GIFT OF 
 
 .W. E. Smyth 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY EDNA 
 
 Author of < Donovan, ' W? Two," "A Hardy Norseman," Etc 
 
 NEW YOBK: 
 THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 Nos. -72-7R WALKER STREET. 
 

KNIGHT-ERRANT 
 
 BY EDNA 
 
 CHAPTER J, -: ' ' '>;' ' 
 
 "THE HAPPIEST MAN IN 'NAPLES. " 
 
 ' They came at a delicate plain called Ease, where they went with 
 much content; but that plain was but narrow, so they were quickly got 
 over it." Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 " PRESTO! off with the paper! let us see how they look!" 
 exclaimed a fresh, mellow voice. 
 
 44 Permit me, signer," interposed the Neapolitan stationer 
 who presided behind the counter of a shop in the Toledo; 
 and taking the little white packet from the hands of the 
 speaker, he slipped the blade of his penknife through the 
 wrapper, drew forth with a flourish one of the cards 
 within, and, bowing and smiling, handed it to his cus- 
 tomer. " There, signer, and accept it with my sincere con- 
 gratulations. ' ' 
 
 The young man glanced eagerly at the card, upon which 
 was engraved in copper-plate the name, 
 
 "Awocato Carlo Poerio Donati." 
 
 It was to him the sign and symbol of manhood, of 
 freedom; it meant that he turned his back upon exam- 
 inations and tutelage ; it meant that he was at length free 
 to declare the love which for many years had been the great 
 guiding influence of his life. 
 
 "Ah, Signer Pietro," he replied, turning to the friendly 
 old shopkeeper with a smile which illumined his whole 
 face, "lam the happiest man in Naples to-day! Come, 
 Enrico, you are not half enough excited!" and turning to 
 his friend, who stood beside him watching the scene with 
 good-humored indifference, he caught a similar little packet 
 from his hand, and tearing it open, produced a card 
 bearing the name 
 
 11 Awocato Enrico Ritter" 
 
 Enrico was of German parentage, but the Hitters had 
 
 M97488 
 
4 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 lived for half a century in Naples and were naturalized; 
 nevertheless, spite of his Italian education, Enrico remained 
 German to the backbone, and presented in every way a 
 most curious contrast to his friend and companion. 
 
 "Why, devil take the cards! they're not so much to me 
 as to you," he exclaimed, with a laugh. " Signer Pietro 
 does not expect to see me wild with excitement over a 
 trumpery piece of pasteboard." 
 
 " Most matter-of-fact, Enrico! Where is your imagina- 
 tion?" cried Carlo, laughing. "Can the magic word 
 Avppcato call up tjo your German brain no visions of the 
 futuie?" 
 
 *'- 'Visions i'* ' grumbled Enrico, with assumed despond- 
 ency,; ''ay,,, visions of hot courts, long cases, rusty gowns, 
 ; and scant fees."; , , 
 
 Both Cario .and -tftq -stationer laughed heartily at the 
 dolorous face of the speaker. 
 
 " Well, Signor Pietro, it was ever the same story, was it 
 not? He is prosaic now as when we came to you years 
 ago for note- books and pens on our way from the Ginnasio. 
 But come, it is getting late ; I must be off, Enrico. Good- 
 day to you, Signor Pietro, and many thanks for your con- 
 gratulations. " 
 
 The two friends left the shop and walked on through the 
 busy, crowded streets to the Piazza del Plebiscite. More 
 than one passer-by turned to glance at Carlo's beautiful 
 face; for, truth to tell, good looks are the exception, not 
 the rule, in Naples, and among the swarthy or sallow Nea- 
 politans his rich, ruddy -brown coloring could not fail to 
 win notice. The face was singularly attractive, not only 
 from the beauty of its well- cut features, but from the un- 
 affected modesty of the expression and the sweetness of the 
 dark, liquid eyes. He looked what he had termed himself 
 the happiest man in Naples. If in appearance he lacked 
 anything it was height ; out we cannot all be heroes of six 
 feet, and Carlo, though small and slight, was so well pro- 
 portioned, so lithe and active, so imbued with the grace 
 common to most Italians, that it was impossible to wisb 
 for any change in him. He might that day have stood a* 
 a true impersonation of Optimism, while Enrico Hitter, on 
 the other hand, might well have posed as the ideal Pessi- 
 mist. 
 
 Enrico was of the Germans, German; there was no mis* 
 taking that fair, straight hair and mustache, that light 
 coloring and broad face, those small, light-gray eyes, hon- 
 est, hard, yet with some good-humor in their expression 
 which contradicted the cynical mouth. What had first 
 drawn two such curiously contrasted men together it was 
 impossible to gay; scientists might have argued that it wag 
 
KNIQHT-ERRANT. 5 
 
 the very fact that they were polar opposites. But what- 
 ever the cause of their friendship, friends they were in the 
 best sense of the word, and their friendship had stood the 
 wear and tear of ten years. 
 
 By this time they had reached the Piazza, ; the afternoon 
 sun was shining on the red walls of the Palazzo Reale, 
 lighting up the heavy arcades of the San Carlo, glorifying 
 the dome and stately front of the Church of S. Francesco 
 di Paolo. It seemed a strange medley of ancient and mod- 
 ern, haunted by memories of King Bomba's cruelties- 
 haunted by visions of Garibaldi and Carlo Poerio, while 
 hither and thither plied the busy tram-cars, and amid a 
 gay throng of people dressed in the latest Parisian fashion 
 there filed slowly past a procession of white-robed monks. 
 
 " Ten minutes to spare before my horse is ready," said 
 Carlo, looking at his watch; "let us have some coffee;' 7 
 and so saying, he led the way into the nearest restaurant. 
 Enrico paused to buy an evening paper, then followed his 
 friend. 
 
 The place was crowded, and there arose a confused babel 
 of voices, a mingling of French, English, and Italian. 
 Carlo had seated himself at one of the small marble tables, 
 and, since Enrico seemed more inclined to read his paper 
 than to talk, was fain to listen to the discussion going on 
 between two English tourists close by. 
 
 Possibly they thought themselves practically alone in 
 this foreign assembly ; certainly it did not occur to them 
 that their very Italian- looking neighbor understood and 
 Bpoke their language as well as his own, for they were 
 talking freely on subjects which Englishmen are not wont 
 to speak of in public. 
 
 4 'But, really now," urged the younger of the two, with 
 some warmth, "you can't possibly maintain such a notion. 
 Do you think we are not improved, vastly improved, in the 
 last two hundred years?" 
 
 " The increase of civilization gives us a better appear- 
 ance, I grant," said the elder, "but I do not believe the 
 Bum total of evil is lessened." 
 
 Carlo listened attentively, for this dreary doctrine was 
 opposed to his whole nature. 
 
 " Why, turn to history, " exclaimed the younger man, 
 44 see how indifferent people were to suffering, and then 
 look at our nineteenth century with its innumerable chari- 
 ties, its missions, its hospitals, its guilds." 
 
 "True, quite true," said the elder man, quietly; "a 
 wave of philanthropy is passing over us; there is much 
 talk even, I admit, much good work, but men are not 
 more willing to live the life of the Crucified." 
 
 The younger man was silent. Hitherto be bad 
 
6 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 very ready with his replies, now he fell into deep thought. 
 Carlo Donati, too, was struck by those last words. They 
 broke in very painfully upon his rapturous happiness, hig 
 joyful anticipations. He had been spared most of the 
 usual doubts and fears of a lover ; he was practically sure 
 of Francesca Britton's love, and already he had received 
 her father's permission to propose to her, Captain Britton 
 having only stipulated that he should wait till his educa- 
 tion was finished. 
 
 Now his time of probation was over ; within a few days, 
 nay, perhaps \vithin a few hours, Francesca might be his 
 own. Could he bear on that day, of all others, to dream 
 of the possibility of a cloud arising? His sky was so clear, 
 his life had been so happy and successful, the very thought 
 of gathering darkness on the horizon was torture to him. 
 "Let my happiness last! oh, let it last!" was his inward 
 cry, and, as if in answer, there floated back to him the 
 stranger's words, and he knew that they were true: 
 44 Men are not more willing to live the life of the Cruci- 
 fied." 
 
 Involuntarily he turned to glance at the man who had 
 disturbed his peace, and sa^y a strong, intellectual face, 
 which, notwithstanding traces of deep thought and hard 
 conflict, bore a calm and tranquil expression. But the 
 conversation had been checked by those grave words, the 
 stranger called the waiter, paid for his coffee, tucked his 
 44 Baedeker " under his arm, and rose to go. 
 
 Carlo followed him with his eyes as he left the restau- 
 rant; he felt strongly that curious conviction which cornea 
 to some people when a stranger has unconsciously influ- 
 enced them that in this world, or some other, they will 
 infallibly meet again. 
 
 So ingrossed had he been with the two Englishmen and 
 their talk that he had not heeded his friend. He had not 
 seen the start of surprise and dismay with which Enrico 
 had noted a paragraph in the Piccolo. What was there in 
 those brief lines which filled him with apprehension? 
 Why did he glance with such anxiety and regret at Carlo, 
 and then once again read that unwelcome paragraph? 
 
 " We understand that the season will be commenced at 
 Whitsuntide at the Teatro Mercadante, with the operatic 
 company of Signor Merlino. Madame Merlino, whose 
 singing has created a very favorable impression in Amer- 
 ica, will be the prima donna." 
 
 All the indifference had vanished now from Enrico's 
 face. A dreadful annoyance awaited his friend, and that 
 it should reach him to-day of all days seemed to him in- 
 tolerable, He would, at any rate, do his best to give him 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. f 
 
 a respite; Carlo should at least propose to Miss Britton, 
 and enjoy if it were even but a few hours of unalloyed hap- 
 piness. Seizing his opportunity, when his companion 
 turned to watch the Englishmen as they left the restaurant, 
 Enrico tore off the corner containing the unwelcome news, 
 and was about to thrust it into his pocket when Carlo 
 checked him with a question: 
 
 4 * What is it ? About our examinations ?' ' 
 
 "No," said Enrico, composedly; "I saw nothing about 
 them. I only wanted a scrap of paper to wrap up these 
 confounded cards ; thanks to your eagerness to see them, 
 they're all loose in my pocket." 
 
 So saying, he deliberately wrapped the cards in the 
 paper containing the bad news, and pushed the rest of the 
 Piccolo towards his friend. "Take it home with you if 
 you like, I have done with it." 
 
 "And I,'' said Carlo, laughing, "hope to have little 
 time for it." He took it, nevertheless, stowed it away in 
 his pocket, and got up to go. 
 
 "I'll walk witn you as far as the stable," said Enrico. 
 " Now follow my advice and ride home calmly. If you go 
 on in this state of fever you will not be fit for your inter- 
 view with that stately old Englishman, upon whom you 
 have to make a good impression as future son-in-law." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense'." said Carlo, laughing gayly. 
 "Make an impression, indeed! Do you forget that w0 
 have been next-door neighbors this age, and that he know& 
 me as well as you. do?" 
 
 "An impossibility," said Enrico, smiling, "for with me 
 I have taught you, as we say in Germany, to be as you are 
 to yourself. Now with that old English captain you walk 
 as though treading on eggs, you are courteous and deferen- 
 tial; you never forget that you hope to be his son-in-law, 
 and you'll never quarrel with him at any rate, not until 
 the hope has become a tame reality." 
 
 The dry, sardonic tone in which this had been spoken 
 turned Carlo's indignant protest to laughter. 
 
 " The only topic on which we are likely to quarrel is poli- 
 tics ; and as he knows nothing of Italian affairs, one needs 
 now and then adroitly to turn the conversation. But don't 
 make me speak against Captain Britton to-day, amico 
 m/o." 
 
 "Ah, poor fellow!" said Enrico, pityingly; "I knew he 
 would prove the crumpled rose-leaf to destroy your per- 
 fect bliss. There is always a father-in-law, or a mother- 
 in-law, or a cantankerous relative, who kicks up a row 
 about the settlements. Don't you expect the course of 
 your true love to run smooth that's against nature." 
 
 As h spoke he glanced rather anxiously at a large 
 
8 KNIGHT-ERRANT, 
 
 hparding which they were approaching, rapidly running 
 his eye over the theatrical posters, but, much to his re- 
 lief, the Mercadante bills were not yet out. 
 
 " You are as depressing as a funeral!" said Carlo, much 
 tickled by the notion that the substantial Englishman was 
 'a crumpled rose-leaf; "and, indeed, if I have no worse 
 crook in my lot than Captain Britton, I shall fare well. 
 No one coulcl have been more courteous and helpful to my 
 mother all these years, no one could have been more ge- 
 nial and hospitable to me. Of course we all have our 
 faults." 
 
 * ' Too true ! ' ' said Enrico, mockingly. ' ' The Englishman 
 loves a lord, and has an eye to the main chance, and 
 knows that you are heir to a certain rich uncle, and that 
 unless the money is secured and tied up in the orthodox 
 English fashion, it will all be flung away upon 'Young 
 Italy, ' or some hare-brained scheme for educating organ- 
 grinders." 
 
 " If we were not in the public street I would punish you 
 well!" cried Carlo. "There never was such a fellow for 
 imputing low motives to all the world." 
 
 " Well, well, rail at me as you like," said Enrico, indif- 
 ferently; "but as yet I have never found myself at fault 
 in assuming that egoism rules the universe. Ah, your 
 horse is waiting for you, I see, and the hostler tries to look 
 hot and tired to cajole a large coin from you. A rivederci I 
 But I advise you to avoid Naples for the next few days; 
 don't come to me for sympathy in your rapture, for I've 
 not the smallest doubt that love is egoism, and marriage 
 is egoism, and " 
 
 " You are incorrigible!" cried Carlo, as he mounted the 
 beautiful Arab which was waiting for him. " I'll not wait 
 to hear you out." And, with a wave of the hand, he rode 
 off, looking back laughingly at the interrupted egoist, 
 who, with a shrug of the shoulders, turned away. 
 
 And yet it was something quite other than egoism which 
 brought a grave look to Enrico's face as he walked home 
 through the sunny streets. Suddenly perceiving an up- 
 right, alert-looking old man on the opposite side of the 
 way, he crossed the road and hastened after him. 
 
 " Pardon me, Signer Piale!" he exclaimed, " but may I 
 ask you a question? You are probably acquainted with 
 all that is going on in the musical world. Is this true that 
 I see to-day in the Piccolo^ Is Merlino's company really 
 coming to the Mercadante?" 
 
 " Diavolo! it is true enough, more's the pity," replied 
 the old man; "but I have not said a word of it to my 
 pupil. Carlo is over-sensitive; he felt that affair too 
 much; only of late has he seemed to have forgotten it 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 somewhat. He is one whose life should have been exempt 
 from shadows." 
 
 " 1 should have thought common decency would have 
 kept Merlino away from Naples," said Enrico, hotly. 
 
 " Merlino does not care a fig for common decency," said 
 the old musician. "He is no credit to our profession. 
 Probably he knows well enough that the Merlino -Donati 
 scandal is just fresh enough in men's minds to make his 
 operas draw well. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Let us, at least, do our best to keep back the ill news 
 as long as possible," said Enrico; "it will be a frightful 
 annoyance to Carlo just now, and I do believe it will be 
 the death of his mother. ' ' 
 
 " 'Tis always the innocent who suffer for the guilty," 
 said the old singing-master, giving a fierce rub to his 
 parchment-like cheek. "If ever there was one who de- 
 served to be free from care, why it is Carlo; there are but 
 few nowadays who could show so blameless a life." 
 
 "You speak very truly," said Enrico. "Let us hope 
 his blameless life will weigh with worthy Captain Britton, 
 and prove heavier than the family skeleton. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 
 
 * It is not best in an inglorious ease 
 To sink and dull content, 
 When wild revolts and hopeless miseries 
 The unquiet nations fill: 
 ***** 
 
 Nay, best it is, indeed, 
 
 To spend ourselves upon the general good; 
 
 And, oft misunderstood, 
 
 To strive to lift the knees and limbs that bleed. 
 
 This is the best, the fullest meed. 
 
 Let ignorance assail or hatred sneer 
 
 Who loves his race he shall not fear; 
 
 He suffers not for long 
 
 Who doth his soul possess in loving, and grows 
 
 strong." Lewis Morris. 
 
 THE old singing-master had not exaggerated matters. 
 Though inclined to see everything connected with his favor- 
 ite pupil through rose-colored spectacles, his words were in 
 this instance strictly true. Carlo had passed scathless 
 through all the temptations of Neapolitan life ; his history 
 would bear the full light of day ; it was impossible to im- 
 agine any one more strictly honorable, more simple and 
 open-minded. But then, certainly, nature has been to 
 him almost prodigal in her gifts. To begin with, he came 
 of a good family, and that not in the vulgar acceptation 
 |f the word. The Donati were not of nobie birth, but for 
 
10 
 
 five or six generations they had been well educated, and 
 had earned quite an unusual reputation in the various 
 learned professions which they had followed. Faults of 
 temper or of judgment they might have shown, but no 
 Donati had ever been guilty of an act of meanness, nor had 
 there been in any one of them a single grain of insincerity. 
 To belong to a family which has earned well-deserved re- 
 spect, to be able to look back upon forefathers who have 
 lived well and bravely, to know that before you existed 
 your father, and his father before him, spoke for freedom 
 and pleaded the cause of the people, this is indeed a birth- 
 right worth having. An inheritance of money may or 
 may not be a desirable thing, but an inheritance of char- 
 acter, an ancestry of generous, true-hearted men, who did 
 justly, and loved mercy, and walked humbly with their 
 God this is a thing that kings might covet. 
 
 Carlo had undoubtedly inherited a noble character, or 
 rather had inherited certain tendencies, and as yet, by his 
 life, had helped to develop, not to arrest, their growth. 
 
 At the close of the last century there had been born a 
 certain Bruno Donati. People had prophesied great things 
 of him; he had established, with almost unheard-of ra- 
 pidity, a great reputation as an advocate, he had married 
 a beautiful heiress, he was assured!}* a man who would 
 " rise "so said the world. He did rise, but not in the 
 way predicted. Regardless of his reputation, regardless 
 of self altogether, he joined the patriot party who were 
 struggling to overthrow the hated tyranny of the Neapoli- 
 tan Bourbons. Leaving his home, and taking a tender 
 farewell of his wife and his little children, he get off one 
 June morning for Cilento, the place which had been 
 chosen for a small rising. At first a certain measure of 
 success encouraged the patriots; they were able to take 
 the little fort of Palinuro, and to hoist the tricolored flag. 
 
 But those brave pioneers knew well that they were tak- 
 ing their lives in their hands. They had achieved a suc- 
 cess which must draw the attention of the whole country 
 upon them. In hot haste General Delcaretto was sent 
 down to attack them with six thousand men, and no 
 mercy was shown. Twenty of the patriots were shot with- 
 out trial; twenty-six others, and among them Bruno 
 Donati, were executed. The young advocate had. as it 
 seemed, sacrificed his life for a hopeless cause; he was 
 never again to return to his beautiful home ; but General 
 Delcaretto caused his head to be paraded in front of the 
 house before the eyes of his widow and his fatherless chil- 
 dren. Then, when the people had been ruined, a com- 
 mune or two suppressed, and the insurrection completely 
 Stamped out, the geueral return.e4 tQ Noptes to be re* 
 
KNIGHT- ERRANT. ll 
 
 warded for his gallantry by receiving the title of marquis, 
 A decoration of a knightly order, and a pension. 
 
 Bruno Donati's widow did not die until she had educated 
 her two sons, and had seen that the younger one, also 
 Bruno, was likely to be just such a man as his father. She 
 did not realize how much alike the story of the two Brunos 
 \vould be. 
 
 Both sons followed their father's profession, but the 
 younger one was so much engrossed in the revolutionary 
 movement of the time that he did not make much way in, 
 it. Instead of so doing, he joined " Young Italy," studied 
 deeply under the guidance of Mazzini, and at length en- 
 Tolled himself in Garibaldi's gallant little army. 
 
 Carlo's earliest recollections were of a hot August day in 
 the year 1862. He, as a little fellow, had sat beside his 
 mother in a carriage outside the post-office at Pozzuoli, 
 and some one had brought them the news of Garibaldi's 
 defeat at Aspromonte, and with that the tidings that Bruno 
 Donati was dangerously wounded. Carlo could even now 
 see vividly his mother's deathly face as she read the news, 
 could remember his puzzled wonder as to what it all meant, 
 and whether it could possibly be that his father would 
 never return. 
 
 But the second Bruno Donati was in some ways happier 
 than his father ; he was brought back from Aspromonte to 
 his own home, where he lingered for a month a month 
 which proved of extraordinary value in his son's educa- 
 tion. The child was too young to feel his father's death as 
 a life-long grief, but he was just old enough to carry away 
 from that death-bed a beautiful and unfading memory. 
 Upon his childish brain was stamped the conviction that to 
 die for " La Patria " was a very happy thing, that the sac- 
 rifice of self for others was the only true greatness, and 
 that even such a failure as Aspromonte was not to be ac- 
 counted failure that right could not fail in the long-run. 
 "Pazienza! pazienza!" was the word constantly on the 
 lips of the dying patriot the word which always con- 
 nected itself with his memory in the mind of his son. On 
 Bruno Donati's dying face there had been that "look of 
 faith in renunciation " which was stamped upon the face 
 of his teacher, Mazzini, and-the look lived on in the child's 
 heart. 
 
 "Carlino," his father had said, tenderly, on the very 
 last day of his life" Carlino mio. thou wilt be a man one 
 
 " How nice it will be when I am a man like you, father I" 
 ried the boy, eagerly. 
 The dying man smiled sadly. 
 
18 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " Remember always to comfort and shield thy mother ; 
 and Nita take good care of Nita." 
 
 "Why, father, Nita is older than I am, a whole year- 
 older!" exclaimed the child. 
 
 "But Nita is a woman, and my Carlo must be her brave 
 protector ; promise me that, my son. ' ' 
 
 "I promise, father," said the little fellow, squeezing the 
 cold hand that clasped his. "And father, dear father, I 
 may have your sword, may I not? You'll not leave it to 
 Uncle Guido, who has one already? For if I have it, 
 father, then I could fight the brigands if they took Nita; 
 could I not?" 
 
 The dying man smiled, touched by the innocent literal- 
 ness of the reply. He caught Carlo to his breast, holding 
 him in a long, close embrace. 
 
 " Why, father, I do believe you'll soon be well!" cried 
 the boy, gleefully, feeling the power of those strong arms 
 round him. He did not know that a sudden strength is 
 often death's forerunner. 
 
 And in a sense he little meant his words came true, for 
 by the next morning the second Bruno Donati had entered 
 into the martyr's rest, and it was " well" with him. 
 
 After this Carlo's life had been uneventful; the recollec- 
 tion of his father did not sadden him, on the contrary it 
 raised and stimulated him. For an Italian boy he had an 
 unusually free and healthy life ; his mother could never 
 make up her mind to leave the country-house where they 
 had been passing their villeggiatura during the summer of 
 1862, and in which her husband had died. They lived all 
 the year round at the Villa Bruno, and a kindly old priest 
 at Pozzuoli taught the boy until he was old enough to go 
 in every day to the Ginnasio at Naples. 
 
 Here he entered into his lifelong friendship with Enrico 
 Hitter, and learned much through his intercourse with the 
 German family, whose house became his headquarters 
 when he was in Naples. The Hitters, deeming the country 
 life dull for the boy, were constantly inviting him to stay 
 with them, and giving him brief snatches of gayety.) 
 Nominally Lutherans, the worthy Germans were practi- 
 cally materialists, and it was largely owing to his visits at 
 the Hitters' that Carlo first became dissatisfied with the re- 
 ligion in which his mother had educated him. Equally waa 
 he dissatisfied with the conventional acceptance of Christi- 
 anity and the real skepticism which prevailed in the Hitter 
 household. For a year or two he puzzled his brain over 
 the vexed question; finally he took the decisive step and 
 resolved to go no more to church. This caused much pain 
 to his mother and to his old friend, Father Cristoforo; and 
 though plunging deeply into that sort of worship at the 
 
RNXGffT-ERRANT. <") 
 
 ghrine of beautiful Nature which is tha reaction from 
 
 formalism, he felt a want in his life. 
 . Shortly before this a house close to the Villa Bruno, 
 which for some years had been untenanted, had been taken 
 by an Englishman named Captain Britton. He had just 
 lost his wife; and the home at San Remo, where his chil- 
 dren had been born, and to which he had returned year by 
 year when off duty, had grown intolerable to him. He re- 
 tired from the service, and, taking a fancy to the neigh- 
 borhood of Naples, settled down at Casa Bella, and made 
 up his mind to live and die there. He had only two chil- 
 dren Francesca, a beautiful girl, about a year younger" 
 than Carlo so named after an Italian friend of the family 
 and Sibyl, a fairy-like little child of two years old. Miss 
 Claremont, Francesca's governess, or, as every one called 
 her, "Clare," had the management of the house, and it 
 was largely owing to her that a very close intimacy soon 
 sprung up between the two neighboring families. 
 
 Carlo and Francesca were at first not of an age for fall- 
 ing in love. They became fast friends, and Carlo in his 
 rather lonely life was enchanted to find that the English 
 girl was allowed almost unlimited freedom. She was 
 wholly unlike his convent-bred sister, who, since her 
 mother was an invalid, was allowed to come home now 
 and then for a day or two. Nita was beautiful, and sang 
 like an angel, and was a devout little Catholic, and did 
 her best to teach him the error of his ways. But to save 
 her life, Nita could not have been a companion in his 
 games. Now Francesca, though no hoiden, was, in the 
 matter of games, as good as a boy. She was not above 
 climbing trees or running races; she excelled at rounders; 
 she even initiated him into the mysteries of cricket, en- 
 listing the services of Clare and the gardeners. 
 
 Then nothing would do but he must teach her to row, 
 and many were the happy hours they spent on the sea to- 
 gether, sometimes with Clare in the stern, sometimes with 
 little Sibyl and her nurse, sometimes with old Florestano, 
 the fisherman, who would tell them quaint legends of 
 saints, or mermaids, or ghosts, in all of which he believed 
 equally. Sometimes they would go oyster-catching in 
 Lake Fusaro, or, with Clare as a delightful third, would 
 scramble about in the Acropolis at Cumae, seeking to make 
 fresh discoveries. Or they would play hide-and-seek in 
 the Grotto della Pace, or act thrilling brigand stories, or 
 dig and search in field or vineyard, and perhaps stumble 
 across the remains of an old Roman villa or the ruins of a 
 temple, hidden away by i/he straggling green growth. 
 
 Those were happy days for all of them. Carlo before 
 long formed for Miss Claremont that sort of reverential. 
 
M KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 half -worshiping friendship and admiration which is not un- 
 common between boys of his age and middle-aged women. 
 And Clare was a friend worth having. She influenced peo- 
 ple chiefly by loving them ; you never felt with her that 
 she was trying to doctor you, or to improve your moral or 
 spiritual health. She discussed many things with Carlo, 
 listened to his crude, half -fledged ideas with the utmost 
 | patience, and would no more have smiled at them or 
 treated them contemptuously than a woman would smita 
 with contempt as she watches the staggering steps of a 
 baby beginning to walk alone. 
 
 Clare sympathized much with the difficulties of his posi- 
 tion ; she saw that his deeply religious Italian nature would 
 never rest content in its present isolation. 
 
 "Do you never feel the need of worshiping?" she asked 
 him one day. 
 
 " Yes, 1 ' he replied, " but one need not be within the walls 
 of a church to do that; a boat at sea, or an olive-grove, is 
 more to my taste." 
 
 Just at that time he was the least bit proud of having 
 shaken himself free from the bondage of Romanism a fact 
 which was quite patent to Clare, and proved to her how 
 perilous was his state. 
 
 "And yet," she urged, "I should have thought that 
 youa follower of Mazzini would have had a strong faith 
 in Association." 
 
 The words struck home, unpleasantly convincing Carlo 
 that he had been rapturously hugging a thing which he 
 called Freedom, and that it was but an illusion more 
 worthy to be called Isolation. 
 
 44 1 don't know where t9 turn to!" he exclaimed, chafed 
 by a remark which had disturbed his peace, and proved it 
 to be false. 
 
 44 Are you trying to find out the best place?" she asked, 
 quietly. 
 
 He was silent, and Clare, who had the rare tact to know 
 when she had said enough, changed the subject. 
 
 But the very next Sunday he astonished her by asking 
 leave to join their party and drive in to the English church 
 at Naples with them. His total absence of false shame, 
 and the ingenuous humility which could thus tacitly own 
 itself in the wrong, promptly and publicly following the 
 suggestion of a woman, wore thoroughly Italian. Clare 
 reflected that an Englishman would have allowed a week 
 or two to pass by, in order to prove that he came of his 
 own free will, and not at the instigation of another; or 
 would, perhaps, have toiled over on foot in the early morn- 
 ipg. slinking in at the back of the church, in ^ terror lest 
 people should comment on the amendment of his ways. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. li 
 
 After a time he formally joined the English Church. Of 
 course he had some opposition to encounter; but though 
 his old friend the priest shook his head sorrowfully, and 
 though his mother shed tears, and though the Ritters 
 chaffed him good-humoredly, his happiness was too great 
 to be marred by such things ; besides, they all loved him 
 so well that they soon pardoned the obnoxious step which 
 he had taken, and did their best to forget that he was not 
 as they were. 
 
 A few months after this the first shadow fell upon Car- 
 lo's perfect felicity. It was suddenly arranged that the 
 Brit ton household should migrate to England for a year. 
 An aunt of Francesca's had just died, and some one was 
 urgently needed to look after the motherless children. 
 Who so fit for such a task as Clare? and though she would 
 fain have lived on in that happy Italian home, she could 
 not linger there when needed in another place, and at any 
 rate she should have her children for yet another year. 
 That helped to break the parting. Captain Britton was 
 glad for a time to be with his brother, and a year of En- 
 glish life, in which to finish Francesca's rather unconven- 
 tional education, was deemed a good idea by all. So once 
 more Casa Bella was silent and deserted, and Carlo was 
 left to his own devices. 
 
 It was just at this time that Nita returned from her con- 
 vent. A great change was at once effected in the peace- 
 fulness of the Villa Bruno, for the girl, while retaining 
 enough of her religious education to make her persecute 
 her heretic brother with endless arguments and remon- 
 strances, was yet so wearied of its strict restraint that she 
 broke out into violent reaction and tyrranized over her 
 mother, much as she herself had till now been tyrranized 
 over. 
 
 The Signora Donati was an invalid ; she had never re- 
 covered from the cruel shock of her husband's death, nor 
 had she at any time been noted for strength of character. 
 Carlo had been too loyal ever to take advantage of this; 
 her slightest wish had been to him a command, and the 
 two had idolized each other. But somehow it happened that 
 Nita coming home from her convent felt like an intruder; 
 she could not find a niche for herself in the home, and, 
 measuring the hearts of other people by her own, fancied 
 she was not cared for. Perhaps her mother did show a 
 little too markedly that Carlo was her favorite ; but then 
 it really was difficult not to love the son who treated her 
 with such tenderness, such respectful devotion, somewhat 
 better than the daughter, who sought for nothing but her , 
 own amusement, and never voluntarily performed for kC 
 the slightest service, 
 
16 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 It was also, perhaps, true that Carlo did not greatly cart 
 for his sister, at any rate she tried his temper severely 
 He was impatient with her aggravating little displays of 
 piety, her deep genuflexions, her paraded fasts. He wad 
 constantly detecting her in petty deceits, and once, after 
 some worse specimen of duplicity than usual, he had 
 angrily upbraided her. 
 
 "You are not fit to bear the name of Donati," he cried, 
 hotly, his boyish sense of honor deeply wounded, and his 
 family pride hurt to find that Nita was no better than the 
 rest of the world. 
 
 44 Perhaps I shall not bear it much longer!" she retorted, 
 angrily. 
 
 And those words haunted poor Carlo for many a year. 
 For, not long after, all Naples rang with the news that 
 Anita Donati had eloped with her singing-master, a cer- 
 tain basso who had been engaged that winter at the San 
 Carlo. 
 
 Fortunately the Villa Bruno was far away in the 
 country, and the signora too great an invalid to go into so- 
 ciety. She could bear her agony in solitude, and was not 
 obliged to wear a mask and go about as though nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 But Carlo was in the thick of the fray ; he had to listen 
 to Uncle Guido's indignant denunciations, he had to bear 
 the brunt of the endless questions of the outsiders, had to 
 endure the bitter consciousness that his sister's name waa 
 being bandied about in the city, and that, for the first time, 
 a Donati had incurred well-merited blame. 
 
 Since then nothing had been heard of Anita, except that, 
 about a week after her flight, she had forwarded to her 
 mother a newspaper with the announcement of her mar- 
 riage. But the Signora Donati never recovered from the 
 shock, nor could she ever forgive herself, for she rightly 
 felt that had her relations with her daughter been happier 
 such a thing could never have happened. 
 
 Five years had gone by since then, and Time had passed 
 his quieting hand over both grief and disgrace. Certainly 
 Carlo felt nothing but happiness unalloyed happiness as 
 he rode home from Naples that sunny spring day. He 
 knew nothing of that ominous little paragraph torn out of 
 the Piccolo, but galloped on over the white, dusty road, 
 past fields of Indian corn, past olive-gardens and vine- 
 yards, through the long, dark grotto of Posilipo, and on to- 
 ward the picturesque little southern town of Pozzuoli. He 
 scarcely noticed all the beauty round him; he could see 
 nothing but the face of his dreams; and the very horse- 
 hoofs flying over the road seemed to repeat again and 
 again the word, "Francescal Franceses I Franceses I" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 17 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 FRANCESCA. 
 
 Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find 
 
 All to thy mind, 
 Think, Who did once from heaven to hell descend, 
 
 Thee to befriend; 
 So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call, 
 
 Thy best, thine all. ' ' Kebk. 
 
 WHILE Carlo rode back from Naples and while Signor 
 Merlino and his operatic company steamed between the 
 Pillars of Hercules into the blue Mediterranean, Francesca 
 Britton sat in a little stone belvedere in the garden of Casa 
 Bella, from time to time raising her eyes from her needle- 
 work to glance at that same blue Mediterranean, or at 
 the lovely mountains of Ischia, which were plainly visible 
 through the arched doorway. 
 
 Beautiful as a child, Francesca was more than beautiful 
 in early womanhood she was lovely. It was not alone 
 that the outline of cheeks and chin was perfect, that the 
 nose was finely chiseled, that the masses of dark hair 
 drawn back from the white forehead were rich and wavy ; 
 all this might be set down in black and white without con- 
 veying the faintest idea of what she was. And in truth 
 this had happened over and over again; the photograph- 
 ers had done what they could, but had failed grievously. 
 Photography could not give the ineffable charm of her 
 ever- varying expression, the depth and sweetness of her 
 dark gray eyes, the dimple in her cheek, which seemed 
 indeed, the sign and symbol of her sunshiny nature. It 
 could not convey the least notion of her shy grace, of her 
 delicate purity, or of that keen sense of humor which 
 sparkled so deliciously in her home life. Outsiders some- 
 times deemed the beautiful English girl cold and distant, 
 and a country life had tended to increase her natural shy- 
 ness ; but even had she lived in the midst of the fashion- 
 able world, Francesca Britton never could have been thor- 
 oughly known out of her own circle she was one of those 
 who kept their best for their own. 
 
 She was roused from a reverie by seeing a little miniature 
 of herself flying down the straight, sunny walk which led to 
 the summer-house, bordered on either side by azaleas glow- 
 ing with crimson blossom and and tall white oleanders. 
 
 4 ' Din p sent me," panted the little girl "Dino sent me 
 with this for father. Where is father? They thought he 
 was out here. And only fancy ! Dino says, Fran, dear, 
 that Carlo came and rang the bell just like a visitor, and 
 handed in his card. Think of Carlo ringing the bell !" 
 
 And Sibyl broke into a peal of laughter as she skipped 
 
18 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 about the summer-house. Her sister let hr* ficdieworl| 
 fall, and taking the card, glanced at It, smiling and blush- 
 ing in a way that would have enraptured any one but un- 
 observant Sibyl. 
 
 44 Dino. he is nodding and smiling and looking so funny I" 
 continued the little girl; "and he says Carlo has perhaps 
 come a-courting, but he won't tell me what it means. 
 What is courting, Fran? Anything to do with the new 
 tennis-court?" 
 
 " 'Tis a game which you play for love, Sibyl dear. 
 There, run and take the card to father, he is down in the 
 orange- grove." 
 
 The little messenger flew off again on her errand, and 
 Francesca sat musing, smiling to herself every now and 
 then as she thought of the beloved name with its novel 
 prefix. Carlo an "Avvocato;" it was too funny! And 
 how like him to send in his card and be shown into the 
 drawing-room so ceremoniously, instead of, as usual, just 
 leaping over the hedge of prickly-pear which divided the 
 gardens of Casa Bella and Villa Bruno. Then delicious 
 tremors, that were neither hope nor fear, ran through her, 
 and her heart beat fast and loud. She could bear the still- 
 ness no longer, and rising, she left the summer-house and 
 walked down the path between the oleanders and the 
 azaleas. All at once quick footsteps fell upon her ear; 
 then, through the trees, she caught sight of the lithe, 
 graceful figure so familiar to her. Ah ! how foolish she 
 was. Had they not been the best of friends for years and 
 years? Why could she not go and meet him naturally 
 to-day? Scolding herself roundly, she stopped because her 
 feet refused to advance another step, and with fingers 
 which trembled visibly, tried to break off a spray of the 
 crimson flowers. 
 
 4 ' It is too stiff for you!" exclaimed Carlo, turning the 
 corner and hurrying toward her. 
 
 "No, no! 1 ' she protested, laughing; "you always mis- 
 doubt my powers;" and putting force upon her unruly 
 fingers she broke off the spray. " Here is a ' button- hole ' 
 for the * Avvocato,' with his friend's congratulations." 
 
 "The 'Avvocato' is not content, he craves something 
 more." said Carlo, smiling. 
 
 ' ' Very well ; old playmates must not stand on ceremony, " 
 she said, gayly, well pleased that she had regained her self- 
 possession; "come to the belvedere, and I will put some 
 maidenhair with it." 
 
 They walked together up the path, Francesca pausing to 
 pluck two or three pieces from a jungle of maidenhair 
 growing about the old stones. 
 
 " Tfcsre |" she exclaimed, as they sat down in the cool 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 19 
 
 MHte &*fcor while she twisted the ferns among the flowers; 
 " now jipe you content?" 
 
 44 Not quite," he said; " I am clumsy, you will put thm 
 in for mo." 
 
 She fastened the flowers in his coat, and again her tire- 
 some fingers began to tremble. Carlo, blessing the sight, 
 snatched her hand in his and kissed it passionately. 
 
 "Francesca, forgive me!" he cried, "I could wait no 
 longer; you will not grudge me that one kiss. My darling, 
 my darling, I have waited such years for you!" 
 
 His face, glowing with love and devotion and eager 
 hope, was raised to hers. She only saw it for a moment, 
 for something made a mist rise before her eyes, and whea 
 she could see clearly again she did not dare to meet his 
 gaze ; she looked instead out at the blue Mediterranean. 
 
 "I have loved you, Francesca, since you came back 
 from England since you came and brought light and hap- 
 piness to us after that dark time. I told your father- 
 begged him to let me speak to you, and he bade me wait. 
 I have waited nearly five years, Francesca, and, oh! at 
 times I scarcely knew how to trust myself here. Again 
 and again I almost broke my word ; but now your father 
 gives me leave to come to you, to confess my love. My 
 darling, look at me speak to me!" 
 
 She turned and gazed right into his eager, wistful eyes 
 a long, sweet, steadfast look; then her lips began to 
 quiver a little, but she thought better of it and smiled in- 
 stead. 
 
 '* What do you want me to say?" 
 
 " Say," he cried, eagerly, " say ' I will try to love you.' *' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I can never say that," she replied, and once more 
 looked out seaward. 
 
 But the vehemence, the fire of his Italian nature, half 
 frightened her. Despair was written on his face, despair 
 rang in his voice ; he did not pause one moment to re- 
 flect. 
 
 "Francesca I Francesca!" he cried, " don't tell me I 
 have come too late. My love ! my love I I can't live with- 
 out you. Unsay that ' never.' ' 
 
 Grieved beyond measure that words so playfully meant 
 should have called forth such a tropical outburst, she 
 wreathed her arms about his neck, and pressed her face 
 to bis. 
 
 " Carlo ra/o," she sobbed, don't break my heart by mis- 
 understanding me; I can never try to love you because 
 because I love you already." 
 
 The depth of love and tenderness in her voice, the sweet 
 abandonment of her manner more really maidenly in ite 
 
SO KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 perfect sincerity than any coyness or hesitation all this 
 heightened to bliss Carlo's rapture of love. The moment' 
 ary mistake, the cloud-shadow that had threatened his 
 sky, made the sunshine all the more exquisite. He could 
 not speak a word, but only clasped her close in the long, 
 sweet embrace which symbolized their betrothal. 
 
 " My own!" he murmured at last. " My own. you gavt 
 me one terrible minute. To be without you, Francesca, 
 that would be to be crucified!" 
 
 He did not definitely think of the talk between the two 
 Englishmen, but the thought suggested that afternoon had 
 Bunk deep into his mind, and the agony of the brief mis- 
 take gave the emphatic utterance of that last word a ten- 
 fold power. Francesca breathed fast ; Love unfolded to her 
 his wonderful face, hitherto veiled ; she was awed by the 
 thought of the immortal passion, the undying devotion of 
 her lover. The strength and sacredness of that last word 
 he had used filled her heart with a wondering love and 
 humility. His happiness, his life, was in her keeping, and 
 hers in his. Mortal man could never bear the strain of the 
 one thought without the support of the other. 
 
 After awhile they began to weave golden visions of the 
 future ; Carlo suggesting one place and another, for which 
 he thought she had a fancy ; a certain ideal nook, called 
 Quisisana, on the other side of Naples, where once, years 
 before, she had said she would like to build a house if some 
 one would but leave her a fortune; a pretty villa at Posi- 
 lipo which she used to admire. It touched her to see how 
 he remembered all her careless, girlish speeches, and had 
 treasured them up for years. 
 
 "Ah," she said, smiling, "I used to think place would 
 make such a difference; but now, Carlo mio, I don't care 
 one bit. "We will make a home in the wilderness, if it so 
 pleases you, or at Naples, in a corner of an old palace 'tis 
 all one to me so long as we are together." 
 
 He drew her yet closer to him. They went on weaving 
 their plans, unconscious of a small sprite approaching the 
 summer-house. Sibyl stood composedly in the doorway for 
 a moment, quite unnoticed by the lovers. 
 
 44 Oh!" she ejaculated at length, " is that the game?" 
 
 Her perplexed and rather disappointed look was most 
 comical. 
 
 "What game?" asked Francesca, laughing and blush- 
 ing. 
 
 "The game you said people played for lover' 
 
 "Yes, this is it," said Carlo, laughing immoderately. 
 
 " Is that all?" exclaimed the sprite, in a tone of deep di* 
 appointment. 
 
 They only laughed. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 2t 
 
 "Well, for my part," said Sibyl, who had caught many 
 9ld-fashioiied little phrases from living always with grown 
 up people " for my part I think it's very dull." 
 
 She ran off. Carlo watched her out of sight, smiling at 
 her quaint disapproval. 
 
 " She will miss you, poor little one," he said at last. 
 
 " Yes, that would be one reason for not going far away. 
 And your mother, Carlo ? How selfish of me not to re- 
 member her! You must never be parted from her 
 never." 
 
 "You will be to her in the place of Nita," said Carlo. 
 " You will comfort her as I have never been able to do." 
 
 And so once again they plunged into the golden glories 
 of the future. Clare must be persuaded to come back 
 again and take Sibyl in charge, and their paradise should 
 be the Villa Bruno, already dear to them through many 
 associations. That plan would obviate all difficulties, and 
 render partings unnecessary ; would be the happiest plan 
 for others as well as for themselves. 
 
 "And we must not be selfish in our happiness," said 
 Francesca. 
 
 " No," he replied, smiling as he remembered his friend's 
 parting words, * 4 we will prove to Enrico Bitter that love is 
 not selfishness, and that egoism does not rule the world as 
 he thinks." 
 
 A gong sounding within the house warned Carlo that he 
 ought to go. Together they left the little stone summer- 
 house and wandered through the lovely garden a garden 
 wholly un-English. The scorching sun would not admit of 
 lawns, but nevertheless there was a great charm in the 
 straight, shady walks, with here and there an umbrella- 
 pine, or a tall and somber cypress mingling with limes, 
 chestnuts, and camphor- trees. A long colonnade of white* 
 pillars was festooned from end to end with honeysuckle; 
 vines linked together the bushy mulberry - trees ; Indian- 
 corn grew green and ribbon- like beneath; while about all 
 was that delicious sweetness only to be met with in the 
 gardens of Italy. The house was solid and unpretentious, 
 its whiteness relieved by masses of the feathery green pep- 
 per-tree, and a glory of climbing red geranium. Captain 
 Britton sat in the loggia, which was wreathed with white 
 roses. He looked up smiling as he saw the two drawing 
 near, then came forward to bestow a kiss upon his daugh- 
 ter and a hearty handshake upon his future son-in-law. 
 He was .a large-limbed, strong-looking man, somewhat 
 heavily built, with scanty gray hair and whiskers, and a 
 broad smiling mouth. In manner he was kindly, genial, 
 and patronizing. But, in spite of some surface faults, he 
 was a thoroughly good-hearted man, and thwe was no mis* 
 
2 XN1G8T-ERRANT. 
 
 taking his genuine hospitality and anxiety to help his 
 friends. If Carlo occasionally winced beneath his benign 
 patronage, or was provoked to anger by some show of in- 
 sular prejudice, such trifles were soon forgotten in th 
 recollection of the thousand acts of kindness shown both 
 to his mother and to himself by the neighborly English- 
 man. And then the Donati were proverbially susceptible, 
 and Carlo had long been on his guard, and had schooled 
 himself into thinking that the small discords and jarring 
 notes which now and then occurred in the intercourse with 
 the Brittons were really owing to his own ultra-sensitive- 
 ness. Such things were, after all, but trifles light as air, 
 and were powerless really to disturb the bliss of being near 
 his love. 
 
 " Hearty congratulations," said the old captain, warmly. 
 '* I had not much fear that my little Fran would be unkind 
 to you. and I suppose I must not grumble at losing her. I 
 little thought that some day she would be changing into a 
 signora. But, there, we have made half an Englishman of 
 you already; have we not?" 
 
 ''No. no,'" said Francesca, quick to note that the last 
 word? brought a momentary gleam of anger into her 
 lover's eyes. " Carlo will always be true to his country, 
 though he speaks English almost like a native. That is 
 because I taught you, Carlo mio; is it not?" 
 
 "Without love of the teacher, learning is drudgery," 
 said Carlo, laughing. " I enjoyed my English lessons." 
 
 ' ' That reminds me of your old master, Signor Piale. Oh, 
 what will he say to us. Carlo? what will he say?'* and 
 Francesca laughed merrily. 
 
 "My kind regards to Signora Donati," said Captain 
 Britton, smiling. "And if I may be permitted to call and 
 pay my respects " 
 
 "To-night," interrupted Carlo, eagerly. " Say you wil* 
 come to-night, after dinner. My mother cannot leave the 
 house, you know, and she will be longing to see Fran 
 cesca."' 
 
 " Well, well, no need to stand on ceremony even to-day; 
 we are such old friends, are we not?" said the captain, 
 good-naturedly. "After dinner, then after dinner. Come, 
 Fran, my dear, no need to see Carlo off the premises; 
 you'll meet again before long, and the soup is getting 
 cold." 
 
 Franceses was borne off to the dining-room, and Carlo, 
 turning a'vay, cleared the prickly -pears at a bound, and 
 alighted Amid a group of lemon- trees in his own garden. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 9 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 
 
 * Let my voice be heard that asketh 
 Not for fame and not for glory; 
 Give for all our life's dear story, 
 Give us Love and give us Peace!'* Jean Ingdow. 
 
 VILLA BRUNO was a smaller house than Casa Bella. It 
 was lacking, too, in the air of cozy English comfort which 
 She Brittons had managed to impart to their rooms, and 
 the furniture was scanty, though handsome of its kind. 
 Carlo walked through the veranda and entered by the 
 open window of the salotto, treading lightly as he saw that 
 his mother lay asleep on her couch. He stole up to her, 
 and stood in silence, watching the beautiful, but worn face 
 of the invalid. He thought how great a happiness was in 
 store for her, and smiled. He imagined Francesca, bring- 
 ing that English air of home into this room, and thought 
 bow sweet it would be, when he rode home each evening, 
 to picture those two together waiting for him. Looking 
 on into the sunny future, he forgot the present ; his mother 
 had opened her eyes, and had watched him for some mo- 
 ments before he saw that she was awake. 
 
 At last he looked down at her, and met her eyes shining 
 into his with perfect comprehension. 
 
 "Carlino, you bring me good news!" she exclaimed, 
 drawing his face down to hers, and kissing the smooth, 
 ruddy-brown cheek. 
 
 "The best news, mother the best!" he replied, return- 
 ing the embrace. " Oh, mother I I'm the happiest man in 
 Italy." 
 
 " Francesca " began the signora. 
 
 "Francesca is mine is mine!" he broke in. "She is 
 coming you will see her soon, madre mia." 
 
 "And her father?" 
 
 " Was kindness itself. He will bring her in this evening 
 to see you. No one could have been more friendly. I saw 
 him first, and then then he told me I might speak to her 
 that I should find her in the garden. Afterward, her 
 first thought was for you. Oh, mother, she will be to you 
 the daughter you have so much needed." 
 
 The tears started to the mother's eyes. 
 
 "Insommaf Now I have grieved you, and mad you 
 think of poor Nita; happiness made me forget all else. 
 Forgive me, little mother-, I did nob mean to make you 
 think of the past." 
 
 "Ah I" sobbed the Signora Donati. "How can I help 
 thinking of it, Garlino, when the contrast is so sharp you 
 
24 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 coming to me thus with your joy, as a son should, and Nita 
 bringing me only shame and grief and disgrace not evtn 
 sending me one line of love or regret all these years?" 
 
 ** She will come back, little mother she will come back, 1 ' 
 he said, soothingly. "Some day she will feel her need 
 of you. Don't cry to-night, of all nights in the year. I 
 shall take it as a bad omen.' 1 
 
 Years had raised no barrier between these two: Carlo 
 as frank and open with his mother as when he had 
 been a child ; she had shared all his hopes and fears during 
 ng time of probation, and now she shared his joy, and 
 was soon coaxed back to cheerfulness, as he told her more 
 of what had passed at the Casa Bella. She was quite her- 
 self again as she went into dinner upon his arm ; her grief 
 was forgotten, she laughed merrily at his account of En- 
 rico's philosophical counsels, and felt a glow of pride and 
 happiness as she looked across the table at her son, who 
 had been all in all to her for so many years. Carlo %\ as too 
 happy to be hungry, but he pledged his mother over a 
 bottle of Orvieto. and they drank Francesca's health, and 
 ked glasses, and made merry. 
 
 The tete-a-tete dinner at the Casa Bella was quieter, but 
 
 happy, too. in its way. The old captain beamed silently 
 
 from'behind the sirloin. Francesca looked radiant. They 
 
 talked fitfully of the weather, of the orange-crop, of the 
 
 silk-worms, of the last letter from England of everything, 
 
 in fact, except the one subject that was nearest their 
 
 hearts; but then old Dino was waiting, and it behooved 
 
 them to keep up appearances. Their tongues were un- 
 
 1 by the appearance of Sibyl and the dessert, and the 
 
 ;.>pearance of the servant. 
 
 id the captain, taking the little girl on his 
 knee, "'what would you think if we were to have a wed- 
 ding here?" 
 
 11 A wedding, father?" Sibyl clapped her hands with 
 delight. " Oh, may I be the bride, father? May I be the 
 
 11 Xo," said the father, laughing, " that character is be- 
 spoken. You will have to be my little housekeeper. 
 Francesca is to be bride. There, you must drink her 
 health: Long life and happiness to the future Signora 
 Donati.'' 
 
 yl obediently repeated the words, but made a wry 
 face over the claret. 
 
 " What horrid stuff, daddy. Do give me a bit of your 
 orange, quick." Then, with her mouth very full, k 'But 
 .can't be Signora Donati." 
 
 "Oh, yes, she can when she marries Carlo," said the 
 captain. 
 
25 
 
 "Marries Carlo?" echoed Sibyl, in astonishment. " Dear 
 me, will Carlo be married? What a bother! I suppose 
 he'll never play games and be jolly any more?" 
 
 " Why not?" said Francesca, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, he won't," said Sibyl, looking wise and elderly, 
 '* I know he won't. I asked nurse the other day what it 
 meant to be married, and she said it was when people grew 
 steady and settled down." 
 
 The two elders laughed heartily. 
 
 "But he will be your brother, you know, Sibyl, and 
 brothers always play," said Francesca. 
 
 " Carlo my brother?" 
 
 " Your brother-in-law." 
 
 " Ob yes, I know about that that's what he had put on 
 his cards," said Sibyl, triumphantly; "so he must have 
 known he was going to be my brother before he came here ; 
 Dino said that long word was in-law." 
 
 Then, before Captain Britton had done laughing, Sibyl 
 convulsed her companions by solemnly raising the glass 
 to her lips again, and repeating in the gravest way imagina- 
 ble, " Long life and many games to my future brother-in- 
 law." 
 
 Francesca was eager to go in quickly to see Signora 
 Donati, but she had to wait till Sibyl was tucked up in bed 
 and her father had finished his after-dinner nap. Then she 
 threw a white woolly shawl about her head and shoulders, 
 slipped her arm into the captain's and crossed over to the 
 Villa Bruno. The signora was alone ; she came forward to 
 meet them with the prettiest little greeting imaginable. 
 Francesca loved her dearly, and returned her embraces 
 with all possible warmth ; but above the soft and tender 
 assurances of the signora's delight in the news which Carlo 
 had brought her, she was conscious of her lover's voice 
 singing out in the garden. The joyous ring about the old 
 Neapolitan song, the unmistakable rapture of the singer, 
 filled her heart with happiness. The sweet, familiar air al- 
 ways brought back to her memory that first perfect even- 
 ing at the Villa Bruno. 
 
 "He has done nothing but sing since he came back from 
 you," said the signora, as the singer drew nearer, every 
 word distinctly heard in that clear atmosphere: 
 " O dolce Napoli, 
 O suol beato 
 Dove sorridere 
 Voile il create, 
 Tu sei 1'impero 
 Dell' armonia, 
 Santa Lueia! Santa Lucia!" 
 
 The last note still echoed in the air as Carlo stepped into 
 the dimly lighted room through the open window, bearing 
 
88 
 
 In his hand a bunch of red roses and myrtle-blossom. It 
 was the picture he had so often imagined which met his 
 gaze, for Francesca stood beside his mother, the lamplight 
 shedding a soft glow over her sweet, fair face. She was 
 dressed in some kind of soft white dress which made him 
 think of a baby's robe, her wavy brown hair was a little 
 ruffled by the white shawl which she had thrown aside; in 
 her sweet, pure happiness she was exquisite. 
 
 " I did not know you had come," he exclaimed, hastening 
 toward her; " how was it I never heard you?" 
 
 " ^ye came without ceremony; there was no ringing of 
 bells,'' said Francesca. 
 
 "And Carlo was singing at the top of his voice,'* 
 eaid the mother, laughing. ''I foresee, Francesca. that 
 he will now be like my canary, who is so happy that 
 he sings all day long, and I have sometimes to extinguish 
 him." 
 
 " We have been wondering what Signer Piale will say, 1 * 
 replied Francesca, smiling; " you know he looks upon love 
 as the supreme obstacle in the way of art. ' ' 
 
 "Then he should not compose music to such words 
 as these,*' said Carlo, taking up a song from the open 
 piano. 
 
 " Is that his last? I have not heard it," said Francesca, 
 "Ah, he has dedicated it to me as he promised." 
 
 "Go and sing it, Carlo; it suits you well," said his 
 mother. 
 
 "I am not well acquainted uith your Tennyson," she 
 continued, turning to Captain Britton, "but it seems to 
 me that these words are melodious and well adapted for 
 music." 
 
 The captain was not poetical, but he at once launched 
 into an account of how he had once met the Laureate at 
 Lord Blamton's, while Carlo and Francesca wandered off 
 to the piano, Francesca glancing through the accompani- 
 ment to see if he could manage it. 
 
 Even in that land of beautiful voices Carlo Donati'a 
 Toice was most remarkable. But Piale was the only per- 
 son who quite knew what it was worth, and he had issued 
 strict orders that his pupil was to sing nowhere save at 
 home and at his lessons. He knew well enough that if 
 Carlo once sang at a Neapolitan party he would be allowed 
 no pence, but would become the spoiled and overworked 
 amateur, and fail altogether to do justice to the severe 
 but excellent training which he had now almost com- 
 pleted. The voice was a barytone of unusual power and 
 sweetness. Piale's music suited the pathetic words admi- 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 27 
 
 ** Love is come with a song and a smile, 
 Welcome Love with a smile and a song; 
 Love can stay buf a little while. 
 Why cannot he stay? They call him away: 
 Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong; 
 Love will stay for a whole life long." 
 
 The song ended, Francesca sat dreamily playing over 
 the refrain which her lover had declaimed so passionately ; 
 he stood close to her, deftly arranging the flowers he had 
 brought from the garden in her hair and dress. Then, 
 after the thanks and praises of the listeners had been 
 spoken, Captain Britton once more enlarged upon his meet- 
 ing with the Laureate, and Carlo, foreseeing that the topic 
 would last some time, looked longingly out in.to the dusky 
 garden, then down at Francesca. 
 
 "The paths are quite dry; it is starlight," he said; 
 " will you not come out?" 
 
 She smiled and nodded, let him wrap the white shawl 
 about her, and crossed the room to the window. Carlo lin- 
 gered a moment to slip a cluster of red roses into his moth- 
 er's hand. 
 
 " We go into the garden for a few minutes, madre mia" 
 he explained. 
 
 She smiled approvingly, perceiving that he meant to 
 claim all the liberty which an English betrothal permits, 
 and then turned again to the captain with a question, in 
 her pretty broken Engligh, which she was well aware 
 would keep him happy for some time to come. 
 
 "And this Lord Blamton, at whose house it occurred, is 
 he your friend?" 
 
 The lovers, supremely indifferent to both lords and 
 laureates, strolled out into the starlit garden. All was 
 still and peaceful; through the olives they could catch 
 glimpses of the yellow lights in Pozzuoli, and every now 
 and then a lurid crimson flame and a column of vapor lifc 
 up by the fierce glare, revealed in the distance the conical 
 form of Vesuvius and its peaceful neighbor, Somma; there 
 was a delicious fragrance in the air; thyme and myrtle 
 and mignonette filled the dewy garden with their sweet- 
 ness ; every where the peace of a great content seemed to 
 brood. A stranger might have fancied something disturb- 
 ing and incongruous in the burning mountain; but to 
 Carlo, Vesuvius was an old friend, not a terror. In his 
 childhood he had fancied it a sort of symbol of the Deity, 
 vaguely connecting it with that other pillar of cloud by 
 day and pillar of fire by night of which old Father Cristo- 
 foro had told him. Not a care, not the least shadow of 
 anxiety, broke the bliss the unclouded happiness ot that 
 evening. ^ 
 
28 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Remembering Enrico's advice to keep his happiness to 
 himself, Carlo took a holiday, and stayed at home till the 
 end of the week, when, partly prompted by a conscientious 
 wish to break the news to Piale, and to keep his usual ap- 
 pointment with the old maestro on Saturday morning, 
 partly because he wished to search for a betrothal ring tt 
 his mind, he ordered his horse and rode into Naples. 
 
 Piale lived over a shop in the Strada Mont' Oliveto. 
 His apartments were furnished in a Spartan manner, with- 
 out the least attempt at comfort or picturesqueness. A 
 marble floor, unrelieved by carpet or mat, walls painted 
 in pale green, but bare of a single picture, a grand piano 
 in the middle of the room, a table strewn with music -paper, 
 books, and pens, and a few straight -backed chairs stiffly 
 Bet round it, completed the furniture of this musical an- 
 chorite. When Carlo entered the room that morning he 
 found the old man poring over the score of some opera, hig 
 shaggy gray hair tossed back from his broad forehead, and 
 the shabbiness of his many-colored dressing-gown fully re- 
 vealed by the sunshine which streamed in through the 
 half -open jalousies. He looked up as Carlo entered, giving 
 him a sharp, searching glance, as though to discover how 
 the world went with him that morning. Convinced by th 
 radiant happiness of his pupil's face that at present the 
 sky was cloudless, he grunted put a rather surly " Buon 
 giorno," and closed his book with an air of reluctance. 
 
 "I want your congratulations, maestro," said Carlo, 
 coming quickly forward. * ' Nothing but the most filial 
 obedience and respect to yourself brought me away from 
 my paradise this morning. You must mingle with praise 
 your good wishes for our health and happiness." 
 
 "Hem!" exclaimed the old man, pretending not to 
 catch his meaning. You are an avvocato, I understand; 
 young Eitter told me as much as that. Corpo di Baccol 
 don't come to me for congratulations. You've mistaken 
 your profession. You are wasting yes, wasting, the 
 noblest gift of God." 
 
 4 1 But, maestro, reflect ; how is it possible for me to use 
 my voice as you would have me? Would you wish me to 
 leave my mother? And then, moreover, there are other 
 considerations I am about to be married." 
 
 "Married!" The maestro turned away with a groan. 
 "Ah, then I wash my hands of you! You are lost to 
 art lost to the noblest of the professions ! Farewell to my 
 hopes ! All my efforts with you are thrown away ! You 
 might have been the pride of my old age and the delight 
 of Europe. Instead, you choose the career of a lawyer 
 and the caresses of a woman." 
 
 "You speak scornfully, maestro," replied the culprit^ 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 29 
 
 laughing. "I shall add two adjectives to your bald re- 
 mark * the useful career ' and ' a perfect woman.' Why, 
 signor, you who know Miss Britton should be ready to 
 make excuse for me. What else could you expect? Is 
 the Muse of Harmony to take precedence of such an one?" 
 
 "Hear him!" cried Piale, in despair, "great Heaven! 
 and it is this ungrateful one that thou hast endowed with 
 the voice of a seraph and the dramatic power of a Sal vim!" 
 
 " My apologies to Salvani," said Carlo, laughing merrily, 
 " but that, beloved maestro,, is bathos a fine example." 
 
 His laughter was so infectious that Piale was obliged to 
 join in it; then, with a shrug of the shoulders, he shuffled 
 across to the piano. 
 
 " You are incorrigible! I wash my hands of you! But 
 since you are in so jocular a mood at the prospect of set- 
 tling down to so monotonous a life " 
 
 "Maestro!" broke in Carlo, with indignation. 
 
 "Do I speak unadvisedly?" said Piale, with sarcasm; 
 "not at all. Oh, I kno\y well enough what it will be. 
 You will sit under your vine and under your fig-tree, and 
 you will count the olive-branches round your table " 
 
 "Signor Piale!" 
 
 " And you will say as you look, * I must work hard,' and 
 you will become the speaking-machine of the Neapolitan 
 criminals, and you will use that divine gift for the procla- 
 mation of lies, and you will debase your fine dramatic 
 genius and make it the tool of the worthless and the guilty. 
 Since all this makes you in so gay a humor, come, sing me 
 your song from 'II Barbiere.' " 
 
 Pursing up his lips, the old professor began to play the 
 accompaniment of " Largo al Factotum;" and Carlo, enter- 
 ing into the spirit of the thing, and with his sense of humor 
 touched by the analogy between the barber's glorification 
 of his profession and the words that had just passed, sang 
 magnificently. 
 
 At the end there was unbroken silence. The old pro- 
 fessor sat lost in thought ; Carlo watched him with a smile 
 on his lips. Then, sauntering across the room, sang sotto 
 voce, the recitative which followed, throwing malicious 
 meaning into the 
 
 " Ah! Che bella vita! Oh! Che mestiere!" 
 
 "It could not have been better sung!" cried Piale, with 
 ft gesture of despair. "Carlo, perhaps I have dealt un- 
 fairly by you. I have never praised you, never told you 
 what I thought of your powers; I feared to ruin that 
 modesty which has endeared you to me. But now it in 
 time that you seriously consider the matter. There, there, 
 don't interrupt mel Marry if you will, and let your 
 
80 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 tend the Signora Donati in your absence. But do nol 
 allow so glorious a gift to rust unused." 
 
 "But, dear maestro," said Carlo, gravely, "you do not 
 realize that others do not think of the profession as you do. 
 Captain Britton regards the theater as the school for hell; 
 the stage is an abomination to him. He fancies that all 
 actors are like that villain Merlino. And, indeed, it is 
 wonderful that he made no objection to having as son-in- 
 law one who is so deeply compromised as I am. 1 suppose 
 he hardly realized the fact ; he has almost forgotten poor 
 Nita's existence." 
 
 At the recollection of that sorrowful past he sighed. 
 Piale was quick to note how the remembrance interfered 
 with his present happiness. 
 
 " Well, only a brute would dream of holding you respon- 
 sible for the sins of others," he said, warmly. 
 
 my 
 
 I heard that Merlino's company 
 for the last two years, and that Madame Merlino had made 
 
 a good impression there Well, I suppose I must say 
 
 no more, lad, but ic is hard on a master to have his best 
 pupil lost to the world." 
 
 He changed the subject rather hastily. He could not 
 bear to bring back that cloud to Carlo's brow by telling him 
 the last news of his sister. 
 
 His lesson over, Carlo began to ransack the jewelers' 
 shops, and having at last found a broad gold gypsy ring 
 with a single diamond which satisfied him, he bent his steps 
 toward his uncle's house, conscious that Guido Donati a 
 rather autocratic man would require early notice of his 
 nephew's engagement. 
 
 The interview passed off well. Uncle Guido thoroughly 
 approved of the marriage, and treated his nephew in the 
 most generous and paternal way, and Carlo came forth in 
 excellent spirits. All seemed to promise well for his future 
 life. Happy in his love, with the prospect of a fair in- 
 heritance, a hope which practically amounted to certainty 
 of success in his profession, and with the best of mothers 
 and the truest of friends, it seemed as if life could offer him 
 nothing more. His face was radiant as he greeted. Enrico 
 Bitter. 
 
 " Well met!" he exclaimed, waylaying Enrico, who, in a 
 fit of abstraction, would have passed" him by. 
 
 "Oh, it is you!" exclaimed Enrico, looking him critically 
 in the face. * " Well, what news?" 
 
 ' ' You will be requested to dance at my wedding before 
 long." said Carlo, gayly. 
 
 >SoJ" Enrico whistled. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 8l 
 
 "I took your advice, you see, amico mio, and stayed at 
 home, that you might not be afflicted with the trouble of 
 congratulating me." 
 
 44 Yes, yes," said Enrico, with a sarcastic smile. " That 
 is your kind way of putting it egoist that you are ! You 
 stayed to enjoy yourself, and now you want to make me 
 believe that you were considering my comfort and not your 
 own. An egoist ! A double-dyed egoist !" 
 
 But his laughter was suddenly checked. They were 
 passing a hoarding in the Strada S. Trinita; Carlo had 
 glanced at one of the placards, and now he clutched his 
 friend's arm. 
 
 " Enrico 1" he gasped; " my sister's name I thought I 
 saw it. Look for me; I can't." 
 
 Huge black letters on a pink ground danced in wild con- 
 fusion before his eyes ; but surely it was that hateful name 
 of Merlino which had suddenly darkened his sky, which 
 had struck a blow at his heart and left him stunned and 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Dear old fellow, you must come on," said Enrico. " I 
 didn't know those cursed placards would be out yet; but it 
 is true, alas! only too true." 
 
 Carlo walked on mechanically, feeling as though he were 
 in a nightmare. His thoughts flew wildly from Francesca 
 to Anita, from his mother to Captain Britton, from his 
 uncle to Merlino. He had no definite ideas, only a giddy 
 consciousness that the world, so bright but a minute be- 
 fore, was now overshadowed, and that a nameless fear 
 filled his heart. 
 
 14 Where?" he faltered, after a brief silence. 
 
 "The Mercadante," said Enrico, following his train of 
 thought, and understanding the laconic question aa a 
 friend should. 
 
 " Let us come there," said Carlo. 
 
 Enrico silently complied. After a time his friend looked 
 up with another question. 
 
 " You knew of this before, then?" 
 
 Enrico signed an assent. 
 
 "The day I last saw you," he added, after a pause. 
 
 44 What ! That thing you tore out of the Piccolo ? Why 
 did you try to keep it from me?" 
 
 44 1 wanted you to have a cloudless betrothal," said En- 
 rico, rather reluctantly. 
 
 44 Ah, amico mio f exclaimed the other, gratefully. 
 14 You shield me thus, and then call yourself an egoist!" 
 
 44 Of course," said Enrico, who hated to be caught in a 
 kindly action. 4t It was pure egoism. Naturally I wish 
 you to be happy, for it disturbs me and makes me unoom 
 
*3 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 fortable to see you as you are now. Purely for my 
 sake I deferred the evil day." 
 
 Carlo could not help smiling, even then, at the energy 
 with which his friend tried to establish his own selfishness 
 for the sake of triumphing in his pet theory. 
 
 " I must find out whether they are yet in Naples," he 
 said, growing grave once more, and trying hard to collect 
 his thoughts. " Oh, Enrico, how shall I break the news to 
 my mother? She is unfit to bear the least shock." 
 
 "I would keep it from her, then at any rate, till you 
 know what line your sister intends to take," said Enrico. 
 "But see, we are close to the Mercadante. Shall I make 
 inquiries for you?" 
 
 " I wish you would," said Carlo, with a look of relief. 
 "Ask when the company arrives in Naples, and where 
 they are to be found." 
 
 Enrico walked forward, Carlo following more slowly; on 
 past two open-air cafes, with groups of idlers beneath a 
 shady trellis-work of vine and euonymus ; on past a stall 
 gayly wreathed with lemons and greenery, where thirsty 
 Neapolitans were drinking mineral water; on till the 
 arsenal was in sight, and the red tower of the lighthouse, 
 while in the foreground was the Teatrq Mercadante. Lit- 
 tle had he thought that the sight of its pink walls with 
 their white facings would ever have caused him such 
 strange emotion. Huge placards were posted here in all 
 directions. He read them over and over in a sort of dream, 
 taking in little but that one name in larger type, " MADE- 
 MOISELLE MERLJNO." At length Enrico came forth, having 
 made his inquiries. 
 
 " They do not seem to know the exact date of their ar- 
 rival," he said, in answer to Carlo's mute question. " The 
 man was just going off to his siesta, and was not best 
 pleased at being hindered. However, he wrote down the 
 address for me. You will find them there whenever they 
 do arrive. It may be to-morrow or any day next week. 
 They are coming from America, but by what route the 
 fellow didn't know. However, you see by the placards 
 there are no performances for another ten days." 
 
 Carlo took the paper and read the address. 
 
 44 1 shall be here again to-morrow, " he said. " I will call 
 and see if they have arrived, and till then I shall say noth- 
 ing to my mother. " 
 
 " That would be wise," said Enrico. " Then she will be 
 spared the worry and uncertainty. You look tired, arnica 
 mio. Come home with me, and have your siesta in peace " 
 
 44 No," said Carlo; " I want to go home. I want to tell 
 Francesco." 
 
SNIGHT-ERRANT. 88 
 
 "You can't ride back in this heat; you'll get a un- 
 ifcroke." 
 
 But he only shook his head, and, with an unmistakable 
 air of wishing to be alone, said good-bye to his friend, and 
 went to order his horse. 
 
 Enrico turned to look after him. Profound dejection 
 was expressed in his walk. The serpent had all too sooa 
 invaded his paradise. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 
 
 * Come, all ye faithful, come, and dare to prove 
 The bitter weet, the pain and bliss of love." Trench. 
 
 FRANCESCA came down one of the shady garden paths to 
 meet her lover ; she held in her hand a forked branch, on 
 which, nestled among the pale-green leaves, grew four 
 fresh- looking lemons. For a moment Carlo forgot every- 
 thing in the bliss of seeing her again. It seemed to him 
 that they had been ages apart; that he had been toiling 
 across a barren desert to reach this cool, green retreat, in 
 which his betrothed reigned supreme. How beautiful she 
 looked in that familiar, soft, white dress, and with her 
 \vhite forehead and delicate coloring shaded by a large 
 hat ! The hat was one of those shallow white ones which 
 can sometimes be bought for two or three soldi; it was not 
 calculated, however, to sustain the embraces of a lover, 
 and it speedily fell back, leaving Francesca with her wavy 
 brown hair uncovered. For a minute Carlo held her from 
 him, that he might the better see her, with a datura-tree 
 for back -ground, and the soft creamy flowers drooping 
 over her head. Francesca, having known him and loved 
 him for years, saw in one glance that he was in trouble. 
 
 4 'You are tired, my own," she said. "It was too hot 
 for you to ride back so early; you should have taken your 
 siesta at Naples." 
 
