Chapter III: Book I: Master of Fate (3)

"You and Miss Thayer are arguing my case far better than I can do it myself," replied Armstrong, undisturbed. "The triumphs of Watt and Edison and Marconi and Bell are all intellectual, even though utilitarian. Each of these men has proved himself humanistic, in that he has given to the world the best that is in him, and not simply modified or readapted some previous achievement. If they were not limited by living in an age of specialization they might even have been humanists. Right here in Italy you see the same thing to-day. The Italians are beyond any other race intellectually fit to rule the world now as they once did, and it is simply because they have been unable to withstand materialism that they have not reclaimed their own."

"Just what do you mean by 'humanism,' Jack?" Helen asked, abruptly.

"The final definition of modern humanism will not be written for several years," Armstrong answered. "The world is not yet ready for it, and I am afraid Cerini's creed of ancient humanism would strike you as being rather heavy."

"Let me see if I could comprehend it." Helen looked across to Inez, and the eyes of the two girls met with mutual understanding. "Can you repeat it?"

"I know it word for word," her husband replied, eagerly, delighted to have Helen manifest an interest. "It was the first lesson the old man taught me, years ago. 'The humanist,' Cerini says, 'is the man who not only knows intimately the ancients and is inspired by them: it is he who is so fascinated by their magic spell that he copies them, imitates them, rehearses their lessons, adopts their models and their methods, their examples and their gods, their spirit and their tongue.'"

Helen was visibly disappointed. "I thought I had an idea," she said, slowly, "but I was wrong. Inez used the word 'humanities' a few moments ago, and I once heard President Eliot say that this was simply another name for a liberal education--teaching men to drink in the inspiration of all the ages and to seek to make their age the best."

"You are not wrong, Helen," continued Armstrong, "unless you understand President Eliot to mean that the ages which have come since these great men lived have been able to add particularly to what has gone before. All that is included in what Cerini says."

"Then the present, which I love so well, means nothing?"

"It means a great deal." Armstrong laughed at the injured tone of Helen's voice. "The great material achievements of the present, which you just heard cited by Miss Thayer and Uncle Peabody, are of vast importance, but the age does not stand out as a period of intellectual progression. The achievements themselves, and the new conditions which they introduce, make that impossible."

"Can we not admire the past and enjoy what it has given us without becoming a part of it ourselves?" persisted Helen.

"Not if we remain true to our ideals. I spoke just now of Leonardo and Michelangelo as being the foremost examples of humanists. By that I mean that they represent the highest point of intellectual manhood. Da Vinci was a great writer, a great painter, a great scientist, a great engineer, a great mechanician, while Buonarroti was famous not only as a sculptor, but also as a painter, an architect, and a poet. And these men had to develop their own precedent, while all who have striven for more than mediocrity since then have propped themselves up on the work of these and other great masters. Can you wonder that my own great ambition, quite impossible of accomplishment, is to emulate these men--not in the same pursuits, but in some way, in any way, which enables me to give to the world the best that is in me. Should I gratify myself in this, that which I accomplished would be done simply in the fulfilment of my effort, and I should gain my recompense in the knowledge that it _was_ my best. This is my understanding of Cerini's creed."

"All this is most interesting," admitted Helen. "It is indeed splendid to know the ancients intimately, and to receive their inspiration. It is fine to imitate them and to rehearse their lessons, but I don't see why we should bind ourselves down to the old-time limitations by using their methods when, to my mind, our own methods are so much better suited to modern conditions?"

"Your position is fully justified, Helen, if you really believe these methods to be limitations," replied Armstrong, seriously. "For my part, I do not feel this. I accept the Cerini creed without qualification. I grant you that many things of the past are limitations, but there are certain cardinal principles which must remain the same so long as the world lasts and which are not subject to what you call 'modern conditions.'"

"To be wholly consistent, Jack," pursued Uncle Peabody, "should you not adopt their tongue--as called for in the creed?"

"Not necessarily, as the 'creed' is, of course, idealistic; but the only reason I do not do so is because of the limitations which are placed upon us--this time by modern civilization. Cerini and I converse for hours together in the Latin tongue, but it is very seldom that I find the opportunity to do this. Why is it that Latin is used in medicine, in botany, in science, to give names to various specimens or species? Simply because French, German, Italian, English may be forgotten languages a few centuries hence, but Latin--the so-called dead language--will be as enduring then as now."

"I can never hope to become as much of an enthusiast as you, Mr. Armstrong," Inez said, finally, as the others gave up the argument in despair; "and I suppose you will never forgive me if I say that I fear it would be very uncomfortable for me if I did. You must simply let me browse around the edges as a neophyte while you and the master quaff the nectar and ambrosia of the gods."

"And I cannot even do that," added Helen, rising from the balustrade. "I cannot give up my dear present even to agree with my learned husband. You don't want me to say that I am sorry I am living among all these imperfect conditions when I really find them very satisfactory and enjoyable? It is wrong of you so to break down my modern idols. There are our guests," she continued, as a laughing group appeared on the veranda. "As penance I decree that you shall take each of us by the hand and lead us back to the villa--the Humanist flanked by the Pagan and the Christian. Arise, thou ancient one, and lead us on!"

