all in silence. She felt convinced that Miss Guy had purposely misled her with respect to Miss Amory's engagement, but it hardly seemed worth while to be angry now. She was half ashamed of the change wrought in her feelings by this explanation of the true state of affairs. It was as if a great weight were lifted off her heart. She dared not look at her cousin—not that she had any fear of what she would see on Maud's countenance, but because she dreaded lest Maud should read her own too truly.

But the talk went on, and apparently neither of the other two observed Enid's silence. Mrs. Dakin had much to relate concerning her visit to London. Tea was brought in, and Enid roused herself, and began to take part in the conversation. The visitor seemed in no hurry to depart, and as she was a charming companion, the girls tried to detain her as long as possible. She had been there nearly an hour when at last she rose to go.

"I shall hope to see you again before long," she said, as she bade Maud good-bye. "Julius must drive me out to Frascati some day. I hope to remain at home till the end of June, if the heat is not too dreadful."

Enid accompanied her to the outer door. As they were saying a final good-bye, another loud report shook the house and jarred all the windows.

Mrs. Dakin uttered a nervous scream. "This is dreadful!" she said. "Another wall must have fallen. It is shameful that such things should occur in Rome! Someone must be very much to blame."

"Oh, I do hope there are no more lives lost," said Enid, pale with dread.

At that moment, Mr. Marian came up the stairs.

"Ah, you have been frightened—and no wonder!" he said, approaching the ladies. "But I think you need not fear that any more persons are injured. They were expecting another portion of the house to fall when I was there just now, and the police were doing their utmost to keep everyone at a safe distance."

"Have they been able to extricate those poor workmen?" asked Enid anxiously.

"Yes; I believe they have got them all out. One poor fellow was killed, and another was so injured that his recovery seems almost impossible. Four of them have been removed to the hospital. The King has been there, superintending the efforts of the rescuers, and even working himself, at considerable risk, in the hope of saving the poor men."

"That is just like him!" exclaimed Mrs. Dakin enthusiastically. "What a noble man he is!"

"Yes, indeed," echoed Enid; "he is a true hero. Rome has some living ones still, though most of her heroes are dead and gone."

"They have passed from earth," said Mr. Marian, "but in a sense they are neither dead nor gone. The spirit of a grand heroic life lives on after the human life is ended, and has its influence on succeeding generations."

Enid hastened away to see if her cousin had been greatly disturbed by the second shock, and Mr. Marian conducted Mrs. Dakin down to her carriage.

Since Maud's illness, and the arrival of Mr. Marian and his wife at the "pension," Enid had not dined at the common table. Mr. Marian had engaged a private sitting-room for his party, and their meals were served to them there. Enid thus missed hearing the eager discussion of the day's alarming incident which went on at Signora Grassi's dinner-table.

Mr. Marian, seeing that all the ladies were excited and perturbed by what had happened, resolutely talked of other things. For Maud's sake, Enid seconded his efforts, but her thoughts continually reverted to the accident. It had produced on her mind a strange sense of foreboding, for which it was impossible to account. She tried hard to appear unmoved, and succeeded, though in truth her nerves were more shaken by the event than were Maud's.

After dinner, Enid went to her room to finish her packing, but presently a restless desire for further news led her into the corridor, and she passed along it till she gained the door of the dining-room.

The dinner was over, but some few ladies still sat at the table trifling with the dessert, and talking with much eagerness. Enid heard their words clearly as she lingered in the shadow of the doorway.

"Poor fellow!" said one. "I should be grieved if he is really dangerously hurt. They say his courage was splendid. He was warned that it was not safe to linger another moment, but he was intent upon saving the man, and would not think of himself."

"What man? I do not understand," said another voice.

"Why, did you not hear what Mr. Archer was telling us about it? It seems that there was a man in a doorway, pinned in by a mass of brick, but almost unhurt. They were working frantically to set him free, and had all but released him, when there was a shout that the wall above was tottering to its fall. Everyone ran back except Mr. Julius Dakin. He 'would' not till he had torn away the last stone and set the man free. Then both ran; but the falling wall caught Mr. Dakin and felled him to the ground."