 "I couldn't rest, "he said, with a sigh. "I wanted to 
 get back to you." 
 
 44 Something has grieved you. Does Uncle Guido disaj> 
 prove of our betrothal?" 
 
 44 No, oh no. How could he do that? He treated me as 
 though I had been his son." 
 
 " Yet something or some one has been troubling you. 
 But we will not talk of it now; you shall rest first. Com 
 into the Rose-room; it will be cool there, and the sun is not 
 off the summer-house yet." 
 
 They went together toward the house. The Rose-room 
 was Francesca's own little sitting-room. It had a ceiling 
 painted after the Italian fashion with wreaths of pink roatftft 
 
34 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 it had cool, grax walls crowded with a most miscellaneowl 
 collection of photographs and water color sketches; it had 
 rose-colored curtains in figured muslin; and, after the 
 manner of rooms, it betrayed its owner's chief failing it 
 was in wild disorder. Francesca was by no means im- 
 maculate ; like other girls, she had her faults, and untidi- 
 ness was one of them. > 
 
 44 Try my rocking-chair," she said, removing a guitar 
 which reposed upon the cushions, and trying to find a 
 home for it upon the crowded table. " I will be back 
 directly.'* 
 
 Carlo, rescuing the guitar, which was in imminent dan- 
 ger of falling, lay back in the easy chair and waited, let- 
 ting his hands wander idly about among the strings. It 
 was sweet to feel already so entirely at home at Casa Bella 
 its very confusion was dear to him. Presently Fran- 
 cesca returned bearing a big tumbler of St. Galmier, which 
 she sat down upon Dante's "Paradiso," selecting the 
 finest of the lemons from her branch. 
 
 "Lend me your knife, Carlino," she said; "I've lost 
 mine, as usual. There!" as she cut open the cool, ripe 
 fruit; "isn't that a beauty? How much, I wonder, for 
 this glassful? I should think half. Ah, how like me i 
 I've forgotten the sugar." Tha. running to the door, 
 "Sibyl! Sibyl!*' 
 
 The little sister came flying uown the passage. 
 
 "Hun and fetch me some sugar, will you, Sibyl, dear? 
 Oh. bother! Now, what have I done with the store-room 
 key? Look, darling, I think it must be on my dressing- 
 table, or, perhaps, in the pocket of my blue gown ; or, if 
 ot, in my work-basket." 
 
 Sibyl ran away to hunt for the missing key, and Fran- 
 cesca searched among the contents of the table to see if by 
 chance it had been left there. 
 
 ''Ah, Carlo mi-ol" she said, with a pretty penitence, " J 
 fear I am not as the ladies say who advertise in the news 
 papers, thoroughly domesticated. ' I shall have to mend 
 my evil ways now." 
 
 Carlo pretended not to understand what " domesticated " 
 meant, and they had much merriment over a dictionary, 
 which declared that it was to be "tame" and not "for- 
 eign." 
 
 Sibyl at last returned with the sugar-basin, claiming one 
 lump as wages, and accepting another to run away. Then 
 Francesca began to stir the contents of the tumbler ^vithan 
 ivory paper-knife, since spoons were not handy; and in 
 much laughter and lover-like teasing Carlo forgot all about 
 the cloud-shadow which had arisen. 
 . The ring fitted to pSESQction, and Francesca' s delight wa* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 85 
 
 bty to see ; she was not above a womanly weakness for 
 w ?welry, and frankly owned that she always had longed for 
 Just one diamond. 
 
 44 And what about the old maestro?" she exclaimed, at last. 
 " You never told me how he bore the news." 
 
 4 ' Well, dear old Piale was, or pretended to be, a good 
 deal depressed. It seems that he really had set his heart 
 on my going on the stage, and had not at all realized how 
 impossible that would be." 
 
 " Yet you do not feel as my father does about theater- 
 going?" said Franeesca. "And Clare! Don't you remem- 
 ber what arguments we used to have with dear Clare 
 about it?" 
 
 "Yes, she was dead against it; but then she was brought 
 uj) in a Puritan family, and the old prejudices lingered 
 with her. For me, I have no feeling whatever oi: that sort, 
 but nevertheless the life of an operatic singer is quite the 
 last I should willingly choose. Piale talks scoffingly of the 
 humdrum life of an advocate ; but for my part I shall be 
 very well content to stay at home, with the hope of some 
 day following in my father's steps and doing a little for the 
 country. Think of the wretchedness of a wandering life ! 
 It's all very well to talk about delighting Europe prac- 
 tically one would be little better than an exile and into 
 the bargain, Piale owns that art requires the sacrifice of do- 
 mestic life." 
 
 44 1 knew he would not approve of me," said Franeesca, 
 laughing. "We must have him to our wedding, Carlo, 
 and he shall make a speech. What fun he will be !" 
 
 Just for a minute, as they talked of theatrical life, Carlo's 
 thoughts had reverted to Nita, but Francesca's reference 
 to the wedding soon dispersed the cloud. He had most 
 markedly the Italian faculty of living wholly in the pres- 
 ent, and enjoying it much as a child enjoys life. They lin- 
 gered long in the Rose-room. Later on, when the heat of; 
 the afternoon was passed, they walked through the garden 
 and down the vine-clad slopes to the beach, where old 
 Florestano sat smoking his pipe with his back against a 
 boat. He sprung up, on seeing them, as quickly as his 
 rheumatism would permit. 
 
 44 Going for a row, signer?" he said, when he had finished 
 his lengthy congratulations, and had made Franeesca 
 blush deliciously. 
 
 44 Yes," said Carlo, flinging his coat into the stern; "but 
 we sha'n't want you, Florestano; we shall never want you 
 any more;" and, with a laugh, he shoved the boat down 
 to the water's edge. 
 
 "Ah, signorina," said the old fisherman, chuckling, "h@ 
 
86 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 is one to be proud of, that he is. Why, I do declare, he 
 might be a fisherman. Look at him now. ' ' 
 
 And with delighted pride the old man watched the skill 
 with which the strong, active figure in straw hat and shirt- 
 sleeves set to work. Carlo looked round with a bright, 
 glowing face. "Come, Francesca, let us be off. Good- 
 bye, Florestano. Ah, wait a minute, though! Have a 
 cigar?" 
 
 He handed his case to the old fisherman, who helped 
 himself with a smiling face ; then he shoved the boat into 
 the water, sprung in, and, taking the oars, rowed off to- 
 ward Ischia. 
 
 The fisherman stood on the quiet and lonely beach 
 watching them, and meditatively stroking one of his huge, 
 projecting ears. 
 
 "Well, well," he remarked, shrugging his shoulders, 
 "some of us be born to happiness and some to sorrow, 
 there's no helping that. But all of us ought to be born to 
 a fair chance of living somehow. So says the young 
 signor, but I doubt me if, for all his hot words, and hia 
 seeming near as much of a Socialist as any of us, he'd care 
 to act it out in his life. Eh, eh ! we be all of us ready 
 enough to talk about others, but to live for them that's 
 another matter. ' ' 
 
 And, with a grim chuckle, Florestano pulled out a num- 
 ber of La Campana from his pocket, and, stretching him- 
 self on the pebbles, began to spell out more lessons in 
 Socialism. 
 
 The sun was low in the heavens when the lovers returned 
 from their row. Carlo had to hasten home to his mother, 
 but later in the evening he once more appeared at Casa 
 Bella. Apart from Francesca all his restless apprehension 
 had returned. 
 
 Captain Britton was asleep in the dining-room. Fran- 
 cesca was in the dusky drawing-room, seated at the piano, 
 where two candles under rose-colored shades made a little 
 oasis of light. She was trying over her favorite of all 
 Carlo's songs, " Dio Possente," but broke off with a little 
 cry of surprise and delight as he came toward her. 
 
 "I shall think that my ring is a fairy ring,'' she cried, 
 " and brings me all I wish for. I was just longing to hear 
 you sing this." 
 
 Carlo had not felt in a singing-humor, but her words 
 drove everything else from his mind, and he sang perhaps 
 all the better for the real care and anxiety which were op- 
 pressing him ; certainly he sang as she had never before 
 heard him sing. 
 
 "Piale is right," she said at the close, brushing away 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. W 
 
 the tears from her eyes; " Nature meant you for a singer; 
 you were Valentino then, and no one else." 
 
 Carlo did not speak ; she looked up at him quickly, and 
 again saw that look of care which he had borne back with 
 him from Naples. 
 
 ' My darling," she said, making room for him on the 
 ottoman beside her, "you are keeping something from me; 
 you are unhappy, Carlo mio, and yet you will not let me 
 know." 
 
 "Yes," he said, sadly, "I must let you know; that is 
 what I came back for. You remember Nita?" 
 
 4 'Your sister? Yes oh, yes. What of her? Has she 
 written?" 
 
 '"No; but to-day in Naples, as I walked down the Strada 
 S. Trinita, I saw that she was to sing the week after next 
 at the Mercadante." 
 
 Francesca looked startled. All in a minute it flashed 
 upon her that the perfect peace of their betrothal was dis- 
 turbed, and that it could never return. 
 
 She knew enough of Nita's story to be aware how pain- 
 ful it would be for both Signora Donati and Carlo to have 
 her as the prima donna of a Neapolitan theater; but she 
 tried hard to see gleams of possible good in the news. 
 
 "She may be sorry, and come to see you, " she suggested. 
 " Oh, surely she would come back to Villa Bruno when she 
 is so near to it as Naples?" 
 
 But Carlo was not hopeful. She listened to all his doubts 
 and fears with tender womanly sympathy. She was no 
 spoiled child, caring only for the pleasure of her betrothal ; 
 perhaps, indeed, notwithstanding the ruffled peace, she had 
 never been so happy as she was that evening when Carlo 
 told her his troubles, and then, with his arm round her, 
 whispered sweet words about the comfort of telling her. 
 
 Francesca quite agreed with Enrico that it would be 
 better to say nothing as yet to the Signora Donati ; and 
 even in her anxiety there was keen pleasure in feeling that 
 she had a right to share her lover's cares. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and Carlo, as usual, drove in 
 to the English church with the Brittons. But after the 
 service he left them, pleading an engagement, and went off 
 to see if Merlino's company had arrived. 
 
 The Palazzo Forti was in a gloomy side street ; he entered 
 the courtyard, and found his way up a very dirty stair- 
 case to the third floor, where he rang and inquired whether 
 Madame Merlino had arrived. An answer in the affirma- 
 tive from a bright-eyed little servant made his heart leap 
 into his throat. He had not expected it. He had walked 
 to the old Palazzo in the firm conviction that his sister 
 would not yet have reached Naples, and to be told 
 
II KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 was actually close to him almost took away his breath. He 
 hesitated a moment. 
 
 " Is she within? can I see her?'' he inquired. 
 
 The servant seemed a little doubtful, but said she would 
 ask ; and, taking Carlo's card, she disappeared, leaving him 
 in the door-way. In all his life he had never felt so 
 uncomfortable. He had never known Anita well; her 
 convent education had made her practically a stranger to 
 him, and now years had passed since their last meeting, 
 and between them was the shadow of her wrong-doing. 
 Then, too, he was not even sure whether he should see her 
 alone; her husband might be there; and Carlo, being 
 Italian, and hot-tempered, was not quite sure how the 
 sight of Merlino might affect him. He breathed quickly as 
 the servant returned. 
 
 " Would the signor step this way fora minute?" 
 
 Setting his teeth, he followed the maid down a passage, 
 and was ushered into a good-sized but comfortless -looking 
 room. He was surprised and relieved to find within it 
 neither his sister nor Merlino, but a young Englishman of 
 about eight-and-twenty, with fair hair and mustache, 
 arched eyebrows, and keen light blue eyes, in which there 
 was no mistaking the sparkle of genuine wit; but the face 
 was a restless one, and the expression of careless good- 
 humor was sometimes slightly tinged with bitterness. He 
 bowed, then glanced again at the visitor with undisguised 
 curiosity. 
 
 " You are Madame Merlino's brother, I think 1" 
 
 Carlo assented. 
 
 " I should have known you anywhere, the likeness is so 
 fitrong." 
 
 "I speak English, if you prefer it, sir, 1 ' said Carlo, 
 noticing that the stranger's Italian was far from fluent. 
 
 44 Do you? that will be a great relief, then. The patience 
 of you foreigners amazes me. How you can learn our 
 barbarous tongue I can't conceive. For me, I only learned 
 
 professional name 
 primo tenore of ' the happy band of pilgrims ' who patrol this 
 wicked world under Merlino's care. When they brought 
 me your card just now I thought I might ask to see you, 
 although Madame Merlino is out, for, to tell the truth, 
 Bignor, it is quite time that Madame Merlino's friends and 
 relations did something to save her. You must pardon the 
 liberty I am taking, but, indeed, it is little use mincing 
 matters in an affair of this kind." 
 Carlo took a long look at the speaker. He was evidently 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 39 
 
 an English gentleman a man doubtless with faults 
 enough, but yet, he instinctively felt, a man to be trusted. 
 
 "My sister is out, you say," he began, with a troubled 
 look. 
 
 "She went out driving this morning," said Sardoni, 
 promptly, "with her usual cavalier,' Comerio, our first 
 barytone. But I know Comerio well, and he will not long 
 be content to be a mere hanger-on. Every day Madame 
 Merlino gets more under that man's power. He and 
 she " 
 
 But here he broke hastily off, for Carlo sprung forward 
 with a gesture so threatening that any one but an English- 
 man would have recoiled a pace. 
 
 " Be silent !" he thundered; "how dare you couple my 
 sister's name with the name of that brute?" 
 
 His dark eyes were all ablaze with anger. Sardoni was 
 silent, not because he doubted the truth of his own words, 
 but because he was obliged to pause and admire. 
 
 "I see you are the brother whom Madame Merlino 
 needs," he said, quietly ; " and it is in order that those two 
 names may not with just cause be coupled together all 
 the world over that I speak to you plainly." 
 
 The glow of color had faded from Carlo's face, and had 
 left him unusually pale. He turned away with a groan as 
 Sardoni ended. Vaguely as he had dreaded his sister's 
 arrival, he had never dreamed that it would be so bad as 
 this. 
 
 " Her husband?" he said at length. 
 
 " Merlino is a brute, but many degrees better than 
 Comerio. 'Tis a sort of lion and unicorn business, with 
 your sister for crown. But you spoke as though you 
 knew Comerio?" 
 
 Report says nothing of him that is not strictly true. 
 
 " But how is it, then, that Merlino is so blind to his own 
 interests as to keep him in his troupe?" 
 
 " I can't say, unless it is that tyrants always believe in 
 their own superiority. And then, too, Comerio is such a 
 wily devil, he always manages to keep in Merlino's good 
 books. There has never been the least apparent reason for 
 getting rid of him ; and, besides, Merlino is not so over- 
 burdened with wealth that he can afford to cancel an 
 engagement. Italian opera is not such a paying concern 
 as people think." 
 
 " I must try to see my sister," said Carlo, with a sigh, 
 "or write to her." 
 
 " Then if you see her allow me to suggest that you do 
 
10 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 not call on her here, where ten to one you will fall foul of 
 her husband ; and if you write, do so now and intrust the 
 letter to me, for Merlino watches her correspondence with 
 lynx eyes, and does not scruple to open every letter." 
 f Carlo uttered an impatient exclamation of disgust. Every 
 sentence which the Englishman let fall seemed to reveal to 
 him a fresh glimpse of the intolerable life which poor Nita 
 was leading. He accepted the pen and ink which his com- 
 panion offered him, however, and, drawing a chair to tho 
 table, began with deepening color to write. 
 
 Sardoni glanced at him from time to time; he had taken 
 tip a newspaper, and made as though he were reading it, 
 but in reality his mind was full of his Italian visitor. 
 Carlo's face was almost as easy to read as a book, and 
 Sardoni could not help feeling sorry for him. He had just 
 witnessed one of the most painful sights imaginable, that 
 of a perfectly unsullied nature being brought for the first 
 time into near connection with a net-work of evil. There 
 was something, too, in the implicit trust which Donati had 
 reposed in him which appealed to him strongly. What a 
 wretched position to be in ! Powerless to help his own sis- 
 ter without trusting to the help, and believing in the hon- 
 esty of a stranger and a foreigner 1 Carlo in the meantime 
 had finished his letter, and, folding it up, handed it un- 
 sealed to Sardoni. 
 
 The Englishman put it in his pocket-book, remarking, as 
 he did so, "For a perfect stranger you trust me with a 
 good deal, Signer Donati." 
 
 Carlo looked troubled as it flashed across him how un- 
 suspiciously he had believed the stranger's words. It had 
 never occurred to him that Sardoni could possibly have any 
 reason for misleading him. He looked at him searchingly. 
 
 " But then you are an Englishman," he said, in a tone of 
 relief. 
 
 Sardoni laughed. "That is a compliment to my nation 
 which I shall not readily forget. But look here "an ex- 
 pression of great bitterness stole over his face " there are 
 many of my own countrymen who would snap their fin- 
 gers at my word of honor. ' ' 
 
 Carlo again looked him through and through, and, as he 
 looked, the blue eyes seemed to grow less hard, to appeal 
 against that harsh opinion which had been just men- 
 tioned. 
 
 4 'Oh, as for that," said Carlo, with the expressive gest- 
 ures of a Neapolitan, " that is just nothing at all to ni X 
 trust you, signor." 
 
 Sardoni smiled and grasped his hand. 
 
 " I'll not betray your confidence," he said. 
 
 And with that the two men parted. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 41 
 
 Carlo went down the dirty stone stairs, looking pale and 
 harassed. Sardoni, with a flushed face, returned to his 
 newspaper, but still did not take in one word. 
 
 "He trusted me," he thought to himself " he really 
 did trust me. Oh, God ! if I could only change natures 
 with a fellow like that !' ' Then, as some painful recollec- 
 tion brought hot tears to his eyes, he sprung up, and fling- 
 ing aside his newspaper strode across to the piano and 
 began to play a waltz. " You are a fool, Jack! a fool! a 
 fool! Why should that Italian make you think of it? A 
 mere countrified innocent!" 
 
 And with that he played on recklessly, doing his best to 
 forget Donati's eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 
 ' God be praised, that to believing souls 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair." 
 
 King Henry T7., Part IT. 
 
 How to break the news to his mother? this was Carlo's 
 eole thought as he walked home on that Sunday after- 
 noon. For an Italian he was an unusually good walker, 
 having fallen a good deal into English habits through his 
 close friendship with the Brittons; and perhaps it was to 
 the free country life which he had always lived, and to his 
 daily rides to and from Naples, that he owed his Drilliant 
 coloring and his healthy mind and body. 
 
 It tortured him to think that the story which had been 
 a shock to him would be tenfold worse to his mother. It 
 had been, as Sardoni observed, his first near connection 
 with evil, but to his mother it would be the first introduc- 
 tion to evil at all. He had not lived the life of a Neapoli- 
 tan student without coming across many Comerios ; but 
 his mother, in her peaceful country life, her tranquil in- 
 valid existence, knew nothing of wickedness. His mind 
 was so taken up with the difficulty of telling her that he 
 had no leisure to think of the yet greater difficulty how 
 to help Anita. 
 
 He could not bear to be the one to bring her these bad 
 tidings ; he half thought of asking Father Cristoforo to go 
 to her; then, ashamed of shrinking from a painful task, he 
 forced himself to pass the old man's house, and climbed 
 the hill, turning over in his mind a dozen different ways of 
 approaching the subject, and feeling satisfied with none of 
 them. 
 
 There was something very beautiful in the devotion of! 
 this mother and son ; perhaps only Francesca and Clare 
 knew how entirely Carlo had given, his life tQ the work big 
 
42- KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 father had left him, or how wonderfully it had helped w 
 mold his character. To a woman it is second nature "to 
 devote herself to an invalid, nor does it involve any very 
 serious break in her life ; but to a man, obliged to go ou 
 with his daily work at the same time, the strain of at- 
 tendance in a sick-room is infinitely greater. If he can 
 live this life for years, it gives him an established habit of 
 always ruling his life by the needs of another, and not by 
 his own desires. 
 
 There were two gates to the grounds of Villa Bruno. 
 The one nearest to Naples was that wnich led into the sta- 
 ble-yard, and Carlo, from force of custom, went in this 
 way. although he was on foot. He was surprised to see a 
 hired carriage in the yard ; he wondered if possibly Fran 
 Ritter had driven out to call on his mother, and paused on 
 his way to the house to ask a servant who was the visitor. 
 
 " Oh, signer," said the girl, fiushing up, " they say it 13 
 Madame Merlino!" 
 
 With an exclamation "vvnich was almost a cry, he rushed 
 on toward the housfc. His mother had had no preparation 
 whatever the shock might be fatal to her. And yet, 
 surely it looked well that Nita should at once hurry home 
 in this way? Surely that in itself gave the lie to Sardoni's 
 assertion ? And then it flashed across him that Nita would 
 regard him in the light of the elder brother in the story of 
 the prodigal son, and he prayed that he might be his di- 
 rect opposite. 
 
 Flinging open the front door, he hurried on, pausing for 
 an instant outside the salotto. There was a sound of 
 voices; he hastily entered, glanced quickly toward his 
 mother's couch, then toward his sister, who had risen at 
 sight of him with a look so frightened and timid that he 
 longed to reassure her, as one longs to still the fears of a 
 terrified child. 
 
 "Why, Nita!" he exclaimed, kissing her repeatedly, 
 " I have been trying to find you at Naples, but you were 
 before me after all." 
 
 Something in the tone of his "Ben venuto," and in the 
 many untranslatable Italian phrases with which he greeted 
 her, brought the tears to Anita's eyes. 
 
 She watched intently while Carlo bent down to kiss hia 
 mother. 
 
 "You are cold, Tnadre mia," he exclaimed. "You are 
 faint and overtired." 
 
 " Ah, it is my fault!" cried Nita, vehemently. "It is I 
 who have tired her and broken her heart!" 
 
 He saw that there would be no quieting her just then, 
 
 d took the law into his own hands. 
 
 *.&" be 
 
KNIGHT-ERKANT. 43 
 
 and then, after dinner, mother will be fit to talk again. 
 See, I will shpw you a room the place is a little altered." 
 
 With some difficulty he enticed her away, but no sooner 
 were they alone than her tears again broke forth. 
 
 " Oh, Carlo, I am afraid I have been too much for her," 
 she exclaimed; " and yet and yet I wanted so to come." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I am so glad you came; only we must be 
 careful," said poor Carlo, distracted at the thought that 
 she was keeping him from his mother, and much alarmed 
 as he recollected how white and weary the invalid had 
 looked. "There, you will lie down and rest till dinner- 
 time, will you not?" 
 
 "But I ought to go back," sobbed Nita. 
 
 4 'Not yet," he said; "you must dine first. And now 
 promise me to rest. There, I will not stay longer; I am a 
 little anxious she is not strong, you know." 
 
 He tore himself away, and returned as fast as possible to 
 the salotto. His mother's face was hidden ; he could hear 
 her low, gasping sobs. 
 
 "Madre mia!" he cried, and there was anguish in his 
 voice, "oh, do not give way! She has come back to us, 
 carina. All will be well if only you will take care of your- 
 Belf." 
 
 " I must tell you " she sobbed. 
 
 "Not now," he said "not now, mother. Indeed you 
 must be quiet, or " 
 
 "I must speak," she said; "it is killing me! I must 
 speak now, that you may promise me to save her." 
 
 "From her husband?" ne asked, anxious to find how 
 much she knew. 
 
 ' ' No, no ; from one she loves. Don't look like that, Carlo 
 her husband was so stern and cruel, and she was afraid 
 of him, and and this man was kind." 
 
 " Kind!" ejaculated Carlo, with scorn indescribable. 
 
 " He always tried to shield her from her husband, and 
 then, when they were leaving America, she was in debt 
 and he lent her money, and " 
 
 "Enough, darling, enough," he said, with tenderness 
 which contrasted strangely with his last ejaculation. "She 
 came and told you all, and now we can help her. If you 
 love me, try to rest." 
 
 But it was too late. The shock and the agitation had 
 brought on one of the signora's worst attacks. Carlo 
 hastily summoned a servant, and the whole household 
 came rushing together in a miserable confusion of help- 
 lessness. But the maids only glanced at their mistress 1 
 face and went away ; they would have left their own rela- 
 tions rather than have stayed in a room where the 
 Angel already hovered. 
 
44 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 It was then, in his terrible, lonely watch, that Carlo 
 thanked Heaven that Francesca was English. The doctor 
 had already been sent for, but he left his mother for a mo- 
 ment and hurried toward the group of weeping women 
 gathered round Anita. 
 
 " We have sent for Father Cristoforo, signor," said one, 
 hoping for a word of commendation for her forethought. 
 | But Carlo took no notice, nor did his stern face soften. 
 
 "One of you go instantly," he said, "and fetch Miss 
 Britton." 
 
 Francesca knew little of sickness, nor had she ever seen 
 death, but she had none of the Italian shrinking from a 
 dying bed ; in fact, every thought of herself was swallowed 
 up in the one longing to be able to help Carlo. Cutting 
 short the servant's tearful description of the signora's 
 state, she rushed out, not even pausing for a hat, and 
 never stopped running till she reached the Villa Bruno. 
 Then she pushed past the little group who would have de- 
 tained her, knocked at the door of the salotto, and softly 
 entered the room where, only a day or two before, they 
 had spent such a happy evening. 
 
 For a moment she stood amazed, able to think of nothing 
 but the havoc wrought in so short a time. Her lover 
 knelt beside the couch; he looked ten years older than 
 *when they had parted that morning. The signora, whose 
 head rested on his arm, was haggard, ghastly, utterly 
 changed, while the indescribable look of approaching death 
 upon her face seemed reflected in the young face which 
 bent over her. 
 
 "Darling, is there anything I can do?" said Francesca, 
 when she had wiped the damp brow and reverently kissed 
 the dying woman. 
 
 "Nothing," he replied, "except to stay here. You do 
 not mind?" He looked up at her with questioning eyes, 
 which yet were sure of their answer. 
 
 "Oh. no!" she said. "I am so thankful you sent for 
 me." 
 
 A long sigh escaped him; he tried to stifle it, lest it 
 should disturb his mother, who lay with closed eyes. And 
 after that the room was perfectly quiet, so quiet that 
 Francesca could hear the ticking of her watch; while the 
 canary in the window, pecking the bars of his cage with 
 his little pink beak, seemed to make a noise so loud that 
 she wondered whether it would disturb the signora. 
 
 At last there was a change in the wan face; the eyes 
 opened, and the signora looked up at Francesca with a 
 smile. 
 
 Perhaps the beautiful face of the girl made her think e 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 45 
 
 ker own daughter, for the smile changed to a look of an- 
 guish as she turned her eyes to her son. 
 
 " Don't forsake Nita promise me save her try to save 
 her." 
 
 The words were gasped out with an agony of tone inde- 
 scribable. But yet it was not till Carlo's answer was given 
 that Francesca's eyes brimmed over with tears. 
 
 " I promise, madre miaI promise." 
 
 His face was like the face of a Saviour, strong, pure, and 
 sweet ; his voice was firm and clear. No one could have 
 helped trusting him. 
 
 A look of rest even of hopefulness stole over his moth- 
 er's face. She lay still for a few minutes, then turned 
 again to Francesca with a most beautiful smile. 
 
 "He has never given me one moment's sorrow all his 
 life, ' * she said. 
 
 The words, which would be sweet to remember in after- 
 years, which might bring in time to the lips of the son a 
 reflection of the mother's smile as she uttered them, were, 
 just then, more than he could endure. His fortitude gave 
 way ; he had little to reproach himself with, yet it grieved 
 him now to remember that at times it had been a hard 
 struggle to leave Naples and return to the quiet of Villa 
 Bruno, and that sometimes he had perhaps lingered a 
 little longer than he should have done at Casa Bella. Now 
 his days of service were over ; she would no longer need his 
 help. 
 
 With a cry which tore -Francesca's heart he bent down, 
 clasping the dying form yet closer as he sobbed out a pas- 
 sionate appeal : 
 
 ** Mother, mother, do not leave me!" 
 
 But the signora was past hearing, past speaking only- 
 she felt his close embrace, and, feebly raising her left 
 hand, passed it behind his head with that gentle pressure 
 half caress, half support which every woman knows 
 how to bestow on a baby. And thus they stayed till the 
 door opened, and the old priest and a little acolyte entered, 
 barely in time to administer the last sacraments. Then 
 Carlo regained his composure, stung into calmness by a 
 sort of bitter resentment that an outsider must usurp 
 those last sacred moments, and that he, heretic and alien, 
 had no part or lot in the ceremony, and would be expected 
 to leave the room. But Father Cristoforo, who was a son 
 first and a churchman afterward, read his thoughts at 
 once. 
 
 "Stay, my son," he said, with so kind and fatherly a 
 look that Carlo's bitter thoughts were banished, and he 
 kept on still supporting his mother. 
 
 Francesca knelt too, on the other si^-e of the couch, but 
 
46 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 she could neither pray nor feel ; she watched the scene 
 one in a dream. The sunshine streamed in through the 
 window, lighting up the white, unconscious face of the sig- 
 nora and the grief -stricken face of her son, the rich vest- 
 ments and tonsured head of the priest, the curious, roving 
 eyes of the acolyte with his little silver-toned bell. But 
 Franceses was still numb from the exceeding pain of 
 watching her lover's agony. Now he was peaceful once 
 more ; his thoughts were raised above the pain of the part- 
 ing, but her thoughts would not follow. The monotonous 
 voice of Father Christoforo, as he intoned the service, 
 seemed only to increase her dull stupor. It was not till 
 the canary in the window broke out into a sudden burst of 
 song that her heart seemed to awake once more, and to 
 join in the familiar words, " Gloria in excels is Deo. Et in 
 terra pax horn in ibm. ' ' And then, as once more the service 
 
 only 
 
 When she looked up once more, all was over. Father 
 Cristoforo, with a few kind words, went quietly away; 
 from without there was a sound of bitter weeping; but 
 Carlo knelt on with bowed head and peaceful heart, and 
 the signora's face was stamped with that calm majesty of 
 death which Francesca had never before seen, and tha 
 canary in the window still sung his song of praise. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "NO ONE BUT YOU.'* 
 
 -* Ton like to behold and even to touch the Cross, but, alas! when the 
 command comes to you to bear it!" Fenelon. 
 
 FRANCESCA had lived many years in Italy, and had more 
 than once witnessed the passionate demonstrations of sor- 
 row in a bereaved household; nevertheless, it was some- 
 thing of a shock to her to leave the quiet room of death 
 and to go to Anita, whom she found surrounded by the 
 weeping servants. They evidently took a melancholy 
 pleasure in watching her violent paroxysms of grief. 
 
 To the English girl such a state of things seemed dread^ 
 f ul ; she did as she would have been done by, and induced 
 the noisy mourners to go away, thinking that poor Anita 
 would find whatever comfort there was for her in silence 
 and solitude. She could not understand that total absence 
 of the consciousness of others which, to a northern nature, 
 is so utterly foreign; and she would have left Anita, with 
 a few tender words and a lon^:. close embrace, had not the 
 poor girl clung to her like a child, with such wild sobs and 
 tears, such loud, unrestrained crying, that Francesca begaa 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 4? 
 
 to understand that she must be comforted much as Sibyl 
 needed comforting after some dire disaster. 
 
 At length, words began to frame themselves amid the 
 sobs, a constant repetition of the one bitter regret which 
 overpowered everything else : "I have killed her ! I have 
 killed her ! It is all my doing !' ' 
 
 " You could not tell you could not know," said Fran- 
 cesca, feeling it hard indeed to find words to meet so terri- 
 ble a grief, and weeping, too, for sympathy. "She has 
 been so much weaker of late unable to bear any shock 
 but how could you know? And oh, Nita, she must have 
 been so glad that you came !' ' 
 
 "No, no," sobbed Nita. "I might have stayed away s 
 and then she would have forgotten." 
 
 "Never, for she loved you," said Francesca. " Her last 
 words almost were of you. Ob, if you could have heard 
 how she begged Carlo not to leave you!" 
 
 But at this Nita only wept the more. 
 
 "Carlo will hate me," she cried. "Oh, let me go! let 
 me go! Tell them to put in the horses. I can't stay hero 
 any longer." 
 
 " He does not hate you; he loves you," said Francesca, 
 warmly. " He promised the signora that he would always 
 take care of you." 
 
 Something in her tone quieted Nita. She lay musing 
 over the words, wondering if, indeed, her brother knew all 
 and would yet help her, trembling with fear at the thought 
 of meeting him, and yet trembling still more when she 
 thought of going back to Naples to face temptations too 
 strong for her. 
 
 Francesca watched her tenderly, aware that some con- 
 flict was going on in her mind, though wholly ignorant of 
 her story, and far too young and innocent to dream of the 
 meaning which lay in the dying words of the signora. 
 Nita was in trouble, and in some sort of difficulty, and 
 Carlo had promised to help her. Francesca did not curi- 
 ously wonder what the difficulty might be, nor did she for 
 one moment doubt Carlo's power of saving her. She ac- 
 cepted everything with the quiet confidence of a child who 
 is vaguely conscious that there is trouble in the house, but 
 is quite certain that its elders will soon make it all right. 
 
 Looking at Nita, she saw how strong a likeness existed 
 between the brother and sister; and even if she had not 
 felt drawn toward her before by her loneliness and her 
 grief, this would have appealed to her. The fine profile 
 and the warm, bright coloring were exactly alike, but the 
 mouth was disappointing, and had the same weakness 
 which had slightly spoiled the expression of Signora Donati; 
 
 eyes, tUougU large, m$ fe^^utilul, were Jacking 
 
48 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 in soul, and might almost have been the eyes of a doll, so 
 little did they vary. But yet, as Nita lay there in her 
 grief and self-reproach, trying to make up her aaind be- 
 tween two evils, wondering which fear was the least intol- 
 erable, there was something about her which pleaded for 
 pity. She was so young, so weak a parasite by nature 
 she seemed ready to cling to anything, 110 matter what it 
 was, so long as it had the strength which she lacked. 
 
 She was afraid of sleeping in the same house as her dead 
 mother, but then she was yet more afraid of confessing to 
 her husband where she had been. She dreaded meeting 
 Carlo, but she still more dreaded meeting Comerio. All at 
 once it occurred to her to wonder who her companion was. 
 
 "I have forgotten your name, signorina," she said, look- 
 ing into the sweet, pure face above her; "but I think you 
 must be Carlo's English playmate from Casa Bella?" 
 
 "Yes; I am Francesca Britton, " she replied, quietly, not 
 liking just then to speak of her happy betrothal. 
 
 "Ah! how shocked I was in the old days at the games 
 you and he played together!" said Nita, wistfully. "And 
 now now it is I who have shocked you all. But you were 
 quite right all the time. I have seen American life since 
 then, and if we Italian girls had something of their liberty 
 there would not be so many broken hearts among us." 
 
 The words reminded her of her grief, and she again burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "Let me fetch Carlo," said Francesca. "He will com- 
 fort you as no one else can. Oh, you must not say you are 
 afraid of him; that is only because you have forgotten. 
 And I may tell him that you will stay, may I not? you 
 could not leave him all alone." 
 
 Nita sobbed out something inarticulate, which Francesca 
 took for a consent, and hurried away in search of her 
 lover. She found him in the salotto, but the body of the 
 signora had been carried to her own room, and Carlo, 
 looking broken-hearted, was trying to write a letter to his 
 uncle to tell him the news. Softly passing her arm round 
 his neck, and with her cool cheek leaning against his 
 heated brow, she stood by him for some moments in si- 
 lence. 
 
 " I must go home, my own," she said, at length. " Fa- 
 ther will have come back, and will not know where I am. 
 May I ask him to come in and see if he can help you in 
 any way?" 
 
 Carlo thanked her. He felt dazed and bewildered ; he 
 thought it would be a comfort to have the help of the kind- 
 hearted Englishman, Avho delighted in managing other 
 people's affairs. 
 
 44 And then there is NitaJ" he exclaimed, with a look ol 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 4$ 
 
 perplexity. That promise which he had made returned to 
 him. It lay like a heavy weight on his burdened mind; 
 he had promised to save her, but how to perform that 
 promise he had not an idea. 
 
 "It was about Nita I wanted to speak to you, 7 ' said 
 Francesca. " She said at first that she must go back to 
 Naples at once, and seemed to dread meeting you. But I 
 think I really think she would stay if you went to her 
 and let her see that you care for her still. She is in ter- 
 rible distress, and no one but you can comfort her, Carlo 
 two." 
 
 * ' No one but you ! no one but you !' ' The words haunted 
 him as he turned to go to Nita. His mother had trusted 
 all to him ; Francesca, too, seemed to think that with him 
 lay the sole chance of reaching his sister. Their very con- 
 fidence seemed to crush him ; he was utterly at a loss to 
 know what he should do or say ; he could not even feel 
 acutely, sympathy seemed dead, his heart cold and numb 
 with suffering, and yet, impelled by the truth of those 
 words, ' ' No one but you ! " he entered Nita' s room. Her face 
 was buried in the pillow, she was sobbing aloud, and took 
 no notice of his presence. He sat down by the bed and 
 mechanically took her hand in his ; her sobs did not move 
 him, and no words of comfort came to his lips. 
 
 But all at once, as he watched the little hand which lay 
 in his, a keen pang of pain shot through his heart. The 
 hand was like his mother's hand, so much like that he 
 could hardly believe it was not hers ; he pressed it to his 
 lips with love and reverence, for the first time in his life 
 fully realizing the meaning of brotherhood. With that 
 pain and that new vision his heart awoke once more, his 
 work lay before him, his perplexity melted in a rush of 
 love and pity, and that eager longing to help which swal- 
 olws up diffidence and proves its own guide. 
 
 "Nita mia/" he said, his tears falling fast on the little 
 white hand, ' ' do not cry like that. She is at rest, and 
 very happy; we dare not wish her back again." 
 
 " But I but I have killed her!" sobbed Anita. 
 
 "No, never say that never think it," he cried; "you 
 did right to come home, quite right. It is the will of 
 God." 
 
 No contact with Enrico's skeptical philosophy had been 
 able to mar that wonderful childlike faith which is one of 
 the most beautiful characteristics of an Italian. E volete 
 di Dio. The words were spoken with a grave simplicity 
 which would have startled an Englishman. He did not 
 pause to think of the proper thing to say, or reflect for one 
 instant how his words would affect others, he just spoke 
 
50 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 out the perfect assurance which in his terrible grief had 
 been his own refuge. 
 
 " You must know. Nita," he resumed, as she grew mort 
 quiet, "that I have heard all; she told me; and she died 
 happy because she was sure you would be saved from 
 this. You will not let her hope be vain." 
 
 '* If you would help me." faltered Anita. 
 
 "I will I will!" he cried, eagerly. That was no time 
 to think of details or of difficulties, he could only give her 
 his unqualified promise. Then, when the two had dis- 
 cussed things a little more, it was arranged that Carlo 
 should write a note to Merlino, and tell him that Anita 
 would remain for a few days at the Villa Bruno. 
 
 "And oh, write carefully!" exclaimed Nita; "see that 
 you do not offend him." 
 
 Carlo wrote a cautiously worded letter, and sent it into 
 Naples by oH Florestano, who also bore the ill news to 
 Guido Donati and to the Kilters, and, that he might make 
 all the more speed, was prevailed on to accept a seat in 
 the carriage which had brought Nita that morning. 
 
 Thus in a weary round of petty duties the time wore on, 
 and at length night came. Carlo slept little, however, and 
 rose the next day but ill prepared for the work before him. 
 Nothing but the lifelong habit of making his own needs 
 stand second to the needs of others kept him up. With re- 
 gard to the funeral there was little for him to arrange, as 
 all was managed after the usual custom by one of the con- 
 gregazione, the relatives not even going to the church or 
 the grave. But he had to interview Father Cristoforo, to 
 talk to Captain Britton, to receive Uncle Guido, who 
 drove over from Naples at noon, and to do his best to 
 shield Anita from reproaches, taking good care that the 
 elder Donati should not hear one word about Comerio. 
 
 And always through the livelong day, above his grief, 
 above the well-meant condolences of his friends, there rang 
 in his head one unanswerable question how to save Xita; 
 and with that Francesca's words, "No one but you!" In 
 the evening, when all was over, and the sad coming and 
 going had given place to a terrible, oppressive quiet, his 
 grief and perplexity made him turn to Enrico Ritter, with 
 the feeling that unless he unburdened his mind to some one 
 he should lose his senses. It was true that Francesca 
 partly divined his trouble, but he could not discuss his 
 difficulties with her, could not bear to unfold to her so 
 dark a page. Sardoni, his informant, was a total stranger; 
 Captain Britton was the last man to whom he could 
 turn ; while Uncle Guido. with his uncertain temper, and 
 his wrath at the stain which Anita had already brought 
 
 upou the fomilv name, was little likely to give helpful 
 
ANIGHT- ERRANT. 61 
 
 Counsel in this matter. Enrico, "purely io please him- 
 self," had hastened over to Villa Bruno, and now inevita- 
 bly Carlo turned to him, and exacting a promise of secrecy, 
 told him everything that had happened since their last 
 meeting. 
 
 He had chosen his confidant well. Enrico could be 
 trusted to keep perfect silence ; moreover, his sound com- 
 mon-sense, his cool, calm, practical way of looking at 
 things, was precisely what Carlo needed. His own brain 
 was so overwrought, so confused with the sudden calamity 
 which had befallen him, that he was not in the least ca- 
 pable of seeing any matter in its true light. And then, too, 
 the mere relief of sharing his perplexities with another 
 was an inexpressible comfort. Not that Enrico had many 
 suggestions to offer ; he listened for the most part in si- 
 lence. But then there are times in life when the silence of 
 a friend is the one thing for which we crave ; and Carlo 
 turned to the unspoken sympathy of the man who really 
 cared for him when wearied with the condolences of out- 
 siders. Guido Donati had spoken of returning the next 
 day to discuss the future, but the really perplexing fut- 
 ure was discussed with the German pessimist. 
 
 " There is only one thing I would advise you, and that 
 is, have no personal communication with Cpmerio," said 
 Enrico at length. "I have seen him, and, into the bar- 
 gain, know a good deal about him, and he's the veriest 
 devil you can conceive. Pay him back the money, but 
 do so through some third person." 
 
 "I'm sure I have no wish to see him," said Carlo, sigh- 
 ing. " If only I could think of some way of getting rid of 
 him." 
 
 That there would be any difficulty in raising the money 
 had not as yet occurred to Carlo. He had been extremely 
 careless about money-matters all his life ; and though lead- 
 ing too secluded a life to be precisely extravagant, he had 
 allowed things to drift, well content so long as he received 
 his small annual allowance from his mother, and never 
 troubling his head about the amount of their actual in- 
 come. He knew that he was to be his uncle's heir, and to 
 receive a very comfortable allowance from him on his mar- 
 riage, therefore he left all details to his mother, took what 
 came to him, and lived on in serene comfort. Compelled 
 now to face the situation, he was startled to find how en~ 
 tirely dependent he was upon his uncle; the income upon 
 which they had lived had been derived from an annuity, 
 and of course ceased at his mother's death; the Villa Bruno 
 was only rented by the year, and though its furniture be- 
 longed to him, it was worth but little. His only other pos- 
 cession was his horse, and he could not well part with that 
 
S2 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 to raise the necessary money, for not only would it at once 
 have provoked a question from his uncle, but it was indis- 
 pensable to him so long as he lived in that remote country 
 place. In the end Enrico, becoming aware of his embar- 
 rassment, said that he should ask his father to advance 
 him the money ; and as the need of a loan was quite com- 
 prehensible to Herr Eitter at such a time, he very willingly 
 acceded to the request, and Enrico himself was charged 
 with the disagreeable errand of conveying the money to 
 Comerio. 
 
 This was one step in the desired direction, and one care 
 off Carlo's mind, but his perplexity about Anita only in- 
 creased, for, as each day he learned to know her better, 
 he was forced to own to himself how utterly unfit she was 
 for the difficult life before her. Her beauty, her weakness, 
 her moral cowardice, her miserable marriage, all were 
 against her. She seemed incapable of really loving, capa- 
 ble only of a sort of desire to be caressed and shielded. 
 Carlo gained a certain amount of influence with her, just 
 because she trusted like a child to his strength, and was 
 quite certain that he would do what he could for her: but 
 she left everything to him, and, in those bitter days of his 
 grief and perplexity, lived on in a placid, restful state 
 which was almost happiness. 
 
 At length an interruption came to this state of things. 
 One afternoon Sardoni drove over from Naples; Carlo was 
 heartily glad to see him, and received him with a warmth 
 which seemed to please the Englishman. 
 
 " I was afraid you would always dislike me as the bearer 
 of ill news," he said; "I came partly to give you back your 
 letter, which, of course, I have not had a chance of giving 
 to Madame Merlino. She is still with you?" 
 
 ** Yes, she is still here," said Carlo, tearing the letter in 
 pieces, and stifling a sigh as he remembered how different 
 all had been when he wrote it. 
 
 44 1 came partly to warn you that Merlino intends soon 
 to send for your sister," said Sardoni; "indeed, it is 
 really a necessity that she should come back, for the first 
 rehearsal is on Monday, and the theater is to open next 
 Thursday." 
 
 " So soon ! And as yet I have done nothing !" exclaimed 
 Carlo. 
 
 "Are you sure of that?" asked Sardoni, with a keen 
 glance at him. 4 ' You have at any rate succeeded in mak- 
 ing Comerio your bitter enemy; and, by the bye, I have 
 discovered one tiling which may, perhaps, be of service to 
 vou: Comerio' s engagement was for three years, but may 
 be terminated in half that time either at Merlino's option 
 or at his own.' 1 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 53 
 
 "When does the first half expire?" 
 
 " In three weeks' time," said Sardoni. 
 
 Carlo thought for a few minutes in silence; then he said, 
 somewhat abruptly : 
 
 k I wish you would just tell me plainly what sort of man 
 Merlino is ; I can gather but little from what my sister lets 
 fall about him." 
 
 " I can't draw a very pleasing picture of him," said Sar- 
 doni, with a smile, "for, truth to tell, there is no love lost 
 between us. He has very little education, but that is a 
 subject of regret to him ; since his marriage he has become 
 moral and respectable, but he is the most awful tyrant I 
 ever had the misfortune to meet with. Of course his posi- 
 tion tends to foster a love of power; for, don't you see, the 
 manager of an operatic company is like a king not a con- 
 stitutional one, but a despot an autocrat? Then your 
 sister, if you will pardon my bluntness, was the very last 
 sort of a wife he ought to have had. She is afraid of him 
 and has no notion of holding her own, and he great brute 
 treats her abominably. Why don't you persuade her to 
 try for a separation?" 
 
 " I could not be a party to that," said Carlo, " so long as 
 he is faithful to her. That a man has bad temper is no fit 
 reason for breaking the marriage vow." 
 
 44 These notions are old-fashioned," said Sardoni, with a 
 rather pitying smile. 
 
 But the smile quickly died away; for Carlo, with a 
 dignity indescribable, made him a little bow, and dis- 
 missed the subject with a calm " That is very possible, 
 signor." 
 
 There was a world of expression both in tone and gest- 
 ure, and Sardoni saw that to argue about his suggestion 
 would be useless. 
 
 " If you reject that idea," he said, after a silence, "there 
 is only one alternative Comerio must be got rid of. I 
 have thrown out as many hints as I dare to Merlino, all to 
 no purpose. To tell him the truth plainly would make 
 him ten times more brutal to your sister, and is altogether 
 out of the question, even if one had the right. Why, he 
 would be a fiend incarnate ! You know what Italian hus- 
 bands are when once their jealousy is stirred up." 
 
 Carlo involuntarily smiled, then, tickled by the speaker's 
 ingenuous remark, fairly laughed. 
 
 Sardoni looked confused. 
 
 4 'I beg your pardon," he said; "but indeed I had for- 
 gotten that I was not talking to a fellow-countryman a 
 compliment to your accent, you see. Where did you be* 
 come such a proficient?" 
 
 ** Our nearest neighbors are English," said Carlo, no* 
 
54 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 caring to explain any further, though instinctively hii 
 eyes turned toward a photograph of Francesca which 
 stood on the mantel-piece. Sardoni's keen eyes noted this. 
 He observed the photograph with secret admiration, and 
 drew his own conclusions. 
 
 "Then how do you propose that Comerio shall be got rid 
 of?" said Carlo, breaking the silence. "You do not im- 
 agine, signor, that we Italians about whom, it appears, 
 you are in the habit of generalizing carry stilettos, and 
 conveniently dispose of our foes by a stab?" 
 
 "There is only one way of getting rid of him," said Sar- 
 doni. " Merliuo is always trying to cut down expenses, 
 and with very good reason, for, as I told you before, the 
 opera is not always a paying concern. Now, if before the 
 agreement with Comerio is renewed you can find a bary- 
 tone with as good a voice who will sing on lower terms, 
 then I have little doubt that Merlino would settle with him 
 and give Comerio his conge.' 1 '' 
 
 "You must have been talking with Piale, signor," said 
 Carlo, conscious of a vague feeling of discomfort. 
 
 " Piale?" said Sardoni, looking puzzled; " I do not know 
 any one of the name." 
 
 " Ah ! then it was only an odd coincidence. But he is a 
 well-known professor, and he has a pupil a barytone 
 whom he is very anxious to bring out ; he was talking to 
 me about it only a few days ago. ' ' 
 
 "Why, then, there is good hope for our plans," said Sar- 
 doni. ' ' A beginner would expect far less than Comerio, 
 and if he really has a good voice and some dramatic power, 
 no doubt Merlino would catch at him. What sort of look- 
 ing fellow is he? Have you seen him? Is he presentable?" 
 
 A bright, sudden smile lit up Carlo's sad face for a 
 minute. 
 
 " Of that I am no fit judge," he said, demurely, " for I 
 am the pupil in question." 
 
 " You !" ejaculated Sardoni, in amazement. Then, recol- 
 lecting his question, he began to laugh. " Well, I have my 
 answer in an unmistakable form. There can be no doubt 
 that you are well fitted for the stage." 
 
 Again his companion made thai funny little Italian bow, 
 in which there lurked so much dignity. There was just a 
 shade of irony in his expression. 
 
 ' ' I see the prospect does not attract you, ' ' said Sardoni, 
 "yet I should fancy you might do great things on the 
 stage, from the look of you." 
 
 "But I hope for a very different life, signor." 
 
 "I see. Well. I would be the last to tell you that our 
 an enviable one. Some people seem to fancy that an 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 55 
 
 actor's life is ' all beer and skittles 'I thought so once 
 myself, but I can tell you that's a confounded mistake." 
 
 Carlo had never felt less inclined to discuss the merits of 
 theatrical life; he devoutly wished that Sardoni would 
 go ; that feeling of vague discomfort grew upon him. 
 
 " Well," he said, ** I will see if possibly Piale may know 
 of some one else capable of taking Comerio's place; and I 
 am greatly obliged to you, signor, for your suggestions and 
 your help." 
 
 Sardoiii perceived that he wished to be alone, and leav- 
 ing a message of inquiry for Madame Merlino, took his 
 departure. 
 
 But the discomfort wjiich his presence had kept vague 
 and undefined broke into a clear, torturing perception 
 when Carlo was once more alone. Over and over the 
 words rang in his head "No one but you! no one but 
 you!" He tried to stifle them, he argued with himself 911 
 the folly of the idea he said it was impossible, quixotic, 
 preposterous. Finally he hurried off to Casa Bella. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PIALE SCHEMES. 
 
 ** Wilt thou go forth into the friendless waste 
 
 That hast this Paradise of pleasure here?" 
 
 The Light of Asi*. 
 
 f THERE are some who consider that a hero must be prac- 
 tically immaculate, and who grumble sorely if called upon 
 to study the life of an ordinary mortal who often stumbles 
 when the road is rough, who shrinks from the Valley of 
 Humiliation and takes a foolish, fleeting delight in By-path 
 Meadow. But if the function of all art is to picture life 
 not to photograph, but to paint it then, without doubt, 
 the typical hero of romance, with his faultless features 
 and his preternatural nobility, must disappear forever 
 from the canvas ; for where are these perfect beings who, 
 in spite of cruel circumstances, never fall, who never har- 
 bor selfish thoughts never speak hasty words? 
 
 Thank God one meets plenty of good men, but the best 
 of them certainly own that there had been times when 
 they had felt ready to tear their tongues out in vain regret 
 for irrevocable words that they would give almost any- 
 thing to live over again some misguided bit of their lives. 
 
 Carlo Donati was not an immaculate hero of romance, 
 but a nineteenth-century man a man of flesh and blood, 
 with a quick, ardent, sanguine temperament and strong 
 passions. When those words which the English tourist 
 let fall in the Neapolitan cafe had arrested his attention, he 
 
 bad been pricfce 4 &| heart, and f or tb time vapel^ dfe" 
 
56 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 quieted. A yet deeper impression had been made upon 
 Him by his promise to his mother on her death-bed. Still, 
 all had been vague and formless. Now Sardoni's bald, 
 matter-of-fact statement had plunged the sword much 
 further, had called up before him a plain, unmistakable 
 way of helping Anita. The typical hero would of course 
 have flung himself into the breach without an instant's 
 hesitation ; but Carlo did no such thing ; he did not even 
 allow his thoughts to dwell on the possibility, but just 
 turned his back on the whole matter, tried to make Anita's 
 visit as pleasant as might be, and sought refuge from his 
 own sad memories in daily meetings with Francesca. 
 
 He did, however, to some extent followSardoni's advice, 
 and intrusting Piale with as much of the truth as he 
 deemed necessary, wrote to ask him whether he knew of 
 any singer who might be found to take Comerio's place. 
 He also wrote to Merlino, obtaining further leave of ab- 
 sence for his sister, on condition that she drove in to Naples 
 each day next week for rehearsal, and finally returned 
 when the performances began. The days sped by rapidly- 
 enough, and on the Thursday, true to his promise, Carlo 
 took his sister back, parting with her at the entrance to 
 the Palazzo Forti, not without regret and apprehension. 
 Mingled, however, with these came a sense of deep relief, 
 for, from a selfish point of view, he could not but revel in 
 his regained freedom ; his life could never again be what it 
 had been before Anita's return, but a sort of after- glow of 
 the old times seemed to rise in his sky when the cloud of 
 poor Nita's immediate presence was removed. He felt 
 hopeful, too, for Piale had written to ask him to call at 
 twelve o'clock, and he thought that perhaps he had found 
 a desirable barytone. 
 
 The old maestro received him very kindly, but soou 
 dashed his expectations to the ground. 
 
 "I know of no one," he said, emphatically "no one. 
 You speak as if your barytones were as rife as mushrooms. 
 And, look you, Gomerio is a clever actor, and has a fine 
 voice ; you'll not easily find any one to beat him, and if you 
 did it is unlikely enough that they would take lower terms. 
 Besides, Merlino is extremely unpopular as a manager: 
 only just now I had his conductor in, a capital young fel- 
 low Marioni and he says that they all find it almost im- 
 possible to work with him. You must give up that idea ; I, 
 at any rate, cannot help you in it." 
 
 Carlo sighed, and fell Into deep thought. He did not 
 hear footsteps on the stairs, nor notice that some one en- 
 tered the inner room, wnich was divided from the front 
 one only by a curtain. But Piale heard, and abruptly 
 changed the subject. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 blame you in the least ; there are times, of course, when 
 even music must go to the wall. Let me hear you." 
 He made him work for a time at solfeggi, then broke 
 
 He took down a copy of "Faust," and played the open- 
 ing bars of " Dio Possente." The frown and the impa- 
 tient ejaculation incited Carlo; he cared intensely to 
 please his old master, and, throwing his whole soul into 
 the music, and losing his own identity in that of Valen- 
 tino, he gave an almost perfect rendering of the song. 
 
 Suddenly the curtain between the two rooms was torn 
 back, and a black- bearded man, with a swarthy face and 
 extremely small, dark eyes, with a restless, irritable look 
 in them, hastened forward. 
 
 "Signor Piale, I congratulate you!" he exclaimed; "you 
 have produced the most promising singer of the day ! No 
 wonder you are proud of your pupil!" 
 
 He was evidently carried away Iby the excitement of the 
 moment, for his face, naturally most disagreeable, was il- 
 luminated with the same glow of artistic delight which, as 
 the song proceeded, had softened Piale's rugged features. 
 
 For a minute an observer would have noticed that the 
 two listeners had forgotten everything but their art, while 
 Carlo was still Valentino, not himself. There was a 
 silence ; the old maestro looked triumphantly happy, the 
 stranger turned his small, restless eyes on the singer, and 
 Carlo gradually awoke to the recollection that he was not 
 Valentino going off to the war and praying for the safety 
 of his sister, but Anita's brother, with far greater cause 
 for anxiety, and with his hopes of assistance from Piale 
 dashed to the ground. 
 
 All at once he came to full consciousness of the actual 
 present, and found the stranger undisguisedly taking 
 stock of him, looking him over from head to foot with in- 
 terest and curiosity. Carlo, unaccustomed to this sort of 
 appraising stare, felt the blood rush to his cheeks, yet it 
 was no sense of the stranger's rudeness which aroused his 
 strong antipathy. He looked hastily at the black-bearded 
 visitor, looked again, angry with himself at being so much 
 moved, then instinctively he recoiled a pace. 
 
 "The likeness is extraordinary!" exclaimed the new- 
 comer, turning to Piale and startling him from his happy 
 reverie. 
 
 "Likeness I" ejaculated the old museum, still half iu 
 
38 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 the clouds, but dimly perceiving that sublunary affain 
 were somehow gone awry. " Likeness ! Not at all, signor, 
 not at all; there's not a voice like that in all Italy." 
 
 "I don't speak of the voice," said the stranger, im- 
 patiently, "but the face is like my wife's curiously like." 
 
 The old musician looked dismayed; he was fully awake 
 now, art was forgotten, and a perilous bit of real life lay 
 before him. In two strides Carlo was beside him, his face 
 flushed, his eyes full of suppressed anger. 
 
 "Maestro," he panted, "what is this? what is this that 
 you have done to me?" 
 
 " Forgive me," said the old man, " I am not so much to 
 blame as you think. I did indeed invite Signer Merlino to 
 hear you sing, but with the understanding that he should 
 not appear. You broke faith with me, signer." 
 
 "A thousand pardons," said Merlino, coolly; "but in 
 truth your pupil ought to be pleased with the compliment. 
 I was so carried away by his singing that I forgot all. I 
 don't understand what all this fuss is about." 
 
 He glanced at Carlo, who had turned away at his first 
 words, and stood now at the window with his back to 
 them, evidently struggling to restrain an outburst of pas- 
 sion. Piale looked at him too with compunction, but with 
 great bewilderment. How was he to get matters set right? 
 now disentangle himself from the confusion into which 
 Merlino' s impulsive entrance had plunged everything? 
 
 Carlo stood looking out into the busy street, but he saw 
 nothing, was conscious of nothing but that Merlino was 
 in the room with him Merlino, the cause of ail his sorrow 
 and perplexity. He had conquered by a supreme effort the 
 first savage impulse to fly at the throat of the man who had 
 caused his mother so much grief, but fierce anger still 
 burned in his heart and sent fiery blood coursing through 
 his veins. A storm of wrathful indignation consumed him 
 as he thought of Merlino' s misdeeds; he was angry, too, 
 with Piale, feeling, naturally enough, that a snare had 
 been laid for him ; and he was angry with himself because, 
 even in this moment of confusion, he was aware that he 
 had deliberately turned his back on the question now 
 forced upon him, and that want of preparation was his own 
 fault. 
 
 For, moments of what seem to us sudden temptation aro 
 seldom really sudden God has given us our times of 
 preparation, and if we have willfully neglected them the 
 conflict is severer, or perhaps ends in defeat. 
 
 How was he now to think out the frightfully involved 
 question at issue? Ho\v decide on the right course of 
 action? And yet a false step might prove Nita's ruin. 
 The anguish of that thought, and the loathing of his own 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 60 
 
 selfish procrastination, calmed his anger. With an effort 
 he yielded up his will, and therewith forgot Merlino's 
 presence, because another presence absorbed him wholly. 
 
 He was interrupted by a touch on his arm. Piale 
 stood beside him, with a look of deep concern 011 his kind 
 old face. 
 
 "Carlo razo," he said, in a low voice, "I apologize to 
 you, and beg your forgiveness; but since things have so 
 fallen out, perhaps you will permit me to introduce you 
 to Signor Merlino, who will then understand us better." 
 
 Carlo assented, subduing the angry thoughts which yet 
 struggled to find place in his heart. 
 
 " Signor, " said the old musician, approaching Merlino, 
 there is nothing extraordinary in the likeness you observed. 
 Permit me to introduce you to Signor Donati." 
 
 Merlino started violently, and for a minute looked 
 abashed and greatly confused. Piale with much curiosity 
 watched his pupil, who had turned from the window as 
 he spoke, and now, with a face as pale as death, bowed 
 gravely. 
 
 There was an awkward pause, broken presently by 
 Carlo. 
 
 ' ' I brought my sister to Palazzo Forti an hour ago, 
 signor," he said, speaking to Merlino with grave courtesy; 
 *'I am much obliged to you for sparing her to me so 
 long." 
 
 The speech cost him a great deal, but he was glad that 
 he had brought himself to make it, for he had no wish to 
 quarrel with..Nita's husband, indeed he fully recognized 
 Merlino's rights, though unable to think patiently of the 
 -way in which he had acquired them, or the manner in 
 "which he now abused them. 
 
 "A few days' rest will doubtless have been good for 
 Anita," said Merlino, complacently, speaking of his wife 
 much as he might have spoken of an overworked horse; 
 "she has had hard work in America; nor can we afford 
 now to be idle. It is a pleasure to me to make your ac- 
 quaintance, signor. If I could induce you to follow your 
 sister's example, and use your great talents professionally, 
 it would give me the greatest satisfaction." 
 
 Carlo's heart began to throb painfully. Could it be that 
 he was called to this? Could it be that this man this 
 coarse, brutal tyrant was to prove the arbiter of his des- 
 tiny? The words, whioh a few days before he had used so 
 emphatically to Sardoni, trembled on his lips, " I hope for 
 a very different life." Bat he managed to strangle them. 
 Had he not offered up his will? He stood silent, waiting 
 for guidance, hoping against hope, as is the way with poor 
 mortals, that, after all, his own will might be done, lie 
 
60 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 waited. At length Piale spoke; the words fell on him lika 
 blows. 
 
 " I have long urged upon my pupil, signor, the duty of 
 going on the stage, for which he is admirably fitted. I am 
 not without hope that circumstances may prompt him at 
 length to consent. But there is as yet no vacancy in your 
 troupe, I think, so I fear that you will not have the honor 
 of introducing to the public both Madame Merlino and 
 Carlo Donati." 
 
 Carlo stood silently listening to the discussion of his fate, 
 looking now at Piale's brown, wrinkled face, with its parch- 
 ment-like skin, furrowed brow, and crown of bushy, griz- 
 zled hair, now at the disagreeable face of Merlino. He 
 knew that when the impresario spoke next he would say 
 that Comerio's engagement might be terminated very 
 shortly if he so willed; knew that Merlino was once more 
 appraising him, observing the symmetry of his face and 
 figure, calculating whether he would "draw." He felt 
 like a slave in the market, but still he waited and held his 
 peace. 
 
 " It shall not be my fault if I lose the honor," said Mer- 
 lino at length ; " by good-luck Comerio's engagement is ter- 
 minable at eighteen months if I so please ; may be ended, 
 that is, in a fortnight's time. What say you, Signor Piale? 
 Could you have your pupil fit to fill the vacancy in so 
 short a time as that?" 
 
 Piale was not to be daunted, though he knew well enough 
 that the time was very short indeed for the preparation 
 which would be necessary. 
 
 ''Whether Comerio's costumes could be altered for him 
 BO soon is perhaps doubtful," he replied proudly; "they 
 might or might not be ready in a fortnight's time; but my 
 pupil will be ready- quite ready." 
 
 "Well, I'll risk it, said Merlino, who was a keen-eyed 
 man of business, and knew that Carlo would prove a good 
 speculation. " I am prepared to offer you, signor, an en- 
 gagement of three years, terminable at the end of the first 
 year at the wish of either party. As to the salary, we 
 shall not quarrel, I think, ' Oro e, die oro vale,' let me 
 see " 
 
 He began to make a calculation and to discuss money- 
 matters with Piale, who, in his delight at the prospect of 
 at length inducing his pupil to go on the stage, was ready 
 to accede to almost any terms. 
 
 Carlo, still with that thought of the slave- market in his 
 mind, watched the discussion like one in a dream, paying 
 little heed to the details. It mattered nothing to him just 
 then whether he deceived five pounds a week or fifty; it 
 mattered supremely that he had prayed for guidance, aud 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. tt 
 
 that immediately after there had come to him this definite 
 offer. He dared not refuse, he hesitated to accept. Si- 
 lencing the fiends' voices which urged him at once to de- 
 cline Merlino' s proposal, at once to seek the selfish peace 
 which that decision would bring, he braced himself up for 
 a reply. The haggling at length ended, and Merlino turned 
 to him. 
 
 "Well, Signor Donati, you hear my offer, and Signor 
 Piale approves of the terms; it rests with you nw to ac- 
 cept them or not. It is not for me to advise you either 
 one way or the other; but, in my own mind, I have little 
 doubt that, if you work well, you will be one of the first 
 singers of the day. 
 
 Piale's ayes shone; he could hardly contain himself, so 
 great was his excitement. It dampened his ardor to see 
 that this glorious prospect brought no faintest gleam of 
 pleasure to his pupil's face. He scratched his parchment- 
 like cheek ferociously a trick which he had when any- 
 thing annoyed him or tried his patience. At length Carlo 
 spoke. 
 
 44 1 am obliged to you for your offer, signor, but you will 
 understand that it is impossible for me to accept it on the 
 spur of the moment. The decision will affect others; I 
 must think of them as well as of myself. I must consult 
 those who belong to me." 
 
 44 Well, well," said Merlino, impatiently, " so long as you 
 keep the matter quiet so long as it does not come to Co- 
 merio's ears, I don't object to that; but I can't afford to 
 be off with him till I am on with you." 
 
 "I promise you all shall be kept quiet," said Carlo. 
 44 How soon must you know my decision?" 
 
 44 Meet me next Wednesday at the Mercadante or, bet- 
 ter still, if Signor Piale will permit, at this house, and I 
 will have the contract ready. That leaves you nearly a 
 week, and I shall quite hope for a favorable reply. I shall, 
 in the meantime, not breathe a word of this to my wife, 
 who, of course, will be charmed to have you in the troupe 
 Good-day, signor, and let me entreat you not to throw 
 away this opportunity. A thousand thanks, Signor Piale, 
 for your courtesy, and pray forgive my impetuous en- 
 trance." 
 
 He bowed himself out. 
 
 Carlo watched him as he walked down the street 
 watched him in a sort of stupor. When he had disap- 
 peared, his eyes turned to a heavily-laden mule just coming 
 into sight, with waving green boughs tied about his heaa 
 to keep off the flies ; it toiled patiently on, the lazy boy in 
 charge hanging on to its tail with his right hand, while Ite 
 devoured a great hunch of bread clasped fast in his teflfc 
 
62 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Carlo watched with a sort of envy the placid calm of the 
 sunburnt lad that picture of lazy content contrasted so 
 oddly with the state of his own mind. Piale soon added 
 to the fierceness of the storm by urgent and almost piteous 
 entreaties that he would accept Merlino's offer. With 
 tears in his eyes the old musician paced to and fro, passion- 
 ately declaiming upon the sacred calling, and the duty o 
 not^allowing such great gifts to rust unused; and Carlo 
 listened with the reluctant attention of one who does not 
 wish to be persuaded. It was bad enough to fight against 
 his own convictions; he did not want Piale's arguments to 
 make the conflict yet more severe. 
 
 " I tell you," urged the old man, "that Italian opera is 
 dying dying for want of fit exponents. There is scarcely 
 a man whom one cares to listen to, and it will never be 
 kept alive by two or three prime donne. You might revive 
 it, and yet you hesitate. Corpo di Bacco ! Is it that you 
 are unaware of your gifts? Is it that your very modesty 
 Is to prove the bane of your life and the destruction of my 
 hopes? Listen to me it is the plain truth I am telling you, 
 and you well know I never flatter. For years upon years 
 Italy has produced no great tenor, or barytone, or bass; 
 now she has produced you; and, if you work well, you will 
 be the first singer in Europe. Italy has produced you, and 
 then you persist in hiding your light under a bushel ! Di- 
 avolo ! 'tis enough to try the patience of a saint !" 
 
 " Dear maestro," said Carlo, with a faint smile, " what 
 can I do more than promise to consider this offer? How 
 can you expect me to decide all in a moment? Ah!" a 
 quick sigh escaped him " Do you not see what it will in- 
 volve?" 
 
 4 ' Hein ! "What it will involve? Why, yes ; I understand 
 that it might postpone your marriage for a time. Art de- 
 mands some sacrifices. 
 
 " And what right have I to sacrifice Francesca's happi- 
 ness? To a duty perhaps even that might be right, but to 
 a dream of fame never !" He laughed ; the idea, when put 
 into words, seemed to him so preposterous. 
 
 " Happiness be damned!" cried Piale, with righteous in- 
 dignation. ' ' I have yet to learn that Italy produced you, 
 and England produced Miss Britton, that you might be 
 happy. And do I not know Miss Britton? Can I for one 
 moment dream that she would wish to hold you back? 
 Why, by all saints, no! My dear boy, you are young- 
 young. " Believe me, a girl is always willing to wait when 
 the good of her lover is in question. As to Captain Brit- 
 ton, he can't have lived all these years in Italy and yet re- 
 tain his Puritan notions in all their strictness. He may 
 object at first, but, hearing all the circumstances of tb* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 3 
 
 , he will soon give way. Courage, Carlo mio f For a 
 great gain, a momentary sacrifice!" 
 
 Perhaps it was the word " momentary " which showed 
 Carlo plainly what he had before felt dimly, that Piale 
 knew nothing whatever about the sacrifice in question. 
 
 Much as he loved the old man, he could bear his pres- 
 ence no longer, but hastily took leave with a few incoher- 
 ent words about "time," and "thinking it over." He 
 fled from the old singing-master as those in trouble or per- 
 plexity always do flee f rom glib talk. It is the one intol- 
 erable thing, as exasperating to the nineteenth-century 
 man as the glib talk of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar was 
 to poor Job. 
 
 "Momentary, indeed! A momentary sacrifice!" The 
 idea made him indignant and yet pitiful. Had Piale lost 
 his manhood in his art-life? Had he so little conception of 
 what it was to love that he could speak thus? And then 
 he tried to imagine to himself the fulfillment of the maes- 
 tro's wish; he had a vision of himself, old and gray- 
 headed, enjoying the sense of his fame and his world-wide 
 reputation, and calmly advising some other in the heyday 
 of youth to renounce love and happiness. 
 
 It was not till he was confronted by a huge poster, in 
 which the names of Madame Merlino and Comerio shone 
 out conspicuously, that he once more perceived the true 
 facts of the case. This was no question between the merits 
 of marriage and of art-life ; it was the question whether he 
 should choose happiness for Francesca and himself, or 
 choose the possibility of saving his sister. Life is made up 
 of such decisions some of them petty, some of them over- 
 whelmingly great, but all of them momentous. We hate 
 the thought of the choice, long to gain without losing, hope 
 to triumph without sacrifice, strive and struggle and fret 
 in the vain effort to break through the inexorable law that 
 those who find their life must first lose it. Truly, "men 
 are not more willing to live the life of the Crucified." 
 
 Again those words returned to Carlo's mind; they grated 
 upon him even more than when he had first heard them 
 spoken perhaps because, while far from understanding 
 them, he began vaguely to perceive their drift. He saw a 
 dim, distasteful vision of self-renunciation; he did not see 
 that true self-renunciation implies the peace-giving pres- 
 ence of One in whose service we renounce. 
 
 While he wan still all confused and agitated by this in- 
 ward conflict, he was waylaid by Herr Ritter. 
 
 "Whither away?" exclaimed the old man, kindly. 
 "You are never thinking of going to Pozzuoli in this heat. 
 Come home with me; it is long since I saw yog "3fem are 
 locking fagged, Carlo.'* 
 
84 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Recollecting the obligation he was under to Enrico's 
 father, Carlo felt that it would not do to refuse his hospi- 
 tality, though, truth to tell, he had never felt less inclined 
 for a visit to the kind German household. He, the laugh- 
 ter-loving, felt that he could not endure the sound of laugh- 
 ter; he, the impulsive and unreflecting, had actually come 
 to such a point that he desired nothing so much as quiet 
 and solitude to think out this great question. 
 
 He did not get much quiet in the Ritter household, but 
 he met with that hearty, vociferous kindness which Enri- 
 co's family knew so well how to bestow. Frau Ritter had 
 never before been so motherly, the daughters of the house 
 never so anxious to do what they could for him. Enrico 
 himself was unusually silent ; he watched his friend nar- 
 rowly, perceivirg from his face that matters must be worse 
 rather than better since their last meeting. Possibly, 
 however, the parting with his sister might account for the 
 troubled expression he bore; and when, after dinner, the 
 two friends were left alone, Enrico turned eagerly to the 
 subject which the others had studiously avoided. 
 