VI

The visits which Armstrong and Miss Thayer made to the library became of daily occurrence. Encouraged by his companion's interest, and the eagerness with which she assimilated the enthusiasm which he and Cerini were only too willing to share with her, Armstrong promptly embraced a scheme for definite work suggested to him by the librarian. Inez at first proved only a sympathetic spectator, but by the third or fourth day she found herself a distinct part of the working force. She demurred half-heartedly, but when it became evident that she could really make herself of service she entered into it with characteristic intensity which increased from day to day.

Soon after the departure of the guests the automobile arrived, and transformed Armstrong from a Humanist into an Egoist and then into a Mechanist. For the moment the material concern took precedence over the intellectual.

"Of course I expect to have the chauffeur do the work once we are under way," he half apologized to Uncle Peabody, who with a good-natured interest watched him taking the precious machine to pieces; "but before I trust it to any one I must understand it thoroughly myself."

"Quite right, quite right," Uncle Peabody assented, cheerfully. "I believe in that theory entirely. I have noticed when my friends have found themselves stalled on the road that it never annoys them half so much if they can explain the reason why. Besides, from a secondary consideration, I suppose it adds something to the safety to know the machine yourself."

As the car had arrived in advance of the chauffeur, Armstrong had plenty of time to study the mechanism. It came to pieces with consummate ease. Its new owner had never claimed much knowledge along these lines, but the simplicity of this particular machine increased his respect for his judgment as a purchaser and his natural though hitherto undeveloped ability as a mechanic.

"These Frenchmen," he confided enthusiastically to Uncle Peabody, "have the rest of the world beaten to a stand-still in building automobiles. My hat is off to them."

"Would you not be even more comfortable if you removed your shirt as well?" suggested Uncle Peabody, mischievously, as he glanced sympathetically at Armstrong's face, from which the perspiration rolled down onto his collar in response to his unusual exertions and the heat of the full Italian sun.

"It is nearly to pieces now," Armstrong replied, complacently. "I will wait until it is cooler before I set it up again."

True to his word, Armstrong began work on the restoration early next morning, but the heat of the day found him still at his labors and in no cheerful frame of mind. Uncle Peabody's philosophical suggestions had proved unacceptable some hours before. Helen's remark that she did not believe the three extra pieces Jack held despairingly in his hand had come from that particular machine at all brought forth such a withering expression of pitying contempt that she flew back to the house in alarm. Even the servants found that the opposite side of the villa demanded their especial care. A truce was declared for the _colazione_, but Armstrong devoured his repast in silence, showing no interest in the animated conversation, and with scant apologies left the table long in advance of the others to resume his task.

At five o'clock a dusty _vettura_ drove noisily into the driveway, and from his point of vantage, lying on his back underneath the automobile, Armstrong saw Mr. Ferdinand De Peyster alight. With a curse muttered, not from any antipathy to his visitor, but simply on general principles, he laboriously extricated himself from his position with a view to the extension of hospitality. De Peyster saw the movement and hastily approached.

Ferdinand De Peyster was a distinct individuality, which in a degree explained the criticism which some of his friends passed upon him. His foreign descent, though now tempered by two generations of American influence, was probably responsible for the fact that he was "different from other men." Always faultlessly dressed, his taste followed the continental styles rather than those which other men about him were in the habit of adopting, so while Americans in Florence were clad in flannels, _neglige_ shirts, and white buckskins, De Peyster appeared at the Villa Godilombra immaculate in the conventional lounging-coat, tucked shirt and lavender gloves, with white spats over his patent-leather shoes. There was more of a contrast between visitor and guest at that moment than Armstrong realized as he emerged in his old clothes, thoroughly soaked through with perspiration, and with his hands and face grimy with oil and dirt.

De Peyster drew back instinctively as the full vision of Jack's figure presented itself. "Comprenez vous francais?"

Armstrong stopped in his advance as he heard the question and noted the superior tone in which it was delivered. Then the humor of the situation appealed to him.

"Yes, sir," he replied, respectfully, "or English, if you prefer."

De Peyster's face brightened. "Ah! Mr. Armstrong brought you over with him?" he remarked, becoming almost sociable.

"Yes, sir," Jack replied, truthfully. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

"I am Mr. De Peyster," said Ferdinand, with condescension--"a friend of your master's in America. Is he at home this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir--"

Before Armstrong could continue De Peyster approached nearer to him and lowered his voice. "I say--is there a Miss Thayer from America visiting here just now?"

A quick movement on De Peyster's part deposited a franc in Jack's grimy palm. Holding his hand in front of him, his astonished look alternated between the piece of silver and his friend's face until he found himself unable to keep up the farce.

"De Peyster, you are a fraud!" Armstrong laughed boisterously at the look of dismay in Ferdinand's face as a realization came to him. "Do you mean to tell me that the joys of a honeymoon and life in Italy have wrought so many changes that you don't recognize me?"

"But can you blame me?" De Peyster joined in the merriment. "Run and get some one to tell you how you look."

The sound of this unexpected hilarity reached the terrace, and Uncle Peabody, flanked by both of the girls, came rushing out fearful lest Jack's problem had resulted in temporary mental derangement. A glance at the picture before them, however, explained the situation better than words, and Helen hurried forward to greet her visitor while Inez followed behind.