"Oh, how dreadful! Was he very much hurt?"

"No one knows yet. He was taken up insensible. I should think myself such a blow might be his death."

Enid felt as if she were turning to stone as she listened. She clung to the wall for support, conscious of nothing save a sense of pain and blankness and despair. Suddenly Signora Grassi came along the passage. Enid sprang forward and grasped her with both hands.

"Oh, signora, is it true?"

"Is what true, 'carina?'" she asked, startled by her agitated manner.

"What they are saying about Mr. Dakin? Is he really so seriously hurt?"

"It is true that he has met with an injury. Let us hope it is not so very bad. My dear child, I am sorry you have learned this so suddenly. I forgot that he was a friend of yours."

"Oh, it does not matter about me," said Enid faintly, "only I wanted to know."

She controlled herself with an effort, turned, and walked slowly down the passage. She entered her room again, and sat down on the side of her bed, strewn with articles that she had been about to put into her trunk. Opposite her, gaping open, stood the half-filled trunk. Enid gazed at it with vacant eyes.

"Yes," she said to herself, half aloud, "there are still heroes in the world. He is one too. I always knew there was good in him. But oh! If this should be his—" She could not utter the word death.

Suddenly a mist seemed to float before her eyes. The trunk at which she was gazing swelled mysteriously to vast proportions, and rose towards the ceiling. The room appeared to be turning round. Enid grasped the bedclothes to save herself from falling, then sank backwards till her head rested amongst the dainty collars and cuffs spread out upon the coverlet.

When she came to herself, she was lying at full length upon the bed, from which the things which littered it had been removed. Someone held a bottle of strong smelling-salts to her nostrils, and with the other hand waved over her a palm-leaf fan. Enid looked up, and met the kind, anxious gaze of Mrs. Marian.

"Ah, she is better—she is coming round!" she observed in a low voice.

"What is it?" asked Enid, trying to raise herself. "Why—why, I must have fainted. I never did it before."

"And you must never do it again," said Mrs. Marian smiling. "I am grieved to think that we have let you come to this. We have been thinking so much of Maud that we have forgotten to take proper care of you, my poor child."

"Oh no, indeed; it is not that—it is not your fault at all," said Enid faintly.

"I fear it is; I blame myself very much," replied Mrs. Marian. "How your mother would reproach me if she knew!"

The mention of her mother was too much for Enid at that moment. "Oh, I wish mother were here!" she said, and began to sob.

"Now, don't cry, there's a good child, but drink this, and you'll feel better directly!" said a brisk voice on the other side of her.

And there, to Enid's surprise, stood Miss Strutt with a glass, which she at once held to the patient's lips in a decided fashion it was impossible to resist. Enid drank the cordial, and felt better. She even made a feeble effort to rise, but Miss Strutt at once put her back upon her pillow, saying—

"No, indeed; you will do nothing of the kind. You will please to lie perfectly still whilst I finish your packing. I think I know how to pack as well as you do."

"A great deal better, I have no doubt," said Enid. "But, Miss Strutt—"

She grasped her friend's hand, and drew her close to her, then whispered—"You have heard what has happened?"

"Yes, my dear child, I have heard, and I understand. Oh, you need not mind me. You must not grieve yet, Enid, for I hope it is not so bad as you fear. I have been to the house, and they say that the doctor speaks hopefully. He was stunned, and is still unconscious, and his arm is broken; but they hope there is no more serious injury."

But Enid grew so white as she heard this, that Miss Strutt hastened to add, in a rallying tone, "Come Enid, you must not let a broken arm frighten you! Think what a hero he has shown himself; and remember that a man cannot be a hero for nothing. You ought to be proud of your friend."

A faint flush appeared on Enid's face as her heart thrilled in response to Miss Strutt's words.

"Yes, I am proud of him," she thought, whilst glad tears came to her eyes, and her heart found courage to hope that all would yet be well.