 "Madame Merlino has left you, I suppose?" he began. 
 ''-She makes her first appearance to-night, I see." 
 " She left this morning," said Carlo, " and sings to-nighfc 
 in ' Don Giovanni. ' ' 
 
 " Why should you go back to the empty house? Spend 
 the night here," suggested Eurico. 
 
 Carlo hesitated. 
 
 *4 It would be my best chance of seeing Comerio," ha 
 saiu, thoughtfully. 
 
 44 How do you mean?" 
 
 " If I slept here and went this evening to the Merca- 
 dante." 
 
 " Gran Dio ! It would scarcely be an enjoyable evening 
 for you, my friend." 
 
 Carlo made an expressive gesture with his shoulders. 
 
 44 Perhaps not, but I should see him and be able to judge 
 better what to be at." 
 
 44 You have not heard, then, of a barytone fit to step into 
 his shoes?" 
 
 ' 4 1 have heard of one, but it is doubtful whether he will 
 accept Merlino's offer." 
 
 44 What ! Has it gone so far as that? Actually an offer? 
 Come, the clouds begin to disperse ! Once get that scamp 
 ousted and your troubles are over." 
 
 Carlo was silent. In his heart he thought they would be, 
 not over, but just begun. He had not yet told Enrico of 
 Piale's little plt, for he knew that his friend would favor 
 uo plan likely to make him unhappy, and felt that he was 
 
KNIQBT-ERRANT. 
 
 *ot yet strong enough to stand arguments for the side on 
 which he was already biassed. 
 
 " Well, I will stay the night since you ask me," he said 
 at length, " Will you come with me to * Don Giovanni?' " 
 
 "Yes, if you are indeed bent on going. Your presence 
 will be commented on, though. You see it is so soon 
 
 after " he broke off in confusion, adding, after a pause, 
 
 "And you see every one will be there to-night, for Madame 
 Merlino's first appearance has been much talked of. Your 
 going may be misunderstood." 
 
 4 ' Che sara sara, ' ' said Carlo, with a quick sigh. * ' Enough, 
 I shall go; let us say no more about it." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE OLIVE-GARDEN. 
 
 Though one but say, * Thy will be done,' 
 He hath not lost his day 
 At set of sun. " Christina fiossettl 
 
 As Enrico had predicted, the Teatro Mercadante waa 
 crowded. Not only was it the opening night, but the Nea- 
 politan world was curious to see the new prima donna, this 
 girl of good birth and breeding, who had outraged all the 
 proprieties and eloped with her singing-master. Had it 
 not been for his inward consciousness that there was some- 
 thing much worse that people might erelong say of his sis- 
 ter, Carlo could not have endured all that he was that night 
 fated to overhear. On every side people discussed the 
 Merlino-Donati scandal; but though he winced under it, 
 the dread of the future deadened the recollection of the 
 past, the new danger eclipsed the old shame. 
 
 He sat as though in a bad dream, waiting for the cur- 
 tain to rise and disclose to him the face of this enemy of 
 his peace; so engrossed was he with his thought that he 
 scarcely heard the overture. He wanted to meet his foe 
 face to face, and with a sort of shudder he reflected that 
 in a very short time it was possible that he himself might 
 be standing on that very stage whence Leporello was now 
 descanting upon his master's vices. A moment more and 
 Comerio, the Don Giovanni of the evening, would appear. 
 Carlo breathed hard, drew himself together, and waited 
 through moments which seemed like hours. Curiously 
 enough, the first sight of his foe relieved him ; Comerio 
 was not at all the ideal villain ; he was a small- made, sup- 
 ple-looking man, with very white taper hands, and a face 
 which at that distance looked refined much too refined 
 for a Don Giovanni. He sang rather well, but his acting 
 was so execrable that Carlo forgot everything in a longing 
 desire to substitute something lifelike for the ludicrous 
 
6 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 throwing up of hands which seemed to be Comerio 7 s idea 
 of drama! ic art. Never once was it possible to think oi 
 him as anything but Comerio, the barytone; he walkec 
 through his part and threw about his arms very freely 
 that was all. And yet his complete failure as an actoi 
 was in Carlo's favor. He wanted to study the man, not 
 to enjoy the opera, and since Comario had no notion oi 
 throwing himself into his part, the opera was as good a 
 time to study his own character as any other. 
 
 For a while all went well. The pretty scene in which 
 Zerlina made her first appearance amid th^ crowd of merry 
 peasants could not have been better chosen for Anita'? 
 debut. She looked so charming and sang so well, that she 
 won all hearts; and even Carlo felt a thrill of pride and 
 pleasure as he listened to her sweet, bird-like notes in the 
 duet with Masetto, a part which was well filled by Merlino 
 himself. 
 
 But his pleasure was of short duration. All his miserable 
 apprehension returned the instant Comerio was on the 
 stage again. To see him making love to Anita was more 
 than he could endure. 
 
 Next day the newspapers were warm in their praise af 
 to the acting in the scenes between Don Giovanni and Zer 
 lina; but Carlo knew that this was just the one part of the 
 opera in which there had been no attempt at acting. 
 
 The music was poisoned to him that night, and he could 
 hardly endure the repetition of "La ci darem," which 
 roused the audience to enthusiasm. He never spoke once to 
 Enrico, who for his part could only speculate as to his 
 friend's feelings, for Carlo showed no other sign of agita- 
 tion than a sligtly heightened color, sat out the opera, and 
 greeted two or three friends whom they encountered after- 
 ward quite in his usual manner. Only one thing seemed 
 ominous, because it was unnatural, and that was his silence. 
 It grew so burdensome as they walked home that at last 
 Enrico broke the ice with an outspoken question, "Well, 
 what do you think of him?" 
 
 "I don't know I can hardly tell my head aches too 
 much," said Carlo, in a voice which betrayed so much 
 suffering that his friend ventured no more inquiries, and 
 was glad enough when they reached home. " I shall think 
 things out better to-morrow," were his last words that 
 night. But when the morning came he was incapable of 
 thinking at all, and could only lie still and endure the 
 worst headache he had ever had in his life; while, as 
 though to torture him yet more, " Laci darem " rang per- 
 petually in his ears. 
 
 On the Saturday he awoke to the consciousness that the 
 pain was over, that his brain was cltar once more, and 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 67 
 
 that he must no longer postpone the decision upon whicl, 
 so much depended. But Frau Hitter absolutely refused to 
 allow him to go home till the heat of the day was over; 
 and it was not until late that he managed to escape from 
 his kindly nurses, and, taking a boat at the Piliero, made 
 his way home. He felt much shaken by all that he had 
 been through, and would fain have given himself up to the 
 refreshment of the sweet June evening, turning his back 
 on the threatening future, and getting what pleasure he 
 could from the beautiful bay which was so familiar and so 
 dear to him. But something warned him that now was 
 his time, that he was not likely again to have such unin- 
 terrupted quiet. 
 
 Resolutely he went over in his mind all that there was to 
 be said on either side of the question. What course would 
 Captain Britton take? Would he not justly complain of 
 an arrangement which must indefinitely postpone his 
 daughter's marriage? Would he not be wrathful at his 
 choice of such a profession? And how was he to explain, 
 to him that choice without altogether betraying Nita's 
 story? Again, there was the profession itself. Piale 
 thought only of the reputation he would some day gain, 
 but Carlo, not unnaturally, thought of the reputation he 
 would lose. He knew quite well how his friends would 
 regard his choice; he could imagine the expression of 
 Uncle Guido's face as he exclaimed: "What! a Donati 
 turn actor?" 
 
 And then there was Francesca. His breast heaved, his 
 eyes grew dim ; had it not been for the presence of the 
 "boatman he would have given way and sobbed aloud. And 
 yet Piale was right as far as that went. Once convinced 
 that he might really save Nita, Francesca would be the 
 first to bid him go ; once sure that he was doing what he 
 thought right, she would bid him godspeed and bear the 
 pain like a little heroine. 
 
 With him rested the real difficulty, the terrible decision. ( 
 Was he to give her this pain to bear?" 
 
 ''There will be stormy weather to-night, signer," said 
 the boatman, turning round in his seat to glance out sea- 
 ward as they rounded Posilipo. 
 
 This remark diverted Carlo's thoughts for a moment. 
 The sea was like glass ; far away in the distance he could 
 see a yacht lying becalmed, her beautiful white sails flap- 
 ping idly as she rolled. 
 
 The sunset was just over, and already the brief twilight 
 was fading away, the summer night beginning, and after 
 the sultry, almost breathless, day, a cool wind was spring- 
 ing up; on the horizon could be seen the dark line which 
 
61 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 showed that a change was coming, and that the time of 
 calm inaction was over. 
 
 Was it not like his life I He had had his days of ease, 
 his smooth, uneventful days, with nothing to mar the tran- 
 quil happiness. Then there had arisen the dark foreboding 
 of coming trouble, and now the storm had broken. Was 
 he to choose this life of perpetual storm? Or might he not 
 seek the tranquil haven where he longed to be? Must he 
 indeed go forth into a world so uncongenial into a strife 
 so distasteful? 
 
 He was not indolent by nature, he was not selfish ; but 
 he had, in a marked degree, that Italian hatred of storm 
 and struggle which to a northern nature is so incomprehen- 
 sible. To go out into a life of perpetual temptation a life 
 likely to be full of provocations to the temper, this was 
 harder to him than to most men, for he dreaded nothing 
 eo much as losing his self-control. What if he should ac- 
 cept this offer, go forth asNita's preserver, and then fail him- 
 self? In that case, indeed, all would have been lost, honor 
 included. He could not risk all this for a mere hope, a 
 mere chance. It could not surely be expected of a man 
 that he should give up his home, his prospects of marriage, 
 his profession, everything that he cared for, all for the 
 sake of saving one woman? No, it certainly could not bo 
 expected ! Why, the world would laugh at such a notion. 
 Had any other man put such a case to him, he, too, would 
 have smiled at it, and called the propound er of such folly 
 a mere Quixote. How foolish the old boatman would think 
 him if he steered this frail little boat out into the troubled 
 waters yonder instead of making all speed to guide it to the 
 shore. 
 
 He shivered slightly, threw his cloak across his chest, 
 and, for the sake of a change of thought, began to abuse 
 old Frau Hitter for having delayed his return so long, and 
 in her dread of sunshine brought him in for the risk of 
 malaria. But ab9ve it all floated the perverse voice which 
 would not leave him unmolested, ' ' Men are not more willing 
 to live the life of the Crucified." He left off abusing Frau 
 Ritter, and began to hum a song, but naturally enough 
 chanced to begin with an air from * ' Don Giovanni. ' ' The 
 voice he longed to drown spoke more and more clearly. 
 Well, "Don Giovanni 1 ' was poisoned for him; he must 
 eschew it in future. And forthwith he strove to drive the 
 unpleasant thoughts connected with it from his mind with 
 the first snatch of song which came to his head. Out into 
 the summer night rang the noble, impassioned address of 
 Valentino to Mephistopheles : 
 
 44 La croce dai demon! tuoi ci guarda!" 
 
 . The scene in the opera rose vividly before him: the sol- 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 69 
 
 dier, with his cross -handed sword uplifted, boldly con- 
 fronting the devil who so lately had worsted him, but who 
 now shrank back helpless and trembling. Good heavens ! 
 and iie had sought to drc wn. the voice of God in his heart 
 by those very words, had sought to drive back the good 
 and to give place to the evil. 
 
 A horror of great darkness fell upon him. It was the 
 crisis of his whole life. Afterward, when he recalled the 
 past anguish he recalled with it those somber surroundings: 
 the purple waters, the great dark cloud drawing nearer and 
 nearer, the hopeless gloom of the night broken only by the 
 light on Cape Miseno and the red light on the side of the 
 yacht. Nob a sound was to be heard save the splashing of 
 the oars, and now and then a sort of hoarse shout in the 
 distance, probably the yacht's captain giving orders to his 
 crew, but to Carlo the silence was tumult. He was sailor 
 enough to know that in a few minutes the storm would be 
 upon them. That mattered little, for they were close to 
 the shore; it was the tumult in his own heart which ab- 
 sorbed him. 
 
 Vaguely, and as if from a great distance, he heard the 
 boatmen giving thanks to San Gennaro that they were 
 safely in before the squall ; he had indistinct recollections 
 of paying the man a double fare and bidding him seek 
 shelter for the night at Florestano's hut, then of plunging 
 wildly on through the darkness, across the beach, up the 
 hill among the dusky vines, his pain increased by a con- 
 sciousness, that when he had last trodden that path it had 
 been with Francesca. Was it to be thus with his life? 
 Must he content himself with a memory of the briefest 
 snatch of happiness ever given to man, and toil on through. 
 long, solitary years over the rough and stony paths of 
 publicity? It was impossible impossible! He rushed on 
 yet faster, as though by rapid motion he could escape from 
 the tyranny of an idea. 
 
 Just as he reached the olive-garden the storm suddenly 
 broke. The wind raged over the land, tossing the trees 
 wildly to and fro; the rain came down in torrents, the light- 
 ning cast its angry gleam across the heaving sea, and the 
 swaying boughs, and the wet, shining shore. Carlo threw 
 himself down on the ground, beneath the thickest of the 
 olive-trees, seeking at once shelter from the outward storm 
 and help in the inward struggle. He would no longer flee 
 from the voice that had haunted him; he would listen toifc 
 would try to understand it. What was the life of the 
 Crucified? " 
 
 All his soul went into the question, and the confusion 
 within him seemed to lessen as he waited for the answer, 
 which framed itself to him amid the raging g the wintf 
 
70 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 and the dull roar of the thunder, something after thi* 
 fashion : 
 
 The life of the Crucified was lived by One who delighted 
 to do God's will. He did not exclude pleasure, or mor- 
 bidly delight in pain: it was just that He did not think 
 about pleasing Himself at all. He took the bitter and tho 
 sweet as they were sent, and delighted in them because Hr 
 knew the Sender, who sought only the good of all men. 
 This is the life of the Crucified. You think happiness is to 
 please yourself ; it is not that at all, it is to delight in. doing 
 His will. 
 
 " Lord." he sobbed, "I am not willing it is true I am 
 not willing to live Thy life. Save me from my selfishness ! 
 4 By Thine agony and bloody sweat, by Thy cross and pas- 
 sion, good Lord. "deliver me? ' 
 
 He repeated the familiar words again and again, hardly 
 conscious of what he was saying, yet in his anguish find- 
 ing them a sort of relief. And presently, either the words 
 or his own surroundings brought to liis mind what the 
 greatest of modern atheists once termed, with an involuii- 
 ^oftening of the voice, ''That terrible garden-scene/' 
 There had been a struggle an agony for the Son of God 
 Himself. He, too, knew what it cost deliberately to take 
 the course which must bring bitter grief to those who loved 
 Him. He, too. knew how human nature shrank from isp- 
 :. from misconception. Every temptation now assail- 
 ing him had also assailed the Son who learned obedience 
 by the things which He suffered. 
 
 And just as a child will for very awe forget its little 
 griefs when brought face to face with the great grief of its 
 parents, so Carlo lost sight for a time of his own pain, that 
 -cene becoming far more real to him than the bitter 
 nt. The tears wrung from him first by his own an- 
 guish fell now for another. 
 
 "Lord." he sobbed. ' k it cannot be that I am willing that 
 Thou shpuldst be crucified afresh put to open shame 
 while I live here in this paradise ! Anything rather than 
 that ! Lord, choose for me what Thou wilt. My spirit is 
 willing, but my flesh is weak. 'By Thine agony and 
 bloody sweat, by Thy cross and passion, good Lord, de- 
 liver me.'' 
 
 An hour later the brief Mediterranean storm was over, 
 the stars were shining, the yacht was on her course once 
 more, her white sails spread to catch the softened breeze. 
 
 Then Carlo rose to his feet and went on his way. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 71 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 " Joy, so true and tender, 
 
 Dare you not abide? 
 Will you spread your pinions? 
 ___ Must you leave our side? 
 
 Nay; an angel's shining grace 
 
 Waits to fill your place!" A. A. Procter. 
 
 "VERY odd of Carlo not to come in to-day, " remarked 
 Captain Brifcton from the depths of his easy-chair. ''I 
 suppose the heat was too much for him. Have you heard 
 from him, Fran?" 
 
 " I had a little note from him yesterday, father, only to 
 say that he wasn't well, and that the Hitters insisted on 
 keeping him, but that he would be sure to be at home 
 again on Saturday. 1 dare say Frau Eitter made him 
 stay; it was so sultrv, you know, and since Herr Hitter's 
 illness she is always in terror of sunstrokes." 
 
 ''Well, one thing is, this thunder-storm will clear the 
 air," said the captain, rubbing his large hands together 
 contentedly. " If I could be sure your uncle was safely in 
 port, I should feel more comfortable, though. What did I 
 do with his letter? Ah, here it is! ' The yacht is to leave 
 Leghorn on Wednesday,' he says. They certainly ought 
 to be at Naples by this time." 
 
 "I looked out for the Pilgrim yesterday," said Fran- 
 cesca, ' ' but to-day I forgot all about it. How I wish Clare 
 and the girls were coming too ; it was very benighted of 
 them to like a stupid visit to the North Cape better than a 
 cruise in the Mediterranean." 
 
 "No accounting for tastes," said the captain, smiling. 
 "If it were not for this engagement of yours, I should 
 feel sorely tempted to get your uncle to give me a berth. 
 There is nothing, after all, like the sea. You smile, 
 Fran. Why, bless your dear little heart! I wasn't wish- 
 ing things otherwise with you and Carlo; On the con- 
 trary, I think the sooner you are married and settled the 
 better for both of you. He has looked sadly worn and out 
 of spirits lately, poor fellow." 
 
 "There has been so much to trouble him," said Fran- 
 cesca, with a sigh. 
 
 " Ay, and he is unfit to be left all alone in that dreary 
 house. Really, I don't see why there should be any more 
 delay. Now that he has got rid of that sister of his, why 
 shouldn't you be married quietly and have done with it? 
 No disrespect to the mother in that, poor soul. Why, it 
 is the thing of all others she would have wished. I tell 
 
72 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 you what, Fran, here is such a chance as is never likely 
 to come again. Your uncle is unexpectedly coming out 
 here ; he is sure to give at least a week to Naples why 
 should we not have your wedding while he is here? 
 Upon my word "he rubbed his hands with greater satis- 
 faction than before " that's the happiest notion that has 
 come to me for a long time, Fran. You and Carlo shall 
 be packed off on your honeymoon, Sibyl and I will console 
 ourselves with a cruise in the Pilgrim, and we'll all forget 
 that provoking Madame Merlino, who has made such a 
 storm in a teacup." 
 
 Francesca blushed vividly. 
 
 " If you really think if Carlo " she broke off, in con- 
 fusion. 
 
 Captain Britton patted her head caressingly. "Why, 
 of course, my love, of course I would take good care that 
 Carlo thought the suggestion his own. To prolong the 
 engagement would be bad for both of you. Nothing in the 
 world more trying than long engagements. Not that you 
 are to think I am in any hurry to get rid of you; but, 
 after all, we shall scarcely be separated, and an engage- 
 ment is somehow neither one thing nor the other. I 
 should like to see you married, my dear; this sad affair of 
 poor Carlo's has been an annoyance to me such things 
 are unsettling; they interrupt the steady routine of daily 
 life. I confess I shall be glad to go away for a time with 
 your uncle, and then, later on, to come back and begin our 
 ordinary life once more." 
 
 Francesca felt like a cat rubbed the wrong way, but 
 knowing that the rubber meant it all very kindly she bore 
 it with composure. 
 
 'A cruise in the Pilgrim would be the best possible 
 change for you," she said, laughing lightly, though not 
 altogether without an effort. " I shall go and see if she is 
 anywhere to be seen: and really, since you are in such a 
 hurry to be off, I shall have to think about my wedding- 
 s." 
 
 Glad to put an end to the conversation, she crossed the 
 room, threw open the window, and stepped out into the 
 'a. The night was deliciously fresh after the storm; 
 she felt an inexpressible sense of freedom and relief as she 
 closed the window behind her. and drank in deep draughts 
 of the cool,- moist air. Though her father's words had 
 grated upon her, there was, nevertheless, a certain amount 
 of truth in them which she could not but recognize. She, 
 too, had that longing to go away, to escape from the scene 
 of all the trouble and sorrow which had lately invaded 
 their home. It would be like escaping from the hot, lamp- 
 lit drawing-room into this cool out-of-doors. And then, 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 78 
 
 perhaps Carlo would begin to be himself again. Surely, 
 though she had not liked the way in which the idea was 
 expressed, the idea itself was a good one. They would go 
 away right away from Naples away from the region of 
 theaters away from all that could recall Carlo's loss, and 
 she would comfort him. Then, later on, they would in- 
 duce Merlino to let Anita come to them ; she should stay 
 with them at the Villa Bruno, should be made perfectly 
 happy, should have all kinds of little English comforts 
 which would be new and delightful to her after her wan- 
 dering life. And so her troubles should somehow conven- 
 iently disappear, and she should find that their home was 
 her home. If her trouble was connected with money, as 
 Francesca fancied, why then Carlo would somehow man- 
 age to clear off her debts, and she. too, should start life 
 afresh, and they would all live happily ever after. So she 
 dreamed in her girlish fashion, knowing nothing of the 
 real state of the case, only fully convinced that this dreary 
 state of things could not last forever, that somehow it 
 would all come right in the end like the books. And in. 
 that belief no doubt she was right; wrong only in this, that 
 *' coming right in the end " meant to her coming right in 
 these threescore years and ten. 
 
 To be married, perhaps, next week! How calmly her 
 father had suggested the idea, and how her heart throbbed 
 as she recalled his words ! She would lay aside her mourn- 
 ing for that one day, would be dressed, spite of the sad- 
 ness which had heralded in her marriage, "as a bride 
 adorned for her husband;" and therewith she began, after 
 the manner of girls, to picture the dress to herself; it 
 should be long and white and shining; and as for orange- 
 blossom, why there was no lack of that in the garden, al- 
 ways supposing this heavy rain had not dashed it. Think- 
 ing of the orange-blossom, she turned from those inward 
 visions, and looked down into the dusky mass of trees and 
 shrubs below, starting a little at sight of some one approach- 
 ing, but quickly recognizing her lover. 
 
 "Carlo! why, Carlo! is it really you?" she exclaimed, 
 an ecstasy of happiness in her voice, for she had not in the 
 least expected him. 
 
 He looked up. She was leaning on the rail of the loggia 
 among the climbing roses, her eyes bright with joy, her 
 sweet face a little flushed, her white neck and arms gleam- 
 ing through the black lace of her dress. He trembled 
 from head to foot. It was too late now to tell her all and 
 had he strength to meet her? Would it not be better just 
 to kiss that hand resting on t; e white balustrade, and ex- 
 cuse himself for the evening But Francesca, who had 
 
74 'KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 never since her betrothal been so long parted from her 
 lover, turned and flew down the steps to meet him. 
 
 "Oh, I had quite given you up, darling!" she cried. 
 * And are you really well again quite well?" 
 
 A terrible pang rent his heart, but he trembled no more ; 
 all the man in him rose up to meet this sore trial. 
 
 "Quite well, carina; only wet through, and not fit to 
 touch you,'' he said; and by an impulse .which he could 
 hardly have explained he checked the hands which were 
 Stealing round his neck, drew them down, and held them 
 fast in his while he bent forward and kissed her. 
 
 A shade passed over her face. Why did he stop to think 
 about his wet clothes? What lover ever deigned to be- 
 stow a thought on such prudent considerations? 
 
 He read her thoughts in a glance, and therewith saw a 
 vision of the future the shadow deepening on that dear 
 face, the eyes dim with tears, the brow contracted with 
 pain. To hide his agony from her he let his head droop 
 forward, resting his burning forehead on her shoulder. 
 
 "I have been so dreadfully anxious, Carlino," she said. 
 " And oh, it is so beautiful to have you back again I" 
 
 He did not speak, only his cold hands held hers more 
 tightly ; his face was hidden on her breast. But though 
 he could hide from her the sight of his anguish, he could 
 not deceive her ; she knew intuitively that it was no phys- 
 ical pain which made a man like Carlo bow his head like 
 one overwhelmed. It must surely be that he was think- 
 ing of his mother and it must have been terribly dreary 
 coming back from Naples that stormy evening coming 
 home for the first time to the empty house. 
 
 "My own dear one," she said, all the deep tenderness in 
 her heart stealing into her voice, " you'll not shut me out 
 from your sorrow? What is yours is mine, Carlino. I 
 was so happy when I saw you, I forgot what a sad home- 
 coming it must be. But, darling, it wasn't that I forgot 
 her, for I, too, loved her." 
 
 " Pray that I may keep my promise to her," he whis- 
 pered. "Pray! pray!" 
 
 There was a silence. The tears welled up in Francesca's 
 eyes, not because she understood his sorrow, but because 
 the sorrow was his, and because she loved him. She 
 prayed obediently, like a little child. After awhile he 
 raised his head, looked for a moment into her eyes, then 
 pressed his lips to hers in a long, lingering kiss. 
 
 " Dear love," he said, gently, " we will keep our Whit- 
 suntide together." 
 
 He watched her up the marble steps, then turned away, 
 walking home through the wet garden-paths. And even. 
 m bis great sadness he goulci Qt but gmile faintly as be 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 78 
 
 reflected what Piale's feelings would be could he now see 
 him, cold, and weary, and wet to the skin. "The singer 
 keep? his shop in his throat," he said to himself, with a 
 pathetic little effort to persuade himself that he was now 
 quite accustomed to the idea. "I must not indulge any 
 'more in evening storms." 
 
 The next day was Whit-Sunday. Carlo, as usual, drove 
 in to Naples with the Brittons, and was very glad that the 
 great excitement of "Uncle George's" probable arrival 
 excluded all other topics of conversation. It lasted 
 throughout the drive, and, indeed, engrossed Captain Brit- 
 ton's thoughts so much during church- time that he was 
 glad to effect his escape with Sibyl after the sermon, leav- 
 ing Carlo and Francesca to the second service, while he 
 hastened to make inquiries as to the Pilgrim. 
 
 To his surprise and delight, he was greeted just outside 
 the church by his brother. 
 
 Sibyl, who had very vague recollections of her uncle, 
 studied him with a child's keen criticism. 
 
 " He is like papa," she reflected, "but smaller and finer; 
 his beard is beautiful, and white and curly, like a Father 
 Christmas; he laughs with his eyes. I like him." 
 
 Having satisfied herself on this point, she began to listen 
 to the conversation. 
 
 " Yes, we got in early this morning," her uncle was say- 
 ing. " We had very light winds all the way from Leghorn 
 in fact, yesterday we were becalmed, but after the squall 
 we got on better. What a paradise you live in, to be sure! 
 Ah, is this your little one? Why, Sibyl, you have grown 
 out of all knowledge I And what have you done with 
 Francesca?" 
 
 " Francesca will be here directly," replied the captain. 
 " We may as well wait for her, if you are not in a hurry. 
 By the bye, George, I think you have not heard that she is 
 to be married shortly." 
 
 " What high and mighty nobleman has been so happy as 
 to meet with your approval?" said Mr. Britton, well aware 
 of his brother's weakness for titles, and convinced by hi3 
 beaming face that the marriage was desirable in his eyes. 
 
 "A young Italian neighbor of ours, Signer Donati ; not 
 a noble at all, but of a good old family, and likely to do 
 well at the Neapolitan Bar. Oh, I am thoroughly pleased 
 with the affair thoroughly pleased, and Donati is heir to 
 a rich old uncle, so it is satisfactory in every way." 
 
 "I hope he is good enough for dear little Fran," said 
 Mr. Britton, dryly. Somehow the notion of his pretty 
 niece marrying the first foreigner who proposed for her 
 did not please him. 
 
 44 Well as to that, I doubt if there is any one in tfco 
 
96 KN1G8T-ERRANT. 
 
 vrorld quite good enough for her," said Captain Britton, 
 rubbing his hands, but slightly embarrassed by the pres- 
 ence of his Prayer-book. " You will like Donati. though. I 
 am sure of that. He is a fine fellow. Just now, poor boy. he 
 is in great trouble lost his mother quite suddenly, and of 
 course he's dreadfully cut up. In fact. I think' the only 
 tiling will be to hasten on the marriage, and get him right 
 from the place for a bit. Ah. here they come! 
 F a right:" and he hurried forward lest Sibyl should 
 forestall him as a news-bearer. 
 
 Mr. Britton glanced quickly at Francesca's fiance, and 
 felt his insular prejudice melting away. A more beauti- 
 ful face he had never seen. Sornething'of its serenity van- 
 ished, however, as Captain Britton approached a sort of 
 shade passed over the forehead, and he evidently came 
 back to the present with an effort. The captain brought 
 him forward, and introduced him in his usual rather bois- 
 terous and patronizing way. Mr. Britton was all the more 
 struck by the grace and dignity of the Italian, and he held 
 out his hand cordially. 
 
 "I have been hearing of you, Signor Donati." he said, 
 pleasantly. "You must let me congratulate you, for, in- 
 deed. I think you are a very happy man." 
 
 The Italian smiled, surely the saddest smile ever seen, as 
 he bowed his acknowledgments. Mr. Britton was startled 
 and perplexed, but Francesca's happy face reassured him; 
 and had not the captain said that his future son-in-law was 
 in trouble? 
 
 "I want you all to come and spend the day on my 
 yacht." he said, turning to his brother. "The gig is wait- 
 ing down by the Arsenal. Come, you must really take 
 compassion on my solitude. Signor Donati. I hope you'll 
 put up with that barbarous custom, an early dinner: but 
 the fact is. our cook's cuddy is so near the men's quarters 
 that if I dine late the poor fellows are half grilled at 
 nigh 
 
 After a little more discussion they all set off for the Ar- 
 senal. " where the %% gig." a term which had baffled Carlo 
 .-ether, resolved itself into a four-oared boat, manned 
 by trim-looking English sailors, who htore the name of the 
 Pilgrim in red letters across their blue jerseys, and in gold 
 .ind their hats. Mr. Britton took his place in the 
 stern, insisting that his brother must sit beside Sibyl to 
 trim the boar : and. having thus managed that the lovers 
 should be side by side, gave the word to start. Sibyl gave 
 A cry of delight' as the gulden-brown oars were promptly 
 raised in the air and simultaneously lowered into the 
 water. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle George 1" she cried, " how happy you must 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. ft 
 
 bfc with this dear little boat always waiting for you, and 
 men to do so beautifully just what you say !" 
 
 44 Ah!" said Mr. Britton, laughing, "wait till you are on 
 board the Pilgrim ! I see," he added, turning to Carlo and 
 Francesca, "that you two have already taught this little 
 one to understand the proud sense of possession." 
 
 Francesca smiled and blushed. Carlo appeared to be 
 engrossed with a vessel which they were passing, the huge 
 Duilio, then not quite completed. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, turning back with a bright smile 
 which veiled the pain at his heart, " I suppose there is no 
 need to introduce you to our monster vessel ; you prob- 
 ably know much more about her than we do." 
 
 The ship-builder was not above appreciating the compli- 
 ment thus delicately conveyed, and Francesca looked up 
 at the unwieldy form with its dull red color and its six 
 funnels, and tried to seem interested in the discussion 
 which arose upon its merits among the men; its only 
 merit to her was that it seemed to be interesting Carlo and 
 taking him out of himself. The Pilgrim, a pretty, 
 schooner-rigged yacht, of about one hundred and fifty 
 tons, was anchored off the Military Mole, and, like all the 
 vessels in harbor, was gayly dressed with flags in honor of 
 the festa. A somewhat smaller yacht was anchored 
 close by. 
 
 "They tell me our neighbor the Aida belongs to an 
 Italian count or duke, or something of the sort," said Mr. 
 Britton. "What was the name, Oxenberry; do you 
 recollect?" 
 
 " Count Carossa, I believe, sir," said the coxswain. 
 
 "Count Carossa!" said Captain Britton, with a beaming 
 face. "The name seems familiar to me. A friend of 
 yours, perhaps, Carlo?" 
 
 "No, sir; I have never even met him," said Carlo, re- 
 pressively. 
 
 "But the name is familiar to you, surely?" 
 
 " It is certainly a well-known name," said Carlo, still in\ 
 the same tone. 
 
 Mr. Britton was a little puzzled ; he could not make out 
 whether the Italian knew of something not to the credit of 
 Count Carossa, or whether hip tone merely implied a great 
 distaste of the captain's love *)f the aristocracy. 
 
 By this time they were alongside the yacht, and the cap- 
 tain, forgetting all about the count, began to admire his 
 brother's latest toy. 
 
 "A very pretty little vessel indeed, George. I confess I 
 envy you. Sibyl, ivhat do you say shall we not sell the 
 villa and Jive afloat? Now, Carlo, don't forget to take 
 
IS KNIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 your hat off to the deck; it's a mortal insult to forget 
 that!" 
 
 Carlo laughed. Just for a little time he forgot his cares, 
 and his first thought, as he glanced round the deck, with 
 its exquisitely smooth and white boards, its shining brass- 
 work, its cunningly arranged skylights and companions, 
 was this: 
 
 "A yacht is the last place in the world for private con- 
 versations. One more day of freedom ! One more day'a 
 peace of mind for my darling !" 
 
 As for Sybil, she was wild with happiness, now watching 
 the gig as it was hauled up. now trotting off hand- in-hand 
 with the coxswain to the forecastle, looking with longing 
 eyes at the rope-ladders, and chattering without inter- 
 mission. 
 
 It was not without difficulty that Francesca bore her off 
 to be washed and brushed before dinner, and had it not 
 been for the fascinations of the shifting table in the saloon, 
 she would hardly have been induced to stay down below 
 for so dull a duty as eating. 
 
 "Uncle George," she said, leaning forward in her quaint 
 way, *' it would have been nice to come on board tne Pil- 
 grim any day, but being Sunday it's just perfect." 
 
 "Eh how's that?'' said Mr. Britton. "The better the 
 day the better the deed is that your idea?" 
 
 4 'No; but don't you see on week days we can have 
 games different games every day, if we like but Sun- 
 days are always, always the same! Now this makes such 
 a beautiful difference. I am glad you asked us on Sun- 
 day." 
 
 Carlo, to whom the rules of the English Sunday had al- 
 ways been incomprehensible, could not repress an amused 
 smile, but he wisely avoided taking part in the discussion 
 which ensued on modern Sabbatarianism, being, of course, 
 ready enough to speak out his own opinion if it were asked, 
 but not feeling bound to volunteer it. The argument was 
 at last interrupted by the entrance of the steward. 
 
 " A boat has just come across from the Aida. sir, with 
 Count Carossa's card, but the captain can't make out what 
 the men say, all of them being Italians." 
 
 Carlo at once offered to act as interpreter, and ran up on 
 deck, returning with the message, which he delivered with 
 an impartial face. 
 
 "Count Carossa presents his compliments to the owner 
 of the Pilgrim, and it would give him much pleasure to 
 make his acquaintance. If quite convenient to Mr. Brit- 
 ton, the count will call upon him in the afternoon." 
 
 " Very happy to see him, I'm sure," said Mr. Britton, 
 who was the soul of hospitality. * * Perhaps, Signor Donati, 
 
, 
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 79 
 
 ^ou would be so good as to frame a polite message for me 
 iind deliver it to the messenger or stay, I'll write it on 
 my card." 
 
 This done, they all adjourned to the deck, where before 
 long they were joined by Count Carossa, a fine-looking 
 man of two- or three-and-thirty, to whom Captain Britton 
 took very kindly. There was much amusing discussion as 
 fco the merits of the two yachts, then of Mr. Britton's 
 homeward route, during which the count discovered that 
 Francesca and her father were living in the neighborhood, 
 and did his best to push the acquaintance, eliciting very 
 easily an invitation to dinner on the following Wednesday. 
 
 Carlo, after the count's arrival, had kept sedulously in 
 the background, and had said but little. Happening to 
 glance at him once, Mr. Britton was struck by the strange 
 expression of his face. He hastily turned his eyes toward 
 Francesca; she was smiling in answer to some polite noth- 
 ing addressed to her by the count. 
 
 44 1 believe that fellow Donati is jealous!" he thought to 
 himself. "My poor little Fran, you are altogether too 
 
 food to be left to the tender mercies of an Italian husband, 
 wonder if the marriage is, after all, so advisable as they 
 seem to think. ' ' 
 
 Afterward, when the count was gone, he said, casually, 
 to Carlo : 
 
 "By the way, Signor Donati, I suppose this Count Ca- 
 rossa is a decent sort of fellow ; you don't know anything 
 against him, do you?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever, sir," said Carlo, emphatically 
 *' nothing whatever. I only know that he is very rich, 
 and tha-t he leads a wandering life; I have often heard 
 people wonder why in the world he does not settle down." 
 
 " Then he is unmarried?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, he is unmarried. ' ' 
 
 At that moment Sibyl ran up to beg Carlo to look at 
 "some dear little tortoises in the dingy." Mr. Britton 
 nodded to himself with the air of one who has surmised 
 rightly. 
 
 "Just as- 1 thought," he muttered, "as jealous as he can 
 be." 
 
 The afternoon was spent in rambling about Naples, 
 showing. Uncle George as many lions as he cared to see ; 
 then they returned to the yacht, to that curious English 
 meal called "tea "a new experience to Carlo and it was 
 arranged that they should drive home in the cool of the 
 evening, taking Mr. Britton with them. 
 
 " It has been such a delightful day, " said Francesca; " I 
 think I agree with Sibyl that being a Sunday it has been 
 all the nicer." 
 
80 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 The lovers were standing near the wheel in the dim star* 
 light ; perhaps Carlo was glad that the light was no clearer. 
 
 *' See," he said, " there is Venus just setting; not there; 
 look, out yonder behind St. Elmo." 
 
 Francesca was just in time to see the last of the planet ; 
 after it was set. the castle on its lofty height seemed to 
 stand out more darkly against the evening sky. The har- 
 bor was very quiet, Ibut from the shore came sounds of 
 laughter and merriment, a confused roar of many voices, 
 and now and then in the distance a line or two of Garibaldi's 
 hymn floating on the wind. 
 
 4 'How still and peaceful we are out here!" said Fran- 
 cesca, "and how noisy and horrid it seems in Naples. 
 Why does a Babel like that always sound so wicked, I won- 
 der? It makes me think of Vanity Fair in the ' Pilgrim's 
 Progress.' ' 
 
 " And yet through all the uproar we can make out Gari- 
 baldi's hymn," said Carlo. 
 
 "Ah," she said, laughing, "I know you would like to 
 be in the thick of it all, fighting against the evil as 
 your father and grandfather fought in their day. Oh, 
 Car-lino, what a good thing for me that there are no battles 
 now!" 
 
 " Yet in a good cause you would not have hindered me, 
 I think, carina? Tell me "his lips trembled "tell me, 
 had we lived then would you have begged me to stay at 
 home?" 
 
 "No, Carlo, ?m"o." she said, raising her sweet eyes to his; 
 " I would have told you to go and help your country; I 
 wouldn't have cried till you were out of sight." 
 
 They were interrupted by a summons to get into the gig, 
 and the four trim-looking sailors rowed them swiftly across 
 the quiet harbor, the only sound being an occasional " Qui 
 va la?" from the watchman on board one of the anchored 
 vessels, and a ringing reply from the coxswain of "Yacht's 
 boat!" 
 
 "The peace of my life is over," thought Carlo, as he 
 glanced back across the quiet waters to the Pilgrim wiUi 
 her golden harbor light ; "now for Vanity Fair." 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 81 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 
 * Blest, too, is he who can divine 
 
 Where real right doth lie, 
 And dares to take the side that seemi 
 Wrong to man's blindfold eye. 
 
 " Then learn to scorn the praise of men, 
 
 And learn to lose with God; 
 For Jesus won the world through shame, 
 And beckons thee His road." Fdber. 
 
 " I HAVE something to say to you, carina; let us linger 
 behind the others; there is no hotter place on earth than 
 these streets of Pompeii, and I think we know them well 
 enough." 
 
 The whole party had driven over early on the Monday 
 morning to show Mr. Britton the more recent excavations ; 
 he had been to Pompeii before, but many years ago. 
 
 To Carlo and Francesca, however, those old gray streets 
 and ruined temples were perfectly familiar, and Francesca 
 was not sorry to follow out Carlo's suggestion, and dis- 
 patched Sibyl to tell the others that they would wait in 
 the Temple of Venus till their return. 
 
 " At which message you may be sure Uncle George will 
 laugh," she said. " Had we been wise in our generation, 
 Carlo, we should have chosen the Temple of Isis, but then 
 this is my favorite; and, after all, we are proof against 
 teasing now." 
 
 Carlo smiled sadly as he looked across the beautiful ex- 
 panse of country. On one side, beyond the ruined streets, 
 lay the verdant Campagna, bounded by Vesuvius and 
 Somma ; on the other was a yet more lovely view of sea 
 and mountains, with the white houses of Castellamare 
 gleaming in the sunshine. 
 
 u We have not chosen a very shady place," said Fran- 
 cesca. " But, see, there is just a little patch of shadow 
 down there. Let us come." 
 
 " Do you know what that is?" said Carlo, repressing a 
 Bhudder. 
 
 "Why, yes, to be sure," she replied, gayly; "it's the 
 altar of sacrifice. How fond Clare used to be of poking 
 about in heredon't you remember? I wish she had come 
 with Uncle George." 
 
 "And I, too; I would have given anything to have had 
 her here for your sake, carina." 
 
 There was something so unusual in his tone that Fran- 
 pesca looked up quickly. 
 
 *' Carlo mio, you frighten me I What do you meanf 
 
82 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Don't lean on the altar like that! Come and sit down OH 
 this step by me in the shade. Why do you wish Clare her* 
 for my sake? What do I really want with any one now 
 that I have you?"' 
 
 : * But if, as we were saying last night, there was a battle 
 to fight and I had to leave you?" 
 
 *' Carlino! what do you mean? Surely there is not going 
 to be a revolution a war? 1 ' 
 
 "Oh no, it is much tamer than that," he said, with a 
 slightly bitter smile. Then, a sudden light illumining his 
 face, he put his arm round her and held her closely. 
 
 "My dear one," he said, speaking rapidly and with 
 great earnestness "my own true love, you gave me fresh 
 courage last night by your words. Carina, there are other 
 wars than those between nations ; there is the great war in 
 which you and I have vowed our service; you would not 
 wish me, I know, to prove coward in that to be a deserter. 
 I must tell you, in plain words, the actual case, even 
 though it is hard to do it even though I would give the 
 world to keep all knowledge of such evil from you. Fran- 
 cesca, do you know what killed my mother? I will tell 
 you. It was the knowledge that Anita was living in 
 hourly peril of proving unfaithful to her husband ! He 
 that one who would ruin her that one who dares to call 
 his foul passion by the name of love, is actually a member 
 of Merlino' s company. Merlino himself suspects nothing; 
 if he did he would half kill Anita. I have thought of every 
 possible plan for getting rid of this villain without betraying 
 niy sister, bur, darling, there is only one way that will 
 answer, and it is this; to get rid of this man this bary- 
 tone I must take his place myself." 
 
 "You must offer," said Francesca, faintly; "but per- 
 haps Signer Merlino will not accept you." 
 
 ' The post has already been offered to me by Merlino, 
 and on Wednesday, Francesca mia t I must let him know 
 whether I accept his offer or not." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 She locked her hands together convulsively, but only 
 that one sob of intense, intolerable pain escaped her. 
 
 There was silence a silence so deep that the distant 
 sounds of the workmen busy over the excavations seemed 
 
 Siite near. A little lizard darted across the pavement 
 ose to their feet, and plunged into the maidenhair that> 
 fringed the altar. 
 Francesca opened her eyes. 
 
 " My love! my love!" she cried, "don't look like that! 
 See, Carlo mio, I am going to keep my word. I will say, 
 like the wives in the old days, ' Go and help/ and I'll not 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 83 
 
 cry; I promise you I'll not cry. And yet yet oh! how- 
 can I help it when you set me so bad an example?" 
 
 With a stifled sob she broke off and hid her face on his 
 breast. The sight of her suffering had unnerved him, but 
 quickly he regained that strange self-mastery which was 
 all the more remarkable because it was combined with an 
 ardent, emotional, highly-strung temperament. 
 
 " You are helping me to keep my word," he said, draw- 
 ing her yet closer to him. "As a child I promised my 
 father on his death-bed that I would shield Nita, and my 
 mother's last entreaty you heard." 
 
 "Do I help you?" she said, eagerly; "do I really help? 
 Then I am no longer unhappy. It was the thought of your 
 going quite away where I could do nothing nothing for 
 you it was that broke my heart. If, even away, I can 
 help you if even in this we can work together then I 
 can bear it.' 7 
 
 "Your father," he said, hesitatingly; " I must tell him 
 at once and, carina, he will not see things in the light 
 you see them." 
 
 " He will not approve of your going on the stage," said 
 Francesca. " He will be vexed and annoyed, but he can- 
 not help seeing that it is the only thing to be done." 
 
 Carlo made a faint gesture of dissent. The last sentence 
 was so like Francesca, so unlike the captain. 
 
 "He will most naturally wish that I had never spoken 
 to you. Indeed, I myself could almost wish it, darling; 
 for what have I brought you but trouble and grief, and 
 the shadow of disgrace?" 
 
 " You have brought me yourself, Carlino," she said, with 
 a sweet mirthfulness in look and tone; " you don't seem to 
 think much of the gift, it is true." 
 
 "And yet if I had kept silence a week longer all 
 would have been different. I should have gone off with 
 Merlino's company, and there would have been no discus- 
 sion and remonstrance ; I should not have vexed your fa- 
 ther should not have felt that I had spoiled your life. 
 You would have been free, and the pain would have been 
 mine alone." 
 
 "Why, you vain boy!" she exclaimed, half laughing, 
 half crying, " do you think it was that tale you told me in 
 the Belvedere that made me love you? You know quite 
 well I have loved you for years and years ! And then you 
 talk of going away in silence and leaving me free and 
 happy. Carlino, I'm ashamed of you !" 
 
 Like two children, they forgot for a little while the dark 
 future, and basked in the sunny present. Parting was a 
 thought hardly to be conceived while they sat together in 
 
84 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 the old Temple of Venus, and made love to each other 
 after the fashion of lovers in all ages and climes. 
 
 After a time they talked of Carlo's future life; he spoke 
 warmly of Sardoni, quoted Piale's high opinion of Marioni, 
 the conductor, and said all that could be said in Mer lino's 
 favor. He wanted to paint his new life in bright colors 
 for her sake, and he talked cheerfully of winning Nita's 
 love and confidence, speaking with more assurance than he 
 really felt. 
 
 And yet Francesca remembered well enough his words a 
 few weeks before about the wretched, roving life of a 
 singer, and she knew that in his heart he shrank from it 
 BtiU. 
 
 " Shall you be in Italy, do you think?" she asked. 
 
 "No," replied Carlo, with a sigh. " Merlino will only 
 Btay here till he has got his chorus together again, and 
 given his principals a short holiday. You see things are 
 different here, traveling companies are not much in vogue. ' ' 
 
 " Then, where will you be?' 7 
 
 " In England for a time, then in America." 
 
 "America!" she could not repress the exclamation. 
 "That will seem terribly far away I hoped, as they had 
 just come back, there would be no question of going there 
 again." 
 
 "America is the great field for companies like Merlino's; 
 I suppose a great cteal of my life will probably be spent 
 there." 
 
 Francesca sighed. 
 
 " Ah, well, after all it is chiefly in imagination that dis- 
 tance affects one our letters will travel just as well across 
 the Atlantic. You will have to send me all your changes 
 of address, Carlino; and, as for me, I shall have to learn 
 to write smaller, or there will never be space enough for 
 all I shall have to say." 
 
 By the time the rest of the party joined them they had 
 grown accustomed to the thought of the change had 
 bravely faced the coming separation, each strengthening 
 the other to endure ; and Mr. Britton little guessed, as he 
 gayly teased his niece about her indifference to the new 
 discoveries, what had passed during that hour in the 
 Temple of Venus. Francesca only smiled and drew him 
 into a description of all they had seen, while with her eyes 
 she followed rather wistfully the lithe figure running with 
 Sibyl down the steep old street which led out of Pompeii. 
 They lunched in the little restaurant at the entrance; 
 allowed Mr. Britton to be inveigled into the region of 
 photographs, bronzes, and lava ornaments; then, in the 
 cool of the afternoon, drove home again, Francesca uura- 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 85 
 
 ing a Dying Gladiator in terra-cotta, which was to go home 
 to Clare in the Pilgrim. 
 
 If Captain Britton thought Carlo rather more silent than 
 usual, he put it down to constraint in the presence of a 
 stranger the last thing Carlo would have been likely to 
 experience. However, the worthy captain liked him all 
 the better for it, and talked to him in his bland, semi- 
 patronizing way, chaffing him not a little on his light- 
 hearted compatriots, who thronged the road in their festal 
 clothes, closely packed in open carriages. 
 
 "Yes, yes; you Neapolitans are terrible pleasure -lov- 
 ers," he said, laughingly. "Look there, now; ten people 
 stowed away in that, and the horses all decked out with 
 brass ornaments and bells; and yet they are people of the 
 lower class who, likely enough, will be hungry to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 Francesca fully expected that the term "lower class," 
 would call forth a remonstrance from Carlo, but he let it. 
 pass, and the next moment she understood why. His 
 eye had been caught by a poster on one of the walls of 
 Portici, in which Madame Merlino's name appeared in 
 large letters. 
 
 Carlo was invited to dine at the Casa Bella that evening; 
 he had not yet made up his mind whether he would tell all 
 to Captain Britton face to face, or whether he would write 
 him a letter. Though a very fluent speaker, he was not 
 particularly fond of writing English, however ; and if only 
 a favorable opportunity could be found he rather inclined 
 to an interview with the captain. 
 
 The opportunity came. Dessert was over, Francesca had 
 left the room, Mr. Britton excused himself soon after, as he 
 had a great number of letters to write ; the captain drew 
 his chair up to the table again and passed the wine to 
 his guest. Carlo knew then that his time was come; 
 the hand with which he helped himself to snow trembled 
 a little, but his voice was firm and well modulated when 
 he spoke. 
 
 " It seems a little ungracious to be glad that Mr. Brit- 
 ton's holiday should be invaded by business letters," he 
 began, " but I particularly wanted a few words alone with 
 you." 
 
 Captain Britton thought of his scheme for hastening 
 on the marriage, and quite hoped that the same idea had 
 occurred to Carlo. A kindly smile played about his broad 
 mouth. 
 
 "I, too, have wanted to speak with you all day, but these 
 family parties are no time for confidential talk." 
 
 Carlo thought of the Temple of Venus, and was silent. 
 Captain Britton resumed; 
 
8 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "The fact is, I am anxious about you, my dear fellow ; 
 you look to me far from well. I wish that sister of youra 
 was at the other side of the Atlantic, and that's the truth 
 of it ; it was a bad day for all of us when she returned. 
 When do they leave Naples? You'll never be yourself 
 again till you are rid of that brother-in-law." 
 
 ** I am not likely to be rid of him for some time to come, 
 I fear," said Carlo, plunging boldly into his subject. " It 
 is about the step which I propose taking that I wish now to 
 speak to you." 
 
 Did he mean to propose that wedding journey which the 
 captain had planned? His face was grave almost to stern- 
 ness, but then the Merlinos were quite enough to account 
 for that. 
 
 " I know it is a step which you will disapprove," re- 
 sumed Carlo. " And yet there is no help for it take it I 
 must." 
 
 Captain Britten's hopes sank; he began to think appre- 
 hensively of all the things he should least like to happen. 
 
 ''Well, short of turning Romanist again," he said, after 
 a pause, "I don't think anything you are likely to do 
 would disquiet me very much." 
 
 4> It will, however, delay our marriage," said Carlo; 
 *' that is, I fear, quite inevitable." 
 
 "Well, well," said Captain Britton, thinking that he 
 meant to study for some of the higher branches of the law, 
 44 you are both young, and I can assure you I'm in n<? 
 hurry to get rid of my little Francesca. Have you dis- 
 cussed the matter with" her?" 
 
 44 Yes, and she agrees with me that I must go." 
 
 "Go! Where?" 
 
 " With Merlino's company; it is the only way in which 
 I can keep my promise to my mother the only possible 
 way of shielding Anita." 
 
 Captain Britton was so much startled that for a minute 
 he could not speak, only the color rose to his forehead and 
 his eyes opened wider. In all his trouble and anxiety 
 Carlo could not help observing that he bore a comical 
 resemblance to the crimson shade over the lamp, with its 
 owl's head and round, staring eyes. How was he to make 
 this man, of all men in the world, understand Nita's posi- 
 tion and sympathize with its difficulties? While he hesi- 
 tated how best to put her case without divulging too 
 much, the captain recovered his breath. 
 
 "Do I understand that you mean to turn actor?" he 
 osked, in a sort of hoarse roar. 
 
 Tone and manner were alike overbearing. 
 
 Carlo made one of hi.s dignified little bows and sai<J 
 gravely, 44 Merlino has offered me reasonable terms, and 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 91 
 
 Piale has long wished that I should go on the stage. Had 
 I only my own wishes to consult I should certainly 
 not choose the career of a public singer; but, sir, I prom- 
 ised my mother to shield Anita, and I must do my best I 
 must think of her." 
 
 "I should have thought you were bound to think of 
 your promised wife," said the captain, wrathfully " to 
 consult her wishes." 
 
 "Francesca agrees with me," said Carlo; "she would 
 never keep me back from a duty." 
 
 "Francesca is a fool, then. Duty, indeed! A duty to 
 mix yourself up with a set of idle, profligate fellows ! A 
 duty to pander to the taste of the dissolute, and play the 
 buffoon on the stage, and be clapped by all the scum of the 
 town!" 
 
 Carlo by a great effort strangled the words of angry re- 
 monstrance which rose to his lips, and tried to understand 
 the feelings of an Englishman with Puritan traditions. 
 He would at least try to explain the state of affairs 
 patiently. 
 
 " It is very hard for me to understand the view you take 
 of the stage, sir," he began: "we Italians honor and re- 
 spect our theater ; it is not, as you would say, the haunt of 
 the dissolute, but the resort of the whole people ' ' 
 
 The captain interrupted him; he was all the more angry 
 because his companion had managed, so far, to exercise a 
 well-bred restraint. Some devil prompted him to rouse the 
 Italian's latent passion. 
 
 " Yes," he said, sneeringly, "I know your national tend- 
 encies well enough, but I had thought you were superior to 
 your countrymen. I see I was wrong ; you are as frivo- 
 lous and pleasure-seeking as the rest of the lot ; it was well 
 said of you Italians that you were only fit for artists* 
 models and the operatic stage." 
 
 Carlo sprung to his feet, fire flashing from his eyes. 
 
 " No man is called on to sit still and hear his country in- 
 sylted," he cried. "The. words are not -worthy of you, 
 sir; I am sure you will retract them." 
 
 " If I retract them in part I certainly still apply them to 
 you," said Captain Britton. "What have you proved 
 yourself but fickle and frivolous? You have altogether 
 deceived me." 
 
 His patriotic feelings somewhat smoothed, Carlo grew a 
 little calmer; the personalities were less intolerable ; again 
 be made an effort patiently to put before the captain the 
 whole case; this time he was determined that he would 
 make him fully comprehend it and hear it out. 
 
 ' ' You condemn me, sir, before you have grasped the 
 situation," he began, his voice so subdued by the strong 
 
88 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 restraint he was putting on himself that it sounded low 
 and monotonous. In words plain enough to make the En- 
 glishman wince he briefly described the dilemma. " Know- 
 ing this," he went on "knowing, too, that my mother 
 trusted to me to avert the danger, you surely cannot judge 
 me harshly for taking this step. I knew the stage was 
 dishonorable in your eyes, but I thought you would see in 
 time that for me it was a necessity." 
 
 The captain had risen, too, and was pacing the room 
 with quick, irritated steps. Nita's story had been a severe 
 shock to him, Carlo's plain-speaking still caused his ears 
 to tingle, and the thought of any sort of connection with a 
 family on the borders of such a scandal was unbearable to 
 him. He had a just pride in his Britton ancestry, in his 
 honest, God-fearing forefathers; his strong love of family, 
 his sense of kinship, was the best part of the man. But 
 virtues generally have their corresponding vices, and the 
 captain had an overweening idea of his own dignity, and a 
 habit of looking on other men's affairs from a lofty height, 
 which often made his judgment faulty. 
 
 He was blind now to Carlo's unselfishness, blind to his 
 pain; he struck out remorselessly, thinking only how to 
 rescue Francesca from further connection with Madame 
 Merlino's brother. 
 
 " Don't talk to me of duty and necessity," he thundered; 
 "you are a Jesuit in disguise; you are doing evil that 
 go"od may come, if, indeed, there is any thought of good 
 in the whole plan. My own belief is that you are tired of 
 Francesca. If so, you couldn't have set to work better. I 
 shall certainly not' give my daughter in marriage to an 
 actor; you may consider your betrothal at an end." 
 
 For a minute the blow seemed to crush the very life out 
 of Carlo; he turned deathly white. Twice he made as 
 though he would speak, twice failed in the attempt, his lips 
 refusing to frame the words. Captain Britton felt a pang 
 of regret as he saw the result of his own work, but the re- 
 gret was soon swallowed up in wrathful recollections. 
 
 "I don't think you in your heart believe all that you 
 say of me, sir," said Donati, struggling even now to make 
 excuse for Francesca's father. " All I can do is to bow to 
 your decision. You will let me see Francesca?" 
 
 Something in his patient dignity, in his manly forbear- 
 ance, struck a hard blow at the captain's pride. What a 
 contrast there was between his own behavior and the be- 
 havior of the Italian! The thought chafed him, and 
 called forth a burst of passionate anger. 
 
 "I shall not dream of permitting you to see her," he 
 cried, furiously. "I'll have no more of your kissing and 
 
RNIGHT-ERRANT. 89 
 
 caressing for my daughter ; you'll have enough of that at 
 the theater. Keep your caresses for the prima donnas!" 
 
 In an instant Carlo's whole bearing altered ; the burning 
 color rushed to his cheeks, his eyes blazed, all his pent-up 
 wrath burst forth like a volcano. For an Italian nature is 
 not unlike the Mediterranean itself; people are tempted to 
 presume on that calm, blue peacefulness, which looks as if 
 it could never be broken, and then they find themselves 
 suddenly overtaken by one of its sharp, characteristic 
 storms; and, just in the same way, they presume on the 
 infinite patience and the sweet nature of those Southern- 
 ers, whose only wish it has seemed to please, and are amazed 
 when they find that sensitiveness and delicacy of percep- 
 tion has two sides. 
 
 Captain Britton had at length exhausted even the pa- 
 tience and courtesy of an Italian; he was alarmed now afc 
 the storm he had evoked. 
 
 Carlo's English had forsaken him ; his voice, so subdued 
 a minute before, was now eager and passionate ; his gesticu- 
 lations were vehement as he poured forth a torrent of angry 
 remonstrance, a storm of words so rapidly uttered that to 
 foreign ears they were hardly intelligible. 
 
 The captain was only conscious of two things: that he de- 
 served this burst of indignation, and that he must some- 
 how get rid of his fiery guest. At such a moment, and in 
 such agitation, he was not likely to weigh his words. At 
 length Carlo paused for a moment, not because his wrath 
 had cooled, but because his breath failed him. The captain 
 instantly snatched at his advantage. 
 
 " I will at least save my child from further contact with 
 a deceiver!" he exclaimed, hoarsely. " She is mine, and I 
 owe it to her to shield her from such as you. ' ' 
 
 They were words which could never be forgotten words 
 which in their cruel injustice would rankle like a poisoned 
 arrow. The same white-heat of passion which causes 
 daily murders in the Santa Lucia district leaped now to 
 Carlo's brain, yet through it all he was conscious of a voice 
 in his heart which said, "Go, go at once while you can con- 
 trol your limbs. Go while there is yet time." 
 
 The habit of a lifetime prevailed ; to turn and leave his 
 foe was to him more bitter than death, but with a struggle 
 worthy of his brave progenitors he obeyed the voice, and 
 strode out of the room without a word. 
 
 He did not dare to pause for a moment, lest he should see 
 Francesca, or perhaps hear her voice in the distance and 
 be overcome. With hurried steps he crossed the vestibule, 
 snatched up his hat from the stand, flung his coat across 
 his chest, and closed the door of Casa Bella behind him. 
 Then he stopped for a minute, suddenly conscious that he 
 
$o KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 felt sick and giddy, and that he was still trembling with 
 passion. The fiend whom he had worsted assailed him in 
 a new form. 
 
 "You treated him with great forbearance," it argued; 
 "you proved yourself his superior in every way. He 
 ought to apologize to you for what he said." 
 
 Carlo walked slowly home. The idea of bringing the 
 Englishman to his feet and making him crave pardon 
 soothed him a little. '.* This anger shall not get the mas- 
 tery of me," he said to himself. 4k I will go in and make 
 my preparations for leaving home just as if this had not 
 happened." 
 
 And, with the sort of unreal strength which anger gives, 
 he actually did begin his sorrowful task, called the serv- 
 ants together, told them that he was leaving Italy, paid 
 them their wages, and dismissed them. Then, more tried 
 by the sight of their grief and surprise than he had fancied 
 would be the case, he sat down to his desk and began to 
 write letters. There was the lease of the Villa Bruno to be 
 disposed of it was his for another year ; he wrote to a 
 house-agent in Naples. There was the furniture to be sold ; 
 he wrote to an auctioneer, asking that an early date might 
 be fixed for the sale. At any other time these letters 
 would have cost him much to write; but now he felt little, 
 for fierce anger crowded out grief and regret. He had not 
 in the least realized that he was never again to see Fran- 
 cesca; he could realize nothing but that he had been 
 insulted grossly insulted by the man who should have 
 been his best friend. And yet, though he was still beside 
 himself with passion, he was all the time aware of an inner 
 voice urging him to forgive. The idea made him laugh 
 scornfully, as he directed and stamped his envelopes. 
 What! was he to forgive one so clearly in the wrong? He 
 had never before felt the difficulty of forgiving, being nat- 
 urally generous and sweet-tempered ; but Captain Britton 
 had wounded him too deeph^. Words which might have 
 been pardoned in a mere acquaintance seemed unpardona- 
 ble in a friend who had kno\vn him from boyhood. The 
 recollection of them sent another of those maddening 
 bursts of fury through his frame. He pushed back his 
 chair and began to pace the room, wrestling with the 
 demon of fierce hatred which possessed him. For Fran- 
 cesca's sake he could have forgiven her father almost any- 
 thing but so gross an insult to his love ; the love which he 
 knew to be pure and sacred and unblamable was surely 
 beyond forgiveness. 
 
 It was only slowly and by degrees that he began to reap 
 the fruits of his brave struggle for self-mastery. He grew 
 a little calmer, and turned from the torturing recollection 
 
KNIGHT- ERRANT. Jft 
 
 of the insult to an inward picture of Captain Britton him- 
 self. Almost dispassionately he began to consider that 
 big, broad, massive figure, that bluff, weather-beaten face, 
 with its calculating, far-seeing eyes and wide mouth. Ge- 
 nial and friendly as he had hitherto thought the captain to 
 be, he had never given him credit for much refinement of 
 feeling ; he had known well enough that the Englishman 
 found it very hard to make allowance for anything out- 
 side his own circle ; he had long been fain to admit in his 
 own heart what he would never have admitted, even to 
 Enrico Ritter, that there was in Francesca's father a slight 
 but unmistakable vein of vulgarity. It was, then, only 
 too natural that the captain should fail to understand the 
 present state of things, and, so failing, should supply hid- 
 eous motives for so unaccountable a step. Oh, yes, it was 
 natural enough. He ought to have been prepared for it. 
 But the perception of this brought him no nearer to for- 
 giveness. 
 
 The night was now far advanced, but sleep was out of 
 the question in his present state. He began to roam 
 through the house, considering what things he should save 
 from the sale ; some were too precious to be lost, and must 
 be left to Enrico's keeping; some were small enough to be 
 reserved as souvenirs of home, to be taken away on his 
 wanderings. Going up to his bedroom, his eye fell at once 
 upon his father's sword, which hung above the mantel- 
 piece, and beneath it a childish device of his own, a golden 
 shield, and upon it, in red letters, the name of each battle 
 in which the sword had been used. " Aspromonte, " in 
 larger letters curving up to the left and right to meet the 
 shape of the shield, shone out conspicuously. 
 
 4 Til not be parted from that," he said to himself, a 
 thrill of loving reverence passing through him and killing 
 $he anger and hatred. " I shall, perhaps, need a sword in 
 my stage wardrobe, and so. after all, this will be needed 
 to protect Nita. It would seem like desecration to the 
 captain to use it on the stage, yet it will surely be my own 
 fault if it is less honorable than at Aspromonte." 
 
 His thoughts wandered back to that last vividly remem- 
 bered scene beside his father's death-bed, and a glow of 
 eager devotion warmed his heart as he pledged himself 
 anew to keep that promise, to go forth bravely as the 
 knights of old in defense of the weak and the tempted, to 
 live the life of the Crucified. 
 
 Then, like lightning, it suddenly flashed upon him how 
 grievously he had failed. Self had started to the front 
 even in his self-sacrifice ; he had borne but a few strokes 
 from the enemy, and at the first personal insult had 
 thrown down his colors; reviled, LQ had reviled again; 
 
92 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 suffering, he had threatened ; wounded, he had sought to 
 Avound. In anguish he remembered that flood of scathing 
 words, that fiery retort which had escaped him ; and yet 
 there was One who had borne the worst possible insults in 
 strong silence, and he had vowed that he would live His 
 life ! Instead, he had suffered himself to be overcome by 
 an unjust judgment, to be maddened by a few word? 
 spoken by a man who had also yielded to the same devil of 
 
 Eride and anger. How was he to face the difficulties of 
 fe in Merlino's troupe when at the very outset his tem- 
 per had betrayed him? In bitter grief and self-reproach 
 he had to learn, as all of us have to learn, that " We must 
 be humbled utterly in our own conceits before we can be 
 peacemakers." 
 
 After awhile he was seized with that strong desire to 
 start afresh which comes to every wounded soldier, 
 whether he fights in the legions of the Seen or the Unseen. 
 His share of the wrong must first be set right ; that was as 
 clear as it was hard. He doubted if he could bring himself 
 to do it, but he went so far as to go down to the salotto, 
 take out his desk, and sit down with pen and paper before 
 him. And at length, just as faint golden streaks appeared 
 in the horizon heralding the day, the letter was finished 
 and the struggle over. 
 
 Carlo could not rest till he had done all that could be 
 done, so he went out into the cold dawn, and, making his 
 way to the Casa Bella, dropped his missive in the letter- 
 box. Then, when all was over, when he knew that for the 
 last time he was leaving the house which contained all 
 that he loved, his desolation suddenly broke upon him. 
 Wrath had stilled grief, but now that his anger had passed 
 Grief claimed him for her own. His betrothal was at an 
 end ; Francesca was no longer his ; even a farewell was de- 
 nied him. With heart-broken wonder he marveled how 
 it was that only now did he fully take in the idea. What 
 was Captain Brittou ? What were all the insults in the 
 world before the one bitter, desolating fact that he was 
 parted from his love? 
 
 How he got home he never knew, but he vaguely re- 
 membered finding his way to his own room, and seeing 
 through a mist the sword, and the red letters of "As- 
 prpmonte" beneath. Then, in his great anguish, he bad 
 cried aloud, "Strengthen me, O God! that I, too, may be 
 faithful till death." 
 
 But afterward all was a blank ; and when he came to 
 himself the sun was far above the horizon, and he was 
 lying at full length on the floor, feeling stiff and sore and 
 bruised. 
 
KNIGRf -ERRANT. 99 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 
 Ah, Love! but a day, 
 
 And the world is changed! 
 The sun's away, 
 
 And the bird estranged; 
 The wind has dropped, 
 
 And the sky deranged; 
 Summer has stopped." R. Erowni nff. 
 
 FRANCESCA kept up bravely all through the long hours of 
 that Whitsun Monday ; at dinner she talked a little more 
 than usual to cover Carlo's silence, but it was hard work, 
 and she gave a sigh of relief when at length the ordeal was 
 over, and she was free to go away alone. Carlo stood up 
 to open the door for her, and as she passed him she looked 
 up into his eyes and smiled ; but once within the friendly 
 shelter of the drawing-room her own filled with tears. She 
 would have given much to run up to her room and have a 
 good cry, that was out of the question, however, for she 
 could not plead a headache when by so doing she should 
 lose Carlo's good-night. The sound of the dining-room 
 door opening made her beat a hasty retreat from the lamp- 
 light; she stood in the shade, and made as though she were 
 looking out of the window, while she hurriedly dried her 
 eyes, for not for the world would she have been caught 
 crying. Mr. Britton, coming into the room, descried the 
 slim figure in its black lace dress, and came toward her. 
 
 "My sweet Fran," he said, "if you will not think me 
 the laziest old uncle in the world, I am going to bid you 
 good-night. Here is a budget of letters which I shall get 
 through better in my own room." 
 
 " Must you really see to them now?" she said. " Why, it 
 is not half a holiday if business follows you here." 
 
 Something in her voice made him look at her more at- 
 tentively. He saw that she was in trouble, recollected 
 that Carlo had scarcely spoken to her through dinner, and 
 very naturally leaped to the conclusion that there had been 
 a quarrel between the lovers. 
 
 "I have a long letter from Kate, which perhaps you 11 
 like to see," he said. "She. and Clare seem getting on 
 grandly at the North Cape. They know nothing of your 
 betrothal. May I tell them the news when I answer this?" 
 
 "I think 1 will tell them myself," she said, her color 
 deepening a little. " I will put in a line to-morrow, if I 
 may." 
 
 The tears welled up into her eyes again ; she turned hast- 
 ily and drew his attention to the distant view of Vesuvius, 
 with crimson flame leaping up, and summer lightning 
 
94 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 brightening the sky in the background. But Mr. Britton 
 was too fond of her to be put aside; he began to feel really 
 anxious about her future. 
 
 "Dear little niece," he said, gently, "you must forgive 
 an old uncle's anxiety, but are you quite happy in your 
 betrothal? ' Are you quite sure that you have chosen the 
 happiest life?'' 
 
 f *I am sure that I have chosen the only man in the world 
 whom I could love," she said, recovering herself, and look- 
 ing up into her uncle's face with such a sweet, bright, 
 lovelit smile that he could only inwardly protest that no 
 man living was worthy of her. 
 
 "Yet something is troubling you to-night," he said, 
 uneasily. 
 
 " Yes, " she said, her lips quivering; "there is something 
 troubling Carlo; be is going to talk it over with father, and 
 and I am not quite sure how father will take it." 
 
 Mr. Britton looked grave. 
 
 " Dear child, of one thing you may at least be sure," he 
 said, gently; "your father cares for nothing but your hap- 
 piness." 
 
 The words fitted in only too well with her own forebod- 
 ings. 
 
 "Oh, why will people think of nothing but that?" she 
 exclaimed. 'What is happiness to me when Carlo is in 
 the question? Uncle" she looked up at him appealingly 
 - "promise me that whatever happens you will never 
 think him to blame ; there are things no outsider can un- 
 derstand. Promise me that you will always be his 
 friend." 
 
 "Well, he must be a cold-hearted person who could re- 
 fuse such a petition from such lips," he said, stooping to 
 kiss her. ' ' Don't be unhappy, dear little Fran ; there never 
 yet was a betrothal which was all sunshine. Wait a little, 
 and your clouds will disperse. Nine o'clock ! I must be off 
 to my desk." 
 
 "I will send up your coffee, then. Good -night," said 
 Francesca, feeling a little comforted at having enlisted 
 such a helper as Uncle George on Carlo's side. 
 
 She sat down near the lamp, and unfolded her cousin's 
 Jetter, trying hard to feel some interest in the account of 
 the \oyage, and the midnight sun, and the adventures 
 which always seemed to occur to any one who traveled 
 with Clare. But it would not do; the words conveyed 
 nothing to her mind; she could only listen for the sound of 
 approaching steps; for the long delay made her feel certain 
 that Carlo was at that moment telling her father of his de- 
 cision. 
 
 At length, after what seemed to her a very long time, 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. . for 
 
 ho heard the dining-room door sharply opened and closed, 
 then quick steps crossing the vestibule. She listened 
 breathlessly, and, by a sudden impulse, started to her feet, 
 but the next instant she sank down again almost as 
 though some one had struck her, for she had heard the 
 front door closed, and knew that her father must have for- 
 bidden Carlo to see her again. 
 
 After that she felt no inclination to cry, only a sense of 
 cold and wretchedness a dull, aching misery. She sat 
 crouched up on the sofa, still holding Kate's letter in her 
 hand. Presently the clock struck ten, and the study-bell 
 was sharply rung. In a minute Dino appeared at the 
 drawing-room door. 
 
 " Captain Britton is very busy, signorina," said the old 
 butler, *' and does not wish to be disturbed again to-night. 
 He would be much obliged if the signorina would read 
 prayers." 
 