"Ferdy De Peyster--in the flesh!" cried Helen. "What does this mean, and when did you reach Florence?"

Armstrong gave him no opportunity to reply. "He prefers to speak French, Helen, and he is just throwing his money around."

Then turning to De Peyster and exhibiting his _pourboire_, he repeated, "Comprenez vous francais?" while both men went off again into a paroxysm of laughter.

"What is the joke?" Helen asked, looking from one to the other completely mystified.

"It is a good one--and on me," replied De Peyster. "I took him for the chauffeur, you know."

Helen looked at her husband. "Is it safe for me to laugh now, Jack?" she asked. "I am glad something has happened to put you in good-humor. Can you be induced to leave your work for the rest of the day and make yourself presentable to join us in the garden?"

Armstrong cast a despairing glance at the machine.

"Of course," he said. "I shall be fresher in the morning, anyway, and I am sure I can fix it up then."

"Nothing like knowing all about it yourself, Jack," Uncle Peabody remarked, innocently. "These French machines are so simple!"

"You take the girls back to the garden," Armstrong replied, emphatically, "and kindly devote your attention to your own theories, or I will put you at work on the blamed thing yourself to-morrow."

De Peyster greeted Inez effusively, paying but little attention to Helen and Uncle Peabody as they strolled back to the garden, while Jack disappeared in-doors.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed as they reached the balustrade. "How did Armstrong happen to find a place like this? Is it not simply splendid, Inez?"

Inez Thayer resented something--she did not quite know what. She had been expecting De Peyster's arrival daily, yet now that he had come she was still unprepared. She could find no fault with his attentions except that they had been too assiduous. Perhaps it was that, try as she could, she had been quite unable to convince him that his devotion was useless. He accepted each rebuff philosophically and bided his time.

Annetta skilfully arranged the chairs and laid the little table, placed, as Helen had taught her, in a spot commanding the exquisite view of the valley and San Miniato beyond. Luscious _fragole_, cooling _gelati_, seducing little Italian _paste_, as only Helen's cook could make them, and a refreshing Asti cup replaced the tea which the girls had decided would be less acceptable on this particular day; and by the time all was in readiness Armstrong joined them clothed in his proper mind and raiment.

The conversation turned upon the voyage across.

"We had an awfully jolly crowd on board," said De Peyster. "There were Emory and Eustis, who you say have just left you, and then there were three charming married women who insisted on my playing bridge with them every afternoon."

"They did not have to insist very hard, did they, Ferdy?" interrupted Helen--"with your reputation for gallantry."

Ferdinand smiled complacently. "Making up a fourth at bridge comes under the definition of 'first aid to the wounded,'" he replied, "but I did not object at all to being the doctor. Their conversation was so clever, you know."

"Clever conversation always helps good bridge," Armstrong interrupted, dryly; but De Peyster was already deep in his story.

"One afternoon they had a discussion as to how large an allowance for personal expenses would make each one perfectly happy,--funny subject, wasn't it? Well, one of them said ten thousand a year would take care of her troubles nicely; the second one was more modest and thought five thousand would do,--but what do you think my partner said? She was a demure little lady from Chicago and had only been married a year and a half."

"Don't keep us in suspense, Ferdy," said Helen, as De Peyster yielded to the humor of his recollections.

"Truly, it was awfully funny," he continued. "She looked rather frightened when the conversation began, and when they urged her to set a price she said, 'I would be perfectly satisfied if I could afford to spend just what I am spending.'"

"She had a conscience--that is the only difference between her and the other women," Armstrong commented.

"Perhaps," added Helen; "but I'll guarantee that in another year she will be getting a divorce from her husband on the ground of incompatibility of income."

"Then in the evenings," De Peyster went on, "the men got together in the smoke-room, but I think we drank too much. I always felt uncomfortable when I got up next morning."

"Another encouragement for my _magnum opus_!" exclaimed Uncle Peabody. "I am going to invent a wine possessing such qualities that the more one drinks of it the better he will feel next morning."

"If you succeed you will have clubdom at your feet," Armstrong replied, while De Peyster feelingly nodded assent.

"Would you mind if I invited Inez to drive with me to-morrow, Helen?" ventured Ferdinand, abruptly, looking anxiously at Miss Thayer. "I know you honeymooners won't mind being left alone if I can persuade her."

"By all means, Ferdy--unless Inez has some other plans. Jack has been making her ride his hobby ever since she arrived, and I have no doubt she will be glad enough to escape us for a little breathing-spell."

"If you put it that way I shall certainly decline"--Inez failed to show any great enthusiasm--"but otherwise I shall be very glad to go."

"Jack intends to put his automobile together to-morrow," Uncle Peabody remarked, "so it will be just as well not to have any one outside the family within hearing distance."

Armstrong tried to wither Uncle Peabody with a glance, but ran up against a smiling face so beaming with good-nature that even real anger would have been dispelled.

"For Helen's sake--" Jack began, but Uncle Peabody interrupted.

"For Helen's sake you will hasten the arrival of your chauffeur, if such a thing be possible."