 The good old servant had no idea how much he conveyed 
 to his young mistress in that commonplace message. The 
 words cut her to the heart, but with the true womanly in- 
 stinct to hide her wounds she stood up quickly and said in 
 her usual voice, "Very well, Dino: bring in the books 
 then." 
 
 And steadily she went through the usual form, her voice 
 never once faltering, nor did she give way till the door of 
 her own room was safely locked, and she was alone for 
 that night of doubt and suspense and grief. 
 
 Meanwhile Captain Britton was not much happier than 
 the two lovers whose separation he had decreed. He felt 
 as soon as he had dismissed Dino that he had done a cow- 
 ardly thing; but the thought of meeting Francesca that 
 night, or of reading prayers in his present frame of mind, 
 was more than he could endure. 
 
 At heart the captain was a kind man ; he would have 
 liked to please all with whom he came in contact, if only 
 they would be pleased in his own way ; but to have his 
 plans crossed, to be disappointed in any matter upon which 
 he had set his heart, was too much for so proud a temper 
 to bear. 
 
 Nor could he at all understand Carlo's knight-errantry. 
 That a brother, under the circumstances, should be beside 
 himself with anger, should afterward give the traitor a 
 good horse-whipping, or even challenge him this he could 
 have understood and approved ; but the quiet surrender of 
 home, country, profession, and personal happiness, in the 
 hope of preventing the evil, this was altogether beyond 
 him. 
 
 The captain liked well enough to do a good action, but it 
 must be an action that would be approved of men; 
 
96 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 would have induced him to take a line that would expos* 
 him to censure; if he did a generous thing he would taka 
 good care that it should win him the pleasure and cheering 
 approval of his friends and acquaintance. 
 
 And yet, in spite of his anger with Carlo's quixotic scheme, 
 he was too kind-hearted a man not to regret the harsh 
 and wholly unjustifiable words which had escaped him in 
 the heat of the moment. Keen shame made the color 
 mount to his forehead as he remembered that he had in- 
 sulted a guest at his own table. The thought of this trou- 
 bled him more than anything. It haunted him all through 
 the night. He regretted deeply the pain he must give to 
 Francesca; he felt bitterly disappointed that the marriage 
 should now be out of the question ; he was still indignant 
 with Carlo's blind foolishness in going on the stage ; but 
 everything faded into insignificance before the one great 
 regret a regret which would follow the captain to his 
 grave that for once in his life he had been guilty of a 
 breach of hospitality. 
 
 If sleep refused to visit either Carlo or Francesca that 
 night, it was equally cruel to Captain Britton. He tossed 
 and turned until the bedclothes were in a state of chaotic 
 confusion ; he tried the window open, he tried the window- 
 shut, he tried a light, he trisd total darkness, he paced the 
 room, he counted alternate black and white sheep going 
 through a gate, he ate bread, he smoked a cigar in fact, 
 he tried all the remedies for sleeplessness he had ever 
 heard of. 
 
 At last he gave up all thoughts of rest for that night, and 
 began to wonder how his neighbor was faring; the young 
 Italian's face haunted him. Now he saw him boyish, 
 eager, and impulsive, coming nearly five years ago to tell 
 of his love for Francesca, and receiving his sentence of 
 probation with an odd mixture of hope, despair and 
 courtesy. Again he recalled the day only three weeks ago 
 in reality, though it seemed more like three months -when 
 Sibyl had run down to find him in the olive-garden, bear- 
 ing* that significant card with the words " Avvocato Carlo 
 Poerio Donati, ' ' which conveyed to him so much. He re- 
 membered hastening back to the house, and could sea 
 again in imagination the bright look of hope which had 
 flashed like sudden sunshine over Carlo's face when he had 
 told him to go and find Francesca in the belvedere. And 
 then, lastly, and most vividly of all, he recalled that face as 
 he had last seen it. Such anger once seen is never forgotten ; 
 and the captain knew that so generous and sweet-tempered 
 a man must been almost maddened by pain before his face 
 could have worn that look of vindictive fury, before his 
 eyes could have blazed with the fierce glow that recalled to 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. *f 
 
 him the yes of "a wounded lion. Had the captain been a 
 coward, or even a man with highly-strung nerves, he 
 would have trembled before such a look, for to meet such 
 eyes is to look death in the face. But, with all his faults, 
 he was a stanch, brave-hearted Englishman, and all that 
 he had felt was a great surprise when the fierce gleam had 
 suddenly died away, and Carlo hal turned sharply round 
 on his heel and left him without a word. 
 
 He wondered what had happened to him afterward, and 
 began to feel troubled as he remembered the desolateness 
 of the Villa Bruno. 
 
 Only a fortnight had passed since the gentle Signora 
 Donati had been laid in her grave ; he had forgotten all that 
 when in sudden wrath he had driven her son away. Bit- 
 terly did he now repent the unkind ness. Had he been an 
 imaginative man, he would have conjured up a tragic end- 
 ing to that night's work, and have suffered yet more; but, 
 luckily, he was not of an imaginative turn, so he was only 
 vaguely and increasingly miserable. 
 
 Then he began to think of poor little Francesca, doomed 
 through his angry command never to see her lover again ; 
 No; at least he would yield on that point, he would go to 
 see Carlo after breakfast, would apologize to him for his 
 hastiness, and permit him to come once more to the Casa 
 Bella and take leave of Francesca. -This idea gave the 
 poor captain a little relief, but he groaned aloud as he 
 thought of all the grief in store for his child. 
 
 At length he heard the welcome sounds of life in the 
 house. The night was over ; Rosetta was banging the door- 
 mat vigorously against the porch ; Dinq was tramping up 
 and down the marble passages, fetching and carrying. 
 Presently there was the refreshing sound of the rap at his 
 door, and the serrant's familiar summons, "Half -past 
 seven, signer, and a fine morning." 
 
 The captain rose more promptly than usual, unlocked his 
 door, and took in his hot-water can; on the lid there lay an 
 envelope directed to him in Carlo's handwriting. He tore it 
 open with a sense of sickening anxiety. 
 
 What was it that brought a sudden mist before his eyes? 
 Only a short, manly letter a letter of apology from the 
 man whom he had wronged. 
 
 Carlo had forestalled him, and the letter which had cost 
 the writer so much cost the reader yet more. There was 
 very little in it, with its careful English and neat foreign 
 writing; but the words had come straight from the heart, 
 and they went straight as an arrow to the heart of the cap- 
 tain. 
 
 The Brittons, though so long resident in Italy, kept En- 
 glish hours and breakfasted all together at eight o'clock. 
 
f* KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 The captain came down that morning with a curiously 
 guilty feeling. Francesca was in the dining-room before 
 him, apparently absorbed in coffee-making. He glanced 
 at her anxiously, and saw that she was pale and worn, and 
 looked as if she had cried till she could cry no longer. She 
 felt her father's anxious glance and winced beneath it. 
 Uncle George, with more tact, made as though he noticed 
 nothing, and adroitly kept the conversation going; while 
 Sibyl was luckily at that unobservant age which takes no 
 account of faces when once they have become familiar. It 
 was an uncomfortable meal, and they all hailed as a relief 
 the appearance of the captain of the Pilgrim, a weather- 
 beaten Scotchman, who had driven over with a telegram 
 which had just arrived for Mr. Britton. 
 
 Captain Britton had never felt more glad to have a guest 
 to whom he could show hospitality. 
 
 " Come, captain, you must breakfast with us after your 
 long drive!" he exclaimed, in his hearty voice. " Sibyl, 
 run and tell Dino to lay another place." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said the captain, drawing a chair to 
 the table; " I breakfasted on the yacht, but I will be glad 
 of a cup of coffee if Miss Britton has some for a late- comer, 
 I thought I'd better come over with the telegram, sir," he 
 continued, turning to the owner of the Pilgrim, " f or I had 
 a feeling it might mean a change of plans." 
 
 4i Second-sight on your part, captain," said Mr. Britton, 
 looking up; "I am sorry to say it does mean a change of 
 plans and an end to my holiday. I must go home at 
 once." 
 
 ' Nothing wrong at Merleband, I hope?" said his brother, 
 while Francesca and Sibyl listened anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, no; it is only a business affair, but I must be home 
 by Friday at latest. I'm afraid the Pilgrim would hardly 
 manage that, captain, eh?'' 
 
 There was a general laugh. 
 
 "Well, that would be expecting a little too much of a 
 sailing-yacht," said Captain Graham. "I'm sorry, sir, 
 you are called back to England. We had looked to havf 
 a pleasant cruise." 
 
 Mr. Britton sighed. 
 
 4i ilo peace to the wicked; eh, Francesca? In this worlo 
 ?'; is always the way that some people have more work 
 than they wish, and others not so much. I should like a 
 few words with you, John, in the study." 
 
 The brothers went off together, and the old Scotch cap- 
 tain turned to Sibyl. 
 
 " What should you say to a cruise, Miss Sibyl? I think 
 that would be just the thing for you. You'd mak a fiat 
 tittle sailor." 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 99 
 
 " Oh, dear Captain Graham, do coax Uncle George to let 
 me!" cried Sibyl, in an ecstasy. "Oh, Fran, wouldn't it 
 be lovely?" 
 
 Francesca smiled faintly, not wishing to damp the little 
 girl's pleasure, but feeling a little more wretched than be- 
 fore, as she wondered whether possibly her father might 
 think it best to send her away from home. 
 
 " Sea air would do you all the good in the world, miss," 
 said Captain Graham, glancing at her pale face ; " it's only 
 a pity none of your cousins are on board, then we should 
 have a merry party. Miss Kate, she doesn't care for the 
 yacht, bui the others, why, they are as good as sailors! 
 Miss Lucy and Miss Molly, they kept a watch all through 
 our last cruise; and as to little Miss Flo, why, she'd like to 
 live on board." 
 
 Meanwhile, in the study, the owner of the Pilgrim was 
 trying to do all in his power for his pretty niece. He had 
 guessed, both from her face and his brother's depression, 
 that there must have been a quarrel with young Donati on 
 the previous night. He hoped he might be able to set 
 things straight again before he left, but he had no idea how 
 serious was the state of affairs. 
 
 "Look here, John," he said, closing the door of the 
 study, "it has just struck me, why shouldn't you all have 
 a trip in the yacht now she is here? There will be plenty of 
 room for you and the girls, and young Donati, and a couple 
 of other friends besides, if you like. Now do you think of 
 it, for it quite vexes me that the Pilgrim should be down 
 here all to no purpose." 
 
 "You are very good," said Captain Britt on, hesitatingly; 
 "for myself there is nothing I should so much like; in- 
 deed, 1 must get away somewhere; I feel quite knocked up 
 with this tiresome affair." 
 
 "What affair?" 
 
 "Why, I meant to have told you all about it to-day. 
 Poor little Francesca' s engagement is broken off!" 
 
 "Dear me! how is that? You don't mean to say he is 
 tired of her already?" 
 
 "No, that's the worst of it; the fellow is desperately in 
 love with her still, but I have had to put a stop to it. I 
 never was so disappointed in a man in my life." 
 
 "It's a grave affair," said Mr. Britton, thoughtfully, 
 " for I fancy little Fran's heart is quite given away." 
 
 " That is the miserable part of it. I wish she had never 
 seen Donati ! I wish I'd never come to this place 1" and the 
 poor captain sighed heavily. 
 
 " But have you not, perhaps, been a trifle hasty?" said 
 his brother, remembering the promise he had made to 
 rancesca on the previous night, " Though starting witfc 
 
100 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 plenty of insular prejudice against the' man, I war very 
 much struck with him yesterday. There is something 
 noble about his face. Surely he can't be guilty of any great 
 offense?'' 
 
 " He is guilty of the greatest offense possible; he is guilty 
 of an utter want of common sense, ' ' said the captain, an- 
 grily. "I thought we had made half an Englishman of 
 him. but I might have known that with his Italian blood 
 and his foolish radical ideas we should, sooner or later, fall 
 foul of each other." 
 
 " You are surely not going to break off the engagement 
 because of political differences?" said Mr. Britton, getting 
 quite on to the wrong tack. 
 
 "Mere opinions are nothing to me," said the captain, 
 "but when the fellow acts acts upon his insane ideas- 
 comes to me and deliberately tells me that he has taken a 
 course which will make his marriage with Francesca out 
 of the question for an indefinite time, what can you expect 
 me to s? 
 
 " I don't wonder you were very much vexed about it." 
 
 "Vexed ! I was never in such a heat in my life. Wrong 
 as the fellow was, I am bound to apologize to him for what 
 I said. I'll not shirk that, though I do believe the mere 
 sight of him will put me out of temper again." 
 
 "You think there is no hope, then, of setting matters 
 straight? Surely you would submit to almost anything 
 rather than put 'Francesca to so much pain. What if her 
 lover is a little high-flown in his notions? Anything is bet- 
 ter than callousness and indifference." 
 
 "I can't explain it all to you, for did I do so I should 
 break Donati's confidence; but soon you will see for your- 
 self what line he has taken up, and then you will see that 
 my anger is at least excusable. To permit the engagement 
 to go on is out of the question while he still keeps to his 
 resolution; Miss Claremont, I am sure, would agree with 
 me. He is deliberately choosing a career which is bound 
 to degrade him he is taking the high-road to hell." 
 
 The captain was working himself up into wrathful in- 
 dignation again. Mr. Britton could only imagine that 
 Donati had avowed his connection with some secret polit- 
 ical society such as he believed to exist in Italy. He saw 
 that it was useless to attempt any further remonstrance. 
 
 *' Then, if this is really quite at an end," he said, unhes- 
 itatingly, ''would it not be doubly desirable that you 
 should all leave the neighborhood for a time? Take a 
 month's cruise in the Pilgrim. There is no chance of my 
 using her again till August." 
 
 "I wish you could have been with us too," said the cap- 
 lain, with a sigh. "Must you really go off at once?" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 101 
 
 " I must be off this evening;; there^ np elp ft#Vh 
 Mr. Britton. "I would give* much' to 'tie with you/ but 
 this business will bear no delay. I feel like a schoolboy 
 cheated of his holiday. But look, let us decide this matter 
 while Captain Graham is here. When would you like to 
 start?" 
 
 " To-morrow. No; to-morrow Count Carossa dines with 
 us ; but on Thursday I really think we might start on 
 Thursday. It's very good of you, George, to propose it. 
 You've no idea what a relief it will be to me, for we are 
 such near neighbors to Donati that it would be very un- 
 pleasant to be here." 
 
 "Well, that's settled, then," said Mr. Britton. "I'll go 
 and tell Graham to make preparation for you. He will be 
 enchanted to have you on board." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "PAZIENZA." 
 
 We may not make this world a paradise 
 By walking it together, hand in hand, 
 With eyes that meeting feed a double strength, 
 We must be only joined by pains divine 
 Of spirits blent in mutual memories." 
 
 Spanish Gypsy. 
 
 CAPTAIN BRITTON had seldom felt more ill at ease than 
 when he walked that morning up to the door of the Villa 
 Bruno. A sallow, wrinkled old servant, with a gay scar- 
 let neckerchief , was polishing the door-handle; she nodded 
 to him cheerfully as he approached. 
 
 " Good-morning to you, signor; walk in. You'll find 
 the master in the salotto." 
 
 She made no sign of leaving her door-handle and duster, 
 and indeed the captain had long ago asked leave to walk 
 into his neighbor's house without ceremony, and the 
 Signora Donati and Carlo, though disliking his unheralded 
 intrusion, had been far too courteous to return a negative 
 to the tactless request. He crossed the vestibule, and was 
 about to enter the salotto, when a sound of voices within 
 made him pause, hesitate a moment, and then go instead 
 into an adjoining room. 
 
 He had recognized the voice of Guido Donati, and 
 guessed correctly that the uncle had driven over in hot 
 haste from Naples on learning his nephew's startling plan. 
 That he was exceedingly annoyed could be gathered from 
 the vehement and extraordinarily rapid utterance, which 
 reminded the captain of Carlo's tirade on the preceding 
 night. At last the violent harangue came to an end, ana 
 Carlo's voice was heard. It was low but distinct, and th* 
 captain could not avoid hearing the words; 
 
10* 
 
 "I am sorry' to vex' ( o;u k : uncle, but my mind is mad 
 up." 
 
 "Madonna Santissima ! it is made up, is it?" said the 
 other, furiously. "Then mine, too, is made up; and I am 
 sorry to vex you, but not a penny of mine shall you ever 
 inherit. Do you understand ?' ' 
 
 There was a silence, but Captain Britton could well im- 
 agine the expressive gesture which Carlo would make. 
 
 " Diavolo /" cried the uncle. "You take it calmly. You 
 think you will live comfortably enough on that voice of 
 yours, and laugh at the rich old uncle. You will tell a 
 different tale a few years hence, my fine fellow, when you 
 have a wife and children to support." 
 
 "I shall never marry," said Carlo, speaking more 
 shortly than the captain had ever before heard an Italian 
 speak. 
 
 "What !" cried Uncle Guido. " Then you have thrown 
 over your betrothal for this mad scheme? An apoplexy 
 on you! I'll have no more to do with such a fool;" and 
 with that he strode out of the room. 
 
 The captain only waited till he was sure the angry man 
 had really gone, and then he knocked at the door of the 
 salotto. Nothing but a conscientious sense of duty could 
 have induced him to face at that moment his guest of the 
 previous evening; but there was a certain rugged loyalty 
 about Francesca's father, and he walked sturdily into the 
 room, bracing himself up to make the necessary apology. 
 Carlo was standing at the side window ; the sunlight fell 
 full upon him, and revealed to the captain a very different 
 face to the one which had haunted him through the night 
 a face worn with suffering, but strong and resolute, spite 
 of its haggard look. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for intruding, but the servant told 
 me to come in," began the captain, approaching him. 
 
 Carlo turned with an inarticulate exclamation, the blood 
 rushed to his face, and a look of distress dawned in his 
 eyes ; he was tired out with all he had been through, and 
 felt wholly unequal to another stormy discussion. 
 
 But he welcomed his visitor with native ceremonious- 
 ness, betraying only by additional courtesy any remem- 
 brance of the quarrel. The captain remembered the letter 
 of the morning, and all his kindly feelings returned to him, 
 as he said, heartily : 
 
 " Carlo, I have come to apologize for the words which 
 escaped me yesterday. I regret them more than I can tell 
 you. You had every excuse for your anger. ' ' 
 
 Carlo grasped his hand. " No, no," he said quickly, " I 
 was very much to blame. I am glad, sir it is a great re* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 108 
 
 I!ef to me that last night was not our parting. I am 
 grateful to you for coming here to-day." 
 
 *' I must also apologize for having inadvertently over- 
 heard some of your uncle's words," said the captain, who 
 felt very uncomfortable when he remembered his involun- 
 tary eavesdropping. 
 
 "I knew Uncle Guido would be very much against this 
 plan," said Carlo; and as he spoke he threw himself wea- 
 rily into a chair facing Captain Britton's. 
 
 The captain was struck by the look of extreme physical 
 exhaustion both in the face and the attitude ; he began to 
 realize the difference between his own physique and that of 
 the Italian, and faintly to understand that Carlo had a 
 greater capacity for feeling pain than he had himself. 
 
 " Did you realize that this scheme of yours this scheme 
 which I still most strongly disapprove would cost you so 
 dear?" he asked, abruptly. "Did you think your uncle 
 would have disinherited you?" 
 
 "I didn't think about the money at all," said Carlo, 
 "but I knew he would be annoyed." 
 
 "But does this make no change in your feeling? Are 
 you willing to lose every single thing you possess, and even 
 to forfeit the respect of your friends, for the sake of this 
 plan?" 
 
 "Yes," he said, simply; " I am willing, sir." 
 
 When he had spoken he let his head drop wearily on to 
 his hand ; he was calm with the calm of blank bereave- 
 ment; for, like the princess in the poem, he had found 
 that 
 
 " Not to fear because all is taken 
 Is the loueliest depth of human pain." 
 
 The captain sighed. He was not angry now, only very 
 much annoyed at the impossibility of inducing one bereft 
 of common sense to see reason. 
 
 "You make light of the loss of income," he said at 
 length; " but how will you fare supposing you fall ill? 77 
 
 Carlo looked up with an odd sort of smile. 
 
 "Well, you will think me unpractical," he said; "but 
 I have never been ill in my life, and I had not considered 
 that possibility. However, my salary is a tolerably fair 
 one for a novice, and if the worst comes to the worst there 
 are always the hospitals." 
 
 " Carlo," broke in the captain, " I can't bear to think of 
 one who has led the life you have led going out into such 
 a world ! What would your poor mother have said to it?" 
 
 Carlo's face lighted up as if the suggestion had given 
 him some unexpected comfort. 
 
 " At least our dead understand us," he said, fervently^ 
 *' they know that I am trying to keep my promise.'* 
 
104 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 The captain felt, that his small stock of patience would 
 not last much longer, and Carlo, glancing at him, saw that 
 their parting, though peaceable, would be final; he knew 
 intuitively that although the captain had taken back some 
 of his harsh words, be still regarded him as at any rate a 
 self-deceived deceiver, a man who under the cloak of duty 
 veiled his craving for change and excitement or, at best, 
 as an enthusiast who could but be despised for giving up 
 solid realities for foolish dreams. Their friendship was at 
 an end; for though love is undying, friendship is quite a 
 different thing, and there are shocks which it will not 
 survive. 
 
 " There is one other thing I wish to say," said Captain 
 Britton, rising, "and that is. that if you wish you may 
 have one more interview with Francesca." 
 
 Carlo caught eagerly at this boon, and the captain sug- 
 gested that he should return with him to Casa Bella. 
 
 " Does she know of " he hesitated how to put it, "of 
 
 your decision?" 
 
 * ' I have not spoken to her about it, but I know she infers 
 it," said the captain rather coldly. 
 
 Carlo paced the room for a minute, struggling with his 
 emotion ; he was not sure whether he had strength to meet 
 Francesca and tell her with his own lips that all was over 
 between them. 
 
 " If you wish to see her we had better come at once,' 
 said the captain. "My brother is unexpectedly called 
 back to England, and we have much to see to to-day." 
 
 He was vexed that Donati did not show more gratitude 
 for the concession he had made, for he was a man who 
 liked to be thanked, and it had not been easy for him to 
 retract what he had first said. Something in his tone 
 stung Carlo; he drew himself together. " Ebbene, signor," 
 he said, gravely, forgetting his English, as he often did 
 when much moved, and recovering it with an effort. " If 
 you will permit it, I will accompany you." 
 
 They walked away from the Villa Bruno in silence, Carlo 
 thinking of the captain's words, " We have much to see to 
 to-day." How calmly he classed the supreme struggle of 
 his life, the parting that was death to him, with the trivial 
 household commotion caused by Mr. Britton's journey. 
 
 But once back in his own house the captain's kinder 
 feelings returned; he took Carlo to the Rose-room, then 
 held out his hand cordially. 
 
 "This had better be our final parting," he said, "I 
 leave home on Thursday. Good-bye, Carlo. Should you 
 even now see fit to give up this foolish scheme I should bo 
 quite willing to reconsider matters." 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 106 
 
 "My mind is made up, sir," said Carlo, turning sadly 
 away. 
 
 " So it appears. Well, I will send Francesca to you." 
 
 He closed the door; and Carlo, with a choking feeling in 
 his throat, looked round the dear, familiar room, the very 
 untidiness of which breathed of Francesca. The "Dying 
 Gladiator " for Clare reposed perilously on a shaky pile of 
 books ; a kitten was worrying a ball of red wool on the 
 sofa; and the sock in process of knitting, and which he 
 knew had been intended for him, lay at a little distance on 
 the floor. He turned to the window and looked out at his 
 old friend Vesuvius with its cloud of smoke, and at the 
 glimpses of blue sea visible here and there between the 
 trees. Then with an aching consciousness that these were 
 left to him, but that he should never more stand in that 
 little room, he turned and looked round it, as though he 
 wished to stamp forever on his mind all its girlish decora- 
 tions, all its familiar details. But the sound of footsteps 
 without roused him and dispelled his calm; the door 
 opened, and Francesca came quickly forward to greet him, 
 she always entered a room more quickly, yet more grace- 
 fully than other people, but now she almost ran toward 
 him ; she wanted him not to notice her wan, tear-stained 
 face. 
 
 " If, however, in one sense love is blind, in another it is 
 all-observant ; in one glance he had read all, and in that 
 glance there came to him the sharpest of his suffering. 
 
 Stifling the sobs that rose in his throat, he held her in a 
 long, close embrace, but to speak was impossible; and 
 though there was comfort and rapture in her presence, yet 
 there was also anguish which threatened to unman him. 
 At length he put her gently from him, and turned away 
 that he might fight down his emotion. For a few minutes 
 there was silence, then he came and sat beside her on the 
 sofa, and, putting his arm round her, drew her head down 
 on to his shoulder. 
 
 " Carma," he said, and the mellow barytone voice was 
 firm, yet terribly sad, "your father would not let me see 
 you last night, but to-day he allows me this one more meet- 
 ing with you. He said he had not spoken to you, but that 
 you knew what had passed between us." 
 
 "Yes," she said, her tears raining down quietly; "I 
 knew it must be so when I heard you go." 
 
 They talked sometimes in English, sometimes in Italian, 
 as had been their custom ever since childhood. 
 
 " Darling," he said, tenderly, " I am bound to obey your 
 father's decree; there could be no right betrothal for us 
 without his consent, and so you stand free once more. 
 You must try, carina, not tQ tot these three 
 
106 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 spoil your life ; you will try, my own, my darling, for H 
 would break my heart if I thought I had ruined your 
 happiness. ' ' 
 
 "Love ought not to weaken us," she said, tremulously, 
 for in her heart she felt that apart from Carlo she should 
 be like a rudderless boat. * ' These three weeks ought to 
 give me courage for the rest. ' ' 
 
 There was indescribable sadness in the last two words. 
 
 ''Ah, darling!" cried Carlo, passionately, "don't speak 
 of your beautiful young life like that!" 
 
 And then he was silent again. All the strength and 
 ardor of their mutual love seemed to rise up against the 
 captain's decree; if for the present they were fain to obey 
 it and to part, yet hopes for the future would rise ; perhaps 
 each intuitively knew what was in the other's heart, but 
 no words passed between them; indeed, when Carlo did 
 speak it was almost as if he wished to reason away any 
 brightness which might hover over their future. 
 
 "You see, my darling," he said, "even should this 
 immediate danger no longer keep me from you, even if 
 Nit a no longer needed me, I shall have cut myself off from 
 you hopelessly ; we must face that. I shall by that time, 
 if I succeed at all, be to the world Donati the singer, and 
 your father would certainly not choose me for his son-in- 
 law. Then, again, Uncle Guido has disinherited me, so 
 that if I gave up the stage I should be penniless and more 
 or less unfitted for work as an advocate." 
 
 "Has he indeed disinherited you? Oh, Carlino, what 
 troubles you have had! Don't let me be another, darling. 
 See. I'll not cry any more; we must think of what is still 
 left us. The worst they can do to us is to keep us apart; 
 they can't kill our love, they can't check our prayers for 
 each other; the best part, the highest part, no one can 
 meddle with." 
 
 He held her closely, murmuring tender Italian words of 
 endearment; and the clock on the mantel-piece ticked on 
 inexorably, measuring all too quickly the time which, 
 when they were parted, would move with leaden feet. 
 Rosalind should surely have said " parting lovers " rather 
 than a " thief going to the gallows " when asked, " Who 
 gallops Time withal r" And still they lingered over the 
 sweet, unwritable talk till the clock relentlessly struck 
 twelve, and roused them to the recollection of the outer 
 world. 
 
 Then Francesca irew off her engagement ring, and 
 placed it in his hand. 
 
 4i There, Carlo. ' she said, steadily, " I give you back the 
 ring and your 'roth, and I will obey my father, and will 
 -rom you nor write to you; but more than 
 
fNIGHT-EKRANT. 167 
 
 that no woman can promise, for love is not made and un- 
 made to order." 
 
 Carlo put on the ring, which from a token of union had 
 now become changed to a token of separation. He was 
 too heart-broken to speak, and after a long pause it was 
 Francesca who at length broke the silence. 
 
 "Tell me a little more of the sort of life you shall live," 
 she said, gently. 
 
 So he told her all that he knew, which was little enough ; 
 how he should live with the Merlinos, try to win his sis- 
 ter's love, study hard for his profession, do his best to be 
 a credit to Piale. 
 
 "And you?" he asked. "There will be new neighbors 
 for you at Villa Bruno, but it is hardly likely that it will 
 be used by another occupant except during the summer 
 months." 
 
 "Ah! will it be let?" asked Francesca, her eyes filling. 
 "Well, I hope we shall not know the people who take it. 
 For the rest, darling, you can picture me as living the old 
 life, going into Naples on Sunday, teaching Sibyl, rowing 
 with Florestano. But for this next month we are to go for 
 a cruise in the Pilgrim, and perhaps next year I may go to 
 England." 
 
 " You would like to be with Clare?" 
 
 "Yes; though I suppose father will not like me to tell 
 her now of these three weeks, and it will be hard that she 
 should never know. Carlo, why should not you go to see 
 Clare when you are in England?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 * k She would disapprove too strongly of my change of pro- 
 fessions," he said ; "and it is not a change that I can ex- 
 plain to all the world. Then, too, she lives in your uncle's 
 house, and after what has happened he would hardly care 
 to have me there." 
 
 "Uncle George likes you very much," said Francesca, 
 quickly. 
 
 Carlo did not reply, but he thought differently. It was 
 not then, however, that he could care to discuss so trifling 
 a matter; time was passing, and he knew that Captain 
 Britton must already be expecting him to go. The thought 
 broke down all his self-control ; his calmness gave place to 
 a passionate outburst of love and grief, which recalled to 
 Francesca his sudden change in the belvedere when he had 
 first asked for her love. 
 
 She clung" to him now as she had done then, but it was 
 not of love and present bliss which she spoke. 
 
 * 4 Patience, Carlo mio ; patience, "she whispered. " It is, 
 lifter all, that which we need." 
 
 The word brought back to him the recollection of his 
 
108 KNIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 dying father, and calmed the tumult of feeling. He held 
 her sweet face between his hands, looked long into those 
 pure eyes, and grew strong once more. 
 
 " Pazienza /" he murmured, clasping her again in hia 
 
 arms. "God have you in his keeping." 
 
 ******* 
 
 At the gate of Casa Bella, Mr. George Britton, much to 
 f his dismay, chanced to encounter the owner of Villa 
 Bruno, quite the last man he would have chosen to meet. 
 All that he could do was to assume that nothing had hap- 
 pened, and to bid him a courteous farewell. He held out 
 nis hand. 
 
 Carlo turned upon him a face which haunted the kindly 
 Englishman for many months to come. But, even in his 
 anguish, he could not be otherwise than courteous ; a look 
 of effort passed over his deathly features, and 
 
 " With pale lips 
 That seemed to motion for a smile in vain," 
 
 he said, as he bowed over the Englishman's hand, " Buon 
 viaggio, signor ! A rivederci /' ' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE NEW BARYTONE. 
 '* Small spheres hold small fires. 
 But he loved largely, as a man can love 
 Who, baffled in his love, dares live his life, 
 Accept the ends which God loves for his own, 
 And lift a constant aspect." 
 
 E, .o, Browning, 
 
 IT was a hot summer morning, and two ragged little 
 Neapolitans were sauntering along the Chiaja ; the elder 
 had flung his arm caressingly round the other's neck; the 
 younger held in his hand a ragged cap full of cherries, 
 from which they were eating contentedly as they walked. 
 A carriage rolled past them, and both boys looked up with 
 sharp, eager eyes. 
 
 ' k Gran Dio /' ' cried one. * ' Look ! yonder goes Comerio, 
 the singer." 
 
 kk 'Tis he himself," said the other, with a look of inter- 
 est; ''and in a vile temper, too; his brow is black as a 
 starless night!" 
 
 * ' They say he beats his wife, ' ' said the elder boy with a 
 laugh, which was only checked by the offer of a ripe red 
 cherry which his brother held up to his mouth. 
 
 Meanwhile the carriage had gone by, and Comerio was, 
 before long, set down at the entrance to Palazzo Forti. He 
 paid the driver, and then, with no very amiable expression, 
 made his way up the long stone staircase and rang the 
 
 ten 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 109 
 
 A maid servant, whom he had tried unsuccessfully to 
 bribe on former occasions, opened the door to him. 
 
 " Is Signer Merlino at the theater?" he asked, anxious to 
 know whether the coast was clear. 
 
 "Yes, signor," replied the girl. " What message can I 
 give him?" 
 
 " I will give it to Signora Merlino," said the visitor, pre- 
 paring to enter. 
 
 The maid showed all her teeth in a merry smile. 
 
 "But the signora is still at rehearsal. " 
 
 "Orsw/" exclaimed Comeiio, impatiently, "I might have 
 known. Well, I will come in then, and wait till they re- 
 turn." 
 
 He was shown into a little anteroom, where for a few 
 minutes he paced to and fro, but suddenly becoming con- 
 scious that in the next room some one was monotonously 
 humming "La donna e mobile," he hastily entered and 
 glanced round. At first nothing was visible, but after a 
 moment or two he discovered the singer, a little brown- 
 eyed boy of four years old, who was perched on the win- 
 dow-sill, and half -hidden by the curtain. 
 
 "Good-morning, Gigi," he said pleasantly. 
 
 The little fellow flung aside the curtain ; he seemed very 
 glad to see the visitor. 
 
 " Good-morning, signor," he said, smiling till his sallow 
 little face looked almost pretty. "Are there " he looked 
 longingly, yet hesitatingly in the direction of Comerio's 
 pocket "are there any bonbons ?" 
 
 Comerio made a gesture of mock despair. 
 
 "Why, Gigi, how can I have forgotten? I promised 
 you some marrons glaces, did I not? but, indeed, the bad 
 news of this morning drove everything out of my head." 
 
 " What bad news?" said the little boy, with an anxious 
 look that seemed to be beyond his years. 
 
 ' ' I am going away, Gigi ; I shall never travel about with 
 you any more. There will be a new barytone one who is 
 not likely to carry marrons glaces in his pocket, or to play 
 games with you, for he sets up for being a saint." 
 
 "A saint?" said the child. * 4 What is that? I thought 
 they were things in the sky." 
 
 "A saint is one who is fond of keeping other people in 
 order. San Carlo will spy out in no time what a naughty 
 little monkey you are. ' ' 
 
 "I wish he wasn't coming," said the child, looking ready 
 to cry. "I don't see why saints want to sing in operas; 
 they should stop in heaven." 
 
 Comerio laughed. 
 
 44 Quite ri^ht, little one, so they should," hfi said, patting 
 
110 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Gigi'shead. "But look, my Gigi, will you do one little 
 thing for your old friend, to please him for the last time?" 
 
 The boy nodded and looked up with bright, intelligent 
 eyes into the wily face of the barytone. 
 
 Comerio drew out a letter and placed it in his hands. 
 
 " When your mother comes home, run after her into her 
 room, and when you find her alone quite alone give this 
 note to her. Do" you understand? It is a secret; no one 
 ele must know not one at all." 
 
 'I know, I know; I can keep a secret!" cried Gigi, glee- 
 fully. " Mamma and I often keep secrets from papa; she 
 taughi; me how soon as ever I left Salem." 
 
 Comerio gave a cynical smile. 
 
 " Mind you do," he said, commandingly. " I shall find 
 out if you play me false. And look here, little one, here 
 are two lire for you, and you may tell any one you like 
 that Comerio came to say good-bye to you, and told you to 
 spend that at Caflisch's. There, I must go now. t)on't 
 forget me. ' ' 
 
 He stooped and kissed the little sallow face, then hastily 
 took his departure, having seen that the letter was securely 
 stowed away in the child's pocket. 
 
 Gigi, with a thoughtful look, poked his closely cropped 
 head out of the window, and watched Comerio as he walked 
 down the street. He was hardly put of sight when a car- 
 riage drew up at the door a carriage with one gentleman 
 seated in it, and with luggage on the box. Gigi's head was 
 promptly withdrawn, and, in a sudden access of terror, he 
 wrapped himself round in a curtain. 
 
 "I do b'lieve," he said to himself in English, "I do 
 b'lieve it is San Carlo." 
 
 After a time he heard the door of the anteroom opened, 
 and the servant's voice saying that the signora would 
 soon be back from rehearsal ; then another voice, so cleaj 
 and sweet, that the child almost forgot to be afraid,, 
 said in reply, "Very well, I will come in here, then, an<j 
 wait." 
 
 The footsteps drew nearer. Gigi shook in his shoes, yet 
 felt a burning curiosity to see the new-comer this dread 
 being who was to be ever on the watch to spy out his 
 faults. 
 
 The stranger seemed to walk up to the piano and to turn 
 over the books lying upon it ; then there was such complete 
 silence that Gigi felt sure he must be reading and ventured 
 to peer out from his hiding-place. 
 
 He saw that the visitor was leaning in an easy attitude 
 over the piano, his head proped up by his hand, and his 
 eyes bent upon the score of some opera. Gigi could only 
 see his side face, but that fascinated nim, and somehow bt 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. lit 
 
 did not feel any longer afraid. He was impatient to at- 
 tract the stranger's notice, but, though he moved the cur- 
 tain, it was of no use; the new-comer seemed quite ab- 
 sorbed in the music he was reading. At last, in despair, 
 crigi resolved to speak. 
 
 "San Carlo!" he said, timidly thrusting his head a little 
 further forward. 
 
 The stranger looked up in surprise, and when he saw the 
 quaint little face peeping out from the curtain, he came 
 forward a few steps, looking very much puzzled. 
 
 "I don't know," said Gigi, "but I think you are the 
 new barytone. 
 
 Something in this address so tickled the stranger that he 
 began to laugh. His laugh was a very pleasant one. 
 
 ik You have guessed rightly," he said, " but I am not so 
 clever, and cannot guess your name at all." 
 
 4 'I am Gigi," said the child, gravely. " Signor Sardoni 
 laughs at my name and says it is only fit for a pony, but 
 then he is only an Englishman and knows no better; 
 Plough, after all. I like him, and I like to talk English, aa 
 'Ye did at Salem." 
 
 As he spoke, the little fellow lifted a pair of beautiful 
 dark eyes to the stranger's face; his eyes were his only 
 beauty, they were wonderfully expressive, and something 
 in their depths was familiar to the new-comer. He came 
 closer and studied the child's face more attentively. 
 
 " Gigi," he said, *' I think you must be my little nephew, 
 though no one has taken the trouble to tell me of your 
 existence." 
 
 "Oh, no," said the child they were talking now in 
 English " I have an uncle, but he is not like you; he ia 
 not the new barytone; he is rich, and lives in a beautiful 
 villa in the country." 
 
 "He lives there no longer; the villa is to be let, and he ia 
 coming to live with you," said the stranger, taking the 
 child on his knee. " Come, tell me the rest of your name, 
 Gigi." 
 
 "I have three," said Gigi, with dignity, "though thejr 
 always call me Gigi for short. My whole name is Luigi 
 Bruno Merlino, and I shall be four next month." 
 
 "Then there is no doubt that I am your uncle," said 
 Carlo, kissing the child on both cheeks. 
 
 But Gigi, with a shrewd look much beyond his years, 
 shook his head emphatically. 
 
 " If you are the new barytone, then you are San Carlo, 
 and San Carlo could hardly be my uncle. You set up for 
 being a saint, you know, and are tond of keeping other 
 people in order; and you will never play games, but will 
 iiways know when I do what is wrong. I badly wished 
 
113 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 you weren't coming, but somehow you a*e not quite what 
 I thought." 
 
 The child's words were so comical that they carried no 
 sting; Carlo could only smile at them. 
 
 " I am glad of that, " he said, patting the closely- cropped 
 head. "You must have been expecting a regular ogre." 
 
 "No. not an ogre, but a saint. It was Signor Comerio 
 that told me about you." 
 
 "Ah!" said Carlo, unpleasantly enlightened ; "you see, 
 as Signor Comerio and I have never met, he can only have 
 drawn a tancy picture of me." 
 
 "I am sorry Signor Comerio is going; he was to have 
 given me some marrons glaces, but he gave me two lire in- 
 stead just now at least, he said so. It was a bit of paper, 
 but he said I was to spend it. In America we always have 
 proper money. Do you think this paper will really buy 
 me marrons glaces at Caflisch's?" 
 
 He began to grope in his pocket, and drew forth an en- 
 velope. Carlo could not help seeing that it was addressed 
 to Signora Merlino. A sudden recollection flashed across 
 him of his interview in that very room with Sardoni, and 
 of the Englishman's assurance that Merlino watched his 
 wife's correspondence with lynx eyes, and did not scruple 
 to open all her letters. And Comerio had apparently just 
 been to Palazzo Forti. 
 
 " How stupid I are '."said Gigi, thrusting the envelope 
 back again. " Did you see, San Carlo?" 
 
 " Yes, I did," said Carlo, without any comment. 
 
 ''- Signor Comerio said you would always spy out every- 
 thing," said the child, pouting. "It was a secret, and I 
 promised to keep it ; and he will be so angry when he finds 
 out." 
 
 "If you promised to give the letter, you must do so," 
 said Carlo, gravely. 
 
 "Yes, but no one else was to see it," said Gigi, beginning 
 to cry. " Oh, dear San Carlo, do promise not to tell, for 
 when Signor Comerio is angry he looks so fierce, and it 
 does frighten me." 
 
 "No one shall hurt you," said Carlo, putting his arm 
 round the child. "Don't cry, Gigi; I am very fond of 
 you. No one shall hurt you at all. " 
 
 "And you won't tell papa?" said Gigi, still sobbing. 
 "You see there are things that must be kept from papa, 
 and mamma taught me how when I came away from 
 Salem." 
 
 Carlo felt sick at heart; he remembered how on that 
 Sunday a fortnight ago he had first felt the sensation of 
 coming unexpectedly into a network of evil; now he 
 that it was in the very mMstj of tbis that he had 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 113 
 
 ordained to liy, and he shuddered as the little child com- 
 posedly described his training in deceit. 
 
 " Why do you sit looking so silent, San Carlo? I mean, 
 looking so grave?" said Gigi, drying his eyes. "Are you 
 angry with me?" 
 
 "No, I am not at all angry; but I am very sorry you 
 promised to give that letter and keep that secret." 
 
 44 Are all secrets wrong?" 
 
 41 No, there are some things we cannot tell to every one, 
 but they must never be things of which we are ashamed. 
 Suppose you had a beautiful diamond, and were traveling 
 along a road where you feared brigands, you would hide 
 your treasure quite awa, and that would be right and 
 wise; but, if you had stolen a diamond from a shop in the 
 Toledo, and hid it for fear of having it taken from you, 
 that would be wrong; do you see?" 
 
 "And was Signer Comerio ashamed of his secret, and 
 afraid that it would be found out and taken from him?" 
 
 4 'Yes, he was," said Carlo; "and that is why I was 
 sorry you had not said 4 no ' when he asked you to help 
 him." 
 
 " I will say 4 no ' another time," said Gigi. 
 
 4 'That's right," said Carlo, kissing him, and then he 
 quickly turned the conversation, afraid that the child 
 might question him further, and lose faith in his mother. 
 
 They were still sitting in the window when Anita re- 
 turned from rehearsal. She gave a little cry of astonish- 
 ment when she saw her brother, and came forward quickly 
 to greet him. 
 
 "Carlino!" she exclaimed, in her excitement, returning 
 to his old childish name. "Are you come already? My 
 husband has only to-day told me of your decision." She 
 drew him a little away from the child, and the tears rose 
 to her eyes as she said, -with more solicitude than she had 
 ever shown for him, " Dear Carlo, do you realize what you 
 undertake? I know you want to help me I understood it 
 in a moment but do you know what this life is? It is no 
 play- work, as some people think; a public singer leads the 
 life of a cart-horse." 
 
 ' ' Plenty of work is what I like best, ' ' said Carlo, kiss- 
 ing her. ' ' If only I can shield you, Nita, I shall be well 
 content." 
 
 She shivered a little, and went on in an undertone. 
 
 " I saw him for a moment at the theater, after he knew 
 he was to leave the troupe ; his face terrifies me to remem- 
 ber, for I know he understands why it is you have taken 
 his place. But Merlino suspects nothing that is the out 
 great comfort." 
 
 At this moment Gigi trotted up rather shyly. 
 
114 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " Mamma, "he said, pulling at her dress, "I promised 
 Signer Comerio I would give you this when you were 
 alone, but I forgot, and pulled it out of my pocket just now, 
 and San Carlo saw it; so I may as well give it to you now, 
 directly.'* 
 
 The color rushed into Nita's face; she made as though 
 she would tear the letter in pieces without opening it, but 
 Carlo checked her. 
 
 "Return it just as it is," he suggested. "Direct it to 
 him yourself, and I will see that it reaches him safely." 
 
 Nifa hastily crossed the room, and inclosed the letter in 
 an envelope; she knew that Comerio would recognize her 
 writing in a moment, and directed it hastily perhaps 
 hardly considering that by doing so she had crossed the 
 Rubicon. 
 
 But Carlo understood, and knew well that only by show- 
 ing her all possible love and tenderness could he nope to fill 
 this blank in her life. 
 
 "You never told me of this little man's existence," he 
 said, glancing at Gigi, when she had handed him the letter 
 and he had put it away in his pocket. "You should have 
 brought him with you to Villa Bruno." 
 
 " He had the chicken-pox," said Nita, indifferently. "I 
 suppose he took it on board the steamer indeed, I always 
 thought it a great mistake to bring him away from "Amer- 
 ica, but Merlino was set upon having him; he is very fond 
 of the child." 
 
 Carlo felt discouraged; it was quite clear that Nita did 
 not even pretend to care much for her little son. She went 
 on, in a complaining voice : 
 
 "He was happy enough at Salem, and, indeed, is always 
 begging to go back again. The people there had brought 
 him up, for, of course, I couldn't drag a baby all over the 
 States with me." 
 
 11 It was a farmhouse," put in Gigi, " and I always went 
 out with the pigs every day. I wish there was pigs here." 
 
 Carlo smiled, but thought Gigi deserved better compan- 
 ionship. 
 
 "Merlino knew that we should be in America again in 
 another year," continued Anita, " but he had some foolish 
 feeling against leaving the child so far off, and so I sup- 
 pose we shall have to take him about with us for the pres- 
 ent. Men don't realize what trouble a child gives. Mer- 
 lino likes to play with him now and then for ten minutes, 
 but he would never be bothered with him, and he won't 
 let me have a nurse even. It is absurd to expect me to 
 ee to him when already I am almost worked to death." 
 
 Carlo thought there was some truth in this, though he 
 was sorry gfce seemed to hftye so little motherly feeling > 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 115 
 
 Imt that her life was very hard he could well helieve, and 
 she looked delicate and overwrought. 
 
 44 How do you manage?" he said. " Is there no one to 
 help you with him?" 
 
 " The stewardess was kind to him when we crossed, and 
 then, when he was ill, the servant saw to him; but really, 
 poor girl, the landlady leads her such a life that she can't 
 spare time to make him look respectable. He hasn't been 
 out since we came to Naples; I couldn't take such a little 
 scarecrow with me." 
 
 " Maria doesn't do anything for me now, 1 ' put in Gigi. 
 41 1 can dress myself, mamma, quite well, and I haven't 
 been washed at all just lately." 
 
 "You would have been far better with your pigs at 
 Salem," said Nita, laughing a little, while Carlo, though 
 perhaps not quite so much disgusted as an Englishman 
 would have been, began to revolve schemes fur tubbing 
 his small nephew. 
 
 " Then you have really made up your mind to stop here 
 as long as we are at Naples?" asked Nita. " You will find 
 it a contrast to Villa Bruno." 
 
 44 Piale will prefer to have me close at hand," said Carlo. 
 '* And, indeed, I think it will be better every way. Is 
 there room for me here?" 
 
 4 4 Yes, you can have the room where Gigi was ill ; there 
 is no need for him to have a room all to himself now 
 that he is well again;, he can sleep on the sofa in the ante- 
 room." 
 
 44 Oh, don't turn him out," said Carlo; and the matter 
 ended in a small bed being extemporized for Gigi in a cor- 
 ner, much to his contentment. 
 
 4 'For, you know," he said, trotting after his uncle, 
 " when it is all dark, I feel so alone; and last night I really 
 think there was a cow under my bed." 
 
 Nita retired before long for her siesta, and Carlo, with 
 the assistance of Gigi, took possession of his new quarters, 
 and unpacked his worldly goods. When all was done, be 
 flung himself back in an arm-chair to rest, and Gigi curled 
 himself up like a little dog at his feet. For a time there 
 was silence; then Carlo was struck by a happy idea. 
 
 4 ' Gigi, ' ' he said, ' ' would you like to come and walk with 
 me in the villa?" 
 
 4 ' What's the villa?" asked the child. ' ' Do you mean the 
 Villa Bruno?" 
 
 4 'No, I meant the Villa Nazionale a garden, you 
 know, with beautiful trees. Would you like to come with 
 me?" 
 
 4 ' Oh, yes!" cried Gigi, with a beaming face; 4 ' it will be 
 almost like being at Salem again/J 
 
lie 
 
 "With the pigs," put in Carlo, laughingly. But, look, 
 before I take you we must make you tidy and clean, don't 
 you think?" 
 
 *' Perhaps," said Gigi, with a sigh. 
 
 " Are there any baths here?" 
 
 "Signor Sardoni has one; he is English, you know, and 
 takes it cold every morning quite cold ; he asked yester- 
 day whether he should lend it to me, but I guess he was 
 only in fun." 
 
 "Run and ask him, with my compliments, if he will 
 really do so," said Carlo, much amused. 
 
 There was an interval in which he dozed a little; pres- 
 ently back came the child, dragging after him an india- 
 rubber traveling bath, and followed by Maria, whom he 
 had induced to bring a can of hot water, fearful lest San 
 Carlo should expect him to plunge into cold like the En- 
 glish. 
 
 Maria, with a broad smile, suggested that he had better 
 have clean clothes as well, and managed to find some for 
 him ; she might have even offered to tub him had not the 
 padrona's voice been heard calling her impatiently, and, 
 with a saucy retort to her mistress, she ran off, leaving 
 Carlo and his victim to manage as they could. 
 
 Very slowly and reluctantly the tiny fellow divested 
 himself of his clothes, and stood shivering on the brink; 
 Carlo, had he been of an introspective nature, would have 
 been amused at the thought that his first piece of work in 
 his new career was to scrub a grubby little child ; being 
 not at all introspective, but extremely practical, he only 
 wondered how in the worH he was to do it, and where he 
 was to begin. 
 
 "Come, Gigi," he said, encouragingly, "I shall pretend 
 you are a pony, as Signor Sardoni says you ought to be; 
 get in quickly and I will groom you." 
 
 Gigi was imaginative, and this notion suited him very 
 well ; he began to kick and prance, but no longer objected 
 to the soap and water; indeed, after the first shock he 
 rather liked them; and the scrubbing was at any rate 
 satisfactory work more promptly visible in its effects than 
 any of Carlo's other work was likely to be. Gigi, who had 
 gone in grim and shivering, came out a beautiful white, 
 wet, little mortal, with sleek, shining skin, &ud cheeks 
 glowing like ruddy apples. 
 
 i I like it," he said, proudly" I like it very much. If 
 I'm good, San Carlo, will you groom me **gain some 
 day?" 
 
 "Every day, till you can do it yourself, 11 ftaid Carlo, 
 groiaaptly, at which Gigi clapped his hands. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. Ill 
 
 "At Salem," he said, " we only had Saturday for tub 
 Might, and it was so cold in the back kitchen." 
 
 Carlo, after this remark, thought that whatever the 
 drawbacks of traveling in Merlino 1 s company, the child was 
 better off than in the primitive farm-house with bis four- 
 footed friends. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. , 
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 
 
 r| Next ... I betook me among those lofty fables and romances which 
 recount in solemn cantos the deeds of knighthood. . . . There I read it 
 in the oath of every knight that he should defend to the expense of his 
 best blood, or of his life, if it so befell him, the honor and chastity of 
 virgin or matron. From whence even then I learnt what a noble virtue 
 chastity ever must be, to the defense of which so many worthies by such 
 a dear adventure of themselves had sworn. . . . Only this my mind gave 
 me, that every free and gentle spirit without that oath ought to be born 
 a knight, nor needed to expect the gilt spur, or the laying of a sword 
 upon his shoulder, to stir him up, both by his counsel and his arm to 
 serve and protect the weakness of any attempted chastity." Milton. 
 
 GIGI, much pleased with his appearance, and with the 
 novel feeling of cleanliness, capered away to the sola to 
 relate his experiences to Sardoni. Carlo followed him, and 
 found Merlinp just awake after his siesta, and looking 
 rather more like a surly bear than usual as he yawned and 
 stretched himself. He roused himself, however, to intro- 
 duce his brother-in-law to the tenor, not knowing that the 
 two had met before ; and they thought it best not to explain, 
 but bowed ceremoniously to each other. 
 
 "Papa," said Gigi, gleefully, "San Carlo is going to 
 take me to walk in the villa!" 
 
 "San Carlo! what do you mean, child?" said Merlfno, 
 his voice softening as he patted his son's head. 
 
 "Why him" said Gigi, with an expressive gesture; 
 4 ' Signer Comerio told me he was San Carlo, and I won- 
 dered what saints wanted with operas; but he is oh! ever 
 so much nicer than Comerio said." 
 
 The three men laughed involuntarily. 
 
 "Comerio did not at all like getting his conge," said 
 Merlino. " This is just a little display of spite on his part. 
 "When did you see him, child ?' ' 
 
 " He came in to say good-by to me this morning while 
 you were at rehearsal, and he gave me this to spend. Oh 
 dear, San Carlo, might we go to Caflisch's now?" 
 
 "You must not call your uncle by that name," said 
 Merlino; "it is rude." 
 
 "Why, I thought it was a kind of politeness," said 
 Gigi, with a puzzled face; "and that it was only lot 
 the very best things.'' 
 
118 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "In that case you had better not uncanonize Signor 
 Donati," said Sardoni, who had watched the scene with a 
 sort of careless amusement. ' ' If you allow me, Gigi, 
 I will also come with you." 
 
 Carlo looked pleased ; he could not have explained why 
 Sardoni attracted him, but already he felt that the En- 
 glishman would be his friend. His discovery of Gigi that 
 morning had broken the blank desolateness which for the 
 last four-and- twenty hours had overwhelmed him, and 
 the sight of Sardoni somehow cheered him yet more. Pos* 
 sibly the mere fact that the tenor was Francesca's fellow* 
 countryman prejudiced him in his favor; and then, al 
 though the Englishman's careless, witty -looking face was> 
 perhaps, not of the very highest type, yet there was some 
 thing winning about it something which interested Carlo 
 and took him out of himself and his own cares. 
 
 " So you have changed your mind since I saw you the 
 other day," said Sardoni, as they walked down the' Toledo. 
 " You think stage life may, after all, bear comparison with 
 private life?" 
 
 " I am going to try my fortune as a singer," said Carlo, 
 lightly, but revealing in his face ail that he strove to ban- 
 ish from his tone. Sardoni dre\v his own conclusions, but 
 had too much tact to ask any questions. 
 
 "I was never more astounded than when Merlino told 
 me the news," he remarked; "and, I think, seldom more 
 pleased ; the company will be well rid of Comerio, who is a 
 double dyed villain, such as one seldom meets." 
 
 " I must own that in looks he gives one the impression 
 of being less of a brute than Merlino himself," said Carlo, 
 lowering his voice cautiously. 
 
 "Looks are not everything," said Sardoni; "there are 
 some faces yours, for instance which can be read in an 
 instant; but there are others which baffle one altogether. 
 Merlino is not so bad as he seems ; at any rate, while he is 
 a brute, the other is a fiend." 
 
 " How did he take his dismissal?" asked Carlo. 
 
 "I heard very little about it; but apparently he has 
 taken good care not to quarrel with Merlino. No doubt 
 he'll move heaven and earth to get into the troupe again; 
 he is not a man who will stand being beaten." 
 
 " Yet Merlino would never have us both, I suppose?" 
 
 " No; so it will now be to Comerio's interest to oust you. 
 Don't think me a brute to speak out plainly, but when I 
 caught sight of Comerio's face as he left the theater, I 
 thought 1 wouldn't be in your shoes for a million of 
 money. That fellow is your enemy, and he may nurse his 
 revenge for years, but, sooner or later, he'll have it." 
 
 A feeling of vague discomfort crept over Carlo; for a 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 119 
 
 minute he was silent, then, with a look on his face which 
 startled Sardoni, he said, cheerfully : 
 
 *' I owe you a great deal ; it was through you that I first 
 knew there was a chance of helping my sister in this way, 
 and now you have taken the trouble to warn me of a dan- 
 ger. One must not dwell on such things, though perhaps 
 it is well to know of them." 
 
 " I should have thought," said Sardoni, smiling, "that 
 you would have been more likely to curse me than to bless 
 me for having first put into your head a notion that must 
 have cost you dear." 
 
 Carlo gave a quick glance at his companion, wondering 
 whether he had the least conception how great the co'sfc 
 had been. Perhaps he was glad to be spared any direct 
 answer to the remark by their arrival at Caflisck's, and 
 the necessity of helping Grigi to lay out his two lire to the 
 best advantage. 
 
 Afterward they strolled on to the villa, and, while Gigi 
 played about happily, the two men sat under the trees, 
 Sardoni finding a sort of idle pleasure in studying his new 
 companion. 
 
 " Do you mean to sing under your own name?" he asked, 
 after a time. 
 
 " Yes," replied Carlo; " I have no object in taking a nom 
 de guerre; with an English name, of course, it is different 
 you were almost bound to do so." 
 
 Sardoni gave a sarcastic smile. 
 
 "It was most necessary," he remarked, dryly. "Did 
 my own people know how I gained my livelihood they 
 would be even more ashamed of me than they are already. ' ' 
 
 Carlo looked surprised, even a little anxious. His interest 
 in Sardoni grew deeper. 
 
 "They do not then know where you are?' 7 he asked. 
 "That is surely very hard on them." 
 
 The tenor gave a slrort laugh. 
 
 " Not at all; I am silent purely out of regard for their 
 feelings. Do you know what the old Puritans used to call 
 actors? They called them 'caterpillars of the Common- 
 wealth ' and * vagabonds.' ' 
 
 "That may be, but family feeling must in the end be 
 stronger than such prejudice. ' ' 
 
 "You judge others by yourself," said Sardoni. "All 
 families are not so devoted as yours seems to be." Then, 
 his brow contracting sharply, "Besides, did I not tell you 
 when we first met that, in my own country, men would no 
 longer trust my word as blindly as you seem inclined to 
 
 " Why will you always force that upon me?" said Carlo, 
 looking full into his. companion's eyes, *' Po you wpk t 
 
120 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 make me doubt you? That is hardly a friendly act, since 
 you are the one light just now in my dark sky." 
 
 The words sounded strangely in Sardoni's ear, the simile 
 was so un-English, but the tone touched him more than he 
 would have cared to own. 
 
 "I force this upon you because I like you," he said, 
 with some effort. "You are the first man I have seen 
 whose friendship I could have wished. But I will bo 
 friends with no man who does not know the truth about 
 me ; and whoever knew the truth would not care to be my 
 friend." 
 
 " I should care," said Carlo, quickly. 
 
 The Englishman shook his head. Then, suddenly resum- 
 ing his usual reckless, nonchalant manner, he said, with a 
 laugh : 
 
 " Few men, I fancy, have managed to sustain their nom 
 de guerre so completely ; Merlino himself has not even a 
 notion of my true surname." 
 
 44 What induced you to take the name of Sardoni?" asked 
 Carlo. 
 
 '"Well, according to the character of my questioner I 
 have two replies," said Sardoni. "Matter-of-fact: It oc- 
 curred to me one morning while I was breakfasting off sar- 
 dines. Poetic: I assumed it in a sardonic mood, while con- 
 templating a journey to Sardinia. We have some funny 
 improvements on names among us." 
 
 " Are they chiefly Italians in the company?" 
 
 4 'Oh! we are a mixed multitude," said Sardoni. "I'll 
 prepare you for your future lot and give you a faithful de- 
 scription of the ' happy band of pilgrims. ' Let us be more 
 courteous than the play-bills, and take the ladies first. 
 Top of the list stands Madame Merlino, who needs no de< 
 scription. Next comes Mademoiselle Elise de Caisne, a lit- 
 tle French flirt. Then the two mezzos, Mademoiselle 
 Lauriston, ditto, ditto, and Miss Eobinson, who hails from 
 New York, but sings under the name of Duroc; she is an 
 average American girl, and can be pleasant enough, also 
 which speaks well of her she is hand in glove with Do- 
 menica Borelli. The Borelli is a Maltese lady, in reality 
 Borg every one is a Borg in Malta. She is a contralto 
 with a wonderful compass, a real good, painstaking artist, 
 the joy of Marioni's heart ; there exists between them a 
 platonic friendship. Next we come to the tenors " 
 
 "Headed by Signor Sardoni," put in Carlo, with a 
 emile. 
 
 4 'And close on my heels," continued the Englishman, 
 44 follow my two rivals, Crevelli and Caflfieri awfully jeal- 
 ous of me awfully; not of each other, that's the odd part; 
 but then they are so much alike that it's always a case of 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 131 
 
 * which is which?' and when one is praised the other thinks 
 it was a mistake and really meant lor him ; those two are 
 bonafide Italians, and as like as two peas broad forehead, 
 Btraight, black hair, correct profile, big mustache, great 
 expanse of cheek. You'll find some trouble in knowing 
 them apart, but at last I've induced Crevelli to keep his 
 hair an inch longer than the other's, just for convenience 
 Bake. 
 
 " That brings us to the basses, and to your brother-in-law ; 
 we won't discuss him: you'll find that he gets well treated 
 because they all live in mortal terror of him. Then Gomez. 
 Gomez has raven hair and a sad cast of countenance ; he 
 hails from Seville and stands much on his dignity. Tan- 
 nin i, alias Joshua C. Tanner, is a jolly Yankee, and has a 
 keen eye to the main chance. A very practical man is 
 Tanner; he'll soon be * calc'lating that he can't understand 
 euch a knight-errant ' as you. Next comes Bauer a good, 
 eolid lump of humanity, always in at dinner-time and to 
 "be found at odd hours tucking in, regardless of the coming 
 opera. He reminds me of an old nursery song of ours, 
 about 
 
 * * A duck, who had got such a habit of stuffing, 
 That all day long it was panting and puffing.' 
 
 Bauer's often out of breath on the stage, you'll find. Then 
 there is Donati, the barytone, whose character I have not 
 yet fathomed ; and Fasola, a miserable stick, capable only 
 of third-rate parts, but supposed to be your understudy ; 
 and, finally, our little conductor, Marioni, who wears him- 
 self to fiddle-strings, all out of devotion to the muse, and 
 tears his hair you'll see presently how ragged it is be- 
 cause he can't get things down as he would wish." 
 
 "I have heard Piale speak very highly of him," said 
 Carlo, and then he sat silent for a minute or two, musing 
 over Sardoni's odd description of his future companions, 
 and wondering what this strange new life would be like. 
 
 " Was Come?io a favorite?" he asked, at length. 
 
 " He was hated by some and liked by others; Domenica 
 Bprelli, for instance, was not on speaking terms witk 
 him." 
 
 " And yet ti^veled in the same company?" 
 
 "Oh, that is perfectly possible ! I don't think she has 
 spoken to him imce we were at San Francisco, a year ago, 
 yet of course they had to act together. The Borelli is ex- 
 tremely fastidious ; she will highly approve of the change 
 of barytones. But Gomez will hate you, for he is Come- 
 rio's friend; I shouldn't b surprised if he got up a cabal 
 against you." 
 
 Again Carlo was silent ; he looked down the long shady 
 with ito somber ilex-trees; tlie prospect of his new 
 
12S KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 life had never before seemed so distasteful to him, and it 
 was with a sense of relief that he caught sight of Enrico 
 Bitter coming toward them with his usual long, imper- 
 turbable striae. Enrico seemed his last link with the 
 past, and he was glad to be able to introduce him to Sar- 
 cloni. 
 
 " I have just met your uncle," said Enrico, abruptly, as 
 he took the vacant place beside Carlo. 
 
 "Then, of course, you know all?" 
 
 "Yes, and I find it hard to forgive you," said Enrico. 
 
 "To forgive?" echoed Carlo, questioningly. 
 
 "Yes, to forgive. You have falsified my pet theory,' 1 
 said the egoist. "Here, give me one of your cards, and 
 I'll tell you in two words what I think of you." 
 
 Carlo, not without a pang, as he remembered how at 
 first sight of those copper-plate words, " Avvocato Carlo 
 Poerio Donati, " he had felt himself the happiest man in 
 Naples, handed the card to his friend, and Enrico, crossing 
 out the "Avvocato," scribbled above it the words, 
 "Knight-Errant." 
 
 Sardoni glanced at it with a smile. 
 
 "You couldn't have put the case more tersely," he saicf, 
 rising to go, because he thought the two friends would 
 rather talk out the matter alone. But before he turned he 
 glanced searchingly at Carlo, and again surprised on his 
 face the look which had perplexed him before. 
 
 "Does the fellow actually take pleasure in giving up his 
 life to the service of that chit?" he thought to himself as he 
 walked away. "If ever there was a commonplace, unin- 
 teresting woman in the world, it is Anita Merlino; she'll 
 not even have the grace to be grateful to him." 
 
 Later on, in the afternoon of the following day, Carlo, 
 returning from a long lesson with Piale, happenecTto meet, 
 in the Piazza Municipio, a handsome English sailor whose 
 face seemed familiar to him. He glanced hastily at the 
 name embroidered on his jersey, and read the word Pil- 
 grim. With a great hunger in his heart to know Fran- 
 cesca'a whereabouts, he turned and accosted the man. 
 
 "So the Pilgrim is still here," he said, courteously. 
 " When does she leave?" 
 
 "To-night, sir," said the sailor, looking pleased at the 
 recognition. " Captain Brit ton and the young ladies came 
 on board an hour ago, and we are only waiting now for the 
 caterer, and there he comes yonder." 
 
 Carlo, glancing round, saw another of the yacht's crew, 
 a bluff-looking, elderly man, whose duty was to buy the 
 food for his mates. 
 
 "We shall sail now as soon as we get on board, SK;'* 
 8Md the coxswain. " Can I take any message for you!" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 123 
 
 "None, thank you," said Carlo, and bidding the man a 
 courteous farewell, he turned quickly away. Hurriedly 
 he walked toward the Strada Nuova, and looked across the 
 blue waters of the bay. There was the Pilgrim, anchored 
 to the Military Mole, her beautiful white sails all set, and 
 only waiting for the return of the dingey to raise anchor. 
 Carlo saw the little boat threading its way between the 
 vessels in the harbor, saw it round the yacht and disappear, 
 then descried Oxenberry's lithe figure springing on board. 
 For a few minutes all seemed haste and confusion ; he could 
 hear the rattling of chains, and could even make out the 
 figure of the steward seated on the capstan with his con- 
 certina, while the sailors heaved up the anchor, swinging 
 merrily round to the familiar strains of the "Shanty." 
 Their hearty voices reached him even at that distance, and 
 he remembered how as a child Francesca had proudly 
 taught him to sing the " Shanty " with a proper English 
 accent. Fragments of the words seemed now to float 
 across to him, and the tears started to his eyes. 
 
 " Hurrah, my lads! we're homeward bound, 
 We're homeward bound for Plymouth Sound; 
 Up with the sail, and off goes she. 
 Hurrah, my lads! hurrah! hurrah!" 
 
 The cheerful old tune seemed to him now like a dirge, 
 the dirge for his old life which was passed and over, the 
 dirge for his betrothal so swiftly ended. 
 
 All at once his heart began to throb wildly, for he saw 
 a slim, dark figure come on deck, with a white shawl 
 wrapped about the head and shoulders. Francesca stood 
 -with her face turned toward him, looking to the shore and 
 away from the blithe sailors, whose merry song, perhaps, 
 brought to her mind the very thoughts it had suggested to 
 Carlo. He gazed on, hardly knowing whether the sight 
 comforted or tortured him, but, in any case, unable to 
 move, unable for one instant to relax the strain. 
 
 At last the song ceased, the chain rattled no more, the 
 yacht began to move, and Francesca shifted her position 
 a little, but still kept aloof from the rest, still gazed shore- 
 ward. And thus she remained while the summer wind 
 filled the white sails, and the Pilgrim glided out of the 
 harbor gently, proudly, but relentlessly, moving out sea- 
 ward. 
 
 To the very last his eyes rested on her, till the slim, 
 black figure became a mere speck in tho distance, and 
 finally was lost to sight. He lingered still for tho last 
 glimpse of the Pilgrim's sails, on which the afternoon sun 
 glinted with dazzling brightness; then, when those, too, 
 Bad disappeared, he became conscious of a creeping chilli- 
 
124 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ness, which obliged him to grope his way to one of the 
 seats nnd wait till he had recovered his self-control. 
 
 It was a vision of Piale's reproachful face which finally 
 roused him. What would be the maestro's horror could 
 he see his pupil sitting there regardless of the dangerous 
 hour of sunset, which was fast approaching? He drew 
 himself together and walked slowly back to the Palazzo 
 Forti, through the narrow, picturesque streets, so familiar 
 but now so desolate to him. Never in his life had he felfc 
 so hopelessh^ lonely as when he mounted the dirty stairs 
 and reached the suit of rooms which, for the time being, 
 made his home. 
 
 In the ante-room Gigi was crying piteously ; in the sala 
 Merlino, in one of his worst tempers, was arguing with 
 Anita; while Gomez, who had just arrived from Seville, 
 Ptood glowering darkly at the new barytone. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ON THE STAGE. 
 '* For ill can Poetry express 
 
 Full many a tone of thought sublima, 
 And Painting, mute and motionless, 
 
 Steals but a glance of time. 
 But, by the mighty actor brought, 
 Illusions perfect triumphs come; 
 Terse ceases to be airy thought, 
 And Sculpture to be dumb." Campbell* 
 
 PIALE had gained the wish of his heart ; but, like many 
 other people, he discovered that, when gained, it proved 
 more of a care than a pleasure. He had plotted and 
 planned, he had argued and persuaded, and now at length 
 his best pupil was ready to appear on the operatic stage; 
 but nevertheless the old maestro was far from happy. Ha 
 was haunted by the conviction that Carlo's health would 
 give way; for he knew him too well not to perceive how 
 sorely the events of the last few weeks had taxed his 
 powers of endurance. It was all very well for him to 
 prescribe perfect quiet when the hours of study were over; 
 but he knew that at the Palazzo Forti quiet was not likely 
 to be found knew that wherever he went Carlo would be 
 haunted by the specter of his vanished happiness. Often 
 did he anathematize Captain Britton and the insular preju- 
 dice which had cost his pupil so dear; often did he rack his 
 brains for some means of cheering the debutant. 
 
 Carlo was, indeed, very much altered ; for the time he 
 lost the boyish look which had always before been one of 
 his characteristics; lie lost, too, his fresh, ruddy color; 
 and, whereas he had hitherto been habitually gay, and 
 upon occasion grave, he was now only cheerful when, 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 125 
 
 by a deliberate effort of will, he forced himself to be so. 
 It was not in those first days of his trouble that he C9uld 
 all at once attain to the serenity of a perfectly disciplined 
 heart. He was human, and he was very young; the light 
 of his life had gone out, and he did not always acquiesce 
 in the darkness did not, except in rare intervals of com- 
 fort, feel anything but an aching void, an unconquerable 
 longing for his own will to be done. 
 
 Not being of a self -tormenting nature, however, he did 
 not trouble himself much about the right or wrong of his 
 feelings ; as far as possible he ignored them, and went on 
 deliberately with the every-day business of the life he had 
 chosen. Piale worked his voice as hard as he dared, and 
 the professor of declamation taught him all that he had 
 the power to teach ; but Carlo, altogether dissatisfied with 
 the scanty attention paid to acting on the operatic stage, 
 studied his characters with a minute faithfulness which 
 occupied him even in his times of so-called leisure ; he was 
 incessantly studying, incessantly observing, and, after 
 three weeks of this sort of work, his heart began, as it 
 were, to thaw ; the personal grief which had held it f rost- 
 tound was softened by the wide love of the human family, 
 which cannot fail to be quickened in the heart of any one 
 who truly observes life. For to observe truly you must 
 sympathize with those you observe, and to sympathize 
 with them you must love them, and to love them you 
 must forget yourself. Without a deep, living sympathy the 
 artist surely degenerates into a species of vivisectioiiist, for 
 
 " To be observed when observation is not sympathy 
 Is just to be tortured." 
 
 Carlo soon found the happiness which comes to the 
 worker who is really suited to his work. He learned to be 
 very grateful to his newly -chosen profession, for it brought 
 him hours of f orgetfulness ; it raised him above the atmos- 
 phere of petty misery which seemed to prevail at the 
 Palazzo Forti; it made him conscious that he had not 
 chosen his life with headstrong blindness, but that he had 
 gifts for which he was responsible gifts which made the 
 life of a singer his true vocation. In those days of his 
 trouble he worked with all his might, and the tremendous 
 effort of memory he had to make stood him in good stead, 
 and forced him to keep his grief at arm's length. 
 