* * * * *

The following day was an eventful one. First of all, as if in response to Uncle Peabody's exhortation, the chauffeur appeared. Mr. Cartwright departed for the city soon after breakfast, to be gone all day, and by the time the heat of the afternoon had subsided De Peyster drove up in state to enforce the promise Inez had given him the afternoon before. After watching them drive away, Helen slipped her hand through her husband's arm and gently drew him with her into the garden. They walked in silence, Helen's head resting against his shoulder, until they reached her favorite vantage-spot, when she paused and looked smilingly into his face.

"Jack dear," she said, quietly, "do you realize that this is almost the first time we have really been by ourselves since we took that walk to Fiesole?"

"But at least you have had an opportunity to show your villa to your friends!"

"Don't joke, Jack--I am not in the mood for it this afternoon. I don't know why, but I have been feeling very serious these last few days. Tell me, dear--are you perfectly happy?"

Armstrong looked surprised. "Why, yes--perfectly happy. What a curious notion!"

"I know it is, but humor me just this once. Are you as fond of me now as you were that day at Fiesole?"

"You silly child!" Jack drew her to him and kissed her. "Whatever has possessed you to-day?"

"I don't know, but you see I measure everything by that day at Fiesole. I believe it was the happiest day I ever spent. Since then, somehow, I have felt that we were not so near together. Of course, you have been away a good deal at the library and looking up things with Inez, which was just what I wanted you to do; and then we have had a good many here to entertain, which was also what I wanted; but I can't help feeling that you have not found here at home just what you should have found to make you perfectly happy. Tell me, dear, have I been to blame?"

Armstrong paused as if weighing something heavily in his mind. "Perhaps I have no right to go on with this work," he remarked, at length, "but the only way to stop it would be to leave Florence."

"You know I don't mean that, Jack."

"I know you don't. I am speaking simply for myself."

He was again silent, and Helen hesitated to break in upon his reverie. He seemed for the moment to be far away from her, and she felt an intangible barrier between them.

"I could not make any one understand." Armstrong was speaking more to himself than to her. "Ever since I left Florence years ago I have felt something pulling me back, and ever since I have been here I have been under influences which I can explain no more than I can resist. It must be this, if anything, that you feel."

"I think I understand," Helen hastened to reassure him. "Sometimes when I have been playing something on the piano I have the strangest sensation come over me. I seem to lose my own individuality and to be merged into another's. I feel impelled to play on, and an unspeakable dread comes over me lest some one should try to stop me. Is it not something like that which you feel?"

"Yes," replied Armstrong, "only a thousand times stronger than any one could put in words."

"I know exactly what you mean--and there is nothing for which you need blame yourself. You warned me before we left Boston that you had left here a second personality. I know that you confidently expected your own enthusiasm to excite my interest when once in the atmosphere. I wish that it had, dear, but I fear I am hopelessly modern."

Armstrong looked at his wife intently, yet he gave no evidence that he had heard her words.

"I have started on a great task at the library, Helen. The spirit of work is on me, and I feel that I have a chance to prove myself one of that glorious company. I may find myself unequal to the opportunity, but if we stay here in Florence I cannot keep away from it. If my absence from you makes you unhappy I must separate myself from these associations."

"No, indeed," cried Helen. "I would not have you stop your work for worlds. Even though I am unable to appreciate it, you know how interested I am in anything which adds to your happiness--and I am so proud of you, dear! That was one reason why I was glad that Inez could spend a little time with us. She, at least, can help you."

"She can indeed," replied Armstrong, frankly, "and she has already. I have never seen a girl with such natural intellectual gifts. Her arguments are so logical, her reasoning so clear, that I find even her disagreements most entertaining. What a pity she is not a man!"

"I knew you would like her," answered Helen. "Sometimes I think you ought to have married a girl like her instead of me, but"--Helen looked at him smilingly and drew closer to him--"but I am awfully glad that you didn't, Jack!"

"What nonsense, Helen!" cried Armstrong, coming to himself and drawing her to him. "Who is fishing now? I would ask no better chum than your charming, brown-eyed friend, but I am quite content that I possess as wife this sweet girl here in my arms who is trying to find a cloud in this cloudless sky."

"Oh no, Jack." Helen straightened up reproachfully. "But I like to hear you say these things--just as you did that day at Fiesole! And even if I should find a cloud it would be sure to have a silver lining, wouldn't it, dear?"

Armstrong smiled. "Yes, sweetheart, and, as Uncle Peabody says, 'all you would have to do would be to turn it around lining side out.'"

VII

Inez Thayer found herself overwhelmed by a varied mingling of conflicting emotions as she settled herself in the victoria, and listened without remark to the enthusiastic and joyous monologue to which her companion gave free rein. She felt herself absolutely helpless, borne along resistlessly like a rudderless ship by a force which she could neither control nor fully comprehend. She still longed for a valid excuse to leave Florence, yet in her heart she questioned whether she would now be strong enough to embrace the opportunity even if it came. She had dreaded the certain appearance of De Peyster, yet she had been eager to enter into the inevitable final discussion so that the episode might be closed forever. She said to herself that she hated Armstrong for the mastery which he unconsciously possessed over her, yet every thought of him thrilled her with a delight which nothing in her life had before given her. The color came to her cheeks even now, and De Peyster, watching her intently, thought it was in response to his own remark and felt encouraged.

The drive took them, as a matter of course, to the Cascine, where fashionable Florence parades up and down the delightful avenues formed by the pines and the ilexes. On this particular afternoon the heat encouraged them to take refuge on the shadier side toward the mountains, reserving the drive along the Arno until the brilliant coloring of the setting sun should show them both Bellosguardo and the city itself in their fullest glory. De Peyster was intoxicated by the enjoyment of his environment, and seemed quite content to accept his companion's passive submission to his mood. At length his exuberance of spirits became mildly contagious, and Inez threw off her apprehensions and forgot the dangers and perplexities which she felt surrounded her.

But her feeling of security was short-lived. De Peyster no sooner became conscious of her change of manner than he seized it as a long-awaited opportunity. Beginning where he had left off at the last attack, he rehearsed the history of his affection from the day he had first met her until the present moment. For the first time Inez experienced a sympathy toward him rather than a sorrow for herself. He was, even with his limitations, so deadly in earnest, his devotion was so unquestionable, his very persistency was so unlike his other characteristics, seeming a part of a stronger personality, that it forced her admiration. And yet how far below the standard she had set!

"You have not believed me, Ferdinand, when I have told you over and over again that what you ask is absolutely impossible." Inez spoke kindly but very firmly. "I truly wish it might be otherwise, but it is kinder that I make you understand it now instead of having this unhappiness for us both continue indefinitely. I know you mean every word, but I say to you now finally and irrevocably--it can never be."

De Peyster looked into her face searchingly. "You never said it like that before, Inez."

"Yes, I have--not once, but many times, and in almost the same words."

"But it is not the words that count, Inez. I don't care how many times you say it in the way you always have said it before. I expected to hear it again. But this tone, Inez, this manner is quite different; and for the first time I have a feeling that perhaps you do mean it after all."

"I do mean it, and I have meant it every time I have said it."

Inez was relentless, but she felt that this was the one time when matters could be finally settled, and the carriage had already begun the climb to Settignano.

De Peyster still gazed at her with uncertainty. Then a sudden light came to him and showed in his face, mingling with the evident pain which the thought brought him.

"I have it," he said, bending toward her to watch her expression more intently; "I have it. You are in love with some one else!"

Inez felt her face burn with the suddenness of the accusation. She hesitated, and in that moment's hesitation De Peyster had his answer. Still he was not satisfied. He must hear the words spoken.

"You told me last time that there was no one else," he said, reproachfully, "and I know you spoke the truth. Now there must be some one, and if there is I am entitled to know it. So long as my love for you cannot harm you, no power on earth can take it away from me; but if there is another who has a better right than I, that is a different matter. Tell me, Inez--I insist--do you love some one else?"

There was no retreat. Any denial of words would be useless, and it was the only way to end things after all. She lifted her eyes to his and spoke calmly, though the color had fled from her cheeks and her face was deathly pale. "Yes, Ferdinand, you are entitled to know it. I do love some one else, and I love him better than my life!"

"I knew it!" De Peyster exclaimed, dejectedly.

There was a long pause, during which he struggled bravely with himself.

"Tell me who it is," he said, at length. "Of course, this makes it different."

Inez could not help admiring the unexpected strength.

"No, Ferdinand, I cannot. This is my secret, and you must not question further."

"But it must be some one here, for you told me just before you sailed that there was no one."

"Perhaps here--perhaps elsewhere. You must leave it there, Ferdinand. If you care for me, as you say you do, I ask you to leave it there."

De Peyster bowed submissively and shared her evident desire for silence during the few moments which remained of their drive.

Helen and Jack met them at the villa, and were greatly disappointed that Ferdinand declined their pressing invitation to stay for supper in the garden. A promise that he would take tea with them on the following afternoon was all they could secure from him, and when Inez rushed up-stairs promptly upon his departure Jack looked at Helen meaningly.

"She must have turned him down good and hard this time, eh?"

"Poor Ferdy!" Helen replied, sympathetically. "I had no idea he could get so cut up over anything."

* * * * *

The automobile, even in the two days it had been a member of the Armstrong family, completely demoralized the entire establishment. Jack was beside himself with excitement and joy, his early experiments both with chauffeur and car being eminently satisfactory. He contented himself with short runs down to the city and back the first day after his man had succeeded in putting the car into its normal condition, but his impatience to start out again immediately after each return, even though luncheon was most unceremoniously shortened, produced almost as much dismay in the household as his bad temper while trying to reconstruct the machine.

"I want you all to have a ride in it at the earliest possible moment," he explained; "but before I risk any one's neck but my own I must satisfy myself that the car is all right and that the chauffeur knows his business."

The only event which diverted Armstrong was the return to the villa of Inez and De Peyster, for their evident discomforture caused him real concern. On general principles he was interested in the outcome of the obvious errand which had brought De Peyster to Florence, and beyond this he had already come to look upon Miss Thayer as a most agreeable companion and assistant whose happiness and equilibrium he regretted to see disturbed.

After De Peyster's unceremonious departure and Inez' abrupt disappearance, he and Helen strolled out into the garden, where the table was already laid for supper.

"There is no use waiting for Inez," said Helen. "Poor child! It is a shame to have her unhappy when we are so contented. But where is Uncle Peabody?"

"I met him on the Lung' Arno and offered to take him home, but he said he was bound for Olschki's. Trying to find out if Luigi Cornaro wrote anything he had not discovered, he said."