 Piale saw with relief that he was apparently not in the 
 least nervous, that he was entirely free at present from all 
 fear of failure, but the old maestro was too experienced a 
 hand to imagine that his calmness would last. 
 
 4 'You go to your ordeal with a better heart than most 
 debutants," he remarked one day, looking curiously into* 
 
136 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 the face of his pupil. ' ' But you have good reason to bfl 
 cheerful about it, for you are safe to be popular." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Carlo, with a smile, "I am 
 told that ten to one Comerio will organize a claque, and 
 try to get me hissed off. I'm not at all confident of being 
 popular, but I know that I have in any case to be a 
 singer." 
 
 " There speaks the true artist," said Piale, with enthu^ 
 eiasm. "Did I not tell you long ago that Nature meant 
 this for your calling?" 
 
 "Yes, dear maestro,*' he replied, quietly. "And you 
 were right, and I was wrong, as events have proved." 
 
 Piale hardly understood all that he meant ; he looked at 
 him again with the lingering, scrutinizing, anxious gaze of 
 a painter who takes a last look at a finished picture. 
 
 "If only your health is equal to the life," he exclaimed, 
 with a sigh, for he could not but admit to himself that 
 during the last few weeks there had developed in his 
 pupil s face a look of constitutional delicacy, which, after 
 all, was a natural enough inheritance to the son of Signora 
 Donati. 
 
 But Carlo laughed lightly, and put the suggestion aside. 
 
 "Why, maestro," he exclaimed, "I have never been ill 
 in my life ; and surely, if my sister has been able to bear 
 the work all this time, you need not fear for a tough fellow 
 like me!" 
 
 " Well, I hope you wfll understand as well as Madame 
 Merlino how to take care of yourself," said Piale, in the 
 tone of a doubter. 
 
 As he walked home Carlo for the first time studied the 
 placards which announced a second series of operas at the 
 Mercadante, with the company of Signer Merlino. On Tues- 
 day evening Gounod's "Faust," and, below, a list of the 
 characters : Faust, Signor Sardoni ; Mefistof ele, Signor Mer- 
 lino; Valentino, Signor Carlo Donati; Wagner, Signor 
 Gomez; Margherita, Madame Merlino; Siebel, Made- 
 moiselle Borelli ; Marta, Mademoiselle Duroc. Just above 
 was pasted a narrow strip of yellow paper, contrasting 
 boldly with the pink placard, and upon this in large black 
 letters, was printed : 
 
 "DEBUTTO DI SIGNOR CARLO DONATI." 
 
 He was startled and rather ashamed to find that the 
 mere reading of the announcement made him tremble from, 
 head to foot. At the next opportunity he questioned Sar- 
 doni. 
 
 " How do people feel at their first appearance?" he said, 
 with, an air of curiosity, which was nevertheless a little 
 anxious, 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 137 
 
 14 Oh," said Sardqni, with his careless laugh, " some feel 
 as if they were going to be hung, others as if they were 
 entering one of the chambers of the Inquisition. Comerio, 
 I believe, used to say that he suffered more acutely when 
 he went to be married, and Bauer declares that it was not 
 half so bad to him as a visit to the dentist. 
 
 "And you?" asked Carlo. "How did you feel about 
 it?" 
 
 "I hardly know besides, I should be no guide to you, 
 for we are as different as chalk and cheese. I think I was 
 in too dare-devil a frame to feel at all." 
 
 "I can understand better to-day how Valentino felt be- 
 fore his first battle," said Carlo, musingly. 
 
 Sardoni laughed. 
 
 " I do believe you think of your parts night and day!" 
 he exclaimed. "I declare I'm half afraid of you. You 
 will be so much in earnest that you'll kill me in the duel 
 scene, and that would be awkward. What do you say to 
 a private rehearsal now ? It's as well you have to fight me 
 and not Gomez, for he hates you like poison; and what 
 could be easier than to stick you by mistake on the stage, 
 and get you out of his friend's way?" 
 
 " What with you and Piale it will be hard if I don't turn 
 into a coward and a valetudinarian, " said Carlo. "The 
 maestro does nothing but fear the break-down of my health, 
 and you are always warning me of hidden dangers from 
 Comerio and hie allies." 
 
 "We only wish to instill a little prudence into your 
 knight-errantry," said Sardoni. 
 
 The change of barytones had been much discussed in 
 Merlino's company, and Carlo had to run the gantlet of 
 criticism, while feeling bewildered at the endless introduc- 
 tions to his new companions; he thought he should never 
 learn to know them all, and the fact that he was Madame 
 Merlino's brother was not in his favor, for Anita was not 
 popular, and Carlo was sufficiently like her in face to make 
 them prejudiced against him. Moreover, they all regarded 
 him as a sort of amateur, and were inclined to resent his 
 sudden change of profession, while Comerio' s unexpected 
 dismissal was by some deemed unjust. 
 
 His heart failed him a little at the thought of casting in 
 his lot entirely with these not very congenial people ; even 
 in Domenica Borelli he was disappointed, she seemed to 
 him cold and reserved and exclusive; he supposed that 
 the very qualities which repelled him seemed to Sardoni's 
 English eyes recommendations. Marioni, the conductor 
 received him with mingled coldness and anxiety ; and had 
 it not been for Sardoni's friendship he would have been in 
 ft .most uncomfortable position. But all this improved 
 
138 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 after the first rehearsal ; the conductor speedily thawed, 
 and he began to understand better the stiff armor of pro- 
 priety in which Domenica Borelli incased herself, and the 
 alarming American frankness of Mademoiselle Duroc. 
 
 And so at last the great day came. Carlo awoke to the 
 consciousness, but was surprised to find how indifferent 
 he felt about it ; perhaps he had been through too much of 
 late to suffer very greatly from apprehension, or perhaps 
 he had not yet realized how great the ordeal would bo. 
 In the most matter-of-fact way he inspected his hat, hose, 
 and shoes, the only part of his costume which he had to 
 provide for himself; then, having arranged that they 
 should be sent to the theater, he found himself with the 
 rest of the day on his hands, for Piale had given strict 
 orders that he was only to sing for half an hour just before 
 he dined. Suddenly he bethought him of his old friend 
 Florestano, and he felt a desire that the old fisherman 
 should witness his first appearance; so, taking the de- 
 lighted Gigi with him. he went down to the Piliero. hired 
 a boat, and was rowed to the old fisherman's hut. Flores- 
 tano. who had all an Italian's love of the theater, was de- 
 lighted and flattered at the proposal, and they rowed back 
 with him to Naples, where Carlo took him to the Merca- 
 dante that he might choose his own seat; then, with many 
 good wishes, the old boatman went off to his Socialist club, 
 and Carlo, having taken Gigi home, returned once more to 
 the Mercadante, begged the keys from the door-keeper, 
 who was just about to take his siesta, and, locking himself 
 into the empty theater, began to pace the stage, going 
 through, in dumb show, all that he would have to do in 
 the evening. Still he felt strangely indifferent, and he be- 
 gan to think that his nature must be a very prosaic one, 
 not realizing that strong feeling often takes the form of 
 numbness for a time. 
 
 Sardoni watched him on his return with the greatest 
 curiosity: he practiced his scales for half an hour, dined 
 composedly, read the Piccolo, played "Tombola" with 
 Gigi, and did his best to avert a quarrel which was brew- 
 ing between Gomez and Merlino. Finally he went off to 
 the theater with Piale and Enrico Hitter, and seemed to be 
 so much occupied with cheering the old maestro, who was 
 in a pitiable state of nervousness, that he had little time to 
 think of himself. 
 
 " Giusto Cielo!" exclaimed the old man, " I would give 
 all I have were this night's work well over." 
 
 And as they went down stairs Sardoni heard Carlo's rare 
 out delightful laugh as he rallied the maestro on his de- 
 pression. Apparently Piale had been advised that it would 
 be better not to be behind the scenes, for when Sardoni 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 129 
 
 reached the theater he found Carlo alone in th@ dressing- 
 room which they were to share. 
 
 " I thought I should have found your maestro coaching 
 you up to the last minute," he exclaimed; " it is well he 
 has gone, or his nervousness would have infected you. At 
 present you look as cool as a cucumber." 
 
 "Only metaphorically," said Carlo, throwing down 
 the book he had been studying; "this room is like an 
 oven." 
 
 "You'll find that is always the way," said Sardoni; 
 " they bake us in summer and freeze us in winter, and, 
 whenever they can manage it, poison us with bad drain- 
 age." 
 
 " The dresser began to urge him to be quick, for as usual 
 Sardoni was behindhand, and had allowed barely time to 
 scramble into his complicated double costume before the 
 call-boy came to summon him. Carlo, who did not appear 
 till the second act. seeing how matters were, and pitying 
 the dresser, who only grew more stupid the more Sardoni 
 swore at him, offered his help, and won the gratitude both 
 of the Englishman and the Italian. 
 
 " Now if I had Gomez iii here he would have made con- 
 fusion worse confounded," said Sardoni, rushing off in 
 response to a second summons and the alarming news that 
 the overture was ended. 
 
 When he returned at the end of the first act he found 
 Carlo almost ready, standing with the patience of a 
 martyr while the dresser put the finishing touches to his 
 costume. He made a wonderfully handsome and soldierly- 
 looking Valentino in his crimson velvet doublet, the con- 
 ventional amount of stage armor, and the picturesquely 
 plumed bat which added so much to his height. 
 
 "Tan-colored tights!" exclaimed Sardoni; "that ia an 
 improvement on Comerio's get-up; he always insisted on 
 sky-blues, in which he looked like a circus-rider." 
 
 The remark roused Carlo from the state of abstraction 
 in which he had for some time been wrapped, and, turning 
 round with a smile, he asked whether the house was good, 
 and if Sardoni had been well received. 
 
 "The house is crammed," replied the tenor, "but at 
 present rather cold. Your appearance will stir them up!" 
 
 " The signor will be a great success, " said the dresser, 
 already won by Carlo's patience and courtesy. 
 
 "He carries a brave enough front, " said Sardoai. "I 
 should not have thought you would prove such a cool 
 hand." 
 
 "Ah, well! it is the first battle of the campaifrd," said 
 Carlo, with a laugh. "Let 110 man boast till he has beea 
 under fire." 
 
130 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "Per Dio! no battle, but a triumph," said the dresser, 
 as he left the room. "Best wishes for your success, 
 signor." 
 
 Carlo thanked him, and began in a practical, matter-of- 
 fact way to study the construction of the sword which had 
 to break in two at the challenge of Mephistopheles. Sar- 
 doni. to amuse him, told him stories of various stage contre- 
 temps, and was just marveling at his companion's perfect 
 composure when Donati suddenly started forward and 
 grasped his arm. 
 
 44 They have begun the Kermesse Chorus!'' he gasped. 
 
 And then at last the realization broke upon him : he was, 
 after all, Carlo Donati, a novice, with a terrible ordeal be- 
 fore him, and failure would mean ruin. All recollection 
 of his part seemed to leave him. He looked distracted. 
 
 " Come and wait at the wings,' 7 said Sardoni. "and take 
 a look at the audience. You are sure to do well. Keep up 
 your courage, amico rmo." 
 
 "If it were only fame which depended on it, or only 
 
 myself " he faltered; "but to fail means the ruin of all 
 
 mir plan." 
 
 " You will not fail you will succeed, and your plan too; 
 it deserves to. Come P ' 
 
 "With kindly persistence he took his arm and drew him 
 toward the door. The noise without seemed to bewilder 
 Carlo; the orchestra, even at that distance, sounded deaf- 
 eningly loud in his ears; the clear, joyous chorus of the 
 citizens seemed to mock his wretchedness; he dragged 
 himself on in obedience to Sardoni, who took him to the 
 green-room, where they found Anita and Merlino. Nita was 
 crying, and wiping away her tears with anxious care lest* 
 they should make too much havoc with her rouge. 
 
 " Here is my wife more upset over your debut than she 
 was over her own," said Merlino. more pleasantly than 
 Carlo had ever heard him speak before. " Come, Nita, see 
 what a fine figure he cuts as Valentino. You may well be 
 proud of him." 
 
 Carlo glanced down at her, vaguely noticing her white 
 dress, her long plaited hair. She did not make up well as 
 Margherita, and he dreaded acting with her because she 
 recalled to him the terrible stake for which he was playing. 
 
 "Give me your good wishes, Nina mia."he said; and 
 then, disgusted to find how his voice trembled, he turned 
 away and followed Sardoni to the wings. Sick and dizzy 
 he looked out across the crowded stage with its skillfully- 
 grouped soldiers and students and citizens to the section of 
 the house which could be seen. His breath came in short, 
 quick gasps, and his fingrers played nervously with hi* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT, 181 
 
 word-hfit. Sardoni felt intensely curious to see now ha 
 would get through his task. 
 
 " Mestier Divinl Mestier Divin!" shouted the soldiers, 
 and Carlo's fingers tightened on the sword. He became at 
 last able to think of nothing but that the chorus was draw- 
 ing nearer and nearer to an end, and that at the close 
 would come that dead silence in which he, Carlo Donati, 
 must cross the stage and either fail or succeed, His dresser 
 approached him. 
 
 ' ' The charm, signor ! You have it all right ? ' ' 
 
 "I have it, thank you," he replied, and unclasped his 
 hand, where the medal burned like fire. 
 
 " It will soon be over," said Sardoni, cheerfully. 
 
 "I know," he gasped, his lips almost refusing to frame 
 the words. 
 
 " Oh, " said Sardoni, " I meant the ordeal, not the chorus. 
 Look to your goal; that's the only way with a high jump 
 or with this sort of business. ' ' 
 
 It was all very well to talk of looking to the goal, but 
 just then Carlo was hardly able to see with nis bodily eyes, 
 much less with the eyes of his imagination. The crowded 
 stage became misty and confused to him; he could no 
 longer distinguish the faces in the audience; they were 
 just a terrible, criticising, impersonal mass. 
 
 " Inutil sara /" sang the sopranos. 
 
 " Al primo apparir /' ' roared the basses. 
 
 And then came the mocking strain once more from the 
 orchestra as the concluding bars of the chorus were played ; 
 and all his life long that sweet, blithe air seemed to Carlo 
 like the merriment of Punchinello the clown, who jested 
 with an aching heart. The last chord crashed out, his 
 hour was come I With a supreme effort he moved forward, 
 and, as the opening bars of his recitative were played, 
 walked mechanically through the little lane which opened 
 for him in the stage crowd. He believed that he must 
 have walked slowly, but his feet seemed no longer his own ; 
 he felt as if he were nothing but throbbing heart and 
 bounding pulses, and it was only from force of habit, after 
 so many rehearsals, that he moved to the right place, his 
 eyes fixed on the medal in his hand, which in reality he 
 was too much dazzled even to see. 
 
 Suddenly an inspiration came to him. Valentino, too, 
 would be oppressed, troubled, by the merry-making- 
 crowd ; what did he, with his grief and anxiety, want with 
 all this publicity? He was Valentino he breathed, 
 thought, looked, and felt like Valentino; and in a voice 
 subdued and sad, but so clear and sweet that it reached to 
 the remotest corner of the gallery, he sang the brief reci- 
 tative, " Oh, santa medaglia!" as he placed the charm on 
 
132 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 his heart, then glanced quickly, distastefully, at the gay 
 throng surrounding him. 
 
 There was a burst of applause which instantly made him 
 feel en rapport with his audience. He advanced to meet 
 Wagner and Siebel, while to Piale and Enrico, in the the- 
 ater, and to Nit a, at the wings, there came a pang, as Val- 
 entino told how he was sad because he was leaving his 
 sister, who had now no other protector; and to many of 
 the audience ^ was comprehensible that the new bary- 
 tone's voice should tremble as he uttered the words, " Mia 
 madre piu non e. ' ' 
 
 Already he had the sympathies of the house, but the 
 test of his success would be in the song, " Dio Possente, " 
 and for this Piale waited in trembling expectation. He 
 need not have feared, however. Not one of the audience 
 had ever heard anything to equal the devotional fervor of 
 the prayer for Margherita's safe-keeping, or the manly 
 outburst of martial ardor succeeding it; the song, both in 
 conception and rendering, was perfect; and the Italian 
 audience, which would not have scrupled mercilessly to 
 hiss him had he not altogether pleased them, broke into 
 applause so enthusiastic that Piale hardly knew whether 
 to laugh or to cry, so great was his emotion. The song 
 was vehemently encored, and Carlo's reputation was 
 established. 
 
 Even when he was not singing his was the figure upon 
 which all eyes rested, for he was the one man on the stage 
 who was actually living his part ; while, in the scene where 
 he drove back Mephistopheles with his cross-handled sword 
 uplifted, and sheltered the retreat of the soldiers, his im- 
 passioned assurance that the cross was all-powerful against 
 evil stirred every heart. 
 
 " That is a piece of symbolism quite after Carlo's fancy," 
 remarked Enrico Ritter. But for once he did not grumble 
 at the attack on his beloved theory of egoism. He joined 
 in the tumult of applause ; and when, at the close of the 
 act, the new barytone was called again and again before 
 the curtain, Enrico felt a thrill of pleasure which he did 
 not take the trouble to analyze. 
 
 Meanwhile, Carlo was like a different being; he knew 
 that he had truly found his vocation. The music, the suc- 
 cess, the applause, had excited him to the highest pitch, 
 and the sympathy he met with from every one astonished 
 him. Only Gomez held sulkily aloof and said not a word, 
 but the rest were warm in their congratulations. Merlino, 
 with the triumphant sense of having secured a first-rate 
 singer at an unusually small salary, was quite benevolent 
 and fatherly; while, perhaps, Domeuiea Borelli's words 
 pleased him more than all. 
 
KNIGHT- ERRANT. 133 
 
 "You are the first real actor I have ever sung with, 
 signer,'* she said, in her grave, low voice. "You have 
 taught me much to-night." 
 
 Piale was at last persuaded to return to his place in the 
 audience; and, as Sardoni was pretty constantly on the 
 stage, Carlo was left to himself during his rather long 
 waiting time. He was glad to be alone ; he wanted time to 
 realize the great happiness which was still left for him in 
 his darkened life. The sense of having given pleasure to 
 those hundreds of people was in its novelty almost over- 
 powering; and yet, in all his excitement and happiness, 
 there was an undercurrent of fear, which made him again 
 and again repeat the words, " Not only with our lips, but 
 in our lives." 
 
 For though an artist has his triumphs, yet there must 
 always mingle with them the humbling perception of his 
 own incompleteness, the sense that as yet his personal life 
 is far from being the " true poem " he wishes it to be. 
 
 There were other thoughts, too, which made him grave ; 
 this night's work might, he hoped, prove to be one good, 
 decisive blow in the warfare he was waging for Anita's de- 
 liverance, but it also meant his more complete severance 
 from Francesca; with a sigh he wondered if any news oi 
 his success would reach her. 
 
 All his nervousness had now disappeared, and when once 
 more he went to the wings his heart beat high with hope, 
 and the inspiriting march roused every soldierly instinct 
 within him, contrasting strangely with the Kermesse Cho- 
 rus which had so jarred upon him as he waited for his first 
 entrance. 
 
 Once more his acting carried all before it. The pathos 
 of his happy ignorance, his eager welcome of Siebel, and 
 his breathless inquiry for Margherita, his utter absence of 
 suspicion, and his martial enthusiasm, appealed to every- 
 one. Then, when at last Siebel contrived to hint to him 
 that all was not well, his agony of suspense as he ques- 
 tioned the boy, and his grief and despair when he learned 
 all the truth, though it could be conveyed alone by look 
 and gesture, moved the people to tears. 
 
 Merlino's creditable rendering of the "Serenata" re- 
 ceived less notice than might have been expected ; but the 
 audience were eagerly awaiting the reappearance of the 
 debutant, and the passionate indignation of his meeting 
 with Faust and Mephistopheles seemed to stir all hearts. 
 Other barytones had sung Gounod's music well, but this 
 man not only sang magnificently, but transformed him- 
 self into Valentino, giving them by his genuine dramatic 
 talent such a notion of the character as they never had be- 
 fore, and out of a comparatively small part creating tho 
 
134 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 chief interest of the opera. Breathlessly they watched the 
 duel, which, for once, seemed real and life-like. The 
 avenger had the sympathies of the house, and when, mor- 
 tally wounded, he staggered to his feet again in pursuit of 
 his foe only to fall a second time, there were few dry eyes 
 in the theater, for into the mere dumb action he had in- 
 fused a rare pathos, and had made them understand the 
 strong vitality that yet lingered in the dying soldier. 
 
 Both the singing and the acting in the death- scene were 
 exceptionally fine; the mingling of wrath and grief, 
 denunciation and reproachful love, which he managed to 
 convey in his last words with Margherita, appealed to all, 
 while at the end he produced a novel effect. With panting 
 breath, and with more of sorrow than of anger, he sang 
 " Tu morrai tra cenci vil." Then, suddenly diverted from 
 the present, he pressed to his lips the cross on his sword- 
 hilt which one of his fellow-soldiers held toward him, and 
 afterward turning again toward Margherita with a look so 
 beautiful that once seen it could never be forgotten, sang 
 with a depth of tenderness the brief "I die for thee!" 
 kissed her bowed head, with a sort of triumphant resigna- 
 tion gasped the last " Like a soldier I die! 1 ' and fell back 
 lifeless. 
 
 Feeling much more like Valentino's ghost than like him- 
 self, he went forward again and again to receive the 
 plaudits of the people; then, warned by Merlino that he 
 would certainly be called for at the close of the opera, ho 
 flung on his own hat and cloak over the Valentino costume, 
 and, with an irresistible craving for fresh air and darkness, 
 rushed from the theater. At the stage-door he encountered 
 Piale and old Florestano. 
 
 "Why, my friend," he exclaimed, turning to the fisher- 
 man, " you will miss the best part of the opera." 
 
 "It's naught to me now, signor." said the old man; "it 
 ended for me at your death. I'll take my boat at the 
 Piliero and be starting home." 
 
 ' ' I will walk part of the way with you, ' ' said Carlo. 
 
 And with Piale on his other side, he strode along, drinking 
 down deep breaths of the cool night air, and realizing with 
 a relief indescribable that the horrors he had been living 
 through were, after all, not real. 
 
 Never had hope been so strong within him as when he 
 parted with old Florestano and walked back with Piale to 
 the Mercadante. He had left behind him despair, and 
 gloom, and failure, they seemed to have died with Valen- 
 tino, while within him there had arisen a buoyant expec- 
 tationalmost an assurance that his work would not be 
 vain, that Nita would be saved. Francesca's sweet voice 
 to be saying to him aejain and again, " Pazienza! 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 135 
 
 Pazienza!" while the very first sound that reached him on 
 returning to the theater was the chorus of angels, 
 
 their ringing cry of lk E salva!" Then, when the final 
 chorus, ki Cristo risuscito" had died away into silence, he 
 heard amid the clapping loud cries for " Donati," and with 
 what the Italians call "una stretta al cuore," he led Anita 
 before the curtain, and once more received the plaudits of 
 his fellow-citizens. Behind the curtain, the very scene- 
 shifters and carpenters were eager to congratulate him ; 
 Marioni, the conductor, was ready to swear an eternal 
 friendship ; Merlino beamed upon him complacently ; Piale 
 shed tears of happiness ; and it became evident that Carlo, 
 for the time being, would prove the idol of the Neapolitan 
 world. 
 
 Next afternoon, when by sober daylight he read the ac- 
 counts of his first appearance in Enrico's office, his friend, 
 with a cynical smile, exclaimed, "Your head will be turned 
 with all this triumph." 
 
 And then suddenly there flashed upon Carlo the vision of 
 what he had forfeited. He was too simple-hearted, too 
 genuinely honest, not to enjoy to the full his artistic suc- 
 cess ; but he thought to himself there was not much fear 
 that the man who had lost Francesca Britton would be 
 dazzled by such delights as public approval can bring. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 '* Here once my step was quickened, 
 Here beckoned the opening door, 
 And welcome thrilled from the threshold 
 To the foot it had known before. 
 
 " Ah me! where the past sowed heart's-ease, 
 
 The present plucks rue for us menl 
 I come back; that scar unhealing 
 Was not in the churchyard then." LvweU. 
 
 THE summer season at the Mercadante was over, Piale 
 and Merlino were well satisfied with its result, and the Ne- 
 apolitans talked of little else but their new barytone. They 
 were justly proud of him, and grumbled sorely on learning 
 that he was to leave them for an indefinite time. Carlo, 
 during the series of representations, had studied hard, ap- 
 pearing as Bigoletto, as Count Rodolpho, as Plunketto, as 
 Griiillaume Tell, as Enrico, as Figaro in the " Barbiere," as 
 the Conte di Luna, and twice in his favorite character of 
 Valentino. It was with a feeling of deep regret that, on 
 the morning after his final appearance, he awoke to the 
 recollection that it would be long before he should again 
 sing to an audience of his fellow-citizens. 
 
136 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Gigi, who had a provoking habit of waking very early, 
 had for some time been amusing himself with the flowers 
 and wreaths piled on the table, and now, sitting on the 
 edge of the bed. was trying to crown himself with one of 
 the laurel wreaths, which continually baffled his efforts by 
 slipping down on to his neck. 
 
 'Never mind, my Gigi," said Carlo, laughing. "It is 
 too big for both of us. We must grow to our crowns." 
 
 ''Did they give them you last night? How lucky you 
 are! I wish people threw me such nice things." 
 
 " J throw them to you," said Carlo, making a long arm 
 and tossing one trophy after another across to the child. 
 
 Gigi laughed with delight. 
 
 " Will they always give you such a lot, do you fink?" he 
 asked, anxiously. 
 
 "No; make "hay while the sun shines," said Carlo, 
 adroitly throwing a wreath so that it alighted on the child's 
 brown head. "Crowns and enthusiasm will not be met 
 with out of Naples." 
 
 With a sigh he recollected that he had but one more day 
 left in his native country. His heart felt very heavy as he 
 wondered how long it would be before he again set foot on 
 Italian soil, and he began to consider what he should do 
 with the time which remained to him. Nita had promised 
 to go with her husband to see one of his relatives at Sor- 
 rento; therefore he was quite free to do what he pleased. 
 He lay musing sadly, glancing now and then at the funny 
 little figure on the other bed sporting about in the tiniest 
 of nightshirts among the flowers and laurels. 
 
 "Well," he reflected, "it will be a "black day for me. 
 I'll do what I can to make it bright to the child." 
 
 " Gigi,'' he said, " I am going to Pozzuoli to-day. Will 
 you come with me?" 
 
 Gigi sprung to his feet and executed a pas seul of ecstatic 
 delight. 
 
 An hour or two later they had reached the familiar little 
 town, with its domes and campaniles, its irregular white 
 houses, its groups of antiquity-sellers, and its air of quiet, 
 picturesque decay. Carlo wandered through the well- 
 known streets, feeling like a ghost returned to its old home. 
 
 Every now and then he would be stopped by some passer- 
 DY, and questioned and congratulated, but the return made 
 him realize more than he had yet done how entirely he had 
 separated himself from the past. Gigi was crazy to see 
 the boat-building, and they stood for some time on the 
 beach, in the very place that had been Carlo's favorite 
 haunt as a boy; then they made their way to the Villa 
 Bruno, and wandered about in the garden, and finely 
 to the house to ask for some water for Gigi. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 187 
 
 "I made sure you were the count, signer," said the 
 peasant in charge. " He said he should be coming to see 
 the place again to-day." 
 
 " What count?" asked Carlo, quickly. 
 
 " Count Carossa, signer. He has been twice to see the 
 valla, and they say he is sure to take it now." 
 
 Carlo knitted his brows. 
 
 Why did Count Carossa choose to settle down in so out- 
 of-the-way a place? If he wanted a summer-house, why 
 did he not choose one at Portici or Posilipo? And then, 
 like lightning, there flashed through his mind the recolleo- 
 iion of the count's eagerness to know Captain Britton, of 
 his prompt acceptance of the invitation to dine at Casa 
 Bella, of his evident admiration of Francesca. Even at the 
 time he had wondered sorrowfully whether Captain Brit- 
 ton's patience would long prefer the claims of a poor and 
 absent lover to the importunity of the dozens of wealthy 
 suitors who would doubtless besiege him with offers for his 
 daughter's hand. 
 
 If Count Carossa really chose that house a house which 
 in itself had no special recommendations he should regard 
 it as a positive proof that he was in love with Francesca. 
 And, if so, what might not follow? A vision rose before 
 him, which would not so readily have presented itself to 
 an Englishman, and he realized how attractive the hand- 
 some, wealthy nobleman would be to such a man as Cap- 
 tain Britton. He took up the tumbler of water which Gigi 
 had relinquished, and hastily drained it ; then he took the 
 child back again to the garden, and threw himself down 
 under the acacia, still with that distasteful vision before 
 his eyes, till a sudden recollection of Uncle George's fine 
 English face came to his aid. 
 
 "lama fool!" he thought. "Whatever the captain's 
 faults, he would never be false to the traditions of his 
 country. A forced marriage might well be among our 
 own people, but the English feel very differently about 
 such matters. Mr. Britton would do all that could be done 
 to prevent it, even if the captain had been too. much taken 
 by the title. And for the rest should Francesca ever 
 wish it why, then, there would be nothing to be said. 
 In that case" he smiled, because in his heart he was so 
 perfectly sure of her unchangeable love " in that case I 
 suppose I should wish it myself, since her happiness would 
 be mine." 
 
 With a sigh, he dismissed vague fears for the future, 
 but the undeniable sorrows of the present were not so 
 easily laid aside. Once more he lived through his lasfc 
 meeting with Francesca once more he recalled all that 
 she had said to him in the Temple of Venus, and then saw 
 
1 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 again in imagination the solitary, black-robed figure t*n 
 the deck of the Pilgrim. If only he could have borne it all 
 for her! But in that lay the really hard part of the lot he 
 had chosen; he had deliberately made the choice which in- 
 volved suffering, not only for himself, but for another. 
 
 It was hard, there was no gainsaying that ; it was hard 
 to think of leaving this dear, familiar garden, with its 
 lovely glimpses of Ischia and of the blue sea in between ; 
 it was hard to leave the place where his happy childhood 
 and boyhood had been spent; but it was far harder to think 
 that Francesca would be left with an aching heart in the 
 midst of all this loveliness, that the very beauty of the 
 place would but remind her of past happiness. But then 
 there came to his mind one of those golden maxims of Maz- 
 zini which had already done much to shape and color hia 
 life. " Ever act even at the price of increasing her 
 earthly trials so that the sister-soul united to your own 
 may never need, here or elsewhere, to blush through you 
 or for you. ' ' At least, he had tried so to act ; he had gone 
 forth in a good cause, and with a reasonable hope of suc- 
 cess. And yet even now his temptations were not over, 
 for, as he lay there in the shade watching Gigi, who was 
 chasing a white butterfly down the moss-grown walk, there 
 spoke to him the very devil himself, disguised under a 
 specious show of common-sense and worldly wisdom. 
 
 " Have you not, after all, been unintentionally unjust?" 
 urged the tempter. "Are you not making the innocent 
 suffer for the guilty? Surely there must be a screw loose 
 there injustice can never be right! A word of warning 
 to Merlino would have been quite enough to induce him to 
 send Comerio about his business. Why should Francesca 
 suffer in order to save Nita from a disagreeable scene with 
 her husband, which she deserved? 1 ' 
 
 " But, then," he reflected, " I could only have told Mer- 
 lino through a deliberate breach of Nita's confidence. She 
 would never have trusted me again ; she would never have 
 understood that I longed to help her ; Comerio would have 
 seemed her only protector; she would have been driven 
 desperate, and would have gone to him. Would not Fran- 
 cesca have had cause to blush for them then? There could 
 have been no happiness for us bought at such a price as 
 that besides, it would have been willful disobedience to 
 what I was told to do." 
 
 It had been a sharp encounter, but he had worsted his 
 foe, and was left strong in the possession of that mens 
 conscic vecti which had helped to bear him up through 
 i Britton's insults and remonstrances, and Uncle 
 o anger. Moreover, there came +/) him one of those 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 139 
 
 intervals of comfort which make all sorrow worth while, 
 and he knew that it would be thus, too, with Franceses. 
 
 "San Carlo San Carlo!" shouted Gigi, tearing up the 
 path toward him. " I've caught it at last just you see!" 
 
 His rosy face beamed with happiness, his eyes shone, 
 and in his fat little brown hand he clasped the white but- 
 terfly. 
 
 " A souvenir of a happy day, and the first butterfly for 
 our collection," said Carlo, showing Gigi how to dispose 
 his treasure in one of the orthodox little boxes. 
 
 The child threw his arms round his neck. 
 
 "I love you so!" he exclaimed. " There was no collec- 
 tions, or treats, or anything nice at all till you came." 
 
 Before long, Gigi discovered that he was hungry as well 
 as thirsty. They had wandered along the deserted Baja 
 shore in search of more butterflies, and the only place 
 where food was to be had was the little Hotel de la Heine, 
 to which they accordingly repaired, Gigi sturdily climbing 
 the outside staircase, and entranced to find a number of 
 peasants seated at the inn table in the one available room. 
 It was afesta, they all seemed very merry, and though the 
 child could hardly understand their dialect, he liked to 
 watch them ; and, indeed, though it made Carlo feel, more 
 than anything had yet done, that his home was indeed 
 gone, this visit to the wayside inn was not a little amusing 
 to him. The breakfast itself was odd enough to make him. 
 laugh. First came some dubious-looking oysters from the 
 Lucrine Lake, and a long roll of sour bread of quite a ven- 
 erable age. Then came a dish of eels and spigalithe lat- 
 ter fairly eatable ; this was followed by maccaroni mashed 
 with tomatoes, which was quite beyond Gigi's fastidious 
 American palate; and, to crown all, there arrived an ome- 
 let soaked in rum, and a dishful of very grim snow to cool 
 the chianti, 
 
 "I guess it's the queerest breakfast I ever had," said 
 Gigi, at the close. 
 
 4 ' It is our last in Italy, ' ' said Carlo. * ' Come, let us drink 
 to our return;" and laughingly he clinked glasses with the 
 child, and pushing the flask of chianti toward the peas- 
 ants, begged them to share it. Then, to Gigi's delight, 
 every one clinked glasses, and all the peasants were eager 
 to drink with San Carlo ; and there was such bowing and 
 smiling and good fellowship as he had never before seen. 
 Aftervyard, amid much laughter, some game was begun, 
 and Gigi, seeing that they all seemed to be counting their 
 fingers, thrust out his brown little hand, to the amusement 
 of all present. 
 
 "What is it? Whatever are they doing?" he asked, 
 laugbing delightedly, just because every one else laughed. 
 
140 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " What! don't you know how to play mom ?" exclaimed 
 Carlo; "you shall be initiated. With your permission, 
 ladies and gentlemen, we will join your game!" 
 
 And so they did, and Carlo's enjoyment of the very mild 
 diversion would certainly have surprised any onlooker who 
 knew his story. 
 
 While they had been eating, a shabby-looking fellow 
 tvith a guitar had been playing to them, and a hungry- 
 eyed boy of fifteen had sung in a hard, tired, monotonous 
 voice, one after another of the familiar songs of the 
 country. 
 
 A sudden impulse seized Carlo, perhaps the doleful, un- 
 melodious voice annoyed him perhaps he only yielded to 
 his natural love of giving pleasure, but suddenly he sprung 
 up, motioned to the musicians to take his place and finish 
 the chianti, and, taking the guitar, burst forth into one of 
 his favorite national songs. 
 
 The host and hostess came running into the room to 
 listen. It was whispered from one to another that the 
 singer was none other than Signer Donati, the famous new 
 barytone, and the merry peasants listened entranced. 
 At the close there was quite a babel of thanks and ap- 
 plause. 
 
 ''My friends," said Carlo, "to-morrow I leave Italy, 
 and I have a great wish to hear once more Garibaldi's 
 hymn sung as I know you can sing it will you join in the 
 refrain ?' ' 
 
 44 We will! we will!'' cried the peasants, excitedly. 
 
 He struck a few chords on the guitar, and then broke 
 out into the soul -stirring hymn, and with one accord the 
 men and women sprung to their feet and joined in the 
 chorus. 
 
 Gigi, not at all understanding what it was that excited 
 every one so much, slid down from his place at the long 
 table and stood looking out of the open window across the 
 Bay of Baja, then glanced back into the room as once more 
 the peasants shouted the refrain. He wondered what it 
 could be that moved them so much, wondered why San 
 Carlo's eyes shone with so bright a light, and why there 
 was such a funny thrill in his voice as he sang the final 
 verse of the song a thrill which sent a sort of indescriba- 
 ble tingle through the child's veins and made the tears 
 start to his eyes. 
 
 " What was it all about?" he asked, as, after a chorus of 
 farewells and thanks and good wishes from the peasants, 
 Carlo took his hand and led him away from the little inn. 
 "What could i have been about, San Carlo, that you 
 should all look so eager?" 
 
 ** It was about La Patria" said Carlo, gravely. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 141 
 
 "Then that is why it made me tingle so," said Gigi, with 
 a pleased look on his comical little face. "I really am 
 Italian, though Signer Sardoni will call me a little Yankee. 
 They was Yankees at Salem, and I don't want now to go 
 back to Salem. I mean to be an Italian always, and stop 
 with you." 
 
 "What!" said Carlo, with a laugh, "have you proved 
 faithless to your old friends, the pigs?" 
 
 " I don't want pigs now that I have you," said Gigi. "I 
 hope I do hope they won't never send me back to Salem 1" 
 
 Carlo laughed. 
 
 "Since you are so fond of your country, it is a shame 
 you should leave it without seeing the tarantella danced. 
 Come with me, little one." 
 
 He led the child through o vineyard, spoke a few words 
 to a peasant girl who appeared to know him, and soon Gigi 
 found himself in a vast, gray, domed building, in which 
 Carlo woke the echoes for his an^ usement. It was an old 
 Roman ruin, called the " Temple of Mercury." Presently 
 the dark-eyed peasant-girl came back again, followed by 
 two younger and prettier sisters, and by an old woman in 
 a very dingy, ragged dress, brightened by an orange hand- 
 kerchief upon her head. She carried a guitar, and lean- 
 ing against the wall, she began to chant a monotonous air 
 and to play in excellent time, while two of the three bare- 
 footed girls began to dance the tarantella, relieved every 
 now and then by the third, who took her turn while one of 
 the beginners rested. 
 
 Gigi was delighted, and indeed the scene would have 
 had charms for most people the weird-looking old ruin, 
 which echoed loudly to the twanging guitar, the pictur- 
 esque group of peasants who had sauntered in to look 
 and listen, the stoical-looking musician, and the pretty 
 peasant-girls, with their exquisitely graceful movements 
 and their white feet twinkling through the mazes of the 
 dance. Gigi clapped his hands and danced, too, for happi- 
 ness, so that even the stolid old guitar-player nodded com- 
 placently at him, and the merry girls laughed and danced 
 with more spirit than ever, as if they enjoyed it with all 
 their hearts. 
 
 The remembrance of the scene lingered long with Carlo. 
 For days the familiar air rang in his ears, and the harsh 
 voice of the old woman as she chanted : 
 
 " E la luna mmiezu mare 
 Mamma mia maritame tu." 
 
 Slowly they wandered back to Pozzuoli, passing through 
 the familiar piazza, pausing beside the fountain under the 
 trees to speak to the philosophical- looking lame beggar, 
 who hd been a boy with Carlo, and was now eager in hia 
 
14S KNIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 congratulations. Then they made their way to the 
 tery, that Carlo might visit the grave of his father and 
 mother for the last time, and place upon it some of the 
 wreaths and flowers he had received at the Mercadante. 
 Gigi took much interest in this, and connected no sad 
 thoughts with the graveyard. 
 
 "I do so like cemeteries; I think they are such lovely 
 places," he said, happily. And as they walked between 
 t.he graves he trotted along, contentedly chanting to 
 ziimself the refrain of a game which he had learned in 
 America, " Here we come gathering nuts in May," so that 
 Carlo could not help smiling, even in the midst of his sad- 
 ness. 
 
 "There is one more pilgrimage I must make," he said, 
 as he drove back to Naples, "and you shall come with me, 
 little one you shall not leave Italy without seeing Carlo 
 Poerio's cap and blouse." 
 
 "Who was he a saint?" asked Gigi. 
 
 4 'He was a patriot, one who loved his country and su 
 f ered for it. And they shut him up in prison for years and 
 years, and treated him cruelly, and would have killed him 
 had they dared, only the people loved him so much." 
 
 " And did he get away from prison ?" 
 
 "Yes, he got agay. They were going to send him to 
 prison in South America, but he managed to escape, and 
 they never caught him again. MJ T father knew him and 
 loved him, and that is how I came by the name of Carlo. ' ' 
 
 " I wish my name was it too," said Gigi, wistfully. "I 
 wish they had called me after that brave prisoner." 
 
 "Never mind ; you were named Bruno, after my father, 
 you know." 
 
 " Was he a patriot?" 
 
 14 Yes, indeed he was." 
 
 "But they didn't put him in prison, did they?" 
 
 " No, but they killed him wounded him in battle. H 
 died for Italy." 
 
 Gigi looked awed, and with a sort of fearful delight 
 gazed up at St. Elmo, which they were approaching. 
 Carlo led him into the disused monastery of San Martino, 
 to the room which he had visited year by year, ever since 
 he was Gigi's age, and there, within a glass case, they saw 
 the red blouse and the cap which Carlo Poerio had worn in 
 prison. 
 
 Gigi heaved a portentous sigh. 
 
 " I wish they hadn't been so cruel to him," he said, wist- 
 fully. " How ever did he bear it. do you think?" 
 
 "He thought about freeing his country from the bad 
 men who were cruel to him and to the others ; he loved 
 Italy better than himself, caid thought only of saving her.'* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. US 
 
 "Did no one come and see how cruel they were to him 
 in prison?" said Gigi. "1 wonder God didn't send some 
 one!" 
 
 "Some one did come at last a brave Englishman who 
 was not afraid to speak out and make the world listen." 
 
 " Is that why you are so fond of Englishmen?" 
 
 Carlo smiled. ' ' That is one reason. ' ' 
 
 " What was the Englishman's name?" 
 
 " His name was Gladstone." 
 
 "It's an easy name. I guess I'll remember it," said 
 Gigi, to the amusement of a party of English tourists who 
 were passing by. 
 
 " It is a name very dear to Italians," said Carlo. " But 
 now, my Gigi, we must be going home." 
 
 "I'm glad we came to see it," said Gigi, taking a last 
 look into the glass case, "but it's a dre'ffly shabby old 
 coat, isn't it?" 
 
 " Come here," said Carlo; "there is one more thing you 
 must see." 
 
 They followed the English tourists and went out on to a 
 little balcony which hung right over the cliff, and from 
 which could be gained a most wonderful bird's-eye view 
 of Naples. The tourists went their way, but Carlo lin- 
 gered, looking with loving eyes at that vast expanse of 
 white houses, with its lovely background of sea and 
 mountain. Posilipo to the right, Castellamare and Sor- 
 rento to the left, and, out in the distance across the blue 
 waters, Capri, made yet more beautiful by a rainbow 
 which seemed to span it. How he loved it all ! How lin- 
 geringly his eye dwelt on the domes and minarets below ! 
 how wonderful that vast, subdued roar of the city sounded 
 in his ears 1 To leave this place was, to him, as bitter as 
 death. 
 
 Silently he walked back with the child to the Palazzo 
 Forti, found that Nita was still at Sorrento, and went to seek 
 Enrico, that he might spend his last evening with his 
 friend. Between ten and eleven Enrico returned with 
 him, and the two made their way together up the long 
 staircase. 
 
 u I wilt come in and see your friendly Englishman once 
 more," said Enrico, "and will say good-bye to your sister, 
 if she has come back." 
 
 But Nita and her husband were still out, and Sardoni 
 had gone to the San Carlino; Carlo, however, fancying he 
 heard his voice in the sola, entered quickly, receiving a 
 severe shock when he saw that Gomez was not, as he had 
 fancied, talking to the tenor. Seated at a table, facing the 
 Spaniard, was a man with a high, rounded forehead, from 
 which the closely cut hair receded SQ much that in profile 
 
144 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 the effect was most curious, so large was the expanse of 
 
 allid face, so small the expanse of dark, silky waves, 
 he nose was hooked, the expression very quiet/ the eyes 
 cold, but capable of lighting up, for as soon as the stranger 
 became aware of Carlo's presence a gleam kindled in them, 
 and turning to Gomez, he said politely, but with a smile 
 which made Carlo shudder, 4i Pray introduce me to my 
 rival, that I may have the pleasure of congratulating him 
 on his great success." 
 
 Enrico wondered whether his friend would refuse to be 
 introduced to Comerio. For an instant Carlo seemed 
 startled out of his presence of mind, and there was a per- 
 ceptible pause before he determined that his only plan 
 would be to ignore what he really knew to Comerio 1 s dis- 
 credit, and meet him, as far as was possible, like an ordi- 
 nary stranger. For Nita's sake he must control the anger 
 which the mere sight of the fellow had stirred up in nig 
 heart. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Gomez, with his usual stolid gravity, 
 "perhaps Signor Donati does not care to be introduced to 
 so formidable a rival." 
 
 The speech, which had been intended to put Carlo in a 
 still more awkward predicament, signally failed, for with 
 ready courtesy he seized it and turned it to his advantage. 
 
 " As a rival I decline to be introduced to Signor Come- 
 rio," he said, in the pleasantest manner imaginable. 
 4 'There can be no question of rivalry between a veteran 
 and a novice; but as a fellow-artist I am happy to make 
 his acquaintance." 
 
 He bowed. Comerio, with hatred in his heart and a 
 smile on his lips, bowed in reply ; the two men exchanged 
 a few remarks on musical matters, and before long Come- 
 rio took leave, owning himself beaten. There was un- 
 doubtedly something in Donati' s imperturbable courtesy 
 and fearless honesty which baffled his malice. 
 
 As Sardoni had remarked, however, Comerio was not a 
 man who could be beaten with impunity; he was a man 
 who would have his revenge in the end, even if he had to 
 nurse it for years, and Carlo felt this as he parted with 
 him, and understood why the Englishman had spoken so 
 strongly and had recommended caution. His foe was no 
 mean antagonist, there was a " no surrender " look about 
 him. a sort of indomitable persistence stamped upon his 
 pale face, and the future looked to Carlo darker and more 
 perplexing after that meeting with his enemy. 
 
 Enrico tried, without much success, to rouse him from 
 t:-is depression, and Carlo, fully understanding his inten- 
 tried hard to turn his thoughts to other matters. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 145 
 
 Just at the last he asked hesitatingly for the one thing 
 upon which he had set his heart. 
 
 "You will sometimes see the Brittons," he said, his 
 voice trembling ever so little; " write and tell me about it 
 when you do, amico mio" 
 
 " Of course," said Enrico, shortly. Then, after musing 
 for a minute over the situation, k ' Madonna Santissima ! 
 it makes me mad to think that both you and Miss Britton 
 should be sacrificed to such a fiend as Comerio." 
 
 "Write long, write often," pleaded Carlo. "Tell me 
 every thing the least thing about her." 
 
 CHAPTER XVITI. 
 
 FRANCESCA'S AUTUMN. 
 
 And did she love him? What if she did not? 
 
 Then home was still the home of happiest years, 
 Nor thought was exiled to partake his lot, 
 
 Nor heart lost courage through foreboding fears, 
 Nor echo did against her secret plot, 
 
 Nor music her betray to painful tears; 
 Nor life become a dream, and sunshine dim, 
 And riches poverty, because of hii. " Jean IngeUm. 
 
 " TELL me all about it over again, Florestano ; I think you 
 have made a mistake in choosing to be a fisherman. You 
 should have been a professional tale-teller. Tell it me all 
 over again from the very beginning." 
 
 The old fisherman pulled his red Phrygian cap lower over 
 his wrinkled forehead, shook back his grizzled locks, 
 glanced up at his brown sail to see that all was well, then 
 looked across at the sweet, eager face opposite him, and 
 felt willing enough to obey the request. 
 
 Neither the healthy life on board the Pilgrim, nor the 
 weeks among the Swiss mountains which had followed it, 
 had been able to keep the color in Francesca's cheeks ; she 
 was as pale as a lily, and almost as fragile-looking, but the 
 inouth and eyes were as sweet as ever, and betrayed noth- 
 ing of her story. She sat in the stern of the little fishing- 
 boat and listened to the old man with half -averted face 
 while they sailed homeward, letting one of her long white 
 hands trail through the water, and looking steadily down 
 into those dark blue depths, as once more Florestano re- 
 peated the story of Carlo's first appearance. 
 
 "GranDio! he is as good as a piece of bread!" ex- 
 claimed the old fisherman. "Who but he would have 
 thought of coming all the way out here to fetch a shabby 
 old fellow like me, and giving me a fine place at the theater, 
 where I could see as well as those who carry a heavy purse, 
 and are too fin* to walk on foot, and spend their days in 
 
145 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 idleness? He came, signorina, bringing with him the little 
 boy, his nephew." 
 
 "Was lie looking well?" asked Francesca, still keeping 
 her face turned away. 
 
 " Ebbene signorina! he was grave and quiet, doubtless 
 thinking of the evening; and, now I come to think of his 
 face, I remember it was browner than it was wont to be; 
 he had lost his color, being shut up so much studying." 
 Florestano could hardly help smiling to himself, because he 
 thought he had given these reasons with such an admirable 
 air of conviction. " But except for that he was just like 
 himself, signorina, just like. He would take an oar on the 
 way back to Naples, as if we were back in the old times, 
 and I was rowing him to school once more, as I did for 
 many a year in the warm weather. And then, when in 
 the evening I saw him stand on the stage, with all the peo- 
 ple praising him. and he looking so fine in his velvet dress 
 and hie sword then I did feel proud to think that only a 
 few hours back he had taken my oar from me that I might 
 rest a bit. He couldn't have treated me better, signorina, 
 if I'd been his own father." 
 
 ''And the people applauded him a great deal?" asked 
 Francesca. 
 
 "CappenJ you may believe me, signorina, the noise 
 made my head ache for days after. How he bore it 
 I don't know, but afterward, when they called for him, he 
 came before the curtain looking as modest and natural as 
 if he were but just an ordinary man in his own home, and 
 bowed as though he were pleased that we had found pleas- 
 ure in his acting. And when I went to thank him and 
 take leave I came upon him just at the stage-door, a*id he 
 said he wanted a breath of fresh air, for the theater had 
 been nearly as hot as the crater of Vesuvius; and he 
 walked with me down to the Piliero, till I could have 
 thought he had been a boy again ; he seemed so like him- 
 self that I could hardly believe 'twas he that had been 
 Valentino a few minutes since, with all the house crying 
 over his death." 
 
 " Then he acted very well?" 
 
 "He just made it real, signorina! Gran Dio! I can 
 never forget his face as he drove back the devil with the 
 cross, stepping out boldly before the soldiers as though he 
 feared naught. 'Twas fine to see the old devil cringing 
 and backing ! I can tell you, signorina, that I came away 
 that night believing in the old faith once more. There's 
 more in the cross than they would wish to have us think 
 down at our club in Naples." 
 
 Francesca thought she would have liked to tell her 
 father that story, but Carlo's name had never passed 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 147 
 
 n them since her betrothal had been ended, and 
 knew that she would not be the first to break the 
 silence. 
 
 Comforted and yet saddened by her talk with the old 
 fisherman, she was set down on the beach and made her 
 way through the vineyard to the familiar olive-garden, 
 where she found Sibyl helping two or three peasant women 
 to gather the olives. There was something which soothed 
 her in the silvery shade of those gnarled old trees ; she sat 
 down on the grass, leaning against one of the terraces, and 
 watched Sibyl's little blue-clad figure flitting hither and 
 thither, and the peasants in their somber stuff gowns and 
 gay handkerchiefs tied over their heads. Under one of the 
 trees a baby had been laid on a tattered old shawl, while, 
 close by, its mother, busy with her basket of olives, sang a 
 quaint little Neapolitan song to keep it quiet. The air was 
 quite familiar to Francesca, but she had never before 
 caught the words, and listened now attentively as the 
 mother sang: 
 
 "Ah! com' e bella la mia Bimba, 
 Quando payla e quando ride, 
 Quando meco ella deride, 
 1 sospiri del mio cor. 
 
 uesto giglio inamorato 
 imba mia chi t' hai la datcrf 
 O capisco t' el donava 
 L'innocenza del tuo bel cor. 
 Bella Bimba! Bella Bimba! 
 Tu sei P angelo d' amor." 
 
 The chorus, with its light-hearted repititions of " Bella 
 Bimba," brought the tears to Francesca 's eyes, but the 
 baby, tired of lying on the ground, began to cry, and with* 
 the natural instinct of helpfulness, which was, perhaps, 
 her strongest characteristic, Francesca sprung up and 
 begged leave to nurse it. Then, as she paced to and fro 
 with her little white-capped charge, hushing it to sleep 
 with one of Carlo's songs, she realized as she had never 
 done before that to tend the children of others is the sacred 
 right of every childless woman; and somehow her world, 
 which had seemed just before so hopelessly narrowed, 
 broadened out again, and looked less dark and dreary. 
 
 Presently the peasants finished their work and went 
 away. Francesca gave the sleeping baby to its mother, 
 and taking Sibyl's hand, strolled homeward. 
 
 " Why, who can be here?" exclaimed Sibyl. "Some one 
 talking with father. Look!" 
 
 Francesca' s heart leaped into her mouth, for she caught 
 sight through the trees of a Panama hat exactly like 
 Carlo's. In an instant a hundred wild hopes and conject- 
 ures had passed through her mind, to be all too quickly 
 
148 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 dispelled, for, as they drew nearer, Captain Britton cam* 
 down the path to meet them, and she saw that the Panama 
 hat belonged to Count Carossa. For a moment she could 
 not help hating him; what right had he to take Carlo's 
 house, to dress like him, to walk down that path which 
 was forever associated in her mind with the day of her be- 
 trothal? It was all she could do to greet him as usual. 
 
 "I find Count Carossa is going in to Naples this evening 
 to the ball," said Captain Britton, " so I have offered him 
 a seat in our carriage. What time had you thought of 
 starting. Fran?'' 
 
 Francesca had thought of going early and returning 
 early, but quickly realized that Count Carossa would 
 probably stay late, so she proposed that they should go an 
 hour later than she had first intended, and, without being 
 discourteous, managed to seem perfectly indifferent as to 
 the arrangement. The count was piqued by her manner; 
 she was the first pretty foreigner he had ever met who was 
 not willing to flirt with him, and he was determined to win 
 her. She was obliged 'to promise him a dance, to stand by 
 and look polite while her father invited him to dinner that 
 evening, and, later on, even to accept some white azaleas 
 which he brought with him from the Villa Bruno, not afe 
 all understanding that the mere sight of them would recall 
 to her the image of her absent lover, of whose existence 
 the count had no idea. 
 
 He was a good talker, and the captain was delighted with 
 him, while for the present he was very willing to spend 
 most of his energies on his host, leaving Francesca unmo- 
 lested, and enjoying the sight of her as she sat at the head 
 of the table, looking exquisite in her white dress, and with 
 the flowers nestled against her snowy neck. Something 
 had brought a faint tinge of color to her cheeks ; perhaps 
 it was that the count had asked her a few innocent ques- 
 tions as to the former inhabitants of the Villa Bruno, or 
 perhaps it was vexation at the thought that she had been 
 obliged to accept his flowers. She felt certain that her 
 cousin Kate would have managed to avoid accepting them, 
 would have framed some quick and dexterous reply, or 
 thought of a good excuse. But no way of escape had sug- 
 gested itself to her; to have refused them point-blank 
 would have been both rude and prudish ; and though she 
 disliked the count, yet she was too innately courteous to 
 tolerate for a moment anything which would needlessly 
 wound the feelings of another. And then, with a sudden 
 pang, some Italian phrase spoken by the visitor recalled 
 Carlo to her mind, and she remembered how short a timt 
 it was since he had sat in that very place at the table, and 
 fcbe tears would well up into her eyes. She liad become ot 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 14* 
 
 late, however, rather an adept in the matter of managing 
 tears. She knew to a nicety how far they might rise with- 
 out being noticeable, and both to her father and to the 
 count she seemed a self-possessed little hostess, only intent 
 on making everything easy and pleasant. 
 
 The captain had, with a ponderous effort, turned the 
 conversation from the Villa Bruno, but after awhile the 
 count innocently reverted to it. 
 
 "I suppose you, like all the rest of the world, were 
 taken by surprise by Signor Donati," he remarked, read- 
 justing his table-napkin, which had slipped out of his col- 
 lar, and failing to note the expression of the captain's face; 
 " they say no one had any notion that he sang at all, so 
 strictly had Piale kept him." 
 
 ''He never sang out of his own house," said Captain 
 Britton, trying desperately to make his voice and manner 
 natural, and not daring to look at his daughter. " But I 
 have heard him sing there. There was a song of Piale's 
 which he used to sing, Piale has written some very pretty 
 things, and this had the merit of having English words. 
 Let me see, what was it called, Francesca?" 
 
 He had seldom felt more flurried and uncomfortable ; ha 
 fancied the count could read all that was passing in his 
 heart, and in despair he tried to turn the conversation to 
 Piale's music, and appealed for help to Francesca, though 
 he knew that it was cowardly to do so. 
 
 4k It was called ' Love for a Life.' The words were Ten- 
 nyson's," said Francesca. " Do you read English at all?" 
 she asked, turning to the count. 
 
 Then, as he began to lament his ignorance of her native 
 language, her heart, which had been beating wildly while 
 she replied so composedly to her father's question, grew 
 quieter, and even felt a little glow of justifiable satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " I managed that rather well," she thought to herself. 
 
 Captain Britton, grateful for her help, and admiring her 
 calmness all the more because it contrasted with his own 
 blundering speech, seized the next chance for intervening- 
 with his favorite story of how he had met the laureate at 
 at Lord Blamton's, and by the time that was ended Fran- 
 cesca was able to leave the dining-room. 
 
 "After all," she thought to herself, "to hear his name 
 is better than silence. If father had not been there, if I 
 had been just alone with some one who didn't know, it 
 would have been a sort of comfort even to hear him spoken 
 of. I wonder if the count went to hear him? I wonder if 
 he really admired him? I wonder if he will perhaps talk 
 about him at the ball to-night? I hope he will, and yet 
 and yet, I half fear it. Could I possibly manage my face? 
 
150 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 If he praised him, could I look just as if Carlo were any 
 ordinary singer? If he found fault, could I help growing 
 angry? Why," she laughed to herself, but with more of 
 sadness than mirth, " Carlo's turning actor has forced me 
 to turn actress ! Oh, my love ! my love ! I wonder where 
 you are ! I wonder what you are doing ! I wish oh, how 
 [ wish we weren't going to this ball to-night! To be 
 forced to dance with a heartache is about as pleasant as to 
 be forced to eat with a headache." 
 
 But Francesca changed her mind when she entered the 
 ballroom an hour or two later, for the very first person 
 she caught sight of was Enrico Bitter. Hitherto, to tell 
 the truth, she had rather disliked Enrico, had even been a 
 little jealous of him, grudging the time which Carlo spent 
 in his company, and resenting his habit of spending long 
 days at the Villa Bruno. Now he seemed to her the only 
 man in Naples worth looking at, and she thought how de- 
 lightful his blunt, uncomplimentary, almost rude manner 
 would be after Count Carossa's veiled love-making, which, 
 with its familiar Italian, would seem to her like a horrible 
 parody of Carlo's. 
 
 When she came into the room Enrico was at the far end, 
 talking to some Americans whom Francesca knew by sight. 
 She felt almost certain that he saw her, and waited in 
 trembling hope for his approach: but he never came, and 
 before long she was surrounded by a little throng of wor- 
 shipers, and her card was speedily filled. When Count 
 Carossa had written his name there was only one vacant 
 place for the waltz which followed the cotillon. 
 
 44 Will you not let me have this one, too?" he asked, be- 
 seechingly. 
 
 She avoided his eager brown eyes, and glanced quickly 
 in Enrico's direction. He was making one of those pro- 
 found, awkward-looking bows of his to a pretty little Nea- 
 politan, and she felt a conviction that he did not mean to 
 ask her to dance. It was hard to be avoided by the one 
 man in the room whom she desired to talk to, and perse- 
 cuted by the one she most wished to avoid ! She felt angry 
 with Enrico and angry with the count, and though she sel- 
 dom asserted herself, her spirit rose now, and she said f 
 quickly : 
 
 " Thank you; I shall not dance after the cotillon." 
 
 s ' You are quite right; it is a tiring affair. But you will 
 permit me to sit out with you. signorina?" 
 
 " I wish his eyes were green, or gray, or anything but 
 brown," thought Francesca to herself, naughtily. "I 
 wish he was French, or German, or anything but Italian!" 
 Then aloud: "No, I don't think I shall make any promises. 
 But perhaps I shall sit out with the partner I happen, tt 
 
KNIGHT-EERANT. 181 
 
 choose in the cotillon. We will see how things arrange 
 themselves." 
 
 She smiled, and there was the least little touch of co- 
 quetry in her manner, for which she hated herself. But, 
 then, what was a poor girl to do in such a predicament? 
 Must she throw away her sole chance of hearing about her 
 lover for the sake of sitting out with his rival? If the 
 count was conceited enough to think that she meant to 
 choose him in the cotillon it was surely no fault of hers ; but 
 he evidently did think so, and she somehow felt vexed 
 with herself, and yet was unable to see how she could have 
 acted differently. She foresaw a time of trouble, since 
 men would be provoking enough to fall in love with her 
 face, and it was clearly impossible that she should go 
 about the world labeled with the notice, "This is to certify 
 that the heart of Francesca Britton is given to one Carlo 
 Donati, and therefore no lovers need apply." 
 
 However, she had not much time to think over the diffi- 
 culties in abstract ; she was obliged to dance and smile and 
 listen to dozens of pretty speeches, and, when most bored 
 by them, to reflect, ' ' Enrico is here, and will certainly know 
 all about Carlo. Enrico is here, and there is yet one chance 
 of a talk with him." 
 
 The excitement and the eager hope made her happier than 
 she had been for a long time, and, moreover, the mere ex- 
 ercise was doing her good and bringing the color to her 
 cheeks ; although she had hated the thought of the ball be- 
 forehand, she was too young and too genuinely fond of 
 dancing not to forget her grief every now and then, and 
 really to enjoy it much as Sibyl might have done. 
 
 All this time Enrico had watched her critically. At first 
 he had intended to ask her to dance, and to write and give 
 Carlo a faithful and particular account of every word she 
 had said. But when he saw her surrounded by admirers, 
 and dispensing her favors with the unconscious dignity of 
 a little queen, then something like resentment began to 
 stir in his heart, and he wondered whether, after all, she 
 deserved Carlo's devotion, whether it was even remotely 
 likely that she would be faithful to him. 
 
 He was angry with her for looking so lovely and for 
 smiling so charmingly ; with all his philosophy he never 
 once asked himself the question, how was she to help it? 
 He was angry with her for being admired by other men, 
 and angry with her for looking happy while she danced, 
 and he hugged his old conviction to his heart "There 13 
 no such thing as love in the world ! all is selfishness under 
 the sun." And yet, though he professed to hold firmly to. 
 his creed, he longed to-night to see it falsified; he would 
 have liked, at any rate, to think that his friend and the 
 
153 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 beautiful English girl were those strange exceptions winch, 
 according to the proverb, prove the rule. 
 
 At length the cotillon was danced, and the time arrived 
 when Frances^a, the acknowledged belle of the evening, 
 was seated in the middle of the room with a mirror in her 
 hand, while those who were eager to be her partners went 
 up one by one behind her, and looked over her shoulder, so 
 that their faces were reflected in the glass. If she refused 
 them she threw her handkerchief across the mirror; and 
 it seemed to-night as if no one pleased her, for one after 
 another was rejected, and Enrico was enchanted to see the 
 look of confidence with which Count Carossa had ap- 
 proached jher, changed to undisguisable chagrin as he 
 retired into the ranks of the refused. 
 
 4 'Go and try your chance," urged a voice in Enrico's 
 heart. But he reflected that it was well enough tp see 
 other men rejected, but not so pleasant to be refused one's 
 self. 
 
 "For Carlo's sake," urged the voice; "it is your sole 
 chance of talking to her." 
 
 Much against his own inclination he moved forward and 
 looked grimly down upon the mirror. His face was so 
 funny a contrast to all the worshiping faces which had 
 preceded it that Francesca could have found it in her 
 heart to laugh at it had she not been so happy and relieved. 
 To the astonishment of every one, including Enrico him- 
 self, she made the sign of acceptance, and with the proud 
 sense of possession his good humor returned, and he was 
 ready to believe nothing but good of her. 
 
 4> I thought you were never coming," she said, under 
 her breath, when talking was possible. 
 
 tk Did you wish for me?" he asked, in his cold, rather 
 sarcastic voice. "I thought you were far too well pro- 
 vided with cavaliers to care for so indifferent a dancer." 
 
 " You ought to have known that you were the one man 
 in the room I should care to talk with," she said, quickly, 
 stung by his tone, and by the perception of what he must 
 have thought of her. But the next moment she half re- 
 gretted her words, for Enrico's whole face changed, and 
 he lifted his eyes to hers with the look in them which she 
 could not bear to see, save in the eyes of the man she 
 loved. 
 
 "I thought you would tell me of Carlo," she said, de- 
 termined to speak out boldly, though she would have pre- 
 ferred a more quiet place for the talk. " Have you heard 
 from him?" 
 
 "Three times," said Enrico, recovering his usual man- 
 
 nor. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 153 
 
 "Ah! so often!" she exclaimed, with mingled jealousy 
 and pleasure in her tone. 
 
 They were interrupted for a minute or two by the neces- 
 sity of attending to the dance. In the next interval he saw 
 that the jealousy had given place to unclouded satisfaction, 
 and it was almost in the tone of her old childish days that 
 she said, " Oh, you will tell me all about him, will you not? 
 You are his friend, I know, and for his sake, you will still 
 be mine, I hope." 
 
 " Indeed I will," he said, very kindly, " if you will let 
 me. You never liked me in the old days ; I dare say I was 
 very disagreeable. ' ' 
 
 "No, it was my fault," said Francesca. "I was so 
 jealous of you because you took up^ the time, and I was 
 afraid " 
 now 
 
 glanced up 
 eyes. 
 
 " I would do anything to serve you," said Enrico, 
 cannot help still thinking of you as one who belongs to 
 Carlo, and for that reason your slightest wish shall be a 
 command to me." 
 
 "Thank you; you are so kind; you understand so well, 
 Enrico, " she replied, quickly adopting the tone of brotherly 
 and sisterly intimacy which he had carefully instilled 
 into his last remark. She was very grateful to him for 
 putting in that saving clause, " for that reason," and dis- 
 missed forever from her mind the fear which had seized 
 her not long since that Enrico was going over into the tire- 
 some ranks of her adorers. He was going to do no such 
 thing; he was going to be to her just the strong, kind, 
 brotherly friend she needed. 
 
 "I air. glad it is over," she exclaimed, as the music 
 ceased; "do let us get somewhere away from all these 
 people. Are you engaged for the next dance?" 
 
 "No," said Enrico, hardly knowing whether to be 
 amused or charmed by her unconventional frankness. 
 
 4 ' Ah, I am so glad ! for I saved it on purpose, and made 
 Count Carossa so cross. Please, please, sit out with me 
 somewhere, and tell me about the letters." 
 
 Enrico in his secret soul felt a thrill of pride as he re- 
 flected that the belle of the evening had besought him to 
 stay with her. Then all selfish thoughts faded away in 
 adrvii*-ation of the love which made shy, timid Francesca 
 so *nnocently bold, so delightfully unlike the girls whom 
 he was in the habit of meeting in society. 
 
 *Je led her into the conservatory, which was prettily 
 with Chinese lanterns, and here, at the far end, they 
 
154 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 discovered a charming little nook, "with a rustic seat half 
 hidden by ferns and flowering plants. 
 
 " I will send you the letters to read if you like; I could 
 always do that." began Enrico. 
 
 " No," she said, with a sigh, " I don't think it would be 
 right, for my father made me promise not to write to him 
 or receive letters from him, and that would seem like a 
 sort of subterfuge. But it can't be wrong to hear about 
 him now that we have met at last. Where did he write 
 from?" 
 
 ' k The first letter was from Malta ; he seemed fairly cheer- 
 ful, made great fun over the colorless island, and grew very 
 patriotic over his comparisons. I ant afraid he feels his 
 exile a great deal. You see he is such a thorough Italian; 
 all his interest? are bound up with the country. Then, 
 too. lie was a good deal pained because those idiots down 
 at the Circle of Social Instruction the club, you know, iu 
 which he had always taken so much interest quite mis' 
 understood his turning public singer, upbraided him with 
 his desertion of the cause much they knew about it ! and 
 called him frivolous and self-seeking, just as if they were 
 a parcel of English Puritans, if you will pardon the com- 
 parison." 
 
 Francesca sighed. "It seems as if all the world were 
 against him." 
 
 "But that is what such knights-errant must expect," 
 said Enrico. 
 
 "I can't see why," said Francesca, sadly; "of course 
 they would expect the evil to be arrayed against them, but 
 when their fellow- soldiers turn upon them that seems hard. 
 Still I think he was prepared for it; he counted the cost 
 before he set out not that that makes it any easier to 
 bear." 
 
 "Rewrote again from Gibraltar, where they seem to 
 have had a busy time," continued Enrico; "and then 
 again he wrote on board the steamer and posted the letter 
 in England, so they are safely there, though the letter, 
 being posted on landing, gave no particulars as to his first 
 notions of the country." 
 
 Francesca was silent for a minute ; the bare, dry facts 
 were so unsatisfying she wanted to know all the little de- 
 tails, she longed*so terribly to see the letters themselves. 
 Enrico partly understood, but found it impossible to come 
 to her help. ~ He had had no idea that it would have proved 
 so hard to give any coherent account of his friend's long 
 letters. While he" was racking his brains for some quotable 
 sentence, he became aware of voices at a little distance be- 
 yond their leafy screen; he heard the word "Donati," and 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 155 
 
 then, as the speakers drew nearer, the whole conversation 
 became distinctly audible. 
 
 "Well, his uncle is furious about it disowned him on 
 the spot. ' ' 
 
 "You mark my words, Badia, there's a woman in the 
 case. For all Donati's high reputation, I would stake 
 my life on it. These fellows who set up for being moral, 
 if once they are touched, go to greater lengths than we 
 should." 
 
 "For the matter of that," remarked the other, "it is 
 likely enough he should turn singer with such a voice ; 
 magnificent! the finest barytone I ever heard." 
 
 " Corpo del diavolo! you are as innocent as a child, my 
 friend ! Would a man throw over a fortune and a good 
 match and a profession to boot? Besides, see how quickly 
 it was all arranged? One week we were congratulating 
 him on being an avvocato, the next this fair unknown had 
 lured him on to the stage." 
 
 ' ' What about a match ? I heard nothing of that. " 
 
 " I assure you I have it on the best authority that he was 
 betrothed to Miss Britton, and left her for the sake of the 
 fair unknown." 
 
 * ' Capperi ! This is truly a chapter from a romance ! Let 
 me see, who was there in Merlino's company? The little 
 De Caisne, do you think? or Domenica Borelli?" 
 
 The reply was inaudible; there came a sound of laughter, 
 then the voices died away in the distance. 
 
 Enrico had been on the point of dashing forward to put 
 a peremptory stop to the malicious gossip, but the recol- 
 lection of Francesca's presence made him pause. To dis- 
 cuss the matter before her was out of the question, and 
 even had she not been there it would have been almost im- 
 possible to interfere to any purpose, so cunningly were the 
 falsehoods interwoven with the truth. He was so angry 
 that at first he could not spare time to look at his compan- 
 ion, but when the speakers had left the conservatory he 
 turned to Francesca, an indignant exclamation trembling 
 on his lips. The exclamation was never uttered, however, 
 for the sight of her face almost choked him ; it was bathed 
 in tears, of which she seemed unconscious, for she made 
 no effort to hide them; her hands were tightly locked to- 
 gether, and the tears rained down over her lovely pink- 
 and-white cheeks. She had not stirred since their conver- 
 sation had been interrupted, her face was still turned to 
 his, just as it had been when he told her of Carlo's letters. 
 Enrico longed to rush after the slanderers and crack their 
 skulls together ; he had never in his whole life fait so sav- 
 age and yet so tender, so eager to comfort and yet so con- 
 scious of his own unfituess. 
 
156 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 11 Don't heed those brutes," he entreated. '* After all, 
 you kno\v every public character is exposed to this sort of 
 thing, and really, upon my soul, if one were not so angry 
 one would be obliged to laugh at such an absurd notion." 
 
 Francesca did not speak, but she was recalled to the pres- 
 ent, and made an effort to stop crying. 
 
 Enrico thought she had never looked so lovely before, 
 and felt that her tears were making sad havoc of his phi- 
 losophy, and that, in self-defense, he must do what he could 
 to check them. 
 
 '"See," he began, in his kindest voice, "if you go back 
 to the ballroom presently, and people notice that you have 
 been crying, it will make an opening for more of this in- 
 fernal gossip." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she said with a quiver in her voice which made 
 his heart ache, "I had not thought of that;" and hastily 
 drying her eyes, she raised them to his, all bright and shin- 
 ing, and pathetic as the eyes of a little child in trouble. 
 Do you think it shows much now?" she asked. 
 
 Enrico was no lady's man; he neither perjured himself 
 to please her nor evaded the question by a compliment, ag 
 many would have done. He looked gravely into those 
 dark gray depths, and critically at the wet lashes f ringing 
 them. 
 
 4 'It does rather," he said; "but we need not go bacfc 
 yet, they are still dancing." 
 
 "How sad the music sounds!" she said, with a sigh; 
 " and yet it is a waltz I used to be so fond of. It seems aa 
 if those hateful words had taken the sweetness out ol 
 everything." 
 
 "Don't think of them!" exclaimed Enrico. "After 
 all, you know it is but the way of the world. People 
 would be dull if they did not invent little scandals of this 
 kind. Carlo has done an altogether unprecedented thing, 
 has actually loved his sister better than himself ; but the 
 world can't look into his heart, and naturally, after its 
 invariable custom, credits him with low motives." 
 
 " It is just that which makes it so hard," said Francesca. 
 " I didn't think they could have been so cruel; people, too, 
 who must really have known him. How can they how 
 can they think such things? All his life gives the lie to 
 it!" 
 
 There was a silence ; the music rang out more distinctly ; 
 it seemed to say to Francesca: "After all, 'tis a hollow 
 kind of merriment, but we are bound to go on. The fid- 
 dler is longing to get home to his dying wife, but he must 
 Elay on to the end! And the dancers have aching hearts, 
 ut they must dance, dance, and be merry. This is pteas 
 ure, you know the world's pleasure 1" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 157 
 
 "You see," said Enrico, "the world has always been 
 vry kind to you, and so you have been deceived. People 
 naturally make much of you, and that, of course, is pleas- 
 ant." 
 
 " I don't think I can ever enjoy anything again," said 
 Francesca, with the firm conviction of two-and -twenty that 
 the particular cloud in its sky is going to prove more pow- 
 erful than the sun. 
 
 But there was, nevertheless, some truth in her remark. 
 She would enjoy again, but never in the same way ; sho 
 would on joy as a woman, but never again as a happily 
 ignorant girl. 
 
 "Everything seems hollow and unreal," she went on; 
 44 1 have believed it all so much!" 
 
 "You must not let me convert you to my creed," said 
 Enrico, with a smile, "or how could I ever face Carlo? 
 It is an odd coincidence that while you, through this busi- 
 ness, get your first glimpse behind the world's scenes, and 
 are disillusioned, I, in watching you and Carlo, have felt 
 almost ready to throw over my pet theory of universal 
 egoism." 
 
 4 ' What arguments you and Carlo used to have in the 
 old days," said Francesca, recovering herself, and feeling 
 much cheered by his words. Then, with a little smile, she 
 added : " I have been talking just like a horrid old woman 
 we used to know in England. I wished her a merry 
 Christmas one day, and she shook her head and looked so 
 glum as she grumbled out 'Merry Christmas indeed! 
 There's no merriment in this world.' I do hope I sha'n't 
 grow like her. ' ' 
 
 Enrico laughed. 
 
 "I shall tell Carlo that story when next I write. You 
 will not allow me to send any message from you, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 "No, I can't do that," she sighed; "he knows I can't. 
 But oh, Enrico, it is such comfort to know that you write 
 to him. Write often promise to write often. ' ' 
 
 Once again they talked over all the news in Carlo's 
 letters; then, leaving the flowery retreat, made their 
 way back to the crowded rooms. Francesca was speedily 
 claimed by her next partner, and Enrico leaned medi- 
 tatively against the wall, watching the gay scene, and 
 musing over that pathetic complaint which the girl had 
 made to him: "They have taken the sweetness out of 
 everything." 
 
 Years after, if any one had asked him what was the 
 most touching sight he had ever seen, there would have 
 risen in his mind a picture of that gayly lighted ballroom, 
 and of Francesca' s sweet, sad face, upon which, spite oi 
 
158 KNIGHT-ERRANT> 
 
 all her effort?, there yet lingered the traces of tears. 
 Again and again she was whirled past him, her feet 
 flew over the ground, but her face always bore the 
 same expression, and he knew well that it" was only a 
 sense of duty which kept her up, and that she danced witb 
 a sore heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IX ENGLAND. 
 
 * And hast them chosen then? Canst thou endure 
 The purging change of frost and calenture; 
 Accept the sick recoil, the weary pain 
 Of senses heightened, keener nerves and brain- 
 Suffer and love, love much and suffer long: 
 And live through all, and at the last be strong? 
 ****** 
 
 Thou shalt need all the strength that God can give 
 Simply to live, my friend, simply to live." 
 
 On Art as an Aim in Life. F. W. H. MYERS. 
 
 " MorniJig News! Morning News! Shocking murder at 
 Mountford!" This cheerful announcement, in the harsh 
 shouts of a newspaper-boy, awoke Carlo, one morning 
 early in the autumn, to the recollection that he was in 
 England. He started broad awake in a moment from 
 dreams of France?ca and Casa Bella, and with a pang of 
 realization, to which he was now too well accustomed, 
 knew that he was altogether parted from her. and looked 
 with blank, hopeless, miserable depression round the un- 
 familiar hotel room. 
 
 It was one of those narrow, gloomy places of ten met with 
 in inns. At the foot of his own narrow iron bedstead, was 
 a second just as narrow, and- though the general impres- 
 sion conveyed was of meager bareness in respect to the fur- 
 niture, yet one felt cramped and oppressed by the propor- 
 tions of the room. 
 
 "Soles and whiting! soles and whiting!" sang a nasal- 
 voiced fishwoman in the street. And then, after an inter- 
 val, came a cry so extremely comic that Carlo burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "Are you awake, San Carlo?" exclaimed Gigi, appear- 
 ing, with the suddenness of a Jack-in-the-box, from be- 
 neath the clothes on the other bed. 
 
 " Giusto Cielo ! what can the woman be calling?" said 
 Carlo. "Gigi, if you love me jump out of bed and see!" 
 
 Gigi, nothing loath, sprung up and darted to the window. 
 
 "It's black things in a basket," he announced. 4 'Oh, 
 no\v 1 can hear what she says; it is 'Pickled cockles I 
 pickled cockles'.' ' : 
 
 By the time the cry had died away in the distance Cork 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 158 
 
 was grave and depressed again; he tried to live through 
 his dream once more, and to forget the distasteful reality, 
 while all the time he was listlessly watching Gigi in the 
 performance of his toilet, a sight which might well have 
 tickled the gravity of an unaccustomed observer. Neces- 
 sity had taught the little fellow to be far more handy than 
 most children of his age, and now that Carlo had instilled 
 into his mind the duties of cleanliness and godliness, his 
 business-like way of setting to work was most edifying, 
 beginning sedulously with soap and water, and ending 
 with the "Paternoster," which Carlo had taught him in 
 Italian. 
 
 The place seemed to grow less desolate as the child very 
 slowly and deliberately repeated the familiar words, and 
 Carlo's heart grew lighter. True, he had as yet made no 
 way at all with Anita, and the future still looked black and 
 unpromising, but at any rate Gigi was the better for the 
 change of barytones ; and what right had he to fear for the 
 result of work which he had begun in obedience to a direct 
 call? 
 
 " Perciocche tuo e il regno, e la potenza, e la gloria, in 
 eempiterno. Amen," repeated Gigi; then springing to his 
 feet, and relapsing into English, "May I go down and 
 play, San Carlo?" 
 
 Carlo patted the little brown head. 
 
 " Why, yes, to be sure, old man, take your soldiers and 
 play in the coffee-room. I'll be down directly !" 
 
 Once up and dressed he began to look at life from hi3 
 customary cheerful standpoint, and, with a curiosity which 
 was almost boyish, drew up his blind and looked eagerly 
 forth, for this was, in reality, his first glimpse of England, 
 since they had landed quite late on the previous evening, 
 in darkness and confusion indescribable. 
 
 " Capperi! what a land of chimney-pots!" was his first 
 exclamation. And in truth the prospect from the window 
 was one which to a Neapolitan would seem most extraordi- 
 nary. The room was at the back of the hotel, and on the 
 fourth story; it overlooked a narrow by- street and thou- 
 sands of roofs, and from every roof there rose these ex- 
 traordinary-looking chimneys : stout, red ones, tall and at- 
 tenuated gray ones, square ones, with blackened tops, and 
 here and there a grisly-looking cowl, whirling and creak- 
 ing in the most grewspme way. The sky was gray and 
 leaden, a strong west wind was blowing, and Carlo had not 
 stood many minutes at the open window before he found 
 that his linen had suffered severely from the smuts. 
 
 " What a melancholy-looking place!" he thought to him- 
 self; "if I stay looking at it much longer the blue devils 
 will get the better of me again, and that doesn't pay." 
 
160 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 He turned away, whistling " OdolceNapoli," and reflect- 
 ing that he would have some fun with Sardoni over his 
 first impressions of England. 
 
 Sardoni was down before him, and was half-way through 
 a substantial breakfast of ham and eggs, which reminded 
 Carlo of the English breakfasts that Captain Britton had 
 always refused to give up. 
 
 "You're late," said the tenor, nodding to him. "Had 
 you come down a few minutes ago you would have wit- 
 nessed a most interesting scene." 
 
 " I am late because I have been admiring the beautiful 
 view of chimney-pots from my room," said Carlo; "you 
 should have prepared me for them, they quite took my 
 breath away. What with the chimney-pots and the 
 pickled cockles, and the soles and whiting, I'm already 
 quite learned in English life." 
 
 " San Carlo, mayn't I have some of that yellow stuff 2" 
 pleaded Gigi, who had been watching Sardoni's operations 
 with hungry eyes. 
 
 " Yes, if you like; what is it?" 
 
 ' Man alive!" cried Sardoni, laughing heartily, "do you 
 mean to say that you never saw marmalade? No English- 
 man dreams of breakfasting without it. There!" he al- 
 most emptied the pot on to his friend's plate, " eat and be 
 thankful, and own yourself a convert." 
 
 " Delicious stuff!" mumbled Gigi, with his mouth very 
 full, and heaving a sigh of satisfaction. Then, as hig 
 elders laughed, he added, fervently, "I should like to be 
 always eating sweet things." 
 
 ''What has been happening?" asked Carlo, when the 
 child had finished his breakfast and had gone back to his 
 toys. 
 
 " Well, Marioni has been tearing his hair a little, and 
 Merlino has been swearing much. He got out of bed with 
 the wrong foot foremost, and I believe there is something 
 gone amiss with the manager of the theater here, or the 
 orchestra or something. I really didn't hear the rights of 
 it ; all I know is that he ramped and roared a good bit, and 
 that it ended with exit Marioni, left wing, tearing his hair, 
 and exit Merlino, right wing, in a vile temper." 
 
 " The fact is he tries to do too much," said Carlo. "A 
 man can't be in himself impresario, singer, and business 
 agent all at once. It's more than human nature can 
 stand." 
 
 "Certainly more than human temper can stand," said 
 Sardoni. 4 ' However, he is not likely to have more officials 
 than he can help, for he knows well enough that this En- 
 glisk tour is a frightful risk. And, for the matter of that 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 161 
 
 jrou are worth ten officials to him; you seem to me to take 
 pleasure in being his slave." 
 
 "I have liked him much better since I worked with 
 him," said Carlo. "There is a sort of rough honesty about 
 him, after all. I fancy that with a different education he 
 might have been a fine character. 
 
 "There's no denying, anyhow, that at present he's a fine 
 tyrant," said Sardoni. "It's my belief that you would 
 find excuses for the devil himself, Valentino!" 
 
 "Valentino" had become Carlo's nickname with the 
 company. One evening at Naples there had been a dis- 
 cussion in the green-room about an article in some journal 
 on the merits of the new barytone, in which his * k Valen- 
 tino ' ' in particular had called forth the warmest praise, 
 and was termed "a new creation." Gomez, who never 
 lost an opportunity of making himself disagreeable to the 
 new-comer, had turned to him with his contemptuous 
 smile, and said : 
 
 " 1 congratulate the Signer Valentino, and it is certainly 
 true that he plays the part as though he were to the man- 
 ner born." 
 
 To Carlo and Sardoni, who were the only ones present 
 who were capable of understanding the speech, a hundred 
 hateful innuendoes were conveyed in look and tone ; but 
 the others caught up the idea as though it had been a jest, 
 and Tarmini, drawing the sword which he wore in his cos- 
 tume of Ceprano, smote him on the shoulder, and, with the 
 most nasal of Yankee twangs., shouted. " Arise, Sir Valen- 
 tino!" 
 
 " Knight -errant, " put in Sardoni, seeing that it would 
 be well to let the Spaniard's innuendo pass for jest. 
 
 And so, like the "San Carlo" spitefully suggested by 
 Comerio, Valentino became a household word among the 
 troupe, and lost all bitterness, becoming, indeed, a sort of 
 symbol of the familiar teasing, the playful fondness, which 
 Carlo speedily won from his companions. 
 
 It seemed that Sardoni had not exaggerated matters in 
 speaking of Merlino's temper, for at this moment he en- 
 tered the coffee-room with the ominous double crease in 
 his brow and the dtirk look about his eyes, which always 
 betokened a stormy day for those in his immediate neigh- 
 borhood. At such times he was certainly a most repulsive- 
 looking man, and at first Carlo had felt that he could not 
 live with him, that the mere sight of him would be intol- 
 erable. By this time, however, he had somehow called 
 into existence a sort of fondness for his brother-in-law; he 
 had the rare arid enviable gift of seeing people as they 
 might hav-e been under happier circumstances, and the 
 still rarer power of treating them as suh, and so the con- 
 
16B KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 starit society of the impresario had been quite tolerable ttf 
 him, or only intolerable at rare moments when his natural 
 impatience overmastered him, and made him feel ready to 
 break with everything and rush back to a peaceful life in 
 his native land. 
 
 " So you're down at last," said Merlino, who resented it 
 as a personal injury if any one lay in bed after he did. As 
 he had an inconvenient habit of always waking early, 
 however late he had been the night before, his companions 
 sometimes found this trait in his character rather provok- 
 ing, particularly as with most people the career of an 
 operatic singer does not tend to promote the virtue of early 
 rising. 
 
 "I hear that Marioni has been in already," said Carlo. 
 "What has gone wrong?" 
 
 "Everything!" said Merlino, savagely. "I wish to 
 goodness that, instead of lying in bed till this hour, you 
 had been down at the theater in tho place of that block- 
 head!" 
 
 "Well, I will go now, if anything can be done," said 
 Carlo, ignoring the rudeness and unreasonableness of the 
 remark. 
 
 * ' Insomina ! Much good now! That is so exactly like 
 you, Donati, always ready with patience and cool common 
 sense over other people's difficulties I I know there would 
 be a cursed difference in your tone if the difficulty were 
 yours and not mine!" 
 
 Sardoni was on the point of breaking in with a remon- 
 strance, but Carlo gave him a glance which made him 
 hold his peace, and taking up a paper, he appeared to be 
 reading the leading article, though in reality he was 
 listening to his two companions. He remembered, not 
 without certain twinges of conscience, that Carlo had 
 been helping the baggage men and seeing after all the lost 
 goods of the troupe, when he himself had turned in on the 
 night previous; probably Valentino, who was always see- 
 ing after other people's worries, had been the last of the 
 company to go to bed. 
 
 4 'I'm sorry I'm late," said Carlo, "How has Marioni 
 managed to put his foot in itf " 
 
 "He declares the orchestra is not half ready, and he 
 has been quarreling with the manager about the rehears- 
 als." 
 
 "Ten to one he has made some mistake," said Carlo. 
 " The manager is not likely to speak Italian, and Marioni' a 
 English is," with a laugh "well, asking his pardon, is 
 really grotesque. Just think now, the other day at Gib- 
 raltar I heard him talking to an English violinist, and 
 bo said, 'What! not are here no lockomoteeves?' 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT, 188 
 
 poor fellow could hardly keep his countenance! And 
 then, too, there's no convincing Marioni that a gesture 
 conveys nothing at all to the ordinary Englishman; he 
 expects them to understand just as if they had been born 
 and bred at Naples." 
 
 Merlino smiled. 
 
 " There's something in that after all. Perhaps it is not 
 so bad as he makes out." 
 
 "If you think it would be any use I will come round 
 there with you now," said Carlo. 
 
 "Well, I wish you would," said Merlino, gruffly, "for 
 your English is better than mine. Oh! confound you! 
 Never mind the child ! He's well enough here. ' ' 
 
 Let me come with you, papa; I'll be so good so 
 1," said Gigi, who a little while ago would infallibly 
 
 ,ve burst into tears at the prospect of this disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Merlino, who really loved his son, was touched by the 
 entreaty, and made no further objection ; so the odd-look- 
 ing trio set off together, and Sardoni, throwing down his 
 paper, stood at the window and watched them down the 
 street with a comical expression about the corners of his 
 mouth. 
 
 " It's as good as a play to see how that fellow can turn 
 Merlino round his finger ! And all the time the old brute 
 treats him like a dog. I'm hanged if I understand how 
 Valentino does it, and how he keeps his temper, for he's 
 got a pretty hot one, for all his sweetness. Jove ! I should 
 like just to poke the devil up in him for once and see what; 
 he'd do. He's none of your milk-and-water saints or he 
 could never act as he does. ' ' 
 
 But if to Sardoni, who held the key to the enigma, Car- 
 lo's character and life were perplexing, to the rest of the 
 troupe they were altogether incomprehensible. Some of 
 them admired him ; others fojjnd his unselfishness conven- 
 ient, and did not scruple to trade on it; others were jealous 
 of his success, and suspected him of trying to curry favor 
 with Merlino; and though, before long, all except Gomez 
 had been so far conquered by the charm of his manner as 
 to treat him with friendly familiarity, not one of them 
 was capable of fathoming the beauty of his character. He 
 was merely, in their eyes, a pleasant exchange for Come- 
 rio a youngster who, at present, seemed unspoiled by his 
 success, a good traveling companion, who was always 
 veady to make fun of petty discomforts, and who seemed 
 quite naturally, and with an utter absence of ostentation, 
 to take upon himself the "dirty work " of the company. 
 
 It ppon came to be considered just "Valentino's way " to 
 yield" the comfortable seat in a railway -carriage, or to 
 
164 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 leave the better room at a hotel, to some one else, or with 
 an unconscious air, which was often highly amusing, to act 
 as safety valve for the impresario's temper. It was a very 
 convenient way, there was no doubt about that; and his 
 help seemed so spontaneous, and was so free from all sus- 
 picion of conceit or superiority, that it was indeed help 
 worth having. 
 
 Nevertheless, like the art of an actor, all this seemingly 
 natural and unstudied action was the result of sheer effort 
 and often wearisome consideration; it was merely that 
 Carlo succeeded, as very few do succeed, in veiling the 
 effort, and letting people perceive the result only. How hard 
 he found life in Merlino's company only he himself knew. 
 With Nita his great love helped him to endure patiently, 
 and Merlino came in for a share of this too. But with the 
 others who were not akin to him, who were, many of them, 
 
 Eositively obnoxious to him, it was otherwise. Nothing 
 ut hard struggling with his own temper brought him 
 through each day's difficulties. 
 
 Bauer would patronize him in a bland, superior way, pat 
 him on the shoulder in season and out of season, embrace 
 him in his fervent German fashion, and call him " Mein 
 Junge." And then, with his sensitive, artist nature all 
 untuned, Carlo would wonder to himself whether it was 
 pride or a right self-respect which made him inwardly 
 rebel. How far was he bound to submit to the patroniz- 
 ing familiarity of a greedy, conceited, irritating, under- 
 bred old German, whose presence jarred on him like a 
 false note? Sometimes he tried to throw a sort of careful 
 coldness into his manner toward old Bauer, but that only 
 worked mischief. Then he tried to carry off all the petty 
 annoyances with a laugh. This answered better; but, 
 after all, the weariest thing on earth is forced merriment, 
 and his own troubles were making him very heavy-hearted. 
 
 Agata, there was Fasola, the second barytone, with his 
 aggravating habit of reading a bitter meaning into the 
 most innocent remarks, with his contemptible jealousy, 
 with hie determination to be aggrieved. Genuinely sorry 
 for the man, and feeling that it must be hard to see a 
 young novice in the place he coveted yet could by no means 
 fill, Carlo went out of his way to help and please him ; but 
 Fasola, while accepting help readily enough, was the most 
 touchy and querulous of mortals, and always contrived to 
 be at cross-purposes with the new-comer, and to take 
 offense on every possible occasion. 
 
 Then, too, Carlo was always confronted by the difficulty 
 of how to be friendly, yet not intimate, with those who 
 were no better than they should be. Domenica Borelli 
 eeverel/ kept to the rule of not being on speaking terma 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 166 
 
 with any one of whom she disapproved ; but this way of 
 cutting the Gordian knot did not commend itself to him, 
 and he struggled on in the difficult endeavor to be courte- 
 ous to those who were altogether distasteful to him, to steer 
 between a weak tolerance and a priggishly expressed dis- 
 approval, to be true to his own principles and yet to avoid 
 anything like Pharisaism. Hitherto he had been little 
 accustomed to difficulties of this kind, for he had lived 
 very simply and in a perfectly harmonious atmosphere. 
 He was ashamed to find how the petty vexations chafed 
 him, and often felt inclined to throw up everything 
 and own that he had attempted something beyond his 
 powers. This was generally late at night or early in the 
 morning, when he was fagged and dispirited. But then, 
 again, he would take heart and begin once more, with 
 hope and courage springing up anew, and a sort of eager- 
 ness for the fray of which but a little while before he had 
 been so weary. 
 
 Sardoni was the only one who troubled himself to won- 
 der about the new barytone ; he could not have told why 
 it was that he had from the very first been so attracted by 
 him, but the attraction only grew more powerful the more 
 he saw of him, and his reckless nonchalance was fast melt- 
 ing away in the deep interest of his half -avowed friend- 
 ship. He could have laughed at himself for being so 
 absorbed in the study of a fellow- actor that his ordinary 
 pleasures palled upon him ; but there was no disputing the 
 fact, and when Carlo was near he was always conscious of 
 a sort of fascination which compelled him to throw off his 
 cold indifference, which roused him into a pleasant warmth 
 of wonder, and made him look and listen, and wait upon 
 Donati's utterances as though they were most remarkable. 
 And this, to tell the truth, they seldom were, for Carlo 
 was not particularly intellectual, neither was he brilliant 
 and witty ; it was rather that he was what the Italians 
 call " simpatica, " and full of an undefined charm which 
 made him as lovable as he was incomprehensible. 
 
 He came in soon after noon, looking fagged and much 
 inclined for a peaceful cigar. 
 
 "Have you been all this time at the theater?' 7 asked 
 Sardoni. 
 
 "Yes, two mortal hours of altercation; the manager, 
 the local conductor, Merlino, and Marioni, all in battle 
 array." 
 
 " With you as a go-between, I suppose, alternately used 
 and abused?" 
 
 "Something like it," he replied, laughing at a recollec- 
 tion of the dispute; " the whole affair really rose out of a 
 jealousy between Marioni and the local man. It sems to 
 
166 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 me that jealousy thrives like a weed in art -life I shall 
 soon be grudging you your superior parts, amico mio. ' ' 
 
 " You're welcome to the parts," said Sardoni, "if you 
 would make over a little of your superfluous applause to 
 me. However, I intend to be proud of you, and not jeal- 
 ous, for did I not hav^ my finger in the pie? And does not 
 Italian opera owe me a deep debt of gratitude for having 
 secured your services?" 
 
 At this moment Merlino entered abruptly. Though the 
 difficulties had been smoothed away by Carlo's mediation, 
 the dispute had very much ruffled the manager's temper. 
 
 "Where is Anita?" he asked, fiercely. 
 
 "I have not seen her this morning," said Carlo, fore- 
 seeing a bad time for his sister; 4k by the bye. how about 
 those letters?" 
 
 But Merlino with a grievance was like a dog with a bone ; 
 he would gnaw it, and worry it, and bite first on one side, 
 then on the other, and when at last you thought it was 
 safely buried he would exhume it and begin his operations 
 all over again. 
 
 "Not up yet, I'll be bound!" he exclaimed, wrathfully; 
 "it's abominable; she never stirs a finger to help me, and 
 everything gone wrong as usual!" 
 
 He strode out of the room, and doubtless opened the 
 vials of his wrath on Nita's head, for she appeared before 
 long looking very much discomposed, but with a resentful 
 light in her eyes which Carlo had learned to understand 
 too well. 
 
 All else would have been bearable enough to him if only 
 he could have won Nita's love ; but after the first day or 
 two, when she had really been grateful to him for saving 
 her from what in her better moods she fully recognized as 
 a sin, she had never felt or pretended to feel for him any 
 sort of affection. When alone with him, or when she 
 wanted anything done, she would often be civil and even 
 friendly, but when other people were present she seemed 
 to take pleasure in snubbing him, and never allowed him 
 to forget for a -moment that he was her junior. The 
 "elder sisterly " style of treatment is never very congenial 
 to a man, and it was particularly irksome to Carlo, be- 
 cause he and Anita had so very little in common. It was, 
 perhaps, this which made it so hard for him to win his 
 way with her. They had none of the happy associations 
 of childhood which form so strong a bond between most 
 brothers and sisters ; they had grown up apart, and when, 
 at rare intervals, Nita had returned from the convent, 
 there had been little love lost between them. At nineteen 
 she left home forever, and cast in her lot with Merlino, 
 and now, after an interval of five years, the brother and 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. Itf? 
 
 cistei were almost strangers to each other, and Carlo, 
 often in despair, struggled to break down the wall of di- 
 vision which seemed to have risen between them. If he 
 had been as indifferent to her as she was to him they 
 might have drifted on without much discomfort, but he 
 loved her, not only as the one specially left to him by his 
 mother on her death- bed, not only with the family love 
 which had first come to his aid in that time of numb grief, 
 but with the divine love which had given him power to 
 sacrifice himself for her sake. 
 
 It is often harder to understand the characters of those 
 closely related to us than the characters of mere ordinary 
 acquaintances ; our very nearness hinders us from taking 
 true and just views, and perhaps Carlo's love blinded him 
 to some extent with regard to Nita. He credited her with 
 virtues which she did not possess, and then was wounded 
 when in daily life she was weighed in the balance and found 
 wanting. He would say to himself, " Is she not the child 
 of my father and mother? Then how is it possible that 
 she should not at hear the really loving, really true?" But 
 he did not realize, as a dispassionate spectator would have 
 done, that, although Nita might originally have inherited 
 many good gifts, her life and education had been quite 
 enough to paralyze them. 
 
 In fact, her character was the natural outcome of a long 
 course of tyranny. Tyranny in the convent had first 
 taught her to be deceitful ; deceit had by degrees become 
 ingrained in her nature ; she had come to think of lying 
 as a very venial sin, and it did not in the least trouble her 
 to gain the ends she desired by crooked means. Was she 
 not obliged to outwit the tyrants? At her marriage she 
 had escaped into what she had imagined would prove love 
 and liberty, but in three months' time she had learned 
 that she had made a terrible mistake, and had sold herself 
 into a slavery almost intolerable. 
 
 When a woman makes so terrible a discovery there are 
 only two courses open to her either she must sink or she 
 must swim there is no idle drifting in such case. Nita 
 never attempted to love her husband, she never tried to 
 bridge over the differences between them; he tyrannnized 
 over her as was his nature, and she yielded in miserable, 
 slavish despair, fearing him and hating him with her 
 whole heart. So, inevitably she sank, and there was not 
 wanting there never is wanting a Comerio to help her, 
 Sardoni considered her heartless and commonplace, and so 
 she was, yet not so heartless as to be insensible to the 
 charm of Comerio's devotion when contrasted with her 
 husband's cruelty, and Commonplace enough to fall with 
 the greatest ease into the trap laid for her. Comerio's evil 
 
168 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 influence increased with a speed which alarmed her; she 
 stood on the very brink of the precipice, but yet at tho 
 supreme moment some blind impulse had made her turn 
 and rush back to her mother. Then she had thrown her- 
 self upon Carlo's mercy, had confessed all, and begged his 
 help; he had replied by the gift of his life, and now, the 
 danger for the moment^tided over, poor Nita felt a sudden 
 reaction, and wished with all her heart that she had acted 
 differently. In her worse moments she hated Carlo for 
 having ousted her lover; in her better moments she tried to 
 goad herself into a sort of gratitude to him for what he had 
 done; while often, in revenge for the humiliation of feeling 
 that he knew her weakness, she delighted in trying his 
 temper, and showing to the troupe that she had not the 
 least intention of joining in the chorus of admiration which 
 the outer world accorded to the new barytone. 
 
 Tyranny induces deceit, and it also engenders the desire 
 to tyrannize. Nita, who had been made so miserable by 
 her husband's overbearing nature, retaliated whenever she 
 could on Gigi, or on her luckless dresser, or, strange to 
 say, most frequently of all on Carlo. She was so certain 
 of 'his love, so sure that he would never fail her, that she 
 was not afraid to do this ; and at present the consciousness 
 that she could pain him was rather pleasant than other- 
 wise, it gave her a feeling of power which fiat^red her 
 pride. 
 
 " You seem to have worked up Merlino into a pleasant 
 state." she said, sarcastically, in reply to Carlo's greeting. 
 
 He disliked her way of speaking against her husband, 
 and tried to turn the subject. 
 
 " There has been a good deal to worry him to-day, but 
 all is straight now. We have been down at the theater; 
 it seems a better one than I should have expected." 
 
 4 'All is straight, you should say, with the exception of 
 the impresario's temper," said Nita, sharply, "I wish 
 you would leave him alone and not interfere; you only 
 make it a great deal worse for me," 
 
 Nita's unreasonableness was at times enough to madden 
 a man, and Carlo could not help sympathizing a little with 
 Merlino; he knew quite well that if he had not gone to the 
 theater her reproach would have been: "You never try to 
 put Merlino into a better temper ; you never try to smooth 
 matters for me." 
 
 He was silent, and Nita. who had hoped to stir up a dis- 
 cussion, finding it impossible to quarrel alone, walked over 
 to the window w^here Gigi was contentedly playing with 
 his soldiers, and without a word of warning swept the 
 whole of the miniature camo into its box. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 169 
 
 " Go away! we can't have your toys all over the place!'* 
 she said, giving him a vindictive little push. 
 
 Gigi, whose tears were terribly near the surface, burst 
 into a roar, and Carlo, who, on principle, never interfered 
 between mother and child, had much ado to keep silence 
 while the little fellow was ignominiously turned out of the 
 room. 
 
 " It's all your fault," said Nita, returning a little flushed 
 from the contest; " you make a great deal too much of the 
 child; he must be taught his proper place." 
 
 She sat down with her writing-case at the vacant table. 
 
 "lam going to the post-office directly," said Carlo, by 
 way of breaking the uncomfortable silence; "shall you 
 have any letters?" 
 
 " What affair is that of yours?" she asked, angrily. " Is 
 it not enough that my husband is spying on me all day 
 long? If you think I am going to put up with you as a spy 
 you are mistaken! It was bad enough before you came!" 
 
 And with an impatient gesture she gathered her things 
 together and left the room. 
 
 Sardoni, glancing up, saw the pained look on Carlo's 
 face, and was so stung by it that he could no longer keep 
 silence. 
 
 "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "if Madame Merlino were 
 not your sister I should give her a piece of my mind." 
 
 He was curious to know what Carlo would say. 
 
 Fora minute he was silent; then, stifling a sigh, he re- 
 plied, lightly, but not altogether without effort: 
 
 "You see those who cannot flog the horse flog the sad- 
 dle. Merlino has vexed her, and she uses me as safety- 
 valve." 
 
 "And Merlino appears to do the same; you are between 
 two fires." 
 
 " But with a good comrade to cheer me when I am down 
 in the mouth. Some day, amico mio "and as he spoke, 
 that bright, sudden Italian smile seemed to make his whole 
 face shine " some day I hope to have a chance of giving 
 as well as taking from you." 
 
 Sardoni felt choked; for some minutes he sat in deep 
 thought, then looking up quickly, said, in his abrupt En- 
 glish way : 
 
 " I mean to take you at your word. To-morrow is Sun- 
 day. Is there any rehearsal?" 
 
 " Marioni has arranged to take ' Trovatore,' with the or- 
 chestra and chorus, but he'll not need us." 
 
 "Good; then will you give me your company in the 
 afternoon? I have a disagreeable piece of work to do, and 
 should be glad of your help." 
 
 Carlo seemed really pleased by the request, and, in truth, 
 
170 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 his interest in Sardoni was a capital thing for him, and 
 helped to take him for the time being out of his own 
 troubles. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A RETURN. 
 
 " In vain Remorse and Fear and Hate 
 Beat with bruised hands against a fate 
 Whose walls of iron only move 
 And open to the touch of love. 
 He only feels his burdens fall, 
 Who, taught by suffering, pities all" Whittier. 
 
 "How dismal the place looks!" exclaimed Carlo, as 
 after servive the next day he walked with Sardoni through 
 the quiet streets, with their shuttered shop-fronts and de- 
 serted roads, to the station. ' ' A good thing, I dare say, 
 to have the shops closed and to give the people a rest, but 
 there is such a sleepy air about it all; they don't seem to 
 enjoy it." 
 
 Sardoni laughed. " Sunday afternoon is always a sleepy 
 time in England, I don't know why; I assure you the most 
 orthodox and energetic may be caught napping that one 
 day of the week. " 
 
 " They don't seem to know how to enjoy," said Carlo, 
 feeling quite oppressed, as foreigners always do, by the ex- 
 treme quiet. ' ' Ah, here comes a band ; that makes it a 
 little more lively ! Giusto Cielo ! what is this? A revolu- 
 tionary club? See! they have 'Blood and Fire' on their 
 banner; that's rather too strong." 
 
 " That, my dear Valentino, is the pet abomination of the 
 true respectable Britonit is the Salvation Army, a band 
 of religious workers.' 7 
 
 " They will at at any rate rouse up the sleepers," said 
 Carlo, laughing. ' ' They make it seem a little less like a 
 city stricken with the plague, I must say. It is cool to 
 criticise your national customs after being here so short a 
 time ; but really your Sunday does seem to me rather too 
 drowsy-respectable ; it has little of the festa about it. ' ' 
 
 "That all depends on your definition of & festa," said 
 Sardoni. " The average Briton, who has been religiously 
 brought up, goes to church morning and evening, eats a 
 heavier dinner than usual in the middle of the day for the 
 sake of sparing his servants, abuses the Salvation Army for 
 disturbing the Sabbatical calm, and nods serenely through 
 the afternoon over a volume of sermons." 
 
 "They read sermons to themselves, do you mean, be- 
 sides hearing two in the churches?" asked Carlo, with an 
 air of such ingenuous astonishment that'Sardoni burst into 
 
 a laugh, 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 171 
 
 81 Why, yes, to be sure; many of them wouldn't think it 
 Sunday without," he replied. 
 
 ' ' Poor things ! poor things !" said Carlo, with a pity which 
 to the Englishman was highly comic. 
 
 "One man's meat is another man's poison, you see," 
 said Sardoni. "But, look here, don't be too outspoken on 
 these subjects, for, to tell you the truth, your sort of saint- 
 liness is not likely to be understood by a northern people. 
 We like to take our pleasures sadly and our religion, too." 
 
 "We sang the 'Jubilate ' this morning," said Carlo, re- 
 flectively; " but certainly this doesn't look much like it." 
 
 " For goodness sake do hide your light under a bushel," 
 said Sardoni; "for if you come out with all these broad 
 notions in the place I'm going to take you to it will be all 
 over with me. I'm taking you as a sample of the troupe^, 
 and if you shock the prejudices of the natives you'll be 
 worse than useless." 
 
 " Where in the world are we going?" asked Carlo, look- 
 ing perplexed. 
 
 By this time they had reached the station, and for reply 
 Sardoni handed him his railway ticket. This conveyed to 
 him nothing at all, and in silence he followed his friend to 
 a smoking-carriage, and, knowing intuitively that Sardoni 
 did not care to talk, lit a cigar and gave himself up to the 
 enjoyment of the beautiful wooded country through which 
 they were passing. 
 
 Sardoni watched him silently. 
 
 "After all, I doubt whether he'll make any impression, 
 on them," he thought to himself. "Now, if he were a 
 stiff, churchy -looking fellow, with a cross on his watch- 
 chain and the ascetic type of face, there might be some 
 good in his coming ; or, on the other hand, if he were one 
 of your priggish-looking, truly-pious young men, then I 
 might gain a sort of reflected respectability. But there's 
 no classifying Valentino, he won't fit any of the conven- 
 tional notions. Imagine my father here at this moment ; 
 what would he see in him? Merely a very handsome Ital- 
 ian in a delightfully easy and comfortable attitude, travel- 
 ing reprehensibly on a Sunday afternoon, idly enjoying 
 the scenery and a cigar. And yet that fellow is a hero, if 
 there ever was one, and a saint of the real sort and no mis- 
 take. I could wish for this one afternoon to shake him 
 into the goody-goody mold though ; that, at any rate, has 
 the merit of catching the eye of the respectable and virtu- 
 ous, and getting a good deal more credit than it deserves. 
 Now, Valentino, looked at casually, might be anything. I 
 believe if he thought more highly of himself he would get 
 the credit he deserves, but, confound it, he never seems to 
 think of himself at all." 
 
173 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 They got out at a small way-side station, and, making 
 their way up a steep hill, found themselves on a wide, de- 
 serted-looking common, where here and there a solitary 
 horse or cow grazed, and where the mingled heather and 
 gorse, set like jewels in the smooth green of the turf, un- 
 loosed Carlo's tongue. 
 
 " How beautiful !" he exclaimed; " I never saw anything 
 { like it before. ' ' 
 
 Sardoni seemed pleased by his admiration. 
 
 "You see we have something beside chimney-pots in 
 England," he said, with a laugh. " Look there." 
 
 And he pointed to the rugged and rather wild-looking 
 hills in the background. These, however, seemed to be 
 much less to Carlo's taste than the smiling common, with 
 its near beauty and its glow of rich warm color. He did 
 not care much to look at them ; but the narrow winding 
 lane into which they soon passed charmed him, and he 
 seemed to find pleasure, which quite amused Sardoni, in 
 the high hedges with their tangled growth of blackberry 
 bushes, travelers' joy, and red hips and haws. 
 
 " A hedge like this is quite a novelty to me," he said. 
 " We have nothing of this sort. Do you know this part of 
 the country well?" 
 
 "I know every inch of the ground," said Sardoni. 
 " Down there to the right is the village look ; you can just 
 see the church-tower through those trees." 
 
 He leaned over a field gate and gazed down on the little 
 country place with a softened look in his eyes, which Carlo 
 was quick to note. 
 
 "This is Sardoni' s old home," he thought to himself; 
 but he only said, " It is a perfect little place, just like the 
 English villages I have read of. I'm glad you brought me 
 out here." 
 
 " We cross this field," said Sardoni, not quite in his nat- 
 ural voice. "I don't want to pass through the village, 
 for some one is sure to recognize me. This is where I 
 used to live, you know." 
 
 " And you are going home?" 
 
 Sardoni nodded. Just at that moment he could not have 
 spoken a word to save his life. 
 
 Carlo, too, was silent, but his silence was perfect sym- 
 pathy. It was the Englishman who first broke the pause. 
 
 "It's your doing, old fellow!" he said, rather huskily. 
 " I should never have come if it hadn't been for you!" 
 
 He did not explain himself, and Carlo asked no ques- 
 tions, only looked glad and surprised; and quickly putting 
 himself in Sardonrs place, said: 
 
 " Let me wait for you here; you had better be alone. "* 
 
 "No,' 1 said Sardoni, with a forced laugh. "Alone, 
 

 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 173 
 
 there is no knowing what I might do ; I must have you, 
 Valentino, to keep me up to it. I can assure you there'll 
 be none of the fatted- calf business. I'm nothing but a dis- 
 grace to them, and this is the hardest day's work I've had 
 for an age." 
 
 Glad as Carlo was at his friend's resolve to seek out his 
 people, he was sorely perplexed as to the part he himself 
 was to play. Naturally enough he felt that he would be 
 very much de trop in a family reconciliation, nor could he 
 understand how Sardoni could tolerate the presence of a 
 comparative stranger at such a time. However, he was 
 too unselfish to object on his own account, and wise enough 
 to let Sardoni choose his own way of setting to work. They 
 crossed the field, walked through a little copse, entered a 
 sunny -looking garden and made their way toward the 
 vicarage, a pretty gray old house with many gables and a 
 moss-grown, red-tiled roof. Carlo could guess how his 
 friend's heart was beating, as with heightened color he 
 walked steadily up the well-kept drive ; but Sardoni spoke 
 not a word till they stood in the porch and heard the bell 
 echoing in the quiet house. Then he turned to his com- 
 panion and said, with a touch of his ordinary jesting tone: 
 
 " The cat will be out of the bag at last my name will no 
 longer be a secret !' ' 
 
 As he spoke, steps were heard within, and through the 
 half- glass door they could see a neat maid-servant crossing 
 the hall. Sardoni was relieved to see a strange face ; it 
 would have humiliated him dreadfully to be recognized by 
 the parlor-maid. 
 
 "Is Mr. Postlethwayte at home?" he asked, in his strong, 
 decided voice. 
 
 A look of perplexity came over the maid's face. 
 
 "No, sir; there's no one of that name living here/' she 
 replied. 
 
 "What! is he gone, then?" exclaimed Sardoni, turning 
 pale. * ' The vicar who is vicar now ?' ' 
 
 " Mr. Stanley is vicar now," said the maid. "Will you 
 come in and see master, sir? He could perhaps tell you 
 what you want to know. You see, sir, I've only been here 
 in this situation a few days myself, so I don't know the 
 names hereabout." 
 
 "Thank you no I'll not come in," said Sardoni; and 
 he turned away and walked down the drive again with 
 never a word. 
 
 "Amicomior" 1 said Carlo, when he ventured at last to 
 break the silence ; " what can I do for you? Shall I go and 
 make inquiries in the village?" 
 
 They had by this time left the vicarage garden, and were 
 
174 KNIGHT-ERRANT, 
 
 in the little copse ; Sardoni threw himself down in the shad 6 
 of an old elm- tree. 
 
 "I wish you would, old fellow," he said, in a broken 
 Toice. 
 
 Carlo was just about to go when it suddenly occurred to 
 him that he should have to master that extraordinary 
 name which Sardoni had spoken at the door. 
 
 "It's stupid of me," he said, ''but I couldn't quite catch 
 the surname. Say it over to me more slowly. " 
 
 'Postlethwayte," said Sardoni, not turning his head. 
 
 "Pothelswayte," repeated Carlo, with infinite pains. 
 
 Spite of his trouble, Sardoni laughed. 
 
 ''You'll not ask me to call you that!" said Carlo, when, 
 after many practicings and corrections, he had at length 
 arrived at the right pronunciation. 
 
 " No, it's too crack-jaw a name for an Italian; besides, I 
 prefer to go incog, with the troupe. But I'll not be Sardoni 
 any more with you; call me Jack." 
 
 "One thing, ""said Carlo, as he prepared to go. " How 
 much am I to ask ?' ' 
 
 4 'Ask when my father left, and why, and where he has; 
 gone ; but give no reason for asking. Don't let them think, 
 you are my messenger." 
 
 Carlo promised to do his best, and, taking the path 
 pointed out to him by Sardoni, made his way through the 
 quiet little churchyard and across a stile into the village 
 street. For a moment he felt rather at a loss to know how 
 to proceed, and half afraid lest the villagers might talk 
 some unintelligible patois ; however, he went boldly up to 
 a group of big boys who were idling about and asked 
 whether they could tell him where the sexton lived. Their 
 dialect puzzled him not a little, but he managed to make out 
 which house it was, and walking through the pretty strip 
 of garden, with its hollyhocks and dahlias, knocked at the 
 door. A little bent old man, with a weather-beaten face 
 and a friendly but toothless smile, opened it. 
 
 ' You keep the keys of the church, I am told. Am I 
 permitted to see it?" asked Carlo. 
 
 sir; certainly, sir," mumbled the toothless old 
 man. " Fine day, sir! Step in a minute, will ye, sir?" 
 
 Carlo stepped in, and found himself in a snug little 
 room which smelled strongly of apples. The old man 
 took a couple of large keys from a nail, and then, with 
 a great effort, tried to reach his hat from a peg on the wall. 
 
 "Allow me," said Carlo, handing it to him in his pleas- 
 sant, courteous way. 
 
 "Thank ye, sir." said the old sexton, turning a kindly 
 look on the handsome stranger. "Time was when that 
 there hook warn't a bit too high for me not a bit, sir; 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 175 
 
 with the rheumatiz and old age, why I be agoin' 
 down as fast as my grandchilder be acomiii' up. ' ' 
 
 "You've been here a long time, I dare say?" said Carlo, 
 feeling rather like a detective. 
 
 "Oh! ay, sir; that I have, sir, that I have! Why, I've 
 been sexton here these forty years past, and born and bred 
 in the place, too! Six vicars 'I've seen in this here parish. 
 Our late vicar's son, bless him, he used to say, * Why, 
 Johnson, you're like the brook! Vicars may come and 
 vicars go, but you go on forever !' But lor' ! I never rightly 
 understood which brook it was he meant." 
 
 "Wasn't there some one named Postlethwayte here 
 once?" asked Carlo, bringing out the name with laudable 
 precision. 
 
 " Why, yes, sir. It was poor Master Jack as I was just 
 telling on. Aw ! he was a rare one for a jest, he was. The 
 poor vicar never held up his head again after he left." 
 
 "Did the vicar die?" asked Carlo. 
 
 "Aw, no, sir, he didn't die; he be alive and well, bless 
 him! But there was trouble with Master Jack the old 
 story, sir ; the old story ! a pretty girl to put him off his 
 balance; and then, when it all came out, he, just desperate- 
 like at the blame he got at home, made away with some 
 money that warn't his, and rushed off and was never heard 
 of no more." 
 
 Carlo could hardly have regulated his expression to 
 the casual interest of a stranger had not his profession 
 taught him to command his face and make it answer at 
 all times to his will. He was glad that the sexton was 
 silent fora minute while he fitted the key in the heavy oak 
 door of the church. 
 
 "That's a sad story," he said at length. "What be- 
 came of the poor vicar?" 
 
 " He couldn't stay here, sir; he felt the disgrace so bad 
 he went away to foreign parts; and it's my belief, sir, that 
 he had hopes of finding Master Jack, though other folks 
 said different. However, I never heard as how they met, 
 and the vicar he be back in England now, and I wish we'd 
 got him here again. Not but what Mr. Stanley is a good 
 young man in his way, you understand, sir; but he ain't 
 our old vicar, and nothink won't make him." 
 
 " Has he taken some new living, then?" asked Carlo. 
 
 "Ay, sir, he be just settled in since midsummer; the 
 parish o' Cleevering in Mountshire, that's his new sitooa- 
 tion, and not a patch upon this parish, as far as money 
 goes at least, so folk say. Now, sir, just you step and see 
 our monument. That's Sir Gerald Fitzgerald, as was 
 killed in the Civil War; Naseby or Marstoii Moor, I b'lieve 
 it was at any rate, the last battle before King Charles 
 
176 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 was taken. Belike you know, sir, how it was callei; I'm 
 not much of a scholar myself." 
 
 *' Nor I," said Carlo, not at all desiring to be put through 
 an examination in English history, and feeling extremely 
 shaky as to dates. 
 
 He stayed long enough to please the sexton, and duly 
 admired the village church; then, having gladdened the 
 old man's heart with a shilling, he bade him good-day, and 
 rejoined Sardoni, whom he found still stretched at full 
 length under the elm- tree. 
 
 He got up quickly as Carla drew near, and looked anx- 
 iously into his face. 
 
 4 'Well?'' he exclaimed, in the sharpened voice of fear 
 and apprehension. 
 
 "It is all right," said Carlo, reassuringly. "Your fa- 
 ther has got a new living. He is just settled down at 
 Cleevering in Mountshire." 
 
 " How did you find out? Did they suspect anything?" 
 
 " No ; but they spoke of you. I learned it from the old 
 sexton." 
 
 "What! dear old Johnson? Is he still alive? Did you 
 really see him?" 
 
 " He seemed very fond of you all, especially of you, and 
 
 making him suspicious; I heard well, what you wouldn't 
 tell me that day at Naples." 
 
 He looked up at him apologetically. 
 
 " Ton my soul!" exclaimed Sardoni, " you're the oddest 
 fellow I ever knew. You look as if it were you that was to 
 blame, not me !' ' 
 
 " I was sorry to know it, since you didn't wish me to 
 know." 
 
 "All right. Val all right!" said Sardoni, in a choked 
 voice. " I might have known it wouldn't turn you against 
 me ! As I told you yesterday, you would make*excuses for 
 the devil himself and so would old Johnson ! Tell me just 
 what he said." 
 
 They sat down again in the shade, and Carlo repeated 
 the whole conversation, Sardoni listening with averted 
 face, and nervously crushing in his fingers the fallen leaves 
 which lay on the grass beside him. 
 
 'As to the money," he said, when Carlo paused, "I 
 swear to you. Donati, I didn't know what I was doing! I 
 was mad ! if not, is it likely that, to escape my father's 
 blame, I should have done what the world would blame a 
 thousand times more? Embezzlement js m unpardonable 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 177 
 
 crime, but to ruin a girl is an offense very easily condoned 
 by society. ' '' 
 
 ''That's true to our shame be it spoken!" said Carlo, 
 with a gleam of indignant light in his eyes. 
 
 "I was mad desperate!" resumed Sardoni. "It all 
 came out at her death and I why I felt like a murderer ! 
 My father was not one to spare a fellow in such a case. I 
 couldn't stand it; to stay at home was more than a fellow 
 could bear ; I was bound to get away from him. And then 
 came a mad impulse to take this money which was within 
 my reach, and break off with the Old World altogether 
 and rush to America." 
 
 " And in America you met Merlino?" 
 
 " Yes. I got on much better than I deserved. But, 
 somehow, a thing like that makes a fellow think, and when 
 I saw the game Comerio was playing, and how helpless and 
 friendless your sister was, I couldn't help feeling sorry for 
 her, and angry to think that I was the last sort of man who 
 could help her." 
 
 " You did help we owe everything to you!" said Carlo, 
 warmly. 
 
 "Well, when your name was announced that day at 
 Naples, I had just an impulse to see you and tell you the 
 truth, and somehow there's a bit of the magician about 
 you, Val you stung me up far worse than my father had 
 ever done, and to some purpose. Holloa ! you are shiver- 
 ing with cold; let us walk on." 
 
 He looked back sadly enough at the old home which his 
 wrong-doing had desolated, then, turning away with a 
 heavy sigh, left the copse and recrossed the field. Carlo 
 said little, but took his arm, and, as they walked back to 
 the station, wondered in his own mind what would be the 
 wisest thing for his friend to do. 
 
 " We are not very far from Mountshire, I suppose, here?" 
 he said at length. 4 ' Shall you go there, or shall you write 2' ' 
 
 "Neither," said Sardoni. "I can't go through a day 
 like this again, Val. ' ' 
 
 "But if, as the old sexton thought, your father had been 
 trying to find you all these years? Surely you could at 
 least write?" 
 
 "And send him a play -bill?" said Sardoni, sarcastically. 
 "No, no; that idea of old Johnson's won't hold water. I 
 know my father better than he does. He's one of the best 
 men in the world, and also one of the hardest. I won't run 
 the risk of reviving the old disgrace in anew parish; I will 
 hold my peace, and be to every one except you just Sardoni 
 the tenor. ' ' 
 
 Carlo was sorry that his friend had made this decision, 
 but he knew that had he been in Sardoni' s place arguments 
 
178 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 would only have irritated him. So he held his peace, and 
 comforted himself with the reflection that in so small a 
 country as England the chances were greatly in favor of a 
 meeting between the father and son. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 \VIXTERY WEATHER. 
 
 " Come through the gloorn of clouded skies, 
 
 The slow dim raiu and fog athwart; 
 Through east winds keen with wrong and lie*, 
 
 Come ami lift up my hopeless heart. 
 Come through the sickness and the pain, 
 
 The sore unrest that tosses still; 
 Through aching dark that hides the gain, 
 Come and arouse my fainting will." 
 
 A Threefoca Varct. 
 
 THE autumn wore on, and the cold weather set in. Mer- 
 lino's company had become pretty well accustomed, how- 
 ever, to wintery weather during their American tour, and 
 no one suffered much, except Carlo, who, having never 
 left Italy before, found the English climate fearfully try- 
 ing. Unselfish as he was, he was by no means so devoid 
 of common-sense as Captain Britton thought him, and, 
 knowing how much depended on his health, he took all 
 possible precautions. He was not one of those short- 
 sighted and aggravating people who yeem to take pleasure 
 in prematurely wearing themselves out, and who give 
 their friends constant trouble jusc because their zeal out- 
 runs their discretion. There wa,4 in his character a strong 
 vein of that matter-of-fact good-sense which is to be found 
 in most Italians, though not in the popular English con- 
 ception of them. Sardoni was quite surprised when, one 
 day after " Treasury," he? consulted him as to the best 
 tailor in the place where they were staying, and then went 
 off promptly and ordereO a fur-lined coat which must have 
 cost considerably moiv than a month's salary, and which 
 proved the envy of all the other men in the company. 
 
 11 You are the mo&t inconsistent fellow I ever met," said 
 Sardoni. when the. coat came home; " you go in for a lux- 
 urious thing like that, and yet seem to be willing to go 
 without most things that other men care for." 
 
 *'It"s not a bad thing in coats," said Carlo, looking at 
 the brown fur with satisfaction: "and this is the first time 
 I've felt warm for a month. You see I really must get 
 rid of this cough, or I shall soon have a voice like a fog- 
 horn." 
 
 " Well," said Sardoni with a laugh, "I'm glad you're no 
 ascetic, for they are tod to live with, as I know to my 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 17 
 
 cost. There's nothing like it for driving a fellow the other 
 way." 
 
 But, spite of the fur coat, Carlo's health did not im- 
 prove; the constant traveling, the draughts on the stage, 
 the necessity of turning out every night, ill or well, in 
 rain or snow, and the constant strain of physical hard 
 work and mental excitement, all told on him severely,, 
 Nor was it possible for a man of his temperament to gtf 
 through all the suffering and grief of the past few months 
 without paying for it. It was not only the change of phys- 
 ical climate which told upon him; it was the change of 
 moral climate. 
 
 To have lived always with such tender, devoted love as 
 had been his at home, is in some ways a good preparation 
 for after-life, but it inevitably makes the plunge into the 
 loveless outer world much harder safer, perhaps, bub 
 more bitter. The world is the gainer, insomuch as it re- 
 ceives a loving, unsullied nature into its midst, but ta 
 the man himself the process is very painful ; he is, as it- 
 were, transported suddenly from the tropics to the arctic: 
 regions. Even Carlo's great success, which in itself was; 
 enjoyable enough, had many drawbacks, for it stirred up 
 jealousy, or perhaps won him admiration and small atten- 
 tions with which he would thankfully have dispensed. 
 Already he had proved the truth of Enrico's remark, "The 
 men will trouble you with their jealousy, because of your 
 success, and the women with their love, because of your 
 face." 
 
 There were endless little annoyances of this sort, which 
 in good health and spirits he could take lightly, but which 
 began increasingly to prey upon his mind, while every day 
 it seemed to him more difficult to put up with Merlino's 
 rudeness, and with the petty insults and hateful innuen- 
 does with which Gomez delighted to try his patience. 
 Sardoni used to watch him curiously at such times; he 
 never quite got so far as not to show that he felt pro- 
 voked, and this, no doubt, prompted Merlino and Gomez 
 to persevere ; for to badger an obtuse man is no sport, but 
 to worry a sensitive man, and see how long he will stand 
 it, is interesting to some people. Even Sardoni owned to a 
 kind of pleasurable feeling in watching these encounters; 
 more than once he surprised a look of vindictive anger on 
 Carlo's face, and always he could see that his color rose, 
 and that the blood must be tingling in his veins, for he was 
 hot- tempered, though he had his temper well in control. 
 Curiously enough, the only real outburst of passion into 
 which he was betrayed was due to Sardoni himself, not to 
 the cross-grained impresario or the malicious Spaniard. 
 
 It arose in this way. Christmas was over, and Mar* 
 
180 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 lino's troupe had wandered from big town to big town, 
 sometimes meeting with unusual success, sometimes per' 
 forming to wofully empty houses, or at best to houses 
 which had been "filled with paper." Carlo had by this 
 time become well accustomed to the life; he was familiar 
 with every face in that little moving army, with its curi- 
 ously assorted nationalities and its several ranks and 
 grades, its principals, its chorus-singers, male and female, 
 its leading instrumentalists, who had to supplement the 
 local orchestras; its stage carpenters, its baggage-men, its 
 dressers. Most of them were individually known to him, 
 many of them were his friends, while some had been won 
 over by Gomez into champions of the departed Comerio. 
 
 Toward the middle of January, Merlino had arranged to 
 take one of the London opera- houses, and give a series of 
 twenty performances, a project bold to rashness at that 
 time of year. The company betook themselves to various 
 drearj- lodging-houses in the neighborhood of the theater, 
 and Carlo, under very depressing circumstances, made his 
 first acquaintance with London and his first appearance 
 on a London stage. 
 
 It seemed as if everything conspired together against 
 him at that time; the weather was trying in the extreme, 
 there were heavy snow-storms, and then for days after the 
 great piles of blackened snow would lie on either side of 
 the streets. The dense, yellow fogs, and the utter absence 
 of sun. made him so miserable that life seemed hardly 
 worth living; while, to add to the physical discomforts, 
 his throat became so seriously affected by the climate that 
 he often hardly knew how to get through his work. Mer- 
 lino was in a state of nervous irritability natural enough 
 and almost excusable to one who was playing so risky a 
 game; Mademoiselle de Caisne, who traveled under Nita' 3 
 chaperonage, had fallen hopelessly in love with the new- 
 barytone, and was a constant thorn in his side ; while Nita 
 herself was so tryingly foolish and unreasonable that it 
 was ah 1 he could do not to lose patience with her. Things 
 were in this state when suddenly a far worse trouble arose 
 to threaten him. One morning, sorely chafed by some dis- 
 pute which had arisen, he, as usual, took refuge in silence, 
 and leaving Sardoni to continue the conversation with 
 Nita and Mademoiselle de Caisne. turned to the window 
 and took up the outside of the Times, glancing with no 
 special purpose down the columns in which concerts aiid 
 matters connected with the musical world are advertised. 
 He had taken up the paper casually enough, little think- 
 ing that instead of a distraction it 'would prove an addi- 
 tional care, when suddenly, and with a shock indescriba- 
 ble ft shock which for the time half paralyzed him, ho 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. li>l 
 
 read the words. "Signer Comerio begs to announce hist 
 arrival in town. All communications svith regard to con- 
 certs or other engagements to be addressed to Antico & 
 Co." 
 
 For some minutes he stood still, dimly hearing the voices- 
 in the room behind him dimly seeing the dreary street, 
 with its grim, smutty houses and iron railings ; then, with- 
 out a word, he folded the paper, left the room, and with a 
 craving to get away alone out of the reach of all interrup- 
 tions, made his way into St. James' Park. 
 
 Comerio had followed them ! Comerio was in England 
 in London at that very minute ! What could possibly have 
 induced him to come to London at this time of year, 
 save the one desire and intention of meeting Anita? The 
 news sent a sort of horrible flash of light across some of 
 the dark hints which Gomez had lately dropped. A mis- 
 erable feeling of utter hopelessness took possession of him ; 
 he had tried and struggled, he had given up all for the 
 sake of preventing this evil; he had borne shame, and 
 pain, and wretchedness indescribable, and here were his 
 
 Elans defeated. How could he hope to overcome so wily a 
 )e as Comerio? How was it possible to save his sister 
 when she refused to be saved? He could not even feel that 
 he had any influence with her ; it seemed to him that as 
 time went on she only treated him with a more contemptu- 
 ous indifference, or at times even with open dislike. Had 
 he given up all for her sake only to be hated by her in 
 return? Had he lost all that was dearest to him only to 
 fail in this attempt? 
 
 Those brief lines in the Times had fallen like a bomb- 
 shell into this life. 
 
 He had wandered miserably round the dreary-looking 
 park. The fog was not quite so dense as it had been on the 
 previous day; he could see through a misty haze the chill, 
 gray -looking water, and the ducks swimming about aim- 
 lessly, and here and there in the distance the outlines of 
 great houses. Presently he heard the Westminster chimes, 
 and he remembered how, long ago, Francesca had told him 
 of the words which belonged to them : 
 
 " Lord, through this hour, 
 
 Be Thou our guide, 
 So by thy power 
 No foot shall slide." 
 
 But he was too hopeless to pray, and the next moment Big 
 Ben warned him that he must hurry back for a rehearsal 
 of " Un Ballo in Maschera." He reached the theater, feel- 
 ing harassed and ill, and made his way to the greenroom, 
 where he found Sardoni, looking more cheerful than he 
 
133 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 had done for some time past, and with a mischievous gleam 
 about his eyes. 
 
 "You basely deserted me in the argument," he ex- 
 claimed, as Carlo entered; "but I'll have my revenge on 
 you! You're the most careless fellow on earth, leaving 
 diamonds straying about loose in a London lodging-house !' ' 
 
 Carlo, glancing down quickly, saw that Francesca's ring, 
 "which he always wore, was not on his hand. 
 
 " Where is it?'' he said, hastily, feeling annoyed that he 
 could have forgotten it even for a moment. 
 
 " Ah! that is the question," said Sardoni, taking him by 
 the shoulders in teasing fashion, and meaning to have a 
 little fun out of him before he yielded the ring, which was 
 on his own finger. 
 
 Unluckily the light at that moment happened to flash on 
 the diamond, and Carlo, in a sudden paroxysm of anger, 
 wrenched himself away from the teasing hold, and dash- 
 ing at Sardoni with all his force, took him so completely 
 by surprise that, before a bystander could have uttered a 
 word of remonstrance, the tenor had measured his length 
 on the floor, and the ring had been seized by its rightful 
 owner. 
 
 Sardoni had gone over like a ninepin, being utterly un- 
 prepared for so furious an onslaught ; he was angry and as- 
 tonished. 
 
 "What the devil are you after!" he exclaimed, as he 
 picked himself up. 
 
 "Jack, Jack I didn't mean it!" exclaimed Carlo, his 
 wrath spent in that one lightning-like flash, and shame 
 and regret overwhelming him as he partly realized what he 
 had done, and saw the look of grave inquiry with which 
 one of the officials belonging to the theater regarded them 
 as he entered the greenroom. 
 
 Sardoni was silent till they were once more alone. He 
 could not keep his anger in face of Carlo's shame and dis- 
 may. 
 
 "I didn't know there was anything particular about the 
 ring. Gigi brought it down from your washhand -stand ; I 
 only meant to chaff you a little." 
 
 "It was the ring which belonged to my betrothed," said 
 Carlo. "Not that that is any excuse indeed, I think it 
 makes it rather worse." 
 
 He was evidently so unhappy about it that Sardoni quite 
 lost all feeling of offense. 
 
 " Well, you know, old fellow, I always wanted to poke 
 up the devil in you and see what you'd do." 
 
 Carlo turned away with a sigh. 
 
 " I can't think why I did it ! I was beside myself. If I 
 bad done it to Gomez, now, it might have been easier to 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 188 
 
 understand ; but to you, Jack, you whom I'm really fond 
 of ! I can never forgive myself." 
 
 He was very quiet now, and sad and ashamed ; in all his 
 life he had never been guilty of such an unreasoning fit of 
 anger. 
 
 "Never mind, Val," said the Englishman, almost as 
 much surprised by the vehement regret as by the attack 
 itself. " I declare I like you the better for it, I do indeed. 
 Why, to hear you talk one might suppose you had meant 
 to murder me!" 
 
 44 1 meant nothing; that's the horrible part of it to me," 
 said Carlo. " I wanted the ring and to be free from your 
 teasing. There wasn't a moment to think it was all over 
 in a flash. How am I to tell that I mayn't murder some 
 fellow one of these days by a like impulse?" 
 
 "My dear boy !" Sardoni laughed till he was almost 
 convulsed " you, who wouldn't hurt a fly !" 
 
 4 'Well, you laugh," said Carlo; " and it's good of you 
 to take it lightly ; but I can't see that there's apin to choose 
 between me and the man who murders in sudden anger. 
 Anyhow, I know I can never be hard on such a murderer 
 again." 
 
 4 'That's like the story of the fellow who saw a man. 
 
 have plenty of that sort of thing, and little enough of the 
 devil's help." 
 
 4 'That's what I can't understand about it," said Carlo, 
 in the most outspoken way. He hardly ever spoke of 
 religion, but when he did speak it was with the direct 
 simplicity and naturalness hardly ever to be met with in 
 England save in children. 44 That's what puzzles me. 
 How can I say the 4 Veni Creator ' one hour and know it 
 is true, and the next turn upon my friend like that? My 
 blood was made hot just by that trifle." 
 
 At that moment the call-boy appeared to summon them, 
 but in the many and wearisome delays and repetitions 
 and scraps of rest, Carlo apparently had time to think out 
 his problem ; for as he and Sardoni walked home together 
 he said, just as if no rehearsal had intervened : 
 
 4 4 1 see how it was, Jack. I was horribly anxious, and 
 had lost faith ; then quickly into that vacant space steps 
 the devil, and presto I I am made to knock down my best 
 friend." 
 
 Evidently the whole affair was so graphically bfor 
 his own mind that Sardoni suppressed his inclination to 
 laugh. 
 
 M You are an old-fashioned fellow, Val," hetaid j " npt & 
 
184 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 all up to the modern lights, as I told you once before. A 
 fellow that does believe in the devil and doesn't believe in 
 divorce! My dear boy, you're an anachronism! But 
 what made you so horribly anxious? Anything gone 
 wrong?" 
 
 "No; of course it's all right; but at first it took my 
 breath away, and I thought all was lost. Comerio is in 
 London." 
 
 Sardoni gave a low whistle of surprise and dismay. 
 
 " Are you sure it is true? Who told you?" 
 
 " No one. I saw it in the Times this morning." 
 
 "What! while I was finishing the argument? You had 
 plenty of self-control, then, for you betrayed nothing at 
 all." 
 
 " II Diavolo had not then arrived on the scene; he joined 
 me in St. James' Park," said Carlo, with the utmost 
 gravity. 
 
 " I hope he is not with us in Pall Mall," said Sardoni, 
 mischievously. " It makes me feel quite uncanny to hear 
 you talk. Let un hope ho has left you." 
 
 u Why, certainly," said Carlo, with perfect good-humor, 
 and unconsciously borrowing one of Gigi's Americanism* 
 " I couldn't do with him at all on the stage. Hot cx>uld 1 
 have rehearsed ' Renato ' to any purpose if I had been wor- 
 rying over Comerio's arrival all the time?" 
 
 " Oh," said Sardoni, reflectively, "so you think that his 
 province is to make people worry?" 
 
 " To seize on every one's vulnerable point," said Carlo. 
 "I see now that to worry one's self and be overanxious 
 about others is a sin." 
 
 "One that most people consider a virtue, and love to 
 parade," said Sardoni, with some recollection of his old 
 home-life in his mind. 
 
 " Myself I never thought of it before, but it must be so," 
 said Carlo. " One needs a thing like this every now and 
 then to make one think. I hope you'll forgive me, Jack, 
 for having been in such a fury with you." 
 
 Sardoni laughed away his apologies, declaring again that 
 he liked him the better for it ; but it was not the passion 
 which made him feel this, it was the contrast between the 
 sudden outburst and Carlo's usual life ; it was the thought, 
 " this fellow is no weakly, amiable character, he is strong 
 enough to keep under this hot southern nature. After all, 
 there's hope for it yet if he, with such fire in his veins, has 
 managed to turn out what he is." He was far from troub- 
 ling himself to go into the matter in such detail, but this 
 was the real reason that he was so strongly drawn to his 
 friend after their quarrel. 
 
 Sardoni was not a little curious to know more about 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 185 
 
 Carlo's love affairs, but he could not make up his mind to 
 speak to him about the matter; instead, he threw out a 
 casual remark that afternoon, when it happened that he 
 and Anita were practicing a duet in the drawing-room 
 which they had to sing at night. 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Caisne is doing her best to captivate 
 your brother, don't you think?" he said, byway of leading 
 up to the subject. 
 
 "Yes, the little goose," said Nita; "it makes me quite 
 cross to watch her." 
 
 " Our Valentino doesn't exactly enjoy it either, I fancy, 7 ' 
 said Sardoni. "I understand from him that he was to 
 have been married at one time." 
 
 "Yes, he was betrothed to Miss Britton, an English girl 
 who lived near us. It was broken off when he went on 
 the stage. In some ways it is rather a pity, for she was 
 well off, and he'll not find such a pretty girl again in a 
 hurry. But, after all, as I told him only the other day, 
 these marriages with foreigners seldom turn out really 
 well." 
 
 "What did he say to that?" asked Sardoni, marveling 
 at the indifferent way in which she spoke of the sacrifice 
 which she must have known had been made for her sake. 
 
 " Oh, he said nothing at all, only blushed up like a girl, 
 and looked as he always does when I say what he doesn't 
 like." 
 
 While she was speaking the door was thrown open, and 
 the servant announced "Signer Comerio." Sardoni, 
 charmed to think how Comerio would hate him for being in 
 the way, greeted him in the friendliest manner,- and de- 
 termined to stay and be hated to the bitter end ; he could 
 see from Anita's manner that she was not wholly unpre- 
 pared for Comerio' s sudden appearance. 
 
 "But I interrupt a tete-a-tete," said Comerio, in his soft, 
 flattering voice. "What did I hear from Madame Mer- 
 linp's lips? * When I say what he doesn't like!' Does our 
 prima donna ever say anything distasteful to mankind?" 
 
 Nita laughed. 
 
 "We were talking of my brother," she said, taking her 
 revenge on Sardoni for not at once going away by saying 
 what she knew would vex him. " I was trying to per- 
 suade him the other day that it was just as well his engage- 
 ment with Miss Britton was broken off, and naturally he 
 didn't like it." 
 
 Sardoni bit his lip. He would have given much to have 
 refrained from introducing the subject, and he thought 
 Madame Merlino showed very bad taste in speaking or it 
 before Comerio, while, to make matters worse, Carlo hap- 
 pened just then to come into the room. 
 
186 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Now, Comerio had his back to the door, but he could see 
 all that was passing in the mirror, and he was quick to 
 seize the opportunity of wounding his foe. 
 
 11 Miss Britton, the beautiful English girl!" he exclaimed. 
 " Yes, yes; I saw her only the other day. She's quite the 
 rage just now at Naples. ' ' 
 
 Sardpni glanced from the cold, clever, cruel face of 
 Comerio to the face of his friend. The words evidently 
 stung Carlo. He paused for a minute with his hand on 
 the door, but quickly regaining a composure that under 
 the circumstances was masterly, he came forward, greeted 
 Comerio in his ceremonious Italian way, and contrived to 
 keep the conversation pretty much in his own hands 
 throughout the call. Sardoni, in his careless, easy fashion, 
 helped him not a little by making a running fire of jests 
 and bad puns, while all the time he was studying that 
 strange trio who beneath his eyes were acting so grave a 
 drama Nita, nervous and excited ; Comerio, with his con- 
 temptible hatred and contemptible love showing occasion- 
 ally through the thin veneer of ordinary politeness ; and 
 the Knight-errant himself, with his manly, alert-looking 
 face, and his enviable way of saying the right thing at the 
 right minute. 
 
 Certainly, Comerio gained little that afternoon ; but his 
 pursuit had unsettled Anita, and though Carlo could not 
 make out that she saw him except every now and then in 
 the greenroom when many others were present, yet he 
 knew that there had never been a time when his hopes had 
 so nearly been defeated. 
 
 It was some relief to get away from London, for in the 
 provinces he felt that the sword of Damocles was not so 
 immediately above them. In the meantime, however, his 
 cough grew worse, and he began to look very delicate at 
 least, so thought Gomez and Sardoni, the only two people 
 who really watched him. 
 
 It was one night at Birmingham that Gomez managed to 
 give his enemy the sharpest stab he had yet delivered. 
 For some days Carlo had heen in wretched voice, and on 
 this particular evening he was conscious that his perform- 
 ance had been worse than usual. He came into the green- 
 room feeling worn out and dispirited. Gomez, Sardoni, 
 Nita. and two or three others, were grouped about the fire. 
 Nita, in her elder-sisterly fashion, began to upbraid him. 
 
 i% You sang execrably, Carlo!" she said, thrusting her 
 little daintily-shod foot' nearer the blaze, and looking far 
 from pleasant as she lifted her bright, cold eyes to his. 
 " You put me out altogether in that last scene. It's intol- 
 erable!" 
 
 <k lam sorry I put. vou out," he said, with th 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 187 
 
 look ^liich he seldom managed now to repress when Nita 
 attacked him. 
 
 " Don't discourage him; that's not fair on a beginner}" 
 said Gomez. "See, Donati, there's a critique on your 
 * Rigoletto ' in the evening paper. 
 
 And he handed it to him with a sarcastic little bow. 
 
 "Too bad! too bad!" exclaimed some of the others; bufe 
 they laughed, nevertheless, for the new barytone had 
 hitherto received nothing but praise, and they thought a, 
 change of diet would be good for him, while to them it was, 
 undoubtedly sweet. 
 
 Carlo took the paper without a word, and read tha> 
 notice through, knowing quite well that Gomez would not- 
 have drawn his attention to it had the criticism been fa- 
 vorable. It was not his way to pretend to be indifferent- 
 to the press; he did care for the praise or blame or sug- 
 gestion, and never tried to disguise his feeling, though 
 nothing would have induced him to win favorable notices 
 by any efforts of his own. Criticism had, however, much 
 to do with his future, and on his success hinged all his 
 
 Elans for Nita's protection; so that he fully recognized the 
 ict so well put by Macready, that " We cannot ' read our 
 history in a nation's eyes,' but we can in the daily papers." 
 
 "It is quite true," he said, throwing down the journal 
 with a stifled sigh. "I acted badly last night and sang, 
 worse. They have every reason to pitch into me." 
 
 "The fact is, you're not fit to sing at all," said Gomezr,. 
 affecting a tone of friendly advice. "You are ill, and need. 
 a long rest." 
 
 "No, no," said Carlo, quickly; "it is nothing but this 
 awful climate. I shall be all right when it gets warmer. L 
 mean to go in for an Ammoniaphone, and see if manufact- 
 ured Italian air won't work wonders." 
 
 "Well," said G;omez, " Comerio prophesies that he shall 
 go to America with us next September, and I believe his 
 prophecy will come true." 
 
 Carlo glanced at his sister, and read in her face excite- 
 ment even, he fancied, hope. He was deeply wounded, 
 as Sardoni, who had been idly looking on without taking 
 part in the talk, could see. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen for the last act!" announced 
 the call-boy; and the little group round the fire dispersed. 
 
 Carlo, whose part in the opera was over, left the green- 
 room with Anita, walking with her to the wings. 
 
 "I hope I shall be able to stay with you," he said, in a 
 low voice, feeling that he must win from her some word 
 which would contradict the look he feared he had seen in 
 her face. 
 
 *' Do you?" she said, coldly. " It is satisfactory to sea 
 
188 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 how you like the life. I should have thought, now youi 
 voice has gone off so much, you would have been glad 
 enough if Merlino chooses to end your engagement in tho 
 summer. For my part. I wish he would!" 
 
 The tone of bitter dislike in which she spoke was moro 
 than he could bear. He turned away, and shut himselE 
 into his dressing-room, where presently Sardoni found him 
 with his arms on the mantel-piece, his face hidden, and his 
 whole frame shaken with sobs. 
 
 "Why, Val!" exclaimed his friend, "has that brute of 
 a Spaniard vexed you so much?" 
 
 "Go, go!" he exclaimed vehemently in Italian. "You 
 can't understand !" 
 
 " I'll be hanged if I go!" said Sardoni, laying a hand on 
 his shoulder. "Bless your innocence! do you think no 
 Englishman has ever shed tears? I know what it was; it 
 was not Gomez it was something Madame Merlino said to 
 you just now." 
 
 Carlo raised his head, thrust both hands through his 
 hair, and, still keeping his face hidden, said in a voice 
 which struggled in vain to steady itself: 
 
 "She hopes it will be as he said. She wishes me to go. 
 It is all of no use; I can do nothing for her nothing !" 
 
 " Now, look here!" said Sardoni; "it's not a bit of good 
 for you to try to think rationally to-night. You are 
 bothered by that critique, and by your bad reception just 
 now, and by that brute Gomez and by a hundred other 
 things, likely enough. You just shelve it all till to-mor- 
 row ; and come and have some oysters with me, and then, 
 go to bed like a Christian." 
 
 Carlo made an effort to recover himself, and before long, 
 was walking home arm-in-arm with Sardoni, his hat pulled 
 over his eyes. 
 
 " The fact is, old fellow, you're a long bit too sensitive 
 for knocking about with men of the caliber of Gomez and 
 Comerio," said Sardoni. However, you would never act 
 as you do if you weren't sensitive, so it cuts both ways." 
 
 4 ' For one's self it pays better to call it being thin-skinned, " 
 said Carlo, regaining his matter-of-fact tone. "Once 
 humor your emotional side, and you are lost. I don't 
 know how I came to break down just now. This east wind 
 plays the very devil with one. When do you think it will 
 change?" 
 
 "Oh, very soon now," said Sardoni, drawing on his 
 imagination, for they were not half through March. 
 
 14 You don't think it is true what Gomez said you don't 
 think I am really losing my voice?" said Carlo, longing for 
 Sanloni to contradict the conviction that was becoming a 
 daily torment to his mind. 
 
KNIORT-ERRANT. 189 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" said the Englishman, cheerfully, 
 " nothing but the climate. Keep up your heart, old boy ! 
 you'll soon be used to it, and then you can snap your lin- 
 gers at Comerio and the rest of them. You may be quite 
 sure that Merlino won't part with you in a hurry. Why, 
 you are his ace of trumps!" 
 
 And all the time Sardoni knew that his friend was on the 
 verge of a break- down; and Carlo himself suspected as 
 much, yet found a sort of comfort in having his fears rea- 
 soned away. 
 
 We have all of us been glad, at one time or another, to 
 win through a dreary bit of life by the help of illusions, 
 even though we partly guessed that they were illusions all 
 the time. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A RESCUER. 
 
 " Such was the life thou livedst, self- abjuring, 
 
 Thine own pains never easing, 
 Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring, 
 A life without self-pleasing." Faber. 
 
 MR. GEORGE BRITTON was a man who seldom ate the 
 bread of idleness, and since his hurried visit to Naples in tho 
 early summer his holidays had been few and far between. 
 A cruise of a few days in the Pilgrim before the close of 
 the yachting season had been all he could snatch from his 
 busy life, for he was one of those men who are always go- 
 ing out of their way to help other people, and this cannot 
 be done without an expenditure of time and labor which is 
 often scarcely realized. He was so kind-hearted, so genial 
 a man, that he numbered his friends by hundreds; and his 
 life brought him into contact with such hosts of people that 
 it was often all he could do to remember the names of those 
 he had helped, to say nothing of their faces. He had not, 
 however, altogether forgotten Carlo Donati; more than 
 once he had thought of his pretty niece's ill-fated love- 
 story, but having promised to say nothing about it, even 
 to Miss Claremont, he had thought it best to mention Carlo's 
 name as little as possible. 
 
 " Yes, I saw him," had been his cautious reply to Clare's 
 questions; iv but the Sign or a Donati is dead, and I fancy 
 there will not be so much communication between the two 
 houses now. I myself liked the fellow very much, but he 
 has some political ideas which annoy my brother." 
 
 That was all that had passed with regard to Carlo dur- 
 ing the nine months which had since gone by. Clare felt a 
 little sorry and disappointed as she realized how hard it ia 
 not to grow apart from old friends whom there is no 
 
190 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 chance of meeting; but she remembered that it was the 
 way of the world. 'and that in her wandering life she must 
 try to be content with touching people closely for the time, 
 and then passing off the scene to make room for fresh 
 comers. It crossed her mind once or twice to write to. 
 Carlo and send him her sympathy in his trouble about his 
 mother; but such letters are hard to write, and she was sa 
 busy that somehow the time never came. She contented 
 herself with inquiring after him in her next letter to Fran- 
 cesca ; but Francesca was a shockingly bad correspondent, 
 and when, in two months' time, she replied to the letter sha 
 made no mention at all of Carlo. 
 
 Mr. Britton's business often took him from Ashborough v 
 where his own works were carried on, to a place in the- 
 neighboring county Mardentown; and one cold, dreary 
 Maf3h afternoon he was pacing the platform of the Marden- 
 town station, waiting for the train that was to take him 
 home. He was not alone. One of his many acquaintances 
 had walked to the station to see him off, and was pouring- 
 out some of his own troubles into the ship-builder's sympa- 
 thetic ears, when he became conscious that his friend was; 
 not listening quite so attentively as usual, and following 
 the direction of his eyes, exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh! you are noticing those Italians. I thought they 
 all went off yesterday ; there was quite a crowd of them last; 
 night. It's an operatic company; that's the impresario,, 
 that sullen-faced man w r ith a black beard; and that's his 
 wife, the prima donna of the party. I suppose the rank; 
 and file went off yesterday and left a few of the swells be- 
 hind." 
 
 " Curious," said Mr. Britton, glancing again at the little 
 group ; ' ' that fellow is like a man I met at Naples last . 
 year! But, after all, foreigners always look more or less 
 alike. He's a handsome fellow, isn't he?" 
 
 "The young one, do you mean? Yes, but top small; 
 that's always the way with Italians. He looks bigger on 
 the stage, though. I saw him the other night in 'Marta.' 
 What on earth was he called Sardoni? No; that was the 
 tenor. I forget. One mixes up these outlandish names so. 
 Look, they are sending him to the book-stall to get the 
 local papers ; no doubt they want to read the criticisms on 
 their singing." 
 
 The talk turned once more upon other matters, and the 
 two friends paced up the platform ; then, warned by the 
 big bell that the train was coming into the station, retraced 
 their steps. 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Britton, clutching his 
 friend's arm. ;i Look ! A child 011 the line !" 
 
 fie rushed down the ptatforau while at the same instant. 
 
 
XNIGHT-ERRANT. 101 
 
 warning cries, shouts, and a heart-rending shriek in a 
 woman v s voice filled the air. It was all over in a few sec- 
 onds, and yet there seemed time to take in all the details 
 the horror of the spectators, the utter helplessness of the 
 child himself, who stood terrified and bewildered, hearing 
 the shouts, seeing the train approaching, and yet too com- 
 pletely paralyzed by fear to move, literally frightened out 
 of his wits. Mr. Britton dashed on, and almost reached 
 the spot when a slight, lithe figure darted across the plat- 
 form in front of him. It was a wonder that they did not 
 knock each other over, but the Italian just swerved to the 
 left in time, leaped down on to the railroad, and ran like 
 the wind to the rescue of the child. There was a moment 
 of intense pain to all the spectators; people held their 
 ;breath; would the child be saved, or would he and his 
 .rescuer be cut down together? The chances seemed about 
 <even; not a little depended on the man's strength, and the 
 child might, no doubt, help or hinder his own rescue. The 
 .train was slackening speed, yet it seemed to advance with 
 & rapidity that was frightful to watch. It was almost 
 upon the child ; the women hid their faces, the men strained 
 their eyes to see what would happen, while the rescuer 
 gave a cry, at the sound of which the child turned, ran a 
 step or two with uplifted hands, and was caught up in the 
 strong arms of the man who had saved it from death. The 
 next instant they were in the six-foot way, and the train 
 passed on and hid them from view. 
 
 Mr. Britton drew a deep breath, and now that the horror 
 of the moment was over, found time to wonder at the 
 cowardice of the spectators. There were several men on 
 the platform, some of them far nearer than he had been at 
 the time the alarm had been given ; but no one had rushed 
 instantly to the rescue except himself and the young 
 Italian who had intercepted him. 
 
 " Of course," he overheard one man remark to another, 
 " I made sure the people who belonged to him would save 
 the poor little beggar. They say he's the child of Merlino, 
 but if so, Merlino did nothing but shout and tear his hair. 
 Look here! there'll just be time for a brandy -and-soda ; I 
 declare it's given me quite a turn." 
 
 The speakers ran at full speed to the refreshment-room, 
 .-and Mr. Britton, with indignation in his heart, turned to 
 . see whether the rescuer was in sight again. He was at that 
 {moment appearing at the far end of the platform, the child 
 tstill in his arms. Mr. Britton joined in the eager little 
 crowd which speedily surrounded him; but every one was 
 italking and asking questions, so he held his peace, only 
 Hooking and listening and feeling strongly drawn to the 
 young Italian, who seemed not to consider himself at all in 
 
19$ KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 the light cf a hero, or to be troubled by the fear that ttu 
 spectators might do so. An Englishman's first impulse 
 would have been to escape from the eyes of the crowd ; the 
 Italian seemed not to consider at all what the onlookers 
 might think of him ; he was a little flushed and- excited 
 and much taken up with the child, who clung to him and 
 refused to be given to his father. 
 
 "The dear little fellow," said Merlino, kissing his son, 
 with tears in his eyes. " He is not hurt? You are sure he 
 is not hurt ?' ' 
 
 '"Not a bit, only frightened. How in the world did he 
 get down there?" 
 
 " He owes his life to you, sir,'* said the station-master; 
 " I never saw a closer shave!" 
 
 " It seemed almost upon us," said Carlo, " relentless as 
 Juggernaut." 
 
 But, though he did not underestimate the danger, it did 
 not appear to make him feel the need of a brandy-and- 
 soda. He turned in the most practical and matter-of-fact 
 way to choose a carriage. 
 
 ''You get in. Nita," he said, opening the door, "and I'll 
 give you Gigi on your lap." 
 
 Mr. Britton, puzzled at the comparative indifference of 
 the mother, took possession of a corner seat in the same 
 carriage, and felt relieved to see that as she took the child 
 she bent down and covered his face with kisses. In truth, 
 poor Nita in that moment of horror had for the first time 
 realized what the loss of her child would be to her; the 
 agony of seeing him in danger, without being able to stir 
 a finger to save him, had touched into life the motherly 
 love which till now had lain dormant in her heart. But 
 the shock had almost stunned her for the time, and it was 
 not till she held Gigi in her arms that any sign of feeling 
 escaped her. Carlo's face lighted up as he saw how closely 
 she held the little fellow, and both he and Merlino were so 
 much taken up with the child, that it was not till just the 
 List minute that they thought of the luggage. 
 
 " Did you see it in, Gomez?" asked Carlo, turning to the 
 Spaniard, who had ensconced himself comfortably in the 
 corner opposite Mr. Britton, and beside Mademoiselle de 
 Caisne. 
 
 "I? No, I imagined you had given directions," replied 
 Gomez, with the most irritating air of calm dignity. 
 
 Carlo sprang up and put his head out of the window. 
 
 " It is gone," he said; " it must be all right." 
 
 "Ah, but my bag!" exclaimed Nita. " You really might 
 think of things for me 1 I must have left it on one of the 
 benches." 
 
 The train was on the point of starting. Carlo fluug open 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 199 
 
 the door and rushed in search of the lost property, while 
 Merlino, fuming with impatience and anxiety, hurried 
 across the carriage to look from the window. 
 
 ' ' Santo diavolo I we are moving ! " he exclaimed. ' ' What 
 induced you to be so careless, Nita? Valentino will be left 
 behind he'll be too late for the opera. There! I told you 
 so," as the train steamed on relentlessly, and a porter 
 closed the door with an authoritative bang, regarding 
 neither the nerves nor the anxieties of the travelers. 
 
 "There's not a creature who can take his part to-night, 
 you know there's not, and Marioni won't have rehearsed 
 anything else," stormed Merlino, swearing at his wife, and 
 wholly disregarding the presence of a stranger. The babel 
 that ensued was deafening, Gigi adding not a little to the 
 confusion by bursting into tears and crying, as only 
 children at that age can cry. Mr. Britton began to wish 
 that he had chosen another carriage, yet was obliged 
 to own that these people interested him, and that there 
 was something rather amusing in this glimpse of life behind 
 the scenes. He got out his train-book to see whether there 
 was any other train which would bring the missing singer 
 ftway from Mardentown in time for the opera, and wondered 
 Whether these people were going to Ashborough, or to its 
 near neighbor and rival, Queenbury. 
 
 Just at this minute, however, the train stopped at a 
 Buburban station, and, to the relief and astonishment of 
 all, Carlo suddenly appeared at the door. 
 
 "Where on earth did you come from?" exclaimed Mer- 
 lino. 
 
 "The guard's van," said Carlo, taking the vacant place 
 beside Mr. Britton, and evidently perceiving that the at- 
 mosphere was disturbed. " I am afraid I gave you all a 
 fright, but ^ there was no chance of getting back to you, 
 only just time to make a dash at the last carriage. I seem 
 fated to run races with the train to-day." 
 
 There is nothing more strangely trying than the sudden 
 reaction after great anxiety. Merlino, whose temper was 
 always irritable, was now in the worst possible humor ; the 
 very perception that he owed a deep debt of gratitude to 
 his brother-in-law chafed him into greater rudeness and 
 harshness. As for Carlo, when he had put the bag up in 
 the netting, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and bore 
 the storm for the most part in silence, interposing a word 
 or two when he thought it would be any use, but knowing 
 too well that Merlino in this sort of humor must be allowed 
 to have his fling, and that any sort of argument would 
 only make matters worse. 
 
 At the first opportunity he took Gigi on his knee, and 
 drawing a little further from Merlino. and nearer to Mr; 
 
1M KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Britton, began to do what he could to check the loud cry- 
 ing, which was irritating both the father and mother, and 
 which had resisted all Nita's coaxing and Merlino's threat- 
 ening. 
 
 "See, Gigi, you must be quiet," he said, lowering his 
 voice a little. 
 
 " I thought you were lost, " sobbed the child ; " I was so 
 frightened and and I've lost my poor, dear little sol- 
 dier!" 
 
 When he had recounted this catalogue of woes, his tears 
 rained down faster than ever. 
 
 " You shall have another. Where did you lose it?'' 
 
 "It dropped down where tho train goes, and I jumped 
 down to look for it, but I couldn't see it nowhere, and then 
 they shouted, and the train came by.'' 
 
 ' Well." said Carlo, holding the child closer, " you must 
 never get off the platform again at a station ; and as to the 
 little soldier, why we will get a new one to-morrow at Ash- 
 borough. See, dry your eyes, and be a man, and then we 
 will hear about Lionbruno, if you like." 
 
 "I don't want Lionbruno." said Gigi. 
 
 " Well, then, the ' Fair Fiorita,' or the 'Fairy Orlanda,' 
 or shall it be about Buchettino and the Ogre?" 
 
 "I think I'd like about Giucca and 'eat, my clothes, 
 eat!'" said Gigi. 
 
 "Very well." said Carlo. And, in English, since that 
 was the language which Gigi liked best to talk, but with 
 all the graphic imagery of an Italian, he told the story of 
 Giucca's two visits to the farm; of how in his poor clothes 
 they drove him away with scorn, but when he came in 
 velvet vest and gay raiment they invited him to dinner; 
 and how in irony he had put the food in his hat and in his 
 pockets, saying? "Eat, my clothes, eat! for you were in- 
 vited," taking care to make a good dinner for himself into 
 the bargain. 
 
 "Another," said Gigi, when this story was ended. By 
 this time Merlino and his wife had settled down in their 
 respective corners. Merlino and Gomez had taken up their 
 papers, Nita and Mademoiselle de Caisne appeared to sleep; 
 of the stranger Carlo had taken scarcely any notice, nor 
 would it have embarrassed him. probably, had he known 
 that Mr. Britton was listening to the stories quite as atten- 
 tively as was Gigi. 
 
 ' ' What shall it be ? ' The Shepherd who made the King's 
 daughter laugh?' " asked Carlo. 
 
 " No," said Gigi, " I'm so tired; I'd like to hear abou* 
 DCristo." 
 
 " Wbich story do you 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT, 195 
 
 "Something new," said the child. "I'm so tired so 
 tired." 
 
 "Well, once upon a time," began Carlo, who had no 
 feeling at all as to the mixture of sacred and secular 
 "once upon a time, It Cristo was very tired; he had been 
 going about from town to town you must know, and in the 
 towns he never had a minute's quiet, for, of course, the 
 people wanted to see him, and all day long they were com- 
 ing and going, and talking and asking his help, so that he 
 had no rest, and not even time to eat." 
 
 "That's like you, zio caro," put in Gigi. 
 
 " And just at this time he was sad as well as tired; for 
 you must know that in that country was a bad king, and 
 this one had taken one of II Cristo's friends, with whom he 
 used to play when he was a little boy, and had shut him 
 up in a great, gloomy old castle by the side of a lake, and 
 when he had kept him in prison a long time he sent bis 
 soldiers one evening and ordered the good man's head to 
 be cut off. When II Cristo heard that his friend was dead 
 you can fancy how sad he was, and how he wanted to be 
 alone for a little while out of the hurry and the rush of the 
 town ; and he knew that his followers, too, were tired, for 
 they had been traveling about, and had had hard work to 
 do." 
 
 " Were they in his troupe, do you mean?" asked Gigi. 
 
 "Not exactly; but they traveled about with him; they 
 were the men who tried hardest to do what he said. And 
 just before this they had been traveling by themselves, 
 which was much harder than traveling with II Cristo." 
 
 " Did they travel on stuffy cars like this?" 
 
 "No, there were no cars then; most likely they walked, 
 and it was hot like a furnace, and the sun beat down on 
 their heads and the dust came in great clouds, and when 
 they got back to the town they were tired out. Then II 
 Cristo saw how it was with them, and he said : * Come 
 away from the town and the hurry and bustle ; come right 
 away into the country and have a rest." 
 
 " Then they were glad, and he took them in a ship to a 
 place where he thought they would be quiet a nice coun- 
 try place." 
 
 " I guess it was like Salem," said Gigi, sotto voce. 
 
 " But when they got there, why, what do you think? the 
 people from the towns had got there before them by a 
 quicker way, and there was a crowd waiting for them 
 which you should have seen!" 
 
 " Then the troupe didn't get a holiday after all?" 
 
 "Yes, but they did. II Cristo took the work himself, 
 and they rested, and just heard him talk." 
 
 "1 guess tb^y liked that better than walking in the 
 
196 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 sun," said Gigi, thoughtfully. " Why, do you know, zio t 
 I feel kind o' rested listening to you here in this car ; and 
 they had the country and II Cristo too. Do you think ha 
 would have been like that to tired men in our profession?" 
 
 " Why, yes, of course," said Carlo, smiling a little at the 
 way the child identified himself with the troupe. 
 
 " I wish he'd take us to a country place. You look kind 
 o' tired. I think he might." 
 
 " So he will when we really need it." 
 
 " Did II Cristo travel about always like we do? And do 
 you think he got nasty hotels and lumpy beds?" 
 
 "Often no bed at all; he said so once not grumbling 
 you know, he never grumbled." 
 
 " We do sometimes, don't we, when they're real bad?" 
 
 "Yes; but he made the best of things, and thought of 
 other people before himself; so now, you see when he was 
 tired and sad he first took care of the followers, and gave 
 them a rest, and then gave the great crowd of people a 
 real good time, and let them come and talk to him, and 
 cured the ones who were sick, and taught them how to be 
 good, and before he sent them home again gave them 
 plenty to eat. ' ' 
 
 4 ' I guess I'm rather hungry just now, ' ' said Gigi. ' * May 
 I have a brown dog?" 
 
 A " brown dog " proved to be a substantial-looking bis- 
 cuit, and by the time this had been discussed Gigi had 
 grown sleepy. Gomez at the next station changed to a 
 smoking-carriage, and Carlo, taking possession of his empty- 
 corner, made the child comfortable, and suggested a siesta, 
 while Mr. Britton was glad to have an opportunity of study- 
 ing his features at leisure, and trying to compare them 
 with his recollections of Carlo Donati when he had last met 
 him. He saw that there was a likeness, yet at the same 
 time a great difference, and this Signor Valentino, as he 
 fancied his name to be, had a look of strength about him 
 which Donati had lacked. 
 
 It was hard to describe the great fascination of the face ; 
 the curves of the smooth cheeks and chin were beautiful, the 
 dark mustache so slight that it did not hide the finely chis- 
 eled lips ; the forehead was specially developed just above 
 the eyebrows; the ear small and set high up in the shapely 
 head while the rough, dark hair, the high cheek-bones, and 
 the deep, brown eyes would alone have stamped him as an 
 Italian. He had pulled his red Phrygian train-cap to a com- 
 fortable angle, and had leaned back in the corner, with the 
 child still in his arms. Mr. Britton could have wished that 
 he had not chosen to go to sleep, for he would have liked to 
 talk with him, and, perhaps, to say a word or two about 
 his prompt rescue of the little boy, but he was evidently 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 197 
 
 tired, and though from time to time he raised his eyelids 
 and glanced out of the window at the country through 
 which they were passing, he never seemed to notice his 
 English traveling companion, or to have the slightest wish 
 to talk. In fact, Carlo had for the time being forgotten 
 his present surroundings altogether; Gigi's words had re- 
 turned to him, "I wish he'd take us to a country place. " 
 Now there were times when his longing for Italy was the 
 keenest of pains, but there were also times when the mere 
 recollection of his old home made him very happy. It was 
 thus this afternoon ; half asleep, half -awake, his mind went 
 back to the old familiar scenes ; he saw the blue bay of 
 Baja, and the pearly gray mountains of Ischia, and the 
 smiling campagna, and the near hills, with their outlines 
 broken here and there by umbrella pines. Then he wan- 
 dered down the long shady walks of the Casa Bella garden, 
 and once more Francesca was with him, and just then the 
 recollection of her was enough to make him happy ; there 
 were times when he hardly dared to think of her at all ; 
 there were times when memory was anguish, but there 
 were also times when he could smile to himself with the 
 happiness of the mere thought that Francesca lived and 
 that he loved her. 
 
 44 Is this Ashborough?" asked Nita from the other end of 
 the carriage. 
 
 He was startled back into the present by a voice which 
 seemed to him to be Captain Britton's. 
 
 44 Yes; this is Ashborough, madam." 
 
 Could this traveler be the captain's brother the " Uncle 
 George " whose arrival at Naples he so well remembered? 
 
 He felt uncertain. It might be only that his half -dreamy 
 recollections of Casa Bella had made him fancy some fa- 
 miliar tone in this Englishman's voice. It was hardly 
 likely that Mr. Britton should happen to get into the same 
 carriage with them. Besides, he had never connected him 
 with the neighborhood of Ashborough ; he fancied Merle- 
 bank was in another county. And even if this should in- 
 deed be Francesca's uncle, would it be very desirable to in- 
 troduce himself under the circumstances? 
 
 While lie wondered what to do, the train had steamed 
 into the station, and his doubts were solved and his oppor- 
 tunity lost at the same moment. Some one on the plat- 
 form recognized the gray- bearded Englishman, and threw 
 open the carriage- door. 
 
 4 ' Ha, Britton ! are you here ? I'm just off to Queensbury, 
 and will take your vacant place." 
 
 44 How are you?" said the Englishman, with a hearty 
 gripe of the hand. "Any of my people here, do you 
 
198 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " The carriage wasn't up just now ; hindered, very likely; 
 the town is in an awful confusion the races on Monday, 
 you know." 
 
 Carlo heard no more. He had to carry Gigi to the near- 
 est fly, and the flies seemed scarce and mostly engaged. 
 When at length he had secured one, and made over Gigi 
 to his mother, he had to rush off and see to the luggage, 
 and there was no time to think any more of his own plans. 
 
 In the meantime, however, Mr. Britton had not lost sight 
 of him. He felt strangely curious as to the movements of 
 these operatic people, and being obliged to wait till his own 
 carriage came up, he strolled to and fro, glancing now out 
 of the station at the driving rain and the chilly March 
 night, now at his late companions. As usual, it appeared 
 that "Signer Valentino" did the work, the others all 
 crowded into the one available fly, and sat impatiently 
 waiting while he hunted up truant trunks and portman- 
 teaus. 
 
 " What an age you have been!" was the greeting he re- 
 ceived. "You can't get inhere! Perhaps there'll be an- 
 other fly by this time. Do you think the man can take 
 all the luggage outside?" 
 
 '* He'll have to," was the reply. " There's nothing else 
 to be had nor any chance of getting anything. It seems ifc 
 is the race week." 
 
 "Can't you change places with him, Signer Gomez?" 
 said Nita, for once in her life prompted to think for her 
 brother. " His cough is so bad he oughtn't to be out oil 
 such a night." 
 
 Gomez made a dignified excuse, and suggested that if 
 they delayed any longer it would be impossible to dine be- 
 fore the opera. 
 
 44 And by the bye, Val, my dear fellow, just stop in pass- 
 ing at the theater," exclaimed Merlino; "you'll notice 
 it on your way to the hotel, and might just see that all 
 is right there. ' ' 
 
 " Very well. Is my umbrella handy ?' ' 
 
 They gave it to him and drove off, while Carlo began to 
 wrap up his throat in a huge muffler, looking distastefully 
 enough at the dark, muddy street, and the torrents of rain. 
 He was just about to set off on hi.^ wet walk when, on 
 turning to ask the nearest way to the hotel, he suddenly 
 confronted Mr. Britton. 
 
 " I am expecting my carriage every minute," said the 
 Englishman, in his kindly voice, which, but for the ab- 
 sence of the slight tone of patronage, would have been ex- 
 actly like Captain Britton 's, " I hope you'll allow me to 
 drive you to your hotel." 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 190 
 
 M 5bu are most kind, " said Carlo. " I should Indeed bo 
 very grateful ; but perhaps I ought to tell you " 
 
 He was interrupted. Mr. Britton glancing round to see 
 if the carriage had come, chanced to notice a huge adver- 
 tisement of Signer Merlino's Operatic Company, and his 
 eye was instantly caught by a name in large black letters 
 SIGNOR CARLO DONATI. 
 
 ' k I must beg a thousand pardons, Signer Donati, for not 
 recognizing you before!" he exclaimed, shaking him heart- 
 ily by the hand. " I thought I knew your face on the Mar- 
 dentown platform, but I heard them call you by the name 
 of Valentino, and, moreover, had not the slightest idea 
 that you were in England or that you had changed your 
 profession." 
 
 4 'The change was only just decided on when you left 
 Naples, sir," said Carlo, his color rising a little. " I hope 
 you have good accounts from Casa Bella?" 
 
 He tried to subdue the eagerness of his tone, but it was 
 some time since he had heard from Enrico, and the thought 
 of hearing of Francesca in so much more direct a way 
 made every pulse in him beat feverishly. 
 
 " Very good, indeed," said Mr. Britton. " They all seem 
 well. Francesca is coming to stay with us in the summer, 
 I believe. It was an old promise, and I think the change 
 will be good for her. Here is the carriage, at last. Now I 
 am quite at your disposal. Shall we call first at the thea- 
 ter, and then shall I drop you at your hotel? Or are you, 
 too, in a hurry to get your dinner?" 
 
 He had kindly made a rather lengthy speech, because he 
 saw how much the Italian was moved by his reference to 
 Francesca. Carlo asked to stop at the theater, and Mr. 
 Britton, who understood now that his brother's objection 
 to the marriage had had to do with the stage and not at all 
 with political matters, determined to show that he, at any 
 rate, did not share in his prejudice. 
 
 " I suppose Valentino is just a nickname; it misled me 
 altogether," he said. "But for that I think I should have 
 spoken to you,' and asked, at any rate, whether you were 
 related to Signer Donati, the Neapolitan advocate." 
 
 Carlo smiled. Not for many months had he had such a 
 pleasure as that friendly talk with Francesca's uncle. 
 
 " It is the name of what is supposed to be my best part 
 Valentino in ' Faust,' " he explained. 
 
 "I see. Well, I must manage to hear you in it. It is 
 twenty years and more since I heard an opera." 
 
 "Then you have never heard ' Faust?' " exclaimed Carlo, 
 almost incredulously. " We are to give it to-night; may I 
 " f have the pleasure of getting you an order?" 
 Tou are very good; I should lite nothing better," said 
 
200 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Mr. Brit ton. fully understanding that since his ladylovd 
 could not !; present to hear him the next best thing wasto 
 have her old undo, who might possibly tell her something 
 about ir. He felt convinced that such a thought had 
 flashed through the young man's mind, and liked him tho 
 better for it. because, after all, it was so human, so precisely 
 what lie himself would have felt at four- and- twenty. 
 
 "You have a very bad cough!' 1 he exclaimed, quite 
 agreeing with the prima donna that Donati had no busi- 
 ness to be out on such a night. 
 
 "Oh. it is only chronic 1" said Carlo, lightly, as if that 
 made it an affair of no account. "Is this the theater? 
 "Will you then come in with me, and choose your place for 
 to-night?" 
 
 The ticket chosen, Carlo and Mr. Britton made their way 
 through long and not particularly clean passages to the 
 region behind the scenes. Here all seemed confusion; car- 
 penters and scene-shifters hurried to and fro; there was a 
 babel of talking, shouting, hammering; and Carlo's arrival 
 was evidently hailed as a relief by the man in authority, 
 who came quickly up to him to explain some difficulty that 
 had arisen, and to ask whether Merlino w^ould soon be at 
 the theater. Mr. Britton, meantime, was learning that 
 scenery and stage illusions were disenchanting enough 
 when nearly viewed, and in his own mind was wondering 
 whether anything could possibly teach him to walk re- 
 spectably on the sloping stage. It was evident that Carlo 
 was a practical man, for his suggestions were received as 
 orders, and something like method began to be traceable in 
 what had at first seemed the wildest chaos. 
 
 " I must not keep you waiting any longer," he said, after 
 a few minutes, coming up to Mr. Britton ; ' ' thank you for 
 all your kindness. They seem to have got behindhand 
 here, and I must stay and help them a little. ' ' 
 
 " Will you not come and dine with me at the club?" said 
 Mr. Britton; "it is close by." 
 
 " You are very good," said Carlo, looking at his watch, 
 11 but, to tell the truth, it is too late for me to dine now. I 
 shouldn't be able to sing if I did." 
 
 "I hope you don't intend to starve yourself ," said the 
 Englishman; " surely that can't be good for the voice." 
 
 "No," said Carlo, laughing; " I shall send out for some 
 oysters, or perhaps take a raw egg or two." Then, seeing 
 Mr. Britton's look of commiseration, he laughed. "You 
 know we make up for it at supper. I shall be as hungry as 
 a hunter by the time the opera is over." 
 
 "Then I cannot take you to the hotel?" 
 
 " I think not, thank you ; I must be here for the present. 
 When all is ready I dare say I shall run and see that Grigi 
 
KNIGHT-EfSRANT. 201 
 
 is none the worse for his fright; hut they tell me it is clos* 
 by. You will remember me to Miss Claremont." 
 
 " She will be delighted to hear you are in England; you 
 must come over to see us at Merlebank; we are not much 
 more than two miles from the town. Good-bye, then, for 
 the present, and 1 hope you'll find the little boy has suf- 
 fered no ill effects." 
 
 It was not till nearly eight o'clock that Carlo could 
 snatch a minute to run and see after Gigi; hurrying along 
 the wet and cheerless street he made his way to the hotel, 
 and on the doorstep came suddenly upon Sardoni, who had 
 gone on to Ashborough on the previous night with the rest 
 of the troupe. 
 
 "So here you are at last," he exclaimed, "doing the 
 dirty work as usual, I see. How are you, Val? I declare 
 you look better. ' ' 
 
 In truth, the meeting with Mr. Britton and the pleasure 
 of having rescued Gigi had acted as a sort of stimulus, and 
 Carlo, spite of a very tiring day, felt better than he had 
 done for some months past. 
 
 " I'm as strong as a horse," he said, laughing; "should 
 come in neck and neck with the winner of the Mountshire 
 Handicap on Monday. Where is Gigi?" 
 
 " Sitting on the stairs when I last saw him; the place ia 
 packed, and I'm afraid -they won't have given you much 
 of a room; Gomez snapped up the only decent one." 
 
 Carlo waited for no more, but ran up-stairs till he came 
 upon the disconsolate figure of the little boy. 
 
 " Have you had something to eat, mio carp ?" he asked, 
 taking the child in his arms and carrying him on. 
 
 "Yes, but there's no bed for me," said Gigi, piteously. 
 
 " How's that? one was ordered. Where have they put 
 my portmanteau?" 
 
 "Up at the top," said Gigi, mournfully " in No. 62; 
 but there's no bed for me." 
 
 Carlo rang to inquire, only to be told that, the house 
 being quite full for the race week, no more beds \vere 
 available; and the only room, No. 62, proved to be a serv- 
 ant's room, vacated just for the occasion; a dismal little 
 place under the roof, smelling strongly of stale ham-sand- 
 wiches. In the corner was one narrow truckle-bed. 
 
 "Never mind, Gigi," said Carlo, passing his arm round 
 the child's neck, and waking a smile on the dismal little 
 face; "you've slept in the overland trunk before now. 
 Let us see if you have grown too long for it; you know it 
 was rather fun last time. Yes?" 
 
 Gigi measured himself by the trunk, to the infinite 
 amusement of the chamber-maid, who volunteered to find 
 him a pair of 
 
202 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "But as to blankets, sir, they're every blessed one of 
 them in use," she added. 
 
 4> Never mind, one of mine doubled will do for him," said 
 Carlo, ruthlessly stripping the truckle-bed. "Now, Gigi, 
 unlock the trunk for me, and we'll just turn the things out 
 on the floor and make room for you." 
 
 Gigi thought this fine fun; and what with pillows and 
 blanket from the truckle-bed, and clean sheets which the 
 chamber-maid brought hot from the fire, the improvised 
 crib was comfortable enough. But to Carlo it somehow 
 suggested a coffin, and the thought of the danger the child 
 had been in made him shudder as he bent down to kiss 
 him. 
 
 " 1 do love you so," said Gigi, clinging to him with all 
 his might. And Carlo hurried back to the theater with 
 the words ringing in his ears, and the feeling of the little 
 child's arms still about his neck. 
 
 CHAPTER XXHL 
 "CLARE." 
 
 ' But when I met him he was still the same; 
 The quiet, happy face that lighted up 
 As trom a sunshine in the heart within, 
 Rejoicing whomsoever looked on it, 
 But far more whomsoever it looked on." 
 
 Ugo Bassi. MRS. HAMILTON KING. 
 
 THE school-room at Merlebank was one of those comfort- 
 able, nondescript sort of rooms which have a charm fo* 
 most people ; it was a room where you did not feel bound 
 to be on your best behavior a room where you could read 
 with both elbows on the table, or lounge in unconventional 
 ease by the fireside. It was essentially a snug room, ita 
 green Brussels carpet was comfortably shabby, its curtains 
 were old-fashioned and faded, its walls were crowded with 
 frameless oil-paintings, which the girls had brought home 
 from the School of Art, and the books in its crowded book- 
 shelves had evidently seen good service. Miss Claremont 
 loved the room, and it was in a great measure her presence 
 which helped to make it one of the pleasantest retreats in 
 the house. In lesson hours she knew well enough how to 
 make any unwary visitor feel himself de trap, but at all 
 other times, on half-holidays, or on Sundays, or in the 
 long evenings, she liked nothing better than to sit and talk 
 to any one who chose to seek her out. 
 
 She had now been at Merlebank for many years, and 
 had given to each of the children the " mothering " they 
 so much needed. In person Clare was short and slight; 
 fihe was an insignificant-looking little woman, and took 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 203 
 
 ccant pains with her dress. But all these details were ob- 
 served only by strangers ; to those who knew her she was 
 just " Clare," the one being in the world whose sympathy 
 was always available, the only person who could brighten 
 up a dull dinner, or entertain stupid visitors, or find good 
 points in those whom the girls themselves condemned as 
 odiously vulgar. . 
 
 All the troubles and anxieties of the household gravitated 
 by a natural law to the school-room. Clare would sit by 
 the fire in winter, or by the open window in summer, and 
 would listen to Mr. Britton's anxieties about the children, 
 or to the grandmother's grief about her failing eyesight, or 
 to Katie's difficulties in her district, or to the boys' hopes 
 and fears with regard to examinations, or first loves, or 
 vanished pocket-money. Her clear, light- blue eyes could 
 sparkle with fun, or grow soft with pity, or become 
 thoughtful and patient, as she weighed the pros and cons 
 of some puzzling question ; she was the most delightful of 
 confidantes, and her wide circle of friends did not scruple 
 to work her pretty hard, for Clare was always supposed to 
 like to hear every one's woes. Probably she really did 
 like it, and few went away from her uncomforted, for 
 somehow you were apt to leave the school-room feeling as 
 if she had removed a crape veil from before your eyes, so 
 that the most common and trivial matters of every-day 
 life became far more interesting than you had imagined 
 them to be. 
 
 Late on that March evening Mr. Britton, returning from 
 Ashborough, made all speed toward the school-room, and, 
 as he had hoped, found Clare still sitting over the tire 
 reading. 
 
 "The children have all gone to bed," she explained; 
 " Kate waited till half -past ten, but she was tired with her 
 choir practice." 
 
 "I am glad to find you up," said Mr. Britton, "for I 
 have a message to you from an old friend of yours, who, to 
 rny great astonishment, proves to be in England. ' ' 
 
 '' Not Francesca!" exclaimed Clare. 
 
 " Her next door neighbor, young Donati; he sends you 
 his kind regards and is very anxious to see you." 
 
 "Well, that is really a delightful surprise," said Clare. 
 " I should like so much to meet him again, for as a boy he 
 interested me a good deal. What can have brought him 
 to England?" 
 
 4 ' He has developed a voice and has turned into an oper- 
 atic singer. That quite explains my brother's determina- 
 tion to have less to do with him, for you know the captain 
 disapproves of the stage as much as you do. However, I 
 think I have managed to put two and two together, and to 
 
904 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 form a pretty shrewd guess as to Donati's reason for his 
 sudden change of profession. It seems he has a sister ; did 
 you know her?" 
 
 "She was being educated in a convent when I was in 
 Italy, but I saw her once or twice. Poor girl I she made 
 some very foolish marriage, I believe, not long after we 
 came to England. I never heard the rights of the story, 
 b.it I know she eloped with some one." 
 
 " Oh, that was it! Well, she seems to have paid dearly 
 for her folly, poor thing ! for her husband is a brute ; a 
 more sullen, ill- tempered fellow I never saw. He is the 
 impresario of this traveling company which Donati has 
 joined; the sister, Madame Merliho, is the prima donna. 
 Let me see, what did he call her? Nita, I think." 
 
 " That was her name. I remember her as a demure lit- 
 tle girl, shocked at Francesca's freedom." 
 
 " Well, she seems to be one of those pretty, helpless, un- 
 happy wives who stand in such grave need of a protector. 
 Now when I was at Naples I heard nothing at all about 
 this sister, but on the Sunday Donati was introduced to me 
 by my brother as one of the most promising young advo- 
 cates at the Neapolitan bar, and his praises were sung to 
 me in a way which I own rather prejudiced me against 
 him. I couldn't help liking the fellow when I saw him, 
 however; and you can imagine my surprise when on the 
 Tuesday morning, I found that my brother had quarreled 
 with him, and that their friendship was at an end. He 
 had decided on some course of action which the captain 
 disapproved, and said you would also disapprove. How- 
 ever, the matter was a private affair of Donati's, and he 
 bound me over to silence, telling me, however, that I 
 should soon see all for myself, and should then agree with 
 him. I got quite on a wrong tack, and thought it was 
 some political difference, but surely this is the true 
 explanation. I appeal to you now, Miss Claremont, as a 
 reader of romances, given a pretty actress, with a brute 
 of a husband, and doubtless some not too reputable 
 admirers, is it not conceivable that circumstances might 
 arise which should induce her father or her brother to 
 sacrifice everything in order to save her?" 
 
 "Quite," said Clare; "and Carlo Donati would be the 
 very man to throw himself into the breach in that way ; 
 there was something chivalrous about him, something one 
 doesn't often meet with nowadays. Do you remember 
 Mrs. Browning's lines: 
 
 44 4 The world's male chivalry has perished out, 
 But women are knights-errant to the last.' 
 
 I always thought she wouldn't have written that if she had 
 known Carlo." 
 
\ 
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 305 
 
 " I think there is no doubt that he is playing the part of 
 knight-errant now," said Mr. Britton, musingly, " and that 
 he has a hard time of it. I doubt if he will succeed, though. 
 The sister seemed to me a very shallow, heartless little 
 woman. He is a noble fellow, much too good to be wasted 
 on such a life." 
 
 He gave Clare a detailed account of what had passed 
 that afternoon. 
 
 " I am sorry he has gone on the stage," she said. " I 
 hoped he would have done great things. It seems to me 
 that a man like that might have wonderful influence in 
 public life." 
 
 "And yet in some ways he is admirably fitted for his 
 present work," said Mr. Britton. " His voice is very fine, 
 and his acting really first-rate ; I went to hear him to-night, 
 and was delighted with him. Would you care to see him 
 to-morrow? I want you to look him up, for I think, poor 
 fellow, he is leading the life of a dog ; and he seemed so 
 pleased at the thought of meeting you again. I have 
 promised that the carriage shall take the vicar into Ash- 
 borough in the afternoon ; he preaches at St. Cyprian's in 
 the evening. Would you like to go in, too? You might, 
 perhaps, go for a drive with young Dqnati." 
 
 " It would be the best chance of seeing him alone," said 
 Clare. "Thank you, I think I will go, and on Sunday I 
 suppose he is sure to be disengaged." 
 
 Accordingly the next day Clare, having set down the 
 vicar at St. Cyprian's parsonage, drove to the Royal Hotel, 
 and sent in her card with a little penciled message asking 
 Carlo to come for a drive. As she waited there she felt a 
 little anxious, and even shy, for after all it was many 
 years since she had seen Carlo. Would time have raised 
 a barrier between them? Would Signer Donati, the 
 public singer, be less approachable than the frank, light- 
 hearted, Italian boy, who at one time had almost wor- 
 shiped her? The first glimpse of him, however, dispelled 
 all her fears; he came quickly forward with the same 
 eager, boyish manner which she recollected so well, and 
 took both her hands in his. 
 
 " How good, how kind of you to come!" he exclaimed. 
 "This is the greatest pleasure I have had for a long time. 
 Gigi" he turned to pick up a small boy "this is Miss 
 Claremont. Should you mind, Clare, if I brought him 
 with me? Sunday has come to be considered his special 
 property." 
 
 Clare was delighted to welcome the little fellow, and 
 made many inquiries about his narrow escape of the pre- 
 vious day. 
 
 - What a great pleasure it must be to YOU now to foel 
 
20 KXIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 that you saved him!" she said. "I have often wondered 
 how a rescuer would feel afterward." 
 
 " It's a satisfaction to feel that I have not failed in one 
 thing undertaken," said Carlo, rather sadly. 
 
 At first sight Clare had thought him hardly altered, but 
 on looking more closely at him she saw that his face, when 
 in repose, bore signs of friction: and, though still very 
 young-looking, told plainly of grief and sorrow under- 
 gone. 
 
 ' ' That is a sad way of putting it, ' ' she said. * ' I thought, 
 too, that you had had such very great success ; Mr. Brittou 
 led me to believe so." 
 
 " You see," he replied, " every artist leads a double life; 
 just at that moment I was thinking more of my own per- 
 sonal side of the question, but really sometimes I think I'm 
 making a failure of both. ' ' 
 
 4 But you have surely had a very rapid success?" 
 
 44 Don't think I am ungrateful for my reception," he. 
 said. " I know I have made what the world calls a suc- 
 cess, but I'm not yet satisfied with myself; and each time 
 I go on the stage I feel that I may fail utterly. An artist's 
 life is a life of eternal anxiety. But then to counterbalance 
 that we have the moments of inspiration, and they are 
 worth all." 
 
 Clare was surprised at his sudden fervor. 
 
 "You really like your new profession, then?" she said. 
 " I remember you were always fond of music." 
 
 "I don't know how I should get on without it," he said. 
 " It is not only the music that is such a great delight, it is 
 the getting out of one's own world, the living in the char- 
 acters of others, the sense of holding the attention of one's 
 audience and playing upon their emotions, and the pleas- 
 ure of giving pleasure. Besides, there is a kind of satisfac- 
 tion in being what you were meant to be," 
 
 44 Had you long intended to take up this way of life?" 
 
 " No; but Piale had fully educated me for it. I was an 
 advocate, you know, though I had never practiced." 
 
 " And I suppose it was your wish to be near your sister 
 which prompted you to make the change?" she said. 
 
 He was surprised, and yet relieved, that she had guessed 
 as much. 
 
 44 It was my last promise to our mother," he said. But 
 he was quite silent as to the sacrifice it had been to him to 
 take up the profession ; and Clare, who had not the faint- 
 est suspicion of his love for Francesca, could not, of course, 
 realize what he had been through. She wondered whether 
 his plan had been a wise one, and recalled Mr. Brittoirs 
 description of Madame Merlino. and his conviction that in 
 this case chivalry would not avaiL 
 
KNIGHT-ERRAND. 207 
 
 "I know you don't approve of the stage," he said. 
 *' Had I thought you would have seen things as I saw 
 them I should have written to you when we first came to 
 England, for I was horribly lonely then." 
 
 " I wish you had," she said, with warm sympathy; "in- 
 deed, I should not have argued with you through the post! 
 Nor will I argue now. It is quite impossible for me really 
 to judge; I know too little about the stage." 
 
 " Yet you do disapprove in your secret heart," he said, 
 rather wistfully. He could not help longing for Clare's 
 benediction on his efforts. 
 
 "Perhaps it seems to me a little like doing evil that good 
 may come," she said, hesitatingly "But that may be 
 only my British prejudice." 
 
 Then, seeing a sad look in his eyes, she added, quickly : 
 
 "But, as I said before, Carlo, it is impossible for me to 
 judge. What did Captain Britton say to it?" 
 
 " He shared in the British prejudice." 
 
 A look of such deep pain flashed across his face that her 
 heart smote her; she had spoken without very much 
 thought, forgetting that Carlo would probably feel sore- 
 hearted still at the recollection of the quarrel with the cap- 
 tain which Mr. Britton had mentioned. Of the true state 
 of the case he had nothing to tell her, and the best of 
 friends cannot avoid now and then wounding each other in 
 the dark. 
 
 " A? -a matter of fact, you know," she said, in her sweet, 
 bright way, "I am a very ignorant woman as to these 
 matters. I have never been inside a theater, I have never 
 come across people connected with the stage, and I have 
 no doubt that the evils connected with theatrical life are 
 painted more darkly than they need be. Indeed, I should 
 be very glad if you 'could convert me." 
 
 " Then this shall be the first step in your conversion, " he 
 said, smling. "Look at these two ladies whom we are 
 just going to pass on the left." 
 
 Clare looked, Gigi kissed his hand, and the ladies bowed 
 and smiled as Carlo raised his hat. 
 
 "The tall one has a beautiful face !" exclaimed Clare. 
 " So dignified and sweet." 
 
 "That is Mademoiselle Borelli, our contralto; she is one 
 of the noblest women I know. The other is Mademoiselle 
 Duroc, her great friend." 
 
 "A nice face, but not so striking as the other," was 
 Clare's comment. "Well, Carlo, I am glad to have seen 
 them. Perhaps you will some day convert me altogether 
 and make me approve of theaters." 
 
 The talk turned on other matters, and before they parted 
 
208 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Clare made Carlo promise to come over to Mertebanlr fbe 
 next afternoon and to bring Gigi with him. 
 
 Curiously enough, however, the question of theatrical 
 life was to be handled once more that day, and not with 
 Clare's moderation. 
 
 St. Cyprian's was some way from the Royal Hotel; but 
 Carlo, having chanced upon a very dreary" service in the 
 morning at a neighboring church, was determined to go 
 further afield, and hearing from Sardoni that it was con- 
 sidered one of the finest churches in England, resolved to 
 seek it out. 
 
 44 It's at least a mile." said Sardoni; " however, the choir 
 is worth hearing, and if you're going I don't mind going 
 with you." 
 
 So the two set off together, arriving somewhat late, and 
 and having to content themselves with places at the very 
 back of the church. Carlo felt strangely tired, but he was 
 very happy in having met Clare and Mr. Britton once 
 more, and be was glad Sardoni had volunteered to come 
 with him. The beautiful building, and the music, and the 
 service, which were always associated in his mind with 
 Naples and Francesca, would even in their mere external 
 aspect, have been a refreshment ; and he was gaining the 
 rest he much needed when the sermon began, and startled 
 him back into his working-day existence. For the preacher, 
 sitting in his country vicarage, and well conversant with 
 all the pleasures of the country, which seemed to him the 
 only pleasures worth enumerating, had written a fierce 
 diatribe against the pleasures of the town, and notably 
 against theater-going. Perhaps it had not occurred to him 
 that members of the obnoxious theatrical profession might 
 be numbered in his flock; apparently he considered them 
 all to be reprobates, for he spoke of them in no measured 
 terms, and denounced their profession as an unhallowed 
 calling. Carlo was the more pained by the attack, because 
 the preacher was evidently a man of great earnestness, a 
 good, upright, honest man, not a mere denouncer. It was 
 hard, top, to have his brief respite from work disturbed 
 and spoiled by so untimely an assault. He tried not to 
 listen, but the mere desire not to hear made it impossible 
 for him to lose himself in other thoughts, and whether he 
 would or no the words fell upon his ear. 
 
 "My brethren," continued the preacher, "I look at the 
 hoardings in your town, and see how, even in this solemn 
 time of Lent, the world seeks to ensnare you. I see that, 
 not content with the usual number of theaters, another 
 niusi be opened for the performance of operas ; and I fear 
 that you may be tempted, perhaps, to snatch at a passing 
 re ; Let me urge you to withstand th 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 209 
 
 let me implore you, as you value the health of your own 
 souls, to shun this false and insnaring pleasure, the in- 
 fluence of which must be harmful may be deadly. Most 
 truly, most wisely do we sing the words : 
 
 " * Christian, dost thou see them 
 
 On the holy ground; 
 How the troops of Midian 
 Prowl and prowl around?' " 
 
 Carlo was for the moment so much tickled by the im- 
 plied comparison between the wandering troupe of Merlino 
 and the prowling troops of Midian, that he had some diffi- 
 culty in keeping his countenance. He did not dare to look 
 at Sardoni ; but, taking up a book, read the rest of the 
 hymn, reflecting sadly that even the much-abused mem- 
 bers of the "unhallowed calling " did sometimes try their 
 best to overcome " By the merit of the Holy Cross. " The 
 attack grieved him ; it seemed like the embodiment of the 
 cause which had separated him from Francesca. He had 
 learned, moreover, to love his profession; he believed in it 
 with all his heart; he knew that it need no more be an un- 
 hallowed calling than the calling of the poet, or the painter, 
 or the sculptor, or the novelist. This preacher clearly 
 failed to understand the highest meaning of art he had 
 no sense of the artistic side of life ; neither had he any 
 sense of humor, or he would instantly have perceived the 
 ludicrous turn which might be given to his application of 
 the " troops of Midian." 
 
 This particular Midianite began to wonder whether, if he 
 from the stage had begged people to shun the church and 
 to refrain from giving at the offertory, the preacher would 
 not have denounced him as a man who willfully robbed an- 
 other of his daily bread. He went on to picture to himself 
 the immediate consequences of any marked falling off in 
 the attendance at the theater; he thought of the heavy 
 loss to Merlino, the severe trial to his temper, the conse- 
 quent misery and suffering of all about him, the possible 
 effect on Anita. Then he went on to generalities, and 
 tried to imagine the effect upon art if the best and purest 
 followed the preacher's advice, and went no more to the 
 theater. He saw how the good, and the elevating, and the 
 lofty in the drama would perforce fail for lack of support ; 
 and how the only thing that would pay would be that 
 which pandered to the lowest and the vilest tastes. He 
 felt that the members of his profession, in such a state of 
 things, would be placed in a grave dilemma; unfit for any 
 other calling, they would be forced either to let their tal- 
 ents rust unused, and to sink into poverty and distress, or 
 to debase themselves by taking work which they kft^w tQ 
 bt uuworthy of them, 
 
310 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 He would have liked to put such a case to th& 
 and he felt curious to see what sort of a man h& 
 they were quite at the back of the church, aiid au inter- 
 vening pillar hid the pulpit from view. 
 
 Feeling, somehow, that the sermon had shut him out 
 from the fellowship which he expected to find in a church, 
 and had made him an alien even in th<$ body to which ho 
 rightfully belonged, he made his way out again into the 
 dark, dreary street, up which the Marcli wind blew gustily. 
 A sense of intolerable fatigue caine over him. 
 
 "What a pace you are walking at, Jack!" he exclaimed. 
 '* One might think you were biessed with the seven-leagued 
 boots, and were keeping up with Sirocco!" 
 
 Sardoni modified his pttCd ; and Carlo, glancing at him 
 saw an expression about his mouth which boded no good. ' 
 I'm sorry w r e cam in for that sermon," he said. 
 
 "Well, at any t-aie, it will serve to show you what Brit- 
 ish prejudice JSI M said Sardoni, speaking more fiercely 
 than the occasion seemed to warrant. "I don't know 
 what effect it will have as to theater-going, but I know 
 that I sh&'n't darken the doors of a church again in a 
 hurry.' 1 
 
 Carlo was silent, knowing that his companion was far 
 too aagry to be reasoned with ; and not another word passed 
 b*W<tfu them on their way back to the hotel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AN ENGLISH HOME. 
 
 " Nor hath thy knowledge of adversity 
 
 Robbed thee of any faith in happinew, 
 But rather cleared thine inner eyes to see 
 How many simple ways there are to bless." 
 
 2ML 
 
 THE next day, according to his promise, Carlo went over 
 fo Merlebank. 
 
 "How good of you to come," said Clare, hastening for- 
 ward to greet him as he was shown into the drawing-room ; 
 "I was afraid this gloomy afternoon might frighten you 
 away. I must introduce you to Francesca's cousins, whom 
 you have so often heard of." 
 
 Carlo looked eagerly enough to see if he could trace any 
 likeness to Francesca in the four girls who came up in 
 frank and friendly fashion to shake hands with him. 
 Kate, the eldest, was about her age, and he instantly per- 
 ceived that she had the same English- gray eyes dark 
 gray, with no blue in their depths. Though, however, she 
 was a nice-looking girl, she made no pretensions to beauty 
 but every now and then a tone in her voice would thrill 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 211 
 
 him by its likeness to Francesca's, and he felt much 
 attracted by her, though he perceived at once that she was 
 passing judgment on him, and that her manner was more 
 critical and less friendly than that of the younger girls. 
 
 Lucy, the second sister, was fairer and prettier, and 
 seemed to be the sweet-tempered one of the family, but 
 she interested him less than Kate, whose slightly aggressive 
 manner piqued him into curiosity. Molly was a rather 
 tomboyish young person of fourteen, with a frank hail- 
 fellow-well-met manner ; and Flo, the baby of the family, 
 was just eleven; a slim little girl, with short, fair hair, 
 and very short petticoats, who enjoyed life in a kittenish 
 sort of way, and, while much petted by every one in the 
 house, had somehow just escaped spoiling. 
 
 Clare sat, looking wonderfully natural, in the corner of 
 the big Chesterfield sofa, and made him sit beside her, 
 where they could talk comfortably together, a little re- 
 moved from the group of girls who, on the other side of 
 the hearth, clustered round Gigi and made much of him. 
 The drawing-room was such a room as Carlo had never 
 before seen, and after the weary round .of dingy lodgings 
 and second-rate hotels to which he had of late been accus- 
 tomed, he could fully appreciate it. It reminded him just 
 a little of the salotto at Casa Bella in its air of comfort and 
 homelikeness ; but whereas the Casa Bella room had a 
 semi-Italian air, from its Cantigalli plaques and pottery, 
 and its striped silk couvreltes, this room was thoroughly 
 and typically English. A second room, visible by day, 
 was curtained off in the evening, when snugness reigned 
 supreme ; a fire of coals, crowned by a huge log, burned in 
 the low, wide grate, and sent a ruddy glow over the brass 
 fender and dainty brass fire-irons, while a warm-toned 
 Persian carpet and wallflowered curtains harmonized with 
 the salmon-tinted walls, upon which were gathered a 
 wealth of pictures that at once attracted Carlo's eyes, 
 though the names on the massive gilt frames Brett, Ans- 
 dell, Vicat Cole, and Millais conveyed to him, as a for- 
 eigner, no special meaning. 
 
 Clare was a little afraid of alluding to Casa Bella after 
 her rather careless speech of the preceding day, but she 
 spoke of the Hitters, and of other mutual friends, and 
 asked endless questions about Naples and Pozzuoli which 
 Carlo was enchanted to answer. For many months he had 
 been utterly cutoff from all his old ties, and from the people 
 who could sympathize with them ; it was delightful to him 
 to go over the familiar ground once more with some one 
 who knew it and loved it almost as well as he did. To be 
 with Clare again made him feel strangely young and light- 
 hearted. He forgot Anita and Comer io; he forgot all ika 
 
218 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 petty jealousies and disputes of the company ; he even for- 
 got his own private troubles, found genuine relief in speak- 
 ing Francesca's name, and could almost have fancied that 
 he was once more a boy, resolving to work and wait till he 
 could present his name to Captain Britton with the prefix 
 of Avvocato. 
 
 *' You can stay a nice long time, I hope?'' said Clare. 
 "Mr. Britton will be coming in soon, I think, and he 
 specially wished to see you. He so much enjoyed your 
 singing on Saturday." 
 
 "This is my off day," explained Carlo, "so I am not 
 bound to be back by any special time. It is 4 Fra Diavolo ' 
 to-night, and I have no part in that." 
 
 " Is that your only chance of a holiday? Do you mean 
 that you sing all the other nights of the week?" 
 
 "That just depends on whether the engagements dove- 
 tail into each other. Very often they do. When the town 
 is important we generally stay a week, and then the round 
 seldom varies. Arrive on Sunday, Faust ' on Monday, 4 Fra 
 Diavolo ' Tuesday, * Sonnambula ' Wednesday, ' Lucia ' 
 Thursday, ' Barbiere' Friday, 'Eigoletto ' Saturday, on to 
 the next place on Sunday." 
 
 " Is the traveling always done on Sunday?" 
 
 " Not always, but very frequently. You see it is the only 
 day you close your theaters. Now with us the theaters are 
 shut on Friday, but we play our best operas in our best 
 style on the festa. There is something to be said for both 
 sides of the question. Last week we had engagements of 
 two and three nights only at small places, and traveled 
 here in detachments, the bulk of the company by special 
 train on Friday evening, the rest of us on Saturday after- 
 noon. So at Ashborough the days are slightly varied, and 
 on Thursday we move on to Queenbury for two nights." 
 
 " It must be a very hard lire," said Clare. 
 
 " It is no light work, as some people seem to fancy, es- 
 pecially when the winter is so severe." 
 
 "Yes, you must have felt the cold dreadfully." 
 
 " I have at any rate learned to appreciate warmth. The 
 only drawback is that in England it seems impossible to be 
 warm on both sides at once. You may scorch your shins 
 at the fire, and yet the back of your leg will still be frozen! 
 But I see you understand here how to build up a glorious 
 fire. W T e"don't come across such fireplaces as that." 
 
 While he talked he watched with the interest of a 
 foreigner all that was going on, wondered for what reason 
 the footman appeared with a trivet and a bright copper 
 kettle, and speculated as to the little folding table which 
 was being set up on the other side of the fireplace. A 
 daintily-worked cloth was spread over it, then came the 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 218 
 
 emanation in the form of a beautifully inlaid ebony and 
 si) v r er tray, with the most fascinating of silver tea-services, 
 and delicate blue and white china cups. 
 
 "This is just like Salem," announced Gigi. "We've 
 never had real proper tea since Salem." 
 
 Carlo, seeing that Kate had some unknown designs on 
 the copper kettle, hastened to offer his services. 
 
 ''Tea-making is a process I have never seen," he said, 
 wondering what on earth he was to do with the kettle now 
 that he had valiantly seized upon it. 
 
 "Thank you, a little in the tea-pot, please," said Kate. 
 "That will do." 
 
 He restored it to the trivet, and noticed that Kate's 
 hands were exactly like Francesca's. He could not take 
 his eyes off them as she measured out tea from a pretty 
 silver caddy with a silver cockle-shell. They were not 
 luxuriously brought up girls, in spite of their father's 
 wealth. They were accustomed to helping themselves, and 
 did not care to have servants always at their beck and 
 call. Indeed, Kate was of so independent a nature that 
 she would willingly have dispensed with Carlo's assistance; 
 and observing that the kettle did not boil, she set it further 
 back on the trivet, and with something a little defiant in 
 her expression, prepared to take it off at the critical 
 minute. 
 
 " What was the first edition for?" asked Carlo. 
 
 "Oh, that was to warm the teapot a very important 
 part of the matter," she explained. 
 
 " Pray let me have my share in this mysterious process," 
 paid Carlo, forestalling her as she was about to carry off 
 the kettle in triumph. " It has to me, you know, all the 
 interest of a new experiment in chemistry." 
 
 "You don't mean to say Francesca nasn't introduced 
 afternoon tea yet at Casa Bella?" 
 
 There was a general exclamation. 
 
 " You see, in Italy we naturally enough go in more for 
 cooling drinks. She was very clever at making lemonade. ' ' 
 
 He felt himself coloring at the recollection of that hot 
 summer day in the Rose-room, and was glad to turn his 
 back on the five pair of eyes, and to put the kettle again 
 on the trivet. A further diversion was made by the 
 entrance of the servant with cakes and thin bread-and- 
 butter and a great dish of crumpets, which was set down 
 in the fender to keep hot. There was something charm- 
 ingly easy and informal in the whole thing, Carlo thought; 
 he wondered what it was that gave the English their 
 special power of making homes, and once more the tone of 
 Kate's voice took him back, with a pang that was half of 
 pleasure, half of pain, to the thought of Francesca. For a 
 
814 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 minute he called up the picture of what might have been. 
 He saw the Villa Bruno, with the alterations which she 
 would have made in it ; he possessed in imagination the 
 wife and the home which he had renounced ; and the dream 
 was so sweet that it was almost worth the revulsion of feel- 
 ing which quickly followed. 
 
 There must have been a brain-wave between him and 
 Kate, for at that moment she startled him with the ques- 
 tion, "I suppose they have new neighbors now at Casa 
 Bella? Who took your house when you left?" 
 
 "It was taken by Count Carossa," he replied. "Mr. 
 Britton met him at Naples on Whit-Sunday. He has a 
 yacht not unlike the Pilgrim, and was anchored close by." 
 
 "I remember, now, father mentioned him. What sort 
 of a man is he? Will Uncle Britton like him?" 
 
 " I believe he was much taken with him," replied Carlo, 
 hearing his own calm replies, with a sort of astonishment. 
 
 "Uncle is dreadfully fond of people with titles," said 
 Kate. "It is his one weakness. Is the Count Carossw 
 really nice, do you think?" 
 
 "I have only met him once," replied Carlo. "He is 
 quite young and very rich, rather an original sort of man, 
 has traveled a great deal, and is a good raconteur." 
 
 He ran off the list of his rival's merits unfalteringly, but 
 was secrectly relieved by an interruption. 
 
 " Don't you hear wheels?" exclaimed Lucy, opening the 
 drawing-room door that she might listen better. 
 
 "Yes, it is father?" cried little Flo, " for Bevis is wak- 
 ing up. See," she said, drawing Carlo's attention to a 
 very old deer-hound which lay stretched out comfortably 
 on the hearth-rug. "Bevis always does that when he 
 hears the carriage, but when it is only people coming to 
 call he sleeps right on." 
 
 In the hall there was a little bustle of arrival and welcome. 
 The return of the father and son from business made one of 
 the pleasantest of the daily events in that quiet country 
 household. They brought with them a sort of atmosphere 
 of the world which was refreshing. Generally there were 
 commissions to be delivered, or library books to be eagerly 
 seized upon, and invariably there was some sort of news to 
 be discussed. Carlo realized something of this as Mr. Brit- 
 ton came into the room with Lucy, his favorite daughter, 
 clinging to his arm, and the dog Oscar, son to the elderly 
 Bevis, at his heels. 
 
 The ship-builder never showed to greater advantage than 
 in his own house. Looking now at his clear gray eyes, hi? 
 refined face, his thick white hair, and snowy, well-kept 
 beard, he seemed to Carlo the perfection of an English gen- 
 tleman. His manner was delightful ; a little more courteous 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 15 
 
 than the manner of the Englishmen Carlo had hitherto 
 come across, but free from all suspicion of formality a 
 manner that was genuinely friendly without being in the 
 least over- familiar. He gave Carlo a hearty welcome, and 
 turned to introduce him to his son, who seemed to be much 
 what Mr. Britton must have been forty years ago. 
 
 Harry Britton had not yet acquired, however, his father's 
 easy, genial way of talking; he seemed not quite at his 
 ease, with the Italian; and, after the greetings were over, 
 moved away with a perceptible air of relief, which tickled 
 Carlo not a little, and began to open the shiny black bag 
 which he held in his left hand. From this he proceeded to 
 dole forth various purchases which the girls had asked him 
 to make, ending with the evening paper, which he as usual 
 brought dutifully to Clare, with a little time-honored joke 
 which had for them all a halo of happy associations. 
 
 Carlo watched the little bit of by-play, and understood 
 it all perfectly. It brought back to his mind the old days 
 when Clare was in Italy, and had been to him just such a 
 true, stanch, cheery friend as she was now to Harry Brit- 
 ton. To his tired brain there was something indescribably 
 refreshing in that glimpse of home -life. It was a scene 
 which he never forgot, and which often returned to him 
 with a sense of comfort in his wandering, homeless life. 
 For there are people so genuine, so English, so whole- 
 hearted, that they can make even afternoon callers feel, 
 for the time being, one of themselves-^-can send them forth 
 again with a pleasant, living picture in their hearts, and a 
 consciousness that there is true friendliness and good- 
 fellowship in a world which had seemed to them for the 
 most part a place of weary formality and routine. 
 
 He felt a great wish to do something for these people, 
 and knowing that etiquette forbade them to ask him to 
 sing, and that Clare was anxious to hear him, he took ad- 
 vantage of some reference which Mr. Britton made to his 
 singing in " Faust " to offer to sing them "Dio Possente." 
 
 The unmistakable look of real delight which greeted the 
 suggestion, and the eager way in which Molly and Flo ran 
 to open the piano, pleased him more than the loudest pub- 
 lic applause could have done. He sang very well, and en- 
 tranced his hearers, rousing even Harry out of his shy 
 reserve. 
 
 " Do you ever sing English songs?" he asked, when the 
 chorus of thanks had ceased, volunteering his first un- 
 called-for remark to the Italian. 
 
 " Not very often," replied Carlo, wondering whether he 
 could get through "Love for a Life," and, after a mo- 
 ment's debate, deciding to risk it for the sake of pleasing 
 
216 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Francesca's cousin. "There is one song by my old maes- 
 tro with English words. Perhaps you know it?" 
 
 He struck a few chords, then broke into the introduction 
 to the song, which transported him once more to that first 
 happy day of his betrothal. To sing it was hard, and yet 
 his very emotion gave him a power which he would not 
 otherwise have possessed it made him able to bring tears 
 into the eyes of more than one of his listeners it set kind- 
 hearted Mr. Britton weaving plans for a reconciliation, and 
 imagining a happy ending to Francesca's love-story. 
 
 " I sang that for you," said Carlo, with a little bow of 
 acknowledgment for Harry's warm thanks. " Now, if you 
 are not quite tired of me, I should very much like to sing 
 one song for Miss Claremont. You must choose it, Clare," 
 he said, turning to her, and looking with a smile into her 
 sympathetic eyes. 
 
 " May I really choose?" she said. " Then I should like 
 that old favorite of mine, * The Pilgrim of Love.' " 
 
 *' That will also be an indirect compliment to the yacht," 
 said Carlo, laughing. " Or was that called after the ' Pil- 
 grim's Progress?' But, let me see, can I get through the 
 words? How do you pronounce that bit I always used to 
 come to grief over?" 
 
 "'Nay, nay, courteous father?' " suggested Clare, re- 
 calling merry disputes in the Casa Bella drawing-room. 
 
 "That was itl 'Curteous,' or 'corteous' how do you 
 say it?" 
 
 They laughed over the old discussions, and discussed 
 them over again ; and after some little delay, Carlo sang 
 the song, and finally left them to be haunted for many a 
 day to come by the refrain, " No rest but the grave for the 
 pilgrim of love." 
 
 "He seems a nice sort of fellow!" was Harry's com- 
 ment when, the guests having departed, his natural man- 
 ner returned to him. " I say, it didn't matter, did it, my 
 asking him if he sang English songs? I thought none of 
 those operatic fellows did. ' ' 
 
 "Oh dear, no," said Clare. "Nothing pleases Carlo so 
 much as to give pleasure." 
 
 4 ' Well, it was awfully jolly of him to sing such a lot. He 
 doesn't seem a bit stuck up. But, I say, why on earth 
 can't they be called like ordinary Christians? Carlo and 
 Gigi! Did you ever hear of a more horsey and doggy 
 couple!" 
 
 "That's just your narrow-mindedness," said Clare, 
 laughing. ''Carlo is as good a name as Charles, and Gigi 
 sounds no more foolish to an Italian than Johnny or 
 Tommy to us." 
 
 "Weil, Clare, for my part I don't understand your 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 217 
 
 Signer Donati. If he is the sort of man he seems to be, 
 why does he live such a useless life?" said Kate, with the 
 severity of three-and-twenty. 
 
 44 He may have many reasons which we don't under- 
 stand," said Clare. "However, I candidly confess that I 
 wish he would leave the stage. He looks to me terribly 
 delicate." 
 
 "He is far too good for that company ," said Mr. Britton. 
 " I shouldn't be at all surprised if he did leave the stage 
 before long. I hope he may I hope he may! There's 
 something about him which quite fascinates one, though I 
 do wish he could have been an Englishman." 
 
 The laughter evoked by this truly British remark wag 
 only checked by the warning clock, which made Clare and 
 the younger girls beat a hasty retreat to the schoolroom, 
 and sent Kate to read to her invalid grandmother, and to 
 moralize in her own mind over Carlo's mistake in choosing 
 so unworthy a profession. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A LAST STRUGGLE. 
 
 " O sweet, they tell me that the world is hard and harsh of mind, 
 But can it be so hard, so harsh, as those that should be kind? 
 That matters not; let come what will; at last the end is sure. 
 And every heart that loves with truth is equal to endure." 
 
 "Now, Miss Claremont, suppose just for once you were 
 to come to the theater?" remarked Mr. Britton at break- 
 fast the next morning. "I see they are giving 'Ilkar- 
 biere ' on Wednesday night, and I have a sort of hanker- 
 ing to hear it once more. Will you come? Shall I take a 
 box?" 
 
 But Clare was too stanch to her Puritan traditions, 
 though she owned that she would much have liked to 
 hear Carlo. As yet, however, he had not converted her; 
 she still regarded the stage as at best a necessary evil, and 
 felt bound to refuse Mr. Britton's offer. 
 
 "Then ask Signer Donati over to lunch to-morrow ; it 
 will be your last chance of seeing him; and I am afraid it 
 is no good asking him to dinner, because, apparently, ho 
 can't sing after eating, and has to dine at some uncon- 
 scionably early hour. " 
 
 "I shall be going in to Ashborough at twelve o 7 clock iu 
 the pony-carriage, Clare," remarked Kate. "I can leave 
 a note for you, if you like; or will you come in with me?" 
 
 Clare, who was fond of driving, said she should like to 
 come: so, when lessons were ended, she joined her ex- 
 pupil,* and well wrapped up, was able to enjoy even the 
 
j&ii KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 stretch of bleak, dusty road that lay between Merlebank 
 and Ashborough. 
 
 *' We need not leave the note, for there is Signer Donati !" 
 exclaimed Kate, as they drove down the High Street. " I 
 do hate to see a man in fur like that. He seems to coddle 
 himself dreadfully. Harry says he took quite an age 
 wrapping up his throat last night." 
 
 *' We will just stop a minute or two, if you don't mind,' 7 
 said Clare. "I will speak to him, and see if he can come." 
 
 Carlo did not at first notice them. He was walking 
 rather slowly down the street, with Gigi, as usual, cling- 
 ing to his hand. He looked ill and depressed ; but when 
 Gigi eagerly drew his attention to the pony-carriage and 
 its occupants, his face lighted up, and he seemed for th 
 time to return to his old self. 
 
 " We were just coming to ask you to lunch with us to- 
 morrow," said Clare. " Will you come, you and Gigi? I 
 suppose you couldn't dine with us, could you?" 
 
 44 I'm afraid not, thank you, for I'm singing both to- 
 night and to-morrow; but I shall be very glad to come 
 over to lunch." 
 
 He had a short, hard cough, which made Clare look at 
 him anxiously. 
 
 " You look very poorly to-day, Carlo," she said. 
 
 ' ' I awoke to the sad consciousness that the wind had 
 gone back to the east," he said, laughing. 
 
 "And that cough? It seems very bad." 
 
 "Oh, it is only chronic!" he said, with a smile. "We 
 have all suffered more or less from the long winter. It ' 
 must be nearly over now, don't you think?" 
 
 "April and May are often nearly as cold, " said Kate, 
 perversely. 
 
 " Are they?" he said, with an expressive gesture. "My 
 friend Sardoni has just given me a song called * Welcome, 
 cold Northeaster,' but the very words make one's teeth 
 chatter!" 
 
 "One o'clock to-morrow, then," said Clare, as they 
 drove on again. 
 
 He took off his hat and bowed in foreign fashion, and 
 was sedulously imitated by Gigi. 
 
 " Dreadfully Italian!" (said Kate, whipping up the ponies 
 with a touch of irritation in her manner. " I can't bear 
 a man to be a sort of barometer pretending to know 
 which way the wind is before he had Deen out; such non- 
 sense 1' ' 
 
 " I have known many people with susceptible chests wtto 
 were able to do that," said Clare. 
 
 " But no Englishman looks so miserable just because it 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 21 
 
 happens to be a cold day, ' ' said Kate. ' ' It seems so effemi- 
 nate to mind a little fresh air." 
 
 "My dear, if you had to work hard through a very hot 
 summer in Italy, do you not think you might look flushed 
 and overtired?" 
 
 "Ah, but to feel heat is quite a different thing," pro- 
 tested Kate. "There's nothing unmanly in that; why, 
 don't you remember last August how limp and good-for- 
 nothing Harry was in that very hot week?" 
 
 "Yes, because he was unused to it. You are illogical, 
 Kate ; it is not a bit more effeminate, as you say, to feel the 
 physical effects of cold than of heat; the only difference is 
 that you understand one feeling and don't understand the 
 other." 
 
 "That may be," said Kate, "but I don't like Signor 
 Donati; and as to saying that he works hard, why, what 
 man who is hardworked would be sauntering down the 
 High Street like that, with a child? I don't call his sort of 
 profession work at all." 
 
 In the meantime, Carlo slowly made his way back to the 
 hotel. 
 
 He was so tired and overdone that it was all he could do 
 to bear Gigi's chatter. He wondered how he should get 
 through with his Count Eodolpho, remembered distaste- 
 fully that he should have to make love to Mademoiselle do 
 Caisne, who never would sink her own personality in that 
 of Lisa, and would have given all he possessed if any one 
 had come to him with the news that, for some good rea- 
 son, there could be no opera that night. Everything in 
 the future which he had to undertake looked to him like a 
 huge mountain which he must perforce climb ; and, worst 
 of all, he knew that the instant he faltered Comerio would 
 come forward and offer to take his place. If it had not 
 been for that thought he could have borne up better, but 
 th> consciousness that Gomez was carefully keeping watch 
 on his health, like a vulture hovering over a dying man, 
 and longing to swoop down on him this was almost mad- 
 dening. He was troubled, too, about Sardoni, who, for the 
 last day or two, had been unlike himself, moody, and mel- 
 ancholy in the daytime, and wild and reckless toward 
 night. He seemed to shun Carlo as much as possible, and 
 when they were thrown together was so bitter and sarcas- 
 tic that his friend could not imagine what had come over 
 him; it was so unreasonable, so altogether improbable, 
 that the sermon of Sunday night should still be rankling in 
 his mind, that such a notion never occurred to Carlo. He 
 was altogether perplexed, and felt very anxious about him, 
 nor could he help perceiving, with a pang, that in the time 
 of his own greatest need Sardoni had deserted him, wholly 
 
220 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 failing to notice his desperate struggle to keep up. How 
 he got through his work he scarcely knew; luckily for 
 him, his throat was not much affected, though he was 
 feeling far too weak and ill to be in good voice. At any 
 rate, he did not break down, and he began to see that, at 
 present, he must content himself with this poor comfort, 
 and put up with cold receptions and the wretched con- 
 sciousness of artistic failure. He went home wondering 
 what poor old Piale would have said could he have heard 
 him, and congratulated himself that the dear old maestro 
 was not likely even to see the unfavorable critiques en his 
 singing, which must inevitably follow upon so wretched a 
 performance. 
 
 On the Wednesday morning, after a very restless nightj 
 he woke much worse than on the previous day, and feel- 
 ing positively sick at the thought that he must either get 
 through the trying part of Figaro that night or confess his 
 illness, get a medical certificate to prove his inability to 
 appear, and thus give all into the hands of Gomez and 
 Comerio. For he knew too well that no doctor in his 
 senses would permit him to sing in his present state; that 
 he would infallibly be ordered to rest ; and for this reason, 
 while taking every possible precaution throughout the 
 winter, he had avoided doctors as he would have avoided 
 the plague. It was still just possible that he might struggle 
 on until the warm weather came; then, in June, Merlino 
 might, and probably would, renew the contract with him, 
 and he should go to America with the troupe and once 
 more baffle Comerio. If he could only hold out ! 
 
 He lay in bed as long as he dared, then, knowing that 
 Gomez would publicly comment on the fact if he failed to 
 make his appearance, and that Merlino invariably wanted 
 him if he happened to be late in the morning, dressed 
 hastily, noticed with relief that he did not look nearly so 
 ghastly as he felt, and went down to the crowded coffee- 
 room. The hotel was full of people who had come down 
 to Ashborough for the races ; they were a noisy, disrepu 
 table crew ; and as Carlo entered the room where they were 
 all breakfasting before going to the race -course, it seemed 
 to him like coming into a pandemonium. His head was 
 aching miserably, but his ears seemed preternaturally 
 alive to the slightest sound, and he could distinctly hoar 
 several comments on " one of those operatic fellows " as 
 he steered his way through the throng to the fireplace, 
 nodding to Merlino and Tamrini as he passed them. 
 
 "Good-day, Donati; how are you?" said a voice at his 
 elbow. 
 
 He looked round and saw the Spaniard's malicious face. 
 
 f ' Good-morning," he replied. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 221 
 
 " How are you?" repeated Gomez. 
 
 " I'm cold," said Carlo, drawing nearer to the fire, and 
 determined that Gomez should gain nothing from his 
 catechism. "They don't know how to build up fires in 
 this place." 
 
 As he spoke he felt the Spaniard's searching glance, and 
 knew that Gomez was far too shrewd not to find out the 
 true state of the case. For although his rich, ruddy, 
 brown coloring deceived many people, yet keen observers 
 might easily note that day by day his cheeks grew more 
 hollow, and that there were lines of pain about his mouth 
 and eyes. There was to him a sort of horrible humiliation 
 about it, for he had never been ill in his life, had thought 
 it impossible that his perfect health should be broken, had 
 almost laughed when Captain Britton had suggested the 
 idea to him. It was useless, however, to blink the fact any 
 longer; and when the place was quiet once more the noisy 
 guests gone off to the races, and Merlino and Marioni 
 to the theater Carlo gave way, shivering from head to 
 foot almost like one in a fit of ague. 
 
 " Cold morning sir," said one of the overworked waiters, 
 putting fresh coals on the fire. "Have you breakfasted, 
 sir?" 
 
 " I won't take anything, thank you," said Carlo, feeling 
 not the slightest inclination for food. 
 
 "Some nice hot rashers, sir, or an egg?" suggested the 
 waiter. But Carlo was not to be tempted. 
 
 " We shall have to put you on my ' Don't ~be dainty,' ' 
 said Gigi, taking off his bib, embroidered with this moral 
 precept, and trotting up to Carlo with it. 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh. The waiter smiled po- 
 litely arid withdrew, but returned before long with a cup 
 of coffee. 
 
 "Try that, sir," he said, kindly; "it's just fresh made, 
 and will do you good. You have a heavy cold coming on, 
 sir." 
 
 Carlo was touched by the man's courtesy ; he did not 
 deny the advent of the heavy cold. 
 
 "Gigi," he said, "I'm afraid we must give up going to 
 Merlebank to lunch. You shall take a note over there, if I 
 can find some one to send with you." 
 
 " Are you ill, zio caro ?" asked the child, frightened by 
 the look of pain which he for the first time noticed in the 
 face so familiar to him. 
 
 " The waiter says it's a heavy cold coming on, and any- 
 how I must save up for to-night. I'm sorry to disappoint 
 you." 
 
 " I wish we could go," said Gigi, wistfully, " but I more 
 wish you wasn't ill;" and he raised his quaint, pitiful lil- 
 
222 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 tie face to Carlo's with one of those childish caresses which 
 made Carlo feel that everything he had been through was 
 worth while. 
 
 He sat down to write to Clare, and Gigi ran back to his 
 beloved soldiers, monotonously chanting, in his rather 
 pretty little voice : 
 
 " ' Pray, Mr. Frog, \vill you give us a song, 
 
 But let it be something that'g not very long.' 
 ' Indeed, Mrs. Mouse,' replied Mr. Frog, 
 ' A cold has made me as hoarse as a hog.' " 
 
 Carlo was fain to confess that day that it was a relief to 
 get rid of his little companion. He sent him off to Merle- 
 bank with a friendly scene-shifter, and sat in a great arm- 
 chair drawn close to the fire, bearing miserable headache 
 and backache, yet finding a sort of relief in the conscious- 
 ness that he could cough and shiver to his heart's content 
 now that no one was near. 
 
 The morning passed in a strange quiet, like the pause be- 
 fore a storm ; the very streets were deserted, for all Ash- 
 borough was on the race-course ; Nita, who was not singing 
 that evening, was still in her room ; Mademoiselle De Caisne 
 was closeted with her dressmaker; there was nothing to 
 break the peace of Carlo's solitude, if indeed such a fever- 
 ish misery could be called peace. 
 
 The clock struck twelve, and he started from a troubled 
 waking dream of Francesca to the recollection that in an- 
 other eight hours he should have to transform himself 
 somehow into Figaro; and with nervousness far greater 
 than that which he had felt at his first appearance, he 
 made his way to the private sitting-room which was the 
 joint property of Merlino's troupe, and began to practice. 
 But five minutes completely exhausted him, he shut the 
 piano, and in a sort of despair stretched himself at full 
 length on the hearth-rug. 
 
 "I don't know what is going to happen to me!" he 
 thought to himself, with the misery of a thoroughly 
 healthy man for the first time attacked by serious illness. 
 " But if I am to sing I can sing, that much is certain; I'll 
 at least die in harness." 
 
 Eesolutely driving back the crowd of cares that surged 
 in upon him, taking advantage of his physical weakness, 
 he lay in a sort of enforced quiet the quiet which can only 
 come to a good man well schooled . in self-discipline. He 
 was failing, and knew it all too well, but he knew still bet- 
 ter that he was but a unit in the great army of One who 
 cannot fail, knew that 
 
 "He 
 
 Alone may say, * 'Tis finished all and very good.' 
 We only do a part, and partly well, 
 And others come and mend it." 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 228 
 
 He must have dozed for a few minutes, for on suddenly 
 opening his eyes he found that Nita had com into the 
 room, and was looking down upon him with her beautiful, 
 heartless face, and once again that look of suppressed ex- 
 citement which had pained him so much at Birmingham. 
 
 "You are ill?" she said, breathlessly. "You are not 
 going to sing to-night?" 
 
 He was on his feet in a moment. " Certainly I am going 
 to sing," he said. " Marioni advised me not to go out this 
 morning, to save up for the opera, as I have a cold coming 
 on." 
 
 "Where isGigi?" she asked, with nervousness, which he 
 hailed with relief. Since the child's narrow escape from 
 death she had certainly learned to think much more of 
 him, and that she should trouble herself as to his safety 
 was something quite new. 
 
 " Gigi has gone over to Merlebank with a note; I meant 
 to have gone to see Miss Claremont, but thought it wiser 
 to save up for Figaro. I sent him over with Adamson; 
 he'll take great care of him." 
 
 "But here is Adamson coming down the street alone. 
 What can have happened to the child? Why did you send 
 him?" 
 
 She refused to hear reason, but Carlo was only too glad 
 to be scolded, for every word revealed to him how much 
 she loved the child. 
 
 The discussion was soon ended by the arrival of the 
 scene-shifter, with a message to the effect that Master Gigi 
 was staying to lunch at Merlebank, and that Miss Clare- 
 mont would bring him back in the carriage that afternoon. 
 
 Nita was pacified, and asked Carlo to accompany her 
 while she practiced a new song ; she seemed to forget her 
 first impression on seeing him, got absorbed in the music, 
 and thought no more of his possible illness, and Comerio's 
 
 Sossible advent. He was relieved, and presently went 
 own to lunch with her, made a feint of eating something, 
 and heard with satisfaction that a plan was proposed for 
 hiring a brake and going on to the race- course, since he 
 knew that he should be left in peace most of the afternoon. 
 But as the hours passed by he grew steadily worse, and not 
 even the rest and solitude prepared him for the great effort 
 of the evening. He was sitting crouched up by the fire, 
 his head resting on his hands, when Domenica Borelli camo 
 into the room. She was tall and stately, with something 
 both in her face and in her way of walking which revealed 
 her character a noble-minded, upright woman, whom to 
 know was to revere. She was some years older than he 
 was, and off the stage her face bore the stamp o its thirty 
 years* 
 
824 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " I thought, perhaps, you would just go through ' Dunqu 
 io son' with me," she said, as she crossed the room; then 
 as she drew nearer, and could see his face more clearly, 
 " but I am afraid you are really ill; you don't look fit to 
 be up." 
 
 "I would rather not try the duetto now, if you don't 
 mind," he said. " Don't say anything to the rest; I may 
 be better to-morrow. " 
 
 "But you ought to see a doctor," she said; " you ought 
 to have a rest, I am sure. Signor Merlino must find a 
 substitute till you are fit to sing again, since Fasola is able 
 to take so few of your parts." 
 
 " It may come to that," he said, with a sigh that was 
 almost a groan. " I wish I had a respectable under-study, 
 who could at any rate do the work on occasion." 
 
 Domenica Borelli had a woman's quick perception; she 
 instantly understood the whole story, that story to which 
 Merlino was deaf and blind, though it concerned him so 
 nearly. For the first time she understood Carlo. Hith- 
 erto she had liked him as a fellow-artist, now she felt that 
 she longed to be his friend. 
 
 " Is there anything I could do to help you?" she said, 
 and there was something in her kind, quiet, unsentimental 
 tone which conveyed to him perfectly the sense of that 
 true friendship which, though many deny it, can most as- 
 suredly exist between man and woman. 
 
 In his great distress of mind and body her help was pre- 
 cisely what he needed. 
 
 "Indeed you can," he said, with tears in his eyes. " If 
 at any time I should be obliged to leave the troupe if I 
 should fall ill will you be a friend to my sister and to 
 Gigi?" 
 
 It was asking a hard thing of her, for she particularly 
 disliked Anita, but, guessing his reason for asking her, she 
 could not possibly have refused him. 
 
 "There is one other thing," he continued; "I am un- 
 happy about Sardoni ; he is in some trouble, I think. Be 
 his friend, too, as you are mine." 
 
 She colored, not feeling at all sure that Sardoni was the 
 sort of man with whom friendship would be possible. 
 
 "I don't understand Signor Sardoni, " she said, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " Nor I, just now, but he has been a good friend to me. 
 I wish you would see a little more of him; you might be 
 his good angel." 
 
 She made no very definite promise, but something in her 
 face satisfied Carlo. 
 
 " And you?" she said; " you mean to go on ainging 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 825 
 
 M Tjll I come to grief yes. I shall make you a misera- 
 ble Figaro to-night, but perhaps you'll put up with me." 
 
 There was something which touched her very deeply in 
 his humility, for she knew how painful it must be to his 
 artist nature to face the thought of attempting a part to 
 which he could not possibly do justice. 
 
 "I shall have the satisfaction of acting with a brave 
 man, at any rate," she said. "It needs no small courage 
 to face an audience when you know you can't please them. 
 Perhaps with rest, though, you may be feeling better; I 
 shall not stay tiring you any longer." 
 
 " You don't know how much good you have done me!" 
 he said, gratefully, feeling that her promise, in case of his 
 illness, had removed part of the burden from his mind. 
 
 She left him to prepare as best he might for the evening, 
 and to count the quarters chimed by the clock in the town- 
 hall, much as a prisoner might have counted them while 
 waiting for the hour of execution. Sounds of bustle and 
 confusion in the street warned him that the races must be 
 over; he left the sitting-room, feeling quite unable to meet 
 the scrutiny of Gomez, or to endure the talk of any of his 
 confreres, and dragged himself up to No. 62; and here, 
 after awhile, Gigi found him. 
 
 "What ! gone to bed so early, San Carlo!" he exclaimed, 
 trotting up with his merry little face, but growing grave 
 and gentle as the truth began to dawn on his childish 
 inind. "Are you beter now?" he asked, very anxiouslv. 
 
 "I am only resting. Don't look so frightened, mio 
 
 caro. ' ' 
 
 "They sent you some flowers," said Gigi, putting a 
 lovely bunch of snowdrops and aconites on the bed ; "and 
 here is a letter, too. ' ' 
 
 Carlo tried to seem pleased, and to take an interest in 
 the child's account of his day at Merlebank; then he 
 opened Clare's letter. Mr. Britton would send the close 
 carriage over for him in the morning, and hoped he would 
 be well enough to come and say good-bye before leaving 
 Ashborough to-morrow. The kind words cheered him, 
 but he was much too ill to look so far ahead, and the 
 
 words of an old Eastern poem floated through his mind 
 
 " To-morrow! why, to-morrow I may be 
 Myself with yesterday's seven thousand years." 
 
 " You must go down to dinner, little one," he said, after 
 a silence, in which Gigi had sat watching him with big, 
 solemn eyes. " If any one asks why I don't come, say I 
 have a bad headache, and shall rest till it is time to go to 
 the theater." 
 
 The hours passed by and Gigi did not return. Carlo 
 imagined that Domemca Borelli had kept him, and was 
 
226 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 grateful to her, The clock struck seven; he prayed in 
 brief, disconnected sentences that he might be able to get 
 through his work, that no evil might befall Anita, that ha 
 might judge rightly as to what could be done. Again, 
 with a quickness which startled him, tke quarter was 
 chimed ; he tried to think of Figaro, sang a snatch or two 
 of "Zitti, Zitti," and felt that he would have given any- 
 thing to be able to escape from that night's performance. 
 
 Should he even now follow Domenica's suggestion and 
 send for a doctor? There was yet time. For an instant the 
 intense relief to himself was almost more than he could 
 withstand. But then, on the other hand, he argued, 
 people who had never been ill were apt to think themselves 
 dying when there was nothing serious the matter with 
 them ; and, if he gave up tamely now, Comerio would cer- 
 tainly put himself forward to fill the vacancy in the troupe. 
 No ; he must fight for his post to the last gasp. The half- 
 hour struck as he formed his final resolution, and with an 
 effort he flung back the rugs and coats which were heaped 
 up on the bed, staggered to his feet, lit the gas, and, stand- 
 ing before the mirror, threw himself into one of Figaro's 
 characteristic attitudes, and sang a bar or two of "Largo 
 al Factotum.'' 
 
 4i Passable, if I can only hold out," he thought to nim- 
 self. " And, after all, I'm not the first man who has made 
 merry and sung and paced the stage with aching bones. 
 Was it Grimaldi or Listen who made the people laugh till 
 they cried while he was bearing torments?" 
 
 He made his way to the sitting-room and looked in to see 
 if Sardoni was there, but heard that he had already started. 
 Merlino joined him in a grumbling humor ; Gigi trotted up 
 to say good-night; and then, feeling like one in a bad 
 dream, he found himself walking through the street among 
 jostling passengers, and getting a sort of confused yision of 
 the bad faces which always make their appearance in a 
 town where races are being held. The distance between 
 the Royal Hotel and the theater was quite short, but it 
 seemed to him that night almost endless; it was only by a 
 great effort that he kept up with Merlino, and when* he 
 reached his dressing-room he felt as if he could not have 
 stood another minute. 
 
 "You are ill. sir?" said Seba p tvinQ. the dresser, with 
 anxiety. 
 
 "It's all right; I will rest a minute," he replied, breath- 
 lessly. " Where is Signer Sardoni?" 
 
 " In the greenroom, signer; he dressed earlier than tisuaL 
 Let me call him." 
 
 "No, no," said Carlo, quickly. " I am better alone." 
 
 And so perhaps he was, yet Sardoni's defection pained 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 227 
 
 him his friend had studiously avoided him the whole day. 
 The dresser proposed all sorts of remedies, and Carlo pa- 
 tiently endured the well-meaning chatter till he was 
 thoroughly equipped in his Spanish costume and had been 
 duly " made up;" then he begged that no one might dis- 
 turb him till the very last moment, and sat crouched up by 
 the little fire, hearing in the distance the familiar sounds of 
 the overture and the succeeding choruses. At last his hoiu 
 came. 
 
 "Quite time, signor," said Sebastiano, rapping on the 
 door. He threw it open and walked slowly along the 
 winding passages, arriving at the wings just in time to en- 
 counter the chorus as they came off the stage. Some 
 rumor as to his illness had got abroad, and many good 
 wishes and inquiries were made in the quick, silent Italian, 
 fashion from his friends among the chorus- singers. With 
 very few exceptions he was extremely popular in the com- 
 pany, and much sympathy was felt for him when it be- 
 came apparent that he was far more fit to be in bed than, 
 at the theater. An attendant handed him a guitar, he 
 heard the orchestra begin the introduction to his song, and 
 his thoughts flew back from this miserable present to the 
 sunny past. He remembered how oh his last day of un- 
 alloyed happiness he had sung this very song in Piale's 
 room in the Strada Mont' Oliveto, and how the old maestrc? 
 had been in despair over his refusal to go on the stage. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, he is not here to-night to be tortured 
 by my bad performance !" was his last reflection, as he drew 
 himself together and walked on to the stage. The house 
 was full, but by this time he had become rather discerning 
 in the matter of audiences, and perceived at once that it 
 had a larger proportion than on the previous night of the 
 rowdy element, introduced into Ashborough by the races. 
 He hardly knew whether to be relieved or vexed at seeing 
 Mr. Britton and his son in the stalls, and, indeed, was able 
 to spare little time to think of them, since he had to devote 
 all his powers to conquering the agony of nervousness 
 which had overwhelmed him. In vain he struggled to 
 feel himself Figaro; his head swam, every bone in his 
 body seemed to assert itself achingly, as though protesting 
 that it belonged to one Donati, who ought to have been in 
 his bed at that moment, and not at all to the blithe, merry 
 barber of Seville. 
 
 " Courage !" he said to himself. " If I can't get into my 
 character, I'll at least walk through the part like a man for 
 Nita's sake! 1 ' 
 
 He set to work manfully, fully conscious that the con- 
 ductor was eying him with fear and trembling, and an- 
 ticipating some dire mishap. Still he struggled on, exert- 
 
228 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ing himself to the utmost, and trying to disregard the 
 evident symptoms of disappointment which began to be 
 manifest in the audience. He would not be influenced by 
 them, though he was too keenly sensitive not to perceive 
 the sort of wave of impatience and disapproval which 
 passed over the faces of the listening crowd. Endless 
 seemed the song! At each brief interval it seemed to him 
 more impossible that he should ever get through it safely, 
 and the mockery of the oft- repeated words, " Ah! che bel 
 vivere, che bel piacere!" made matters still worse. At 
 length the end drew near; with relief at the prospect, and 
 with a desperate effort, he dashed off into the final and more 
 florid repetitions of " AJi, bravo Figaro!" not without, even 
 at that moment, a humorous perception of the effects such 
 words from such a singer must produce on the hearers. 
 " Were I there instead of here I should laugh till I cried," 
 he reflected. 
 
 But it was almost over; he had survived the last long 
 florid passage ; there remained only four more notes. Ex- 
 hausted, strung up to the very highest pitch of endurance, 
 he tried to take the quick breath which was indispensable 
 at that moment, but to draw it seemed impossible. He 
 felt a sharp stab of pain ae though a knife had been sud- 
 denly plunged in his side, yet the fatal white stick in 
 Marioni's hand was raised, and with a last effort he forced 
 himself to attack the high G. 
 
 What followed was to him ever after a sort of night- 
 mare recollection. His voice failed utterly, and the high 
 note, which should have been the climax of the song, broke 
 into a discordant sound that only ceased to ring in his ears 
 when overpowered by a storm of hissing. Such a hopeless 
 failure was too much even for the patience and kindliness 
 of an English audience ; hisses resounded on all sides. It 
 was intolerable to have paid money to listen to such a 
 miserable performance. The people were really angry, 
 and would not be pacified. 
 
 For a moment or two Carlo stood looking at the angry, 
 contemptuous faces with a sore-hearted sense of rejection 
 and a keen personal pain; then, seeing that they would no 
 longer tolerate his presence, he turned and walked away, 
 but had only gone a few steps when a sudden remembrance 
 that this defeat meant Comerio's probable triumph all at 
 once overpowered him. The brightly-lighted stage became 
 black as night, the hisses were drown ed by ^ rushing sound, 
 in his ears, and he fell back in a dead f ain*. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 22 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 " When fog and failure o'er my being brood, 
 When life looks but a glimmering, marshy clod, 
 No fire out-flashing from the living God- 
 Then, then, to rest in faith were worthy victory!" 
 
 George MacDonald. 
 
 SARDONI and Gomez, the Almaviva and Fiorello of the 
 evening, were close at hand ; Fiorello' s part was practically 
 over, but he had lingered near to see how Donati would 
 get on ; when he saw him hissed off the stage a quiet smile 
 Btole over his dark features, but when he saw him fall 
 back fainting he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, lingered 
 but a moment to assure himself that the barytone lay 
 motionless on the boards with his guitar beside him, then 
 rushed as fast as he could to his dressing-room, flung on a 
 thick brown ulster, caught up his hat, and hurried out of 
 the theater. Just outside the stage door he encountered 
 Mr. Britton. 
 
 Now Mr. Britton was one of those kindly -looking court- 
 eous men who are constantly stopped by passers-by in the 
 street who have lost their way or who need any kind of 
 help ; Gomez instinctively turned to the pleasant- looking 
 stranger. 
 
 44 Pardon me, sir, but can you kindly tell me whether it 
 is too late to send a telegram from the post-office?" he 
 asked, breathlessly. 
 
 " Oh no, you will find it open," said Mr. Britton, looking 
 at him keenly. 
 
 Gomez thanked him, and ran at full speed down the nar- 
 row side street, and two minutes later he might have been 
 seen standing at one of the little screened desks in the post- 
 office, writing the following message in Italian: 
 
 ' ' Valentino ill ; was hissed off stage to-night after ' Largo 
 al factotum. ' Get paragraph put in one of London papers. 
 Bee it to-morrow, and telegraph promptly to M., offer- 
 ing your services. ' ' 
 
 Meantime Sardoni, far too much startled and shocked to 
 pay the slightest attention to Gomez, rushed forward to 
 his friend's help, flung the guitar out of the way, and rais- 
 ing Carlo's head, looked anxiously at his motionless feat- 
 ures and pale lips, bitterly reproaching himself with the 
 absorption in his own affairs which had made him blind to 
 all else. Some sense of the contrast between that still 
 form and the noisy confusion in the theater first reminded 
 him that the curious audience were watching this unex- 
 pected scene ia the opera with eager eyes; and thatj, 
 
230 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 although the hisses had changed into a bahel of question 
 and surmise, Carlo was still exposed to every sort of ruth- 
 less criticism. 
 
 4 'Tell those idiots to let down the curtain," he said, 
 impatiently, as Marioni came hurrying forward, with his 
 pale face and his bushy hair, looking more distraught than 
 usual. The little conductor had flung down his baton and 
 rushed from the orchestra the instant Carlo had fallen, 
 but he was too excitable to think, as Sardoni thought, of 
 practical matters. And yet it was a relief to him to be 
 told to do something ; he rushed away to give the order, 
 and the next minute the curtain descended, veiling from 
 the audience the crowd of actors and attendants which had 
 gathered round poor Figaro. Mr. Britton, who ha& been 
 admitted at the stage door, was just in time to see Carlo 
 borne into the greenroom, and to follow with those who 
 came after ; he had heard so much of theatrical jealousies 
 and quarrels, and had formed so low an opinion of theatri- 
 cal people, that he was surprised to see the real sympathy 
 and concern shown bv every creature present. 
 
 " He has been ill this long time," said old Bauer; "but 
 he had too much spirit to give in. Poor lad! those brutes 
 ought to have seen how it was with him." 
 
 "Thought more of the bad bargain they had made than 
 of the singer's feelings," said Tannin i, with his Yankee 
 twang. " Well, 'tis the way of the world." 
 
 "Are you the doctor, sir?" asked Domenica Borelli, 
 noticing Mr. Britton for the first time. 
 
 "No, I am a friend of Signer Donati's," he replied, glad 
 to get speech of her, for he had noticed her quiet, wom- 
 anly way of helping Sardoni and Merlino to do all that 
 could be done for Carlo. " Shall I go and fetch a doctor?" 
 
 "I think it would be well," she began. "But. stay, he 
 is coming to himself; perhaps there is no need, and I know 
 he would dislike having one called in." 
 
 " It's something new for every one to be waiting on 
 Valentino," said old Bauer. "A reversal of the usual 
 order." 
 
 " Yes," said Mademoiselle Duroc; " he was the factotum 
 of the troupe as well as of the opera. But, see, he is reviv- 
 ing." 
 
 And now Mr. Britton observed a marked but perhaps? 
 not wholly unnatural change in Merlino. While his 
 brother-in-law had remained unconscious he had been as 
 kindly and solicitous as any man could possibly be ; but 
 the moment Carlo came to himself Merlino, relieved from 
 the anxiety, remembered that as impresario he was left in 
 an awkward predicament. 
 
 Carlo opened his eyes for a moment, caught a confused 
 
231 
 
 vision of the faces around him, then closed them again for 
 very weariness, and began to wonder, in a dreamy but 
 troubled way, where on earth he could be. He heard Mer- 
 lino swearing and raving, and Tannini, and Bauer, and 
 the local manager, and Marioni, all talking at once. 
 
 "Santa Diavolo!" cried Merlino. "Was ever impre- 
 sario worse treated ? Here is the best house we have had 
 for months, and what can I do but give back the money? 
 There is no going on without a Figaro!" 
 
 ' ' Had Donati told you this morning that he was ill you 
 would have had time to telegraph for Comerio, who no 
 doubt would have been willing "to help you in such an 
 emergency," remarked Gomez, who had glided into the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Britton glanced sharply round at him, instantly 
 recognizing his face, though he was now once more in his 
 Fiorello costume. He perceived at once that the man was 
 no friend to Carlo, and wondered why he had rushed to 
 the telegraph-office. 
 
 " Accidente ! why did you not do so?" said Merlino, turn- 
 ing upon his brother-in-law with a wrathful gesture. "I 
 ask you now what am I to do? Is all this money to be 
 lost?" 
 
 " You might telegraph to Comerio now, and secure him 
 for to-morrow, at any rate," suggested Gomez. "He 
 could join us at Queenbury and take " 
 
 "No such thing," interrupted Carlo, catching at Sar- 
 doni's arm, and dragging himself up. ' ' Give * Fra Diavolo ' 
 to-morrow, and that will give me a day's rest; and go 
 quickly and say to the audience that I am unwell, but 
 that, since the opera can't be continued without the lead- 
 ing part, I will do the best I can, if they'll put up with 
 me." 
 
 There was a vigor and force in his tone which astonished 
 every one ; Merlino, with a look of relief, hurried away to 
 pacify the audience ; and though the others had serious 
 doubts whether Donati could possibly get through r>o try- 
 ing a part, they would not side with Gomez, who began to 
 remonstrate with him. 
 
 " I never saw any one more afraid of being supplanted," 
 said the Spaniard, vindictively. "For my part, I call it 
 mere obstinacy and conceit to attempt what it is clearly 
 impossible for you to do." 
 
 " I calculate it doesn't much affect you, my friend," said 
 Tannini, dryly. "Your part is over for the night, so just 
 shut up, will you? If the rest of us who have to sing with 
 Donati make no bones about it, why should you take upon 
 yourself to grumble?" 
 
232 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Gomez turned away with a muttered curse, and Carlo 
 looked gratefully at the American. 
 
 "I'll do my best not to put you out; I shall be glad for 
 Merlino's sake, and my own too, if you and the audience 
 will tolerate such a bad Figaro. Come to my room with 
 me, will you. Jack?'' then, as he caught sight of Mr. Brit- 
 ton, and received a hearty grip of the hand, " How good of 
 you to come round ! I had no idea you were here. I was 
 so ashamed to give you such a miserable rendering of that 
 song." 
 
 Mr. Britton was not sorry to leave the greenroom and to 
 go with Carlo and Sardom into one of the little dressing- 
 rooms. There were not many chairs to be had, and Carlo, 
 without ceremony, dropped into the one drawn close to the 
 tiny fireplace, unable to hide any longer the severe pain lie 
 was suffering, though when questioned he made light of 
 it. 
 
 "You surely ought not to sing," said Mr. Britton. 
 
 " It won't do my voice any harm if I can only get 
 breath enough," he replied. " And the pain isn't contin- 
 uous, only just a sharp stab in the side every now and 
 then." 
 
 " Dear old fellow, it was madness of you to come at all," 
 said Sardoni. " You must give in; you must put up with 
 Comerio's return; there is no help for it." 
 
 Carlo leaned his head on his hand and was silent, as if 
 struggling with himself; both speakers seemed to have for- 
 gotten Mr. Britton 's presence. 
 
 " It's no good looking ahead," said Carlo, after a pause. 
 "Of course it will be all right. But don't argue now, 
 Jack; I've got to sing, if they will have me, and there's an 
 end of it." 
 
 As he spoke there was a knock at the door, and Merlino 
 entered. 
 
 " I think they will hear you," he said. " They are in a 
 bad temper, but they see we are doing all that can be done, 
 and they'll hardly hiss you off again. They are very 
 easily pacified, these English audiences." 
 
 Carlo glanced at Mr. Britton with the strangest mixture 
 of pain and laughter in his dark, shining eyes. The con- 
 tented look of the impresario as he painted the sort of re- 
 ception which probably awaited him tickled his fancy. 
 
 " A glass of porter before you go on?" said Bauer, press- 
 ing it upon him. 
 
 " Try this raw egg, signor," said his dresser, eagerly. 
 
 " Or a troche," suggested Sardoni. 
 
 "Or a Stolberg," said Merlino, producing a little box full 
 of dark-looking lozenges. 
 
 With a smile and a gesture he thanked them, and made 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 233 
 
 every one laugh by quoting Figaro's words, " Oh, cne vita! 
 che vita! oh, che mestiere!" 
 
 " Was there ever such a fellow?" said Bauer. " I verily 
 believe he would make us laugh if he were on his death- 
 bed." 
 
 "If the audience do but realize his courage he will be 
 well received," said Mr. Britton, who was standing at the 
 wings beside the old German singer. "There is nothing 
 that pleases the British public like pluck." 
 
 In truth, to face again the audience which had so lately 
 refused to hear him was no very pleasant task to Carlo, 
 but then he had a habit of grasping the nettles of life, 
 which stood him in good stead. More sensitive than most 
 men, he had turned his weakness into strength by resolutely 
 refusing to make the smallest concession to it, and he was 
 able, even with overwrought nerves and failing physical 
 powers, to endure with composure the trying ordeal. 
 It was as Merlino had said, the audience kindly con- 
 sented to put up with him ; they allowed him to appear 
 without a single hiss. Indeed, the chilling silence was 
 broken by five or six resounding claps from the third row 
 of stalls. 
 
 "That is Francesca's cousin, " he thought to himself, and 
 he felt glad to have one friendly face among the hundreds 
 of coldly critical ones. He was glad, too, to have such 
 friends as Domenica Borelli and Sardoni to sing with that 
 night, and was cheered by Mr. Britton's kindness. If only 
 he could get through his work he thought that, spite of the 
 dark future, he should feel perfectly happy. But that was 
 the great question. All thought he had attempted what 
 was physically impossible, and he shrank in horror from 
 making another exhibition of himself on the stage. " If I 
 do faint again," he reflected, " I hope I shall do it decently 
 in my dressing-room." 
 
 By sheer force of will he got through the long, weary 
 duet with Sardoni, but it left him so worn out with pain 
 that he could hardly stand. He got off the stage some- 
 how, and the moment they were out of sight Sardoni took 
 him by the arm and half dragged him to his room, where, 
 with an irrepressible groan, he threw himself on the 
 floor beside the fire, seeming to find a sort of relief in 
 thrusting the guitar under his arm, so that he actually lay 
 upon it. 
 
 "Pleurisy," thought Mr. Britton, who had followed to 
 see if he could be of any use ; but Carlo was evidently in 
 such pain that he did not like to talk to him, so he turned 
 instead to Sardoni, to whom he had taken a great fancy, 
 and who, to make up for his past selfishness, was devoting 
 himself to his friend in a way that pleased the English 
 
234 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 man. Thejr discussed all possible means of helping him, 
 and Sardoni, going out to fetch some restorative, brought 
 back word that Madamoiselle Borelli had been encored in 
 her cavatina, which would give Carlo a little longer space 
 to recover his strength. 
 
 " Are you sure I am not in your way here?'' asked Mr. 
 Brittqn. ' ' I don't feel as if I could sit in the audience not 
 knowing how our friend is getting on." 
 
 Sardoni, who realized that the stranger must be some re- 
 lation to Francesca Britton, warmly assured him that he 
 was the greatest possible help ; and Carlo, though too much 
 exhausted to speak an unnecessary word, gave him a glance 
 which conveyed more than many sentences. 
 
 All too soon came the unwelcome call-boy. Again Carlo 
 braced himself up for the effort, and Sardoni and Mr. Brit- 
 ton watched him anxiously through his scene with Rosina. 
 
 " He is on the stage a greafc deal after this," explained 
 Sardoni, " but the most trying part is over for him, as far 
 as singing goes, when he is once through with this scene." 
 
 " Will he get through, do you think?" 
 
 "If he does it will be by the skin of his teeth," said 
 Sardoni. " But, like the Barbiere himself, he is a 'Bravo 
 oiovinotto. 1 No other man whom I know would do it, but 
 he perhaps may." 
 
 " Ah, I thought so!" he exclaimed, as, the duet over, the 
 barytone beat a hasty retreat, and on reaching the shelter 
 of the wings would have fallen had he not promptly caught 
 him. " It is as I said, by the skin of his teeth. ' ' 
 
 They carried him back to his room, but had barely re- 
 stored him to life when Sardoni was obliged to go on the 
 stage again, leaving him alone with Mr. Britton. 
 
 . It was the strangest evening the Englishman had ever 
 spent, as he sat in the dismal little dressing-room, with its 
 bare floor and whitewashed walls, its confusion of stage 
 dresses and the garments of prosaic life. Some one had 
 brought in two or three cushions from the greenroom, and 
 as soon as Carlo had recovered his senses they had laid 
 him on these upon his left side, the position which seemed 
 to give him the greatest ease. The firelight played on his 
 face, and Mr. Britton, as he watched him, found his 
 thoughts wandering back to the time when he had first met 
 him with Francesca outside the English church at Naples. 
 He recalled the strange, sad smile which had passed over 
 the young Italian's face when he congratulated him on his 
 betrothal, and he felt irresistibly drawn to a man who 
 could deliberately choose a career so self-denying, so little 
 likely to be understood. 
 
 He was startled to find that his thoughts <?f Franceses 
 compani 
 
KNIGET-ERRANT. 286 
 
 "We may not be alone again," said Carlo, turning his 
 face toward him. " If anything should happen to me, will 
 you promise to give this to Francesca "he indicated 
 their betrothal ring "and tell her how good everyone 
 was to me?" 
 
 Mr. Britton felt a choking sensation in his throat, but he 
 promised, and then, partly to break the uncomfortable 
 silence, remarked that he had heard from Casa Bella that 
 morning. 
 
 " They are well?" asked Carlo. 
 
 " Quite well. Francesca comes to England in June." 
 
 The next moment he regretted his words, for they 
 seemed to give the finishing touch to Carlo's suffering. 
 He turned abruptly away, and, though his face was hid- 
 den, Mr. Britton could see that he was struggling to sup- 
 press a tempest of passionate emotion. So little do people 
 understand each other that it had never occurred to the 
 Englishman, with all his kind-heartedness, to picture to 
 himself the torture of a lover who knows that his love will 
 be close at hand, yet that he is to be denied even a sight of 
 her. But that silent, bitter struggle taught him much, 
 and once more set his kind heart to weave plans for help- 
 ing the course of true love to run smooth. 
 
 Before anything more had passed, the call-boy rapped at 
 the door, and Mr. Britton in dismay turned to see what 
 his companion would do. He had yet to learn that Italian 
 storms, if violent, are brief, and that an Italian nature, if 
 it has strong emotions, has also a wonderful self-mastery 
 upon which it can fall back in time of need. Carlo rose 
 promptly, rearranged his disordered costume in a busi- 
 ness-like fashion, and smoothed his hair; then, fearing 
 that Mr. Britton might regret the words which had es- 
 caped him, said in the manner which had won him so 
 many friends, "Do you mind coming with me to the 
 wings? I like to feel that you are there." 
 
 And before the Englishman had recovered from his sur- 
 prise at this unlooked-for composure, Figaro was in the 
 thick of the noisy group on the stage, acting better than he 
 had done all the evening, and endeavoring to play the part 
 of peacemaker, and to put an end to the altercation. 
 
 Mr. Britton could hardly believe, as he watched the 
 lithe, active figure, now here, now there, that a few min- 
 utes ago he had seen the same man lying in the extremity 
 of mental and bodily pain ; and when once more in the in- 
 terval between the acts he and Sardoni had to restore the 
 Italian to his senses, he could no longer keep his aptonish- 
 met to himself. 
 
 " What in the world can our friend be made of?" he ex*, 
 claimed. * * I should not have thought it possible for a man 
 
236 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 of his temperament to persevere in the teeth of such 
 culties." 
 
 "I suppose pluck and goodness generally do go to- 
 gether," said Sardoni; "and though you may be Donati's 
 friend, no one who is not in this troupe can have much idea 
 of what he really is. He's out and out the best fellow I 
 ever came across. ' ' 
 { "He seems very much liked by most of the company." 
 
 " Yes, and with good reason. They all apply to him one 
 of their expressive Italian sayings 'Good as a piece of 
 bread 'a description which would not hold for the rest of 
 us." 
 
 "He is coming to himself," said Mr. Britton, and there 
 was silence in the room, broken at last by Carlo's voice. 
 
 "How much more, Jack?" he asked, faintly. 
 
 "The second act," said Sardoni; " three more scenes for 
 you." 
 
 He closed his eyes again, and they noticed that as the 
 evening advanced he became less and less willing to speak 
 an unnecessary word. 
 
 The opera, which had seemed to all the singers intermi- 
 nable, did at length end, and with it the last remains of 
 Carlo's strength. More dead than alive, he was carried to 
 Mr. Britton' s brougham, which had been ordered round to 
 the stage door, and leaving the kindly Englishman to see 
 him safely home, Sardoni hurried off in search of a doctor. 
 
 Carlo had fancied that if only he could get through the 
 opera he should be perfectly happy, but when his work 
 was really done he was suffering too acutely to be able to 
 bestow a thought on the future or on Anita. Too faint to 
 speak, he allowed Mr. Britton to help him up to his room, 
 never troubling himself to consider the impression that 
 No. 62 would make on the rich ship builder. The misera- 
 ble little place was to him now a haven of rest, and there 
 was deep relief in the consciousness that he could now 
 suffer in peace, that no call-boy would rap at this door, 
 that there was no longer the horrible necessity of acting 
 and singing before a critical audience. But to Mr. Britton 
 that dismal little attic was the climax of the evening. Its 
 total lack of comfort appalled him, and when he had left 
 the patient to the care of Sardoni and the doctor he drove 
 home, vowing that Carlo should be/ moved 
 the very next day. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT, 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 "HIGH FAILURE." 
 
 " Wo are like soldiers in a vast, widely-extended battle-field (wrapped 
 in obscurity), of which we know not the phases, of which we seem ut- 
 terly powerless to control the issues; but we are responsible for our own 
 part whatever goes on elsewhere, let us not fail in that. The changes 
 of the world, which men think they are brnging about, are in the hands 
 of God. With Him, when we have done onr duty, let us leave them." 
 Dean Church. 
 
 CLARE was much concerned when she heard the bad 
 news which Mr. Britton and Harry brought home that 
 evening. 
 
 "You didn't wait to hear the doctor's verdict?" she 
 asked, when the bare outline of the story had been given 
 her. 
 
 "No, it was so late, and I thought I should only have 
 been in the way ; but I fear there's not the least doubt the 
 poor fellow is in for pleurisy ." 
 
 " It was awful to see him toward the end," said Harry. 
 " Leaning up against the woodwork when he had to be on 
 the stage with nothing actually to sing or do, and every 
 now and then, when he was singing, suddenly folding his 
 arms so as if the pain was almost unbearable." 
 
 " What do you think, Miss Claremont if we had one of 
 the St. John's nurses down, could we manage to look after 
 him all right here?" said Mr. Britton. 
 
 Clare was delighted at the proposal, for she had always 
 been fond of Carlo. She did not understand all Mr. Brit- 
 ton's reasons for taking an interest in the young Italian, 
 but his kindness and hospitality did not at all surprise tier, 
 because he was a man who was forever going out of his 
 way to help other people, and Kate, who was housekeeper, 
 used sometimes to protest that really Merlebank might as 
 well call itself what it was in fact a sanitarium for his 
 friends and acquaintances. 
 
 " There is no doubt he must be removed from his pres- 
 ent quarters," said Mr. Britton. "I never saw such a 
 room the little child sleeping in a portmanteau, a miser- 
 able truckle-bed, a sloping skylight through which you 
 could see the stars such a room as no servant of mine 
 should sleep in." 
 
 So the plans for Carlo's reception at Merlebank were dis- 
 cussed, and the next morning Mr. Britton drove in to the 
 Royal Hotel to see what sort of night the Italian had 
 passed. At the entrance he encountered the doctor. 
 
 "How is your patient to-day, Kavanagh?" he asked. 
 
 " Very bad, poor fellow must ^e moved at once to the 
 hospital" 
 
238 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " Nonsense, he is a friend of mine; I want him brought 
 to Merlebank. You'll give leave for that, I hope." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, if you really want to have him; but I 
 must warn you that he is likely to be laid up for some 
 time acute pleurisy and we shall do well if we ward off 
 complications. 1 ' 
 
 " Poor fellow ! I thought he was in for it last night. He 
 ' ; an old family friend of ours, and I shall be particularly 
 lad to help him if I can. How about a nurse? Shall I 
 telegraph for one?" 
 
 "I can see to that, if you like," said the doctor. " His 
 sister seems a most empty-headed creature, and the sooner 
 he is away from her the better." 
 
 Mr. Britten was just wondering whether he had better 
 ask to see Sardoni, when he caught sight ~* Gigi strolling 
 listlessly down the passage. 
 
 "How is your uncle, little man?" he asked. " Can I see 
 him?" 
 
 "He's ill," said Gigi, mournfully, and, without further 
 remark, he slipped his little brown hand into Mr. Britton's, 
 and led the way to No. 62. The door was open, and a babel 
 of Italian could be heard four people all talking at once. 
 
 Mr. Brit-ton half hesitated, but the child led him on. The 
 next moment a curious scene met his gaze. In the dismal 
 little attic, which by daylight looked even more forlorn 
 and comfortless, a stormy discussion was being carried on. 
 The impresario, who was evidently in the worst of tempers, 
 held in his hand an open telegram ; Gomez, with a sarcastic 
 smile on his usually grave face, stood playing the part of 
 general irritant con amore ; Madame Merlino and Sardoni 
 seemed to be having a battle- royal; and the sick man lay 
 in the midst of the strife of tongues evidently in great pain, 
 but listening with strained anxiety to all that passed. Mr. 
 Britton heard an impatient, "Can't you see how bad this 
 1.^5 for him?" from Sardoni, and disconnected remarks about 
 " Comerio's coming," which gave him the clew to the mat* 
 lor which was being discussed. 
 
 He waited at the door, for Donati was far too much ab- 
 sorbed in what was going on to notice him, and indeed had 
 lo concentrate all his faculties on the effort to meet this 
 crisis. That which he had feared had come to pass: Co- 
 merio had telegraphed to offer his services ; and all through 
 the weary night Carlo had been trying to solve the difficult 
 problem whether, should this happen, it was his duty to 
 explain all to Merlino or not. Superficial people are fond 
 of saying that the right is always clear. Carlo did not find 
 it so. It was only after hours of mental struggle and suf- 
 fering that he at length arrived at the conclusion that, all 
 things considered, ht/ was not justified in arousing Meriinv\i 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 239 
 
 suspicion. He went so far, however, as to propose another 
 alternative. 
 
 4 'Look," he said, speaking with difficulty, "Paul Cre- 
 mer's English Opera Company might very possibly have a 
 spare barytone. Telegraph and see, and I will defray the 
 expenses of any one they can send. ' ' 
 
 He broke off to cough the effort had cost him hideous 
 pain, and Mr. Britton could see that great drops of perspi- 
 tion stood on his brow. 
 
 4 ' Accidente ! It only shows how little you know of such 
 things, ' ' said Merlino, angrily. ' ' We are secure of Corne- 
 rio, and had far better have him than^some stranger. I 
 should have thought you were above such petty jealousy 
 as that, Donati. ' ' 
 
 " Then will you reply to the telegram?" asked Gomez. 
 
 " I suppose I must," said Merlino, in his grumbling way. 
 " It is a confounded nuisance." 
 
 And with muttered imprecations he left the room, evi- 
 dently regarding Carlo's illness as a willful injury and a 
 personal insult. 
 
 Gomez having gained his object, followed the impresa- 
 rio, and Mr. Britton drew near to the bed, and spoke 
 to Sardoni, but Carlo lay with closed eyes, and took no 
 notice of what was passing until he heard Nita get up 
 from her chair beside him, and move toward the door. 
 Then he started up with sudden energy. 
 
 " Nita," he exclaimed, " do not go yet I want to speak 
 to you!" 
 
 She turned back reluctantly, and at the same moment he 
 became aware of Mr. Britton' s presence. 
 
 "How kind of you to come!" he said. "Will you 
 excuse me just for a minute? I want to speak to my sis- 
 ter there is not much time left. ' ' 
 
 "We will wait in the next room," said Sardoni, "if 
 Madame Merlino will tell us when she leaves you." 
 
 Nita assented, and, still reluctantly, sat down again be- 
 side the bed. When they were alone he turned toward 
 her. 
 
 4 ' I had hoped to tide over this time in England, ' ' he 
 said, striving with all his might not to let the physical pain 
 overmaster him. " It is hard to feel that, after all, I have 
 perhaps only made your danger greater. You must for- 
 give me for failing you like this, Nita!" 
 
 "Don't distress yourself I know of no danger," she re- 
 plied, crushingly, and with an expressive motion of her 
 small, shapely head. There had been a time when she had 
 told him a very different story, but he bore tho set-down 
 patiently and caught at the ray of uope ? 
 
240 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "That is, indeed, true? Then God be thanked! I can 
 go content." 
 
 She laughed the most heartless little laugh conceivable. 
 
 ** Perhaps we do not mean precisely the same thing by 
 the word 'danger.' There is no danger that my husband 
 will ill-treat me, because one who loves me better will be 
 here as my protector. ' ' 
 
 " Nita!" he groaned. 
 
 "Now, listen to common; sense," she said, with angry 
 gesticulation. "Merlino and I are not happy together; 
 Comerio and his wife are not happy together. Why are 
 four people to live in misery because of a conventional 
 law?" 
 
 "Because they have vowed to be true to each other 
 through every thing because the only hope of their leading 
 pure, noble lives is destroyed when they shirk their duty, 
 and give up trying to love each other because it is not a 
 conventional law, but God's command." 
 
 She laughed again. 
 
 4 ' Bravo !' ' she exclaimed. * ' My confessor himself could 
 not have read me a more correct little homily. As far as 
 the marriage laws are concerned, mio caro, you are quite 
 curiously orthodox. As a matter of fact, though, I always 
 find these little homilies are propounded by the un- 
 married. Strange, isn't it?" 
 
 " You'll break my heart if you talk like that!" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Nonsense ! Hearts don't break so easily, I assure you. 
 You will go back to Francesca Britton and be /happy; 
 Comerio and I, too, shall be happy ; while as for Merlino, 
 he will merely lose a valuable soprano and barytone whom 
 he never deserved." 
 
 She had rattled on paying no attention whatever to his 
 suffering. He was now so much exhausted that it was 
 physically impossible for him to speak more than two 
 words. 
 
 "Our mother!" he faltered. 
 
 "Is in paradise, and will be ready to pray for me when 
 I ana in purgatory!" 
 
 His next words were hardly audible. 
 
 "IlCristo!" he gasped. 
 
 " My confessor does not allow me to talk of religion with 
 heretics," she replied, triumphantly. 
 
 He turned away and lay so absolutely still that Nita be. 
 came frightened ; however, it was an excellent opportunity 
 to escape, and she availed herself of it, glancing in for * 
 moment at the next room where Sardoni and Mr. Brittoa 
 waited. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 241 
 
 u He has done with me now," she said, cheerfully, 
 though all the time her conscience was pricking her. 
 
 Mr. Britton had seldom seen so pretty a woman for 
 whom it was so difficult to get up any sort of regard. 
 Without knowing why, he heartily disliked Nita. 
 
 "She does not seem particularly anxious about her 
 brother, ' ' he remarked. 
 
 Sardoni gnashed his teeth. 
 
 " He has given up everything to help her, and she little 
 vixen won't do the slightest thing to please him. Let us 
 come back to him." 
 
 Mr. Britton was horrified to see the change that had 
 come over Carlo. It was not merely that the bodily pain 
 seemed to have increased so much, but that he was in such 
 terrible distress. Sardoni, however, seemed to understand 
 all, and Mr. Britton walked to the window and left the 
 two friends together, though he could not avoid hearing, 
 every now and then, a sentence or two. 
 
 " Failed hopelessly !" were the only words that escaped 
 Carlo, and Sardoni seemed to be cheering him, and deny- 
 ing that all was lost, promising his help, talking of letters, 
 and speaking hopefully of the future. Some mention of 
 the hospital brought Mr. Britton to the bedside. 
 
 "The doctor says you may be nursed at my house," he 
 said, kindly. "I couldn't think of allowing you to go to 
 the hospital. Miss Claremont is longing to have you at 
 Merlebank." And then to silence the Italian's thanks and 
 doubts and evident wavering, he bent down and whispered 
 a' few words in his ear: "For Francesca's sake you must 
 not refuse me." 
 
 They were interrupted by a suppressed sobbing from the 
 other side of the bed, and found that Gigi was sitting in a 
 disconsolate little heap on the floor, crying as though his 
 heart would break. 
 
 " Put him up here, Jack, by me," said Carlo. "What 
 is it, Gigi? are you hurt?" 
 
 ' * Oh, don' t go away from me !" sobbed the child. ' * Don' t 
 leave me so all alone. ' ' 
 
 "Let him come to Merlebank, too," said Mr. Britton, 
 who was apt to make kind-hearted offers without at all 
 consulting Kate or the household arrangements. 
 
 "You are very good, but he ought to be with his 
 mother," said Carlo, after a minute's thought. It cost 
 him much to send away the little fellow, but he knew that 
 Anita had really begun to care for him, and hoped that 
 the child might prove her greatest safeguard. Mr. Brit- 
 ton guessed as much, but of course there could be no ex- 
 planation to Gigi himself, to whom the refusal must have 
 seemed barbarous. He sobbed pitifully. 
 
242 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " Look, mio caro, I love you dearly, and would like you 
 to have this time in the country," said Carlo, drawing the 
 child close to him: "but in some ways it is better not. 
 Say, do you. too. love me a little bit ?'' 
 
 "Yes, yes, 11 sobbed Gigi, clinging to him. 
 
 "Then will you stay here to please me, and help the 
 mother, and run errands for them all when you can, and 
 write me long letters " He broke off, unable to say 
 another word. 
 
 *' Carino.'" said the child, with a depth of love and ten- 
 derness in his tone. Then, as Sardoni told him how ill 
 Carlo was. " I will be good good," and, choking back his 
 tears, he slid down from the bed and sat like a sorrowful 
 little statue on the edge of his portmanteau. 
 
 Mr. Brit ton. anxious that no more time should be lost, 
 hurried to his office to telephone to Merlebank for the 
 landau, and in an hour's time he was back again to help in 
 all the arrangements. 
 
 The patient seemed a little easier, both in mind and body, 
 though apparently no one but Sardoni had seen him, and 
 there was no change as to his substitute. 
 
 At the last moment Madame Merlino came to say good- 
 bye to him, expressing very prettily her thanks to Mr. 
 Britton for saving her brother from the hospital; but she 
 seemed particularly anxious not to be left alone with tlif 
 invalid, and apparently no words passed between them. 
 When they parted, however, he drew her face down to his 
 and gave her a lingering kiss, and Mr. Britton noticed that 
 as she raised her head her eyes were full of tears. What 
 was the meaning of it all. he wondered? Had she, after 
 all, a heart? Did Carlo's silence appeal to her when his 
 words had failed? or was it that his manner had somehow 
 conveyed a confidence and trust in her higher nature which 
 had wakened it from long sleep? 
 
 There was not much time for reflection, for just then the 
 doctor arrived to superintend the removal of the patient, 
 and before long Mr. Britton had taken leave of the various 
 members of Merlino' s troupe, who had become known to 
 him during this little episode, and was driving home with 
 hisne^v guest. 
 
 People seem to have a notion that to be ill means to be 
 more or less free from temptation; that with physical 
 weakness comes spiritual strength; and that if the sick 
 are in some ways to be pitied, they are in other respects 
 to be very much envied. As a matter of fact, however, 
 this idea is cruelly false. No healthy -minded, active 
 man ever found it easy to be laid aside ever submitted 
 without a fierce struggle to the humiliation of depend- 
 ence and bodily weakness, Far from necessarily becom* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 243 
 
 ing saints during illness, the bravest and best of men often 
 find it as much as they can do to be even decently pa- 
 tient, and know only too well the mental misery of the 
 time 
 
 " When the sensuous frame 
 Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust." 
 
 The faith which had come to Carlo's help when he parted 
 with Anita was not proof against the severe physical strain 
 of the removal to Merlebank ; his mind seemed incapable 
 of hope, capable only of dwelling on the one horrible fear 
 that Comerio's evil influence would prevail. Sleepless 
 nights and wearing anxiety and severe bodily pain had 
 made it almost impossible for him to see things in due pro- 
 portion, and his artistic powers of calling up before him 
 graphic pictures of any subject that arrested his attention, 
 became a torture almost unendurable. 
 
 The doctor and kind-hearted Mr. Brittpn had no idea of 
 what was passing in the sick man's mind as they drove 
 along the road between Ashborough and Merlebank, and 
 when once he opened his eyes for a minute, and they could 
 not help seeing the look of grievous distress in them, they 
 only thought of the bodily suffering, and said to him, reas- 
 suringly, "It will soon be over." He could have smiled 
 at the incongruity of the words had he not been down in 
 the black depths where smiles can by no means come. 
 
 The carriage rumbled along with a dull, hollow, monot- 
 onous sound, and presently drew up at the great door at 
 Merlebank; he caught a vision of Clare standing in the 
 porch with two or three servants, but it was far less dis- 
 tinct than the mental picture from which he could not es- 
 cape. Then the doctor half smothered him with wraps, 
 and since to breathe was agony, he found himself resenting 
 almost childishly the infliction of great shawls, which ne- 
 cessitated two breaths where one might have sufficed. 
 Was he losing his self-control? he wondered. It was 
 clearly impossible for him to govern his thoughts was it 
 also impossible to regulate his feelings? He prayed in a 
 sort of blind, wretched despair ; but in that state of blank 
 depression nothing in heaven or earth seemed real to him 
 but his own failure and that indelible mind-picture of Nita 
 and Comerio. Dimly he felt his misery increased by the 
 beauty and luxury of the room to which he was borne, 
 and even by the kindness of his attendants. What did he 
 in his misery want with outer comfort? "I have misera- 
 bly failed," he thought to himself; "and now, I suppose, 
 am going to die. I wish they had let me die in the hotel 
 room! I wish they would let me alone!" 
 
 To turn from this haunting picture was now an effort to 
 which he was wholly unequal ; it exercised a deadly f asci 
 
244 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 nation over him, and when Clare spoke to him he grudged 
 the interruption. Every one seemed intent on relieving 
 his physical pain, and it was not that which absorbed him; 
 it was the far worse mental torture, caused in great meas- 
 ure by the bodily suffering the torture of the conviction 
 that all his efforts had been vain, and that evil would tri- 
 umph. Without one ray of comfort he tossed through 
 that weary day and night; sleep was out of the question, 
 he became less and less capable of thinking rationally, and 
 the doctor, on visiting him the next morning, looked very 
 grave. Clare and Mr. Britton waited anxiously for his 
 verdict. 
 
 " There is evidently something weighing on his mind," 
 said Mr, Kavauagh. as he walked down -stairs. "The local 
 symptoms are subsiding, but I fear he is in a critical state. 
 These southern temperaments are always hard to deal 
 with it is touch and go with them. Keep him as quiet as 
 possible, and I will look in again this evening." 
 
 Clare felt sad at heart, as she kept watch while the nurse 
 rested after her night's work; she could guess pretty accu- 
 rately what it was that was weighing upon Carlo's mind, 
 but how to comfort him she did not know. He lay quite 
 still, with closed eyes, his lips just parted that he might 
 breathe with less effort; but the hand which lay outside 
 the bedclothes was tightly clinched, and the face bore an 
 expression of silent misery, which was almost more than 
 Clare could endure. 
 
 *' Is the pain still so bad?" she asked at length. 
 
 He opened his eyes; they were so hopeless, so full of 
 dumb distress, that it seemed to her they must be the eyes 
 of some other man. She could not have believed that 
 Carlo could ever have gone down to such depths of wretch- 
 edness. 
 
 "Much better, thank you," he answered, just above his 
 breath; and Clare was thankful that his eyelids fell 
 once more, for she could not keep back her tears. And 
 so the hours passed on, and she knew that she was close to 
 a man who was passing through the worst suffering that 
 can be borne, and yet felt as powerless to reach him as if 
 he had been a thousand miles away. At last, early in the 
 afternoon, he seemed to make an effort to break the rigid 
 quiet in which he had so long lain. She stood up to ar- 
 range his pillows afresh, and he took her hand in his and 
 held it fast in a fevered grasp. 
 
 "If I could only sleep. Clare! if I could only sleep!" he 
 exclaimed. They were the first words he had voluntarily 
 spoken, and she took them as a good sign ; clearly he began 
 to see that he must do all that lie could to free himself from 
 absorptiui iu this one painful idea; even in his illness thd 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 245 
 
 duty of self-mastery lingered vaguely with him, spite of his 
 failing powers. 
 
 " There is one sovereign remedy for sleeplessness," said 
 Clare. "Let us see whether it will have any effect on 
 you;" and taking a Bible from the shelf she began to read 
 in a low, soft, slightly monotonous voice from the Book of 
 Job. Whether it was the musical rhythm of the words, or 
 the continuous sound, or the graphic picture set forth in 
 that grand old poem, it would be hard to say ; but for some 
 reason the mental picture of Anita and Comerio gradually 
 faded, the perception of his own nain passed away, he 
 seemed to be living quitQ out of the nineteenth century to 
 be Job and not himself though it was, in fact, the personal 
 perception of the truth of the poem which made its effect 
 on him so powerful. 
 
 ' ' ' For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon 
 me/ " read Clare; " * and that which I was afraid of is come 
 unto me. I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither 
 was I quiet, yet trouble came. ' ' 
 
 When Eliphaz the Temanite began to argue, Carlo felt 
 himself sliding away into blissful drowsiness, and soon 
 Clare perceived that the old charm had worked well and 
 that he was sound asleep. He slept for some hours ; when 
 he opened his eyes the level rays of the setting sun were 
 streaming through a window which was hidden from him 
 by the bed-curtains, and casting a vivid light on a picture 
 just opposite to him. Now Carlo was one of those who re- 
 spond more easily to that which appeals to the artistic side 
 of them than to that which appeals to the intellect. The 
 deepest philosophical treatise, the most eloquent sermon, 
 could not possibly have conveyed to him all that was con- 
 veyed by that well-known picture of the thorn-crowned 
 Shepherd bearing through the wilderness the sheep that 
 had gone astray. ' ' Finche labbia trovata /' ' urged a voice 
 in his heart; " UNTIL he find it!" It seemed to him that 
 he had never till that minute realized the eternal constancy 
 of the Good Shepherd, never taken in the truth that while 
 men strive, and fail, and faint by the way, the work they 
 have tried to do does not fail, but is eternally carried on in 
 ways unknown to them. He saw that for the present all 
 he could do was to suffer patiently ; but the picture of Nita 
 and Comerio, though it did its best to rise again in his 
 mind, had lost its power of torture ; he could always efface 
 it almost instantly with this other picture of the tireless 
 and persistent Shepherd, who in the end must inevitably 
 win back His own, spite of false hirelings, and ravening 
 wolves, and horrors of the wilderness. One glance into his 
 eyes showed Clare that he was himself again ; and the doc- 
 tor, too, on his second visit, was surorised and pleased to 
 
246 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 find what a favorable turn his patient had taken. Th<5 
 alarming prostration had passed ; that terrible depression, 
 which seems incapable of wishing to live or of making any 
 effort to recover, had given place to a strong desire for 
 health. Though speaking was still an effort to him, he 
 asked two or three eager questions. 
 
 " ShaU I get better, do you think?" 
 
 " Oh, there is not a doubt of it, if you go on as well as 
 you have begun," said the doctor. 
 
 kt Will my voice be injured?" 
 
 "There is no reason that it should not be as good as ever 
 when you recover your strength." 
 
 "How soon could I possibly be fit to sing in public 
 again?" 
 
 The doctor liked his spirit, and answered with a smile: 
 " This day nine weeks, if you have no relapse. But don't 
 excite yourself about it, and don't talk too much. What 
 you want now is perfect rest of mind and body. ' ' 
 
 " One word more, ' ' broke in Carlo. ' ' Is there anything 
 I can do to get Avell sooner?" 
 
 "You can help me very materially by obedience to 
 orders, and by keeping yourself quiet. All anxiety and ex- 
 citement will retard your recovery. This attack of pleurisy 
 is the best thing that could have happened to you, for you 
 are altogether overworked and overstrained, and you must 
 have rest. In these hurrying days people seem to have 
 forgotten how to rest, that's the worst of it. If you'll only 
 go on as you have begun this afternoon, though, I shall be 
 quite satisfied with you." 
 
 As Sardoni had once remarked, however, Carlo was in 
 some respects " old-fashioned," and the doctor found that 
 he had not forgotten, even in his overstrained, nineteenth- 
 century life, the secret of rest ; that he was fast learning 
 what Thomas a Kempis deemed the work of a perfect man, 
 " To pass through many cares, as it were, without care; not 
 with the indifference of a sluggard, but with that privilege 
 of a mind at liberty." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A RESTORATION. 
 
 ** Some say that the age of chivalry is past. The age of chivalry is 
 never past as long as there is a wrong left unredressed on earth, and a 
 man or woman left to say, 4 1 will redress that wrong or spend my life 
 in the attempt.' The age of chivalry is never past as long as men have 
 faith enough in God to say, ' God will help me to redress that wrong; or 
 if not me, surely He will help those that come after me. For His eternal 
 Will is to overcome evil with good.' " Charles Kingsley. 
 
 KATE BRITTON was an indefatigable worker. Parish work 
 was her delight, and to her mind the luckless wight who 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 247 
 
 did not go district-visiting, who was not an ardent tee- 
 totaler, who could not show a well-ordered Sunday-school 
 class as the visible fruits of persevering work, hardly de- 
 served toleration. Like all workers who are worth much, 
 she was full of enthusiasm, and would have been greatly 
 missed in the village; but she was "ill to live with," be- 
 cause she had not yet learned to see things from any point 
 of view but her own, and had an overweening idea of her 
 own importance. Carlo Donati was just now much on her 
 mind ; she had a feeling that he must have been brought to 
 Merlebank for some special purpose ; and as it was Kate's 
 way to think always of the impression she might make on 
 others, rather than of the impressions she might receive 
 from them, she began to consider how she could bring her 
 influence to bear on the Italian, and her enthusiasm was 
 roused by an idea which came to her one day as she mused 
 over his life. What a glorious thing it would be if she 
 could convince him that he was leading a life unworthy of 
 a true man, and induce him to give up his profession ! 
 
 With this in view, Kate put up with the infliction of the 
 invalid's presence, and when in a fortnight's time he was 
 well enough to spend most of the day in the morning- room, 
 which adjoined his bedroom, she was really glad to have 
 an opportunity for beginning her operations. As a rule she 
 cordially disliked young men, and the one thorn in the 
 otherwise perfect bliss of her parish-work was the inevita- 
 ble curate ; in her fear that she might be supposed to make 
 her work an excuse for flirtation, she ran to the opposite 
 extreme, openly avowed herself as a man-hater, and 
 snubbed the entire biennial succession of deacons, who 
 were ordained to the title of the quiet little country parish, 
 but at the close of their two years' novitiate invariably 
 passed on to larger spheres of work. 
 
 The morning-room was a bright, sunny, cheerful room, 
 facing south, and Carlo enjoyed his change of quarters 
 very much ; he was glad to see Kate, too, for she interested 
 him, and he delighted in tracing the slight likeness to 
 Francesca which he had noticed when he first came to 
 Merlebank. Kate, who was inordinately self-conscious, 
 quickly perceived that his eyes followed her as she moved 
 about the room arranging flowers in the vases, and she 
 felt provoked, for it would be so horribly like a story-book 
 if the invalid were to fall in love with her; yet she could 
 not snub him as she snubbed the curate, because she 
 wanted to influence him for his good, and longed for the 
 honor and glory of persuading him to (jiiit the