"Perhaps he will come before we have finished. You sit there, Jack, where you can watch the sunset behind San Miniato, and I will sit next to you so that I can watch it, too."

Helen drew the light chair nearer, and smilingly looked up at him. "There," she said. "Is this not cozy--just you and I?"

Armstrong smiled back into her radiant eyes with equal contentment. "This is absolute perfection, but you don't imagine we can eat like this, do you?"

"I don't feel a bit hungry," she replied, cheerfully, making no attempt to move. "Uncle Peabody says we ought not to eat when we don't feel like it, and I don't feel like it now."

"But what does Uncle Peabody say about not eating when you have been knocking about in an automobile all day and have the appetite of a horse?"

"Oh, you men!" cried Helen, straightening up with a pout. "I don't believe there is a bit of sentiment in a man's make-up, anyhow. Eat--eat--eat--" and she piled his plate high with generous portions from every dish within reach.

Uncle Peabody's step upon the path gave warning of his approach.

"So I am in time after all," he said. "I was afraid I should be obliged to eat my evening repast in solitary loneliness. But is this the way you follow my precepts?" he continued, as his eye fell upon Armstrong's plate. "Can't you take it on the instalment plan--or are you anticipating forming a partnership with a stomach-pump?"

"It is my fault, uncle," replied Helen, contritely. "I can't make Jack romantic, so I tried to stuff him to keep him good-natured. That is always the next best thing with a man."

"Oh ho!" Uncle Peabody looked shocked as he drew a chair up to the little table. "So I have come right into a family quarrel, have I? Naughty, naughty, both of you!"

"I wish I could quarrel with him," said Helen, "but he is too agreeable, even in his aggravating moods."

"What have you to say to that pretty speech, John Armstrong?" asked Uncle Peabody.

"What can I say?" answered Jack, between mouth-fuls, "except that, speaking for myself, I am always much more romantic when I am not hungry. If Herself will indulge me for five minutes longer I will promise to be as sentimental as the most fastidious could desire."

"I do not care for manufactured sentiment," replied Helen; "and it is too late now anyway, for my own appetite has returned and my anger is appeased."

"Miss Thayer evidently has not returned yet?" ventured Uncle Peabody, interrogatively, as the supper progressed.

"Yes, she is up-stairs in tears, and Ferdy has gone away to throw himself into the Arno," Helen replied.

"Dear me, dear me!" murmured Uncle Peabody. "What a pity! I am not sure that I would have returned had I known that I should find so much trouble."

"Now that you have had this much, I think I will let you in for the rest," suggested Armstrong. "I will take you out to the garage after you have finished."

"More trouble there?"

"Yes--punctured a tire on the way up the hill."

"And you never said a word about it!" cried Helen. "No wonder you did not feel romantic!"

"Good! Peace is once more established, which is worth more than a new tire. Come, my appetite is satisfied--suppose we all go out to the garage."

Annetta interrupted their progress at the door.

"A gentleman to see the signora," she announced--"the same gentleman who took the Signorina Thayer to ride this afternoon--and would the signora see him alone?"

"Poor Ferdy," Helen sighed, aloud. "He wants me to intercede for him. You go on, Jack, and perhaps I may join you later. Show Mr. De Peyster out here, Annetta."

Ferdinand hardly waited to be ushered through the hallway. He was visibly suffering as he approached Helen with outstretched hand.

"I am so sorry, Ferdy," was all she could say before he interrupted her.

"Forgive me, Helen, for coming to you before I have regained control of myself; but I have made a sudden decision, and unless I carry it out at once I won't be able to do it."

"A sudden decision, Ferdy?"

"Yes, I am leaving Florence on the night train for Paris; but I could not go without seeing you again and leaving with you a message for--Inez."

"The night train to-night? Surely you are not going away without seeing Inez again?"

Helen's sympathy was strong in the face of his almost uncontrollable emotion.

"Yes, to-night, Helen; and I shall never see her again unless she sends for me."

"But what has happened to make things so hopeless now? She has refused you before, Ferdy, and I have always admired your pluck that you refused to give her up."

"But it is different now--there is a reason why I must give her up. There was none before, except that she did not think she cared for me. I was certain I could make her do that--in time. But now--"

"What is it now?" Her interest was sincere.

"You must know, Helen. Why do you pretend that you don't?"

"Why, what do you mean? I am not pretending. I know of nothing."

De Peyster was incredulous. "It's all right, Helen. We men would do the same thing, I suppose, to protect another chap's secret; but it is pretty rough on me, just the same."

Helen's mystification was complete. "Look here, Ferdy," she said; "this has gone too far. Inez has evidently confided to you something which she has never told me. I have not had a word with her since she returned, and I know nothing of what has happened except what I have surmised."

"Do you mean to tell me that Inez has been here all this time as your guest without your knowing that she has fallen in love with some one over here?"

"Inez in love! Ferdy, you are crazy! Who is it, and where did she meet him?"

"I don't know--she would not tell me, but it is some one she has met over here."

"I don't believe a word of it. She must have said it to make you understand that she could not marry you."

Ferdinand shook his head. "No. A girl could fool me on some things, I suppose; but when she speaks as Inez spoke she means every word she says. 'I do love some one else,' she said, 'and I love him better than my life.' Do you think Inez would say that if she did not mean it, Helen?"

Helen leaned against the arm of the settle. "I don't understand it, Ferdy--I don't understand it."

"But I do, and I am not strong enough to see her again or to stay here in Florence. I will not trouble her again unless she sends for me--anything sent in care of Coutts will always reach me. Or after she is married, and I am myself again, I would like to see her and congratulate--him. Forgive me, Helen, I am all unstrung to-night. Good-bye."

De Peyster was gone before Helen realized it. She sank upon the settle and rested her face on her hand. Inez in love, and with some one she had met in Italy! Who was it--when was it? She had come directly to the villa upon her arrival. She had said that she had met no one who interested her on the steamer. In Florence she had met no one otherwise than casually. All her time had been spent either with her or with Jack. Helen lifted her head suddenly. "With Jack," she repeated to herself. She rose quickly and looked off into the distance. The last bright rays were disappearing behind San Miniato. "I love him better than my life," Inez had said to Ferdinand. Helen grasped the railing of the balustrade for support. "With Jack!" she repeated again. "Oh no, no, no--not that!" she cried aloud--"not that!"

VIII

"How is the work at the library progressing?"

Helen asked her husband at breakfast a few mornings later.

"Famously," Armstrong replied, pleased that she had referred to the subject.

"Is it nearly finished?"

"Finished?" Jack laughed indulgently. "You evidently don't realize what a big thing I have undertaken. I find myself appalled by its possibilities."

"Indeed." Uncle Peabody looked up surprised. "Does this mean that you are likely to lengthen your stay in Florence beyond your original plans?"

"No, I think not," Armstrong replied. "We have been here less than a month now, and I ought to be able to put my material into shape during the two months which remain--especially with the splendid assistance Miss Thayer is giving me. I can add the finishing touches after we return home, if necessary."

"Will it take as long as that?" asked Helen, her color mounting.

"Surely you are not counting upon me for any such length of time!" exclaimed Inez, almost in the same breath. "My cousins are expecting me to join them in Berlin any day now."

"You would not desert your post of duty?"

"I must follow the direction toward which it points."

"Just what is this 'big thing' you have undertaken?" interrupted Uncle Peabody. "You forget that I have not yet been taken into your confidence."

Armstrong turned to his questioner seriously. "I have really stumbled upon something which has not been done before and which ought to have been undertaken long ago. You see, Cerini has there at the library hundreds of letters which belong to the Buonarroti archives. Many of them were written by Michelangelo, and many more were written to him. The correspondence is between him and men in all walks of life--popes, kings, princes, tradesmen, and even some from the workmen in the Carrara quarries."

"And you and Miss Thayer are translating these letters?" Uncle Peabody anticipated.

"Yes; but that is not the work which most interests me, except indirectly. Any number of volumes have been published upon the life and manners and customs of every age before and since that in which Michelangelo lived, yet practically nothing concerning this particular period. The artistic importance of the epoch has been written up with minute detail, but the intimate life of the people and its significance seems to have been wholly overlooked--probably because it was overshadowed. Very few of these letters have ever been printed, and they ought to form the basis of a great work upon this subject. Cerini has turned them over to me to see what I can do with them. At first I started with the idea of going through everything myself, but that would be a hopeless task unless we plan to live in Florence indefinitely. Now, Miss Thayer reads over the letters and takes out the important data, leaving me free to work on the book itself. We are really making splendid progress, and I shall be bitterly disappointed if Miss Thayer has to go away and leave me to finish it alone."

"I am sure Inez will stay as long as she can, Jack," Helen said, quietly. "She knows how welcome she has been, but we must not urge her beyond what she thinks is best."

She broke off suddenly; then, with an assumed nonchalance, said: "I wonder if I could not help in some way and thus get the work completed just that much sooner. Of course, I don't understand Italian, but perhaps I could do some copying or something. Don't you think three would accomplish more than two, Jack, even if one of them was a weak sister?"

Helen looked over to her husband with obvious expectancy, but she could not fail to notice the momentary hush.

"I know how ridiculous my proposition sounds," she continued, bravely, "but I would really like to try."

"Why, of course," Armstrong replied, hastily. "Miss Thayer's suggestion to leave and your willingness at last to come to my rescue have combined to give me two unexpected shocks--one unpleasant, the other delightful. Let me see. Miss Thayer and I have been developing a kind of team work, so this means a little readjustment."

"Never mind, if it is not perfectly convenient." Helen made an effort to appear indifferent.

"Of course it is convenient," Jack hastened to add, ashamed of his hesitation. "You know how much I have wanted you to do this, and I am perfectly delighted. I am sure it can be arranged and that you can help us a great deal."

"I wish you knew Italian, Helen, so that you could take my place," added Inez. "Then Mr. Armstrong would not accuse me of deserting my post of duty."

"Not at all," protested Armstrong, impulsively. "Even then I could not get along without your assistance. We can easily find something for Helen to do which will help the work along and encourage her in her budding enthusiasm. This is splendid! Helen interested at last in my dusty old divinities! Perhaps we can even infect Uncle Peabody."

"Perhaps," assented Uncle Peabody; "but for the present I shall devote myself to my own researches--even though your masterpiece is forced to suffer thereby. But I will ride down with you as far as the Duomo."

No one in the automobile, unless it was the chauffeur, could help feeling a certain tenseness in the situation as the car conveyed the party to its destination. Helen's action was the result of a sudden decision, quite at variance with all the conclusions at which she had arrived during the wakeful hours of the preceding nights. Armstrong had so long since given up all thought of having his wife co-operate with him in this particular expression of himself, and the work upon which he and Miss Thayer were engaged had settled down into so regular a routine, that he was really disturbed by Helen's change of base, although he had been entirely unwilling to admit it. Inez inwardly resented the intrusion, at the same time blaming herself severely for her attitude; and Uncle Peabody, who saw in the whole affair only a clever ruse on Helen's part instigated by a tardily aroused jealousy, was in danger, for the first time, of not knowing just what to do.

As a result of all these conflicting emotions, the efforts at conversation during the ride would have seemed ludicrous had the situation been less serious. Armstrong kept up a continuous and irrelevant conversation into which each of the others joined weakly with equal irrelevance. Each was trying to talk and think at the same time. The car reached the Piazza del Duomo almost abruptly, as it seemed, and Uncle Peabody alighted with considerable alacrity, waving a good-bye which was mechanically acknowledged as the machine slowly moved into the narrow Borgo San Lorenzo. At the library, Armstrong led the way through the cloister and up the stone stairs to the little door where Maritelli was this time waiting to give them entrance.

"I will take you to meet Cerini," said Armstrong.

"While I," interrupted Inez, "will seek out our table and get all in readiness for our triple labors."

A gentle voice called "Avanti," in answer to Jack's tap upon the door of Cerini's study, and the old man rose hastily as he saw a new figure by Armstrong's side.

"My wife, padre." Jack smiled at the admiration in Cerini's face as he took Helen's hand and raised it to his lips. "She could not longer resist the magnet which draws us to you and to your treasures."

"Your wife," repeated the old man, looking from Helen to Armstrong. "I have looked forward to this day when I might meet her here. But where is your sister-worker? Surely she has not given up the splendid task which she has so well begun?"

Helen flushed consciously at Cerini's praise of Inez. "No, father; Miss Thayer is already at her work, and Mr. Armstrong is equally eager to return to it. May I not stay a little while with you?"

"Have you time to show her some of the things here which we know and love so well?" asked Armstrong.

"Most certainly."

He turned to Helen. "If you will accept my guidance we can let these humanists resume their labors while we enjoy the accomplishments of those who have gone before."

Armstrong left them, and Cerini conducted Helen through the library, explaining to her the various objects of interest. It was quite apparent to Helen that the old man was studying her minutely, and she felt ill at ease in spite of his unfailing courtesy.

"You have known my husband for a long while, have you not?" Helen asked as they passed from one case to another.

"Yes, indeed--even before he came to know himself."

"Then you must know him very well."

Helen smiled, but the old man was serious.

"Better than you know him, even though you are his wife. But see this choir-book. It was illuminated by Lorenzo Monaco, teacher of Fra Angelico. Can anything be more wonderful than these miniatures, in the beauty of their line and color?"

Helen assented with a show of interest, but she was not thinking of the blazoned page before her. The old man's words were burning in her heart. Passing through a smaller room to reach Cerini's study, they came suddenly to a corner lighted only by a small window where Armstrong and Inez were at work. So intent were they that the approach of Helen and the librarian had not been noticed. Cerini held up his hand warningly.

"Quiet!" he commanded, softly. "Let us not disturb them. I have never seen two individualities cast in so identical a mould. One sometimes sees it in two men, but rarely in a man and a woman."

Helen felt her breath come faster as she watched them for a moment longer. Inez was pointing out something in the text of the original letter which lay before them. Armstrong's head was bent, studying it intently. Then Inez spoke, and her companion answered loud enough for Helen to hear.

"Splendid! And to think that we are the first ones to put these facts together!"

The expression of sheer joy upon her husband's face held Helen spellbound, and Cerini was obliged to repeat his suggestion that they return to his study by another route.

"It is just as you have seen it, day after day," said the librarian as he closed the door quietly, and Helen seated herself in the Savonarola chair beside his desk. "When I heard from him that he was to be married I hoped that his wife might be able to enter into this joy of his life; but, since that could not be, it is well that he has found a friend so sympathetic."

Helen told herself that the old man could not intend deliberately to wound her as he was doing.

"Why are you so sure that his wife cannot enter into it also?" she asked, quietly.

Cerini looked at her in evident surprise. "Because what I have seen during these weeks, and what you have seen to-day, can happen but once in a lifetime. You are more beautiful than his companion, but you are not so intellectual."

It was impossible to take offence at the old man's frankness because of his absolute sincerity. He spoke of her beauty exactly as he spoke of one of the magnificent bindings he had just shown her, and of Inez' intellectuality as if it were the content of one of his priceless tomes.

"I came to the library to-day for the definite purpose of joining in their work--" Helen began, hesitatingly.

"Surely not!" replied Cerini, emphatically. "You would not disturb these labors which mean so much in the development of them both? It would mean stopping them where they are."

"Could I not assist them at some point, even to a slight extent, and participate in this development myself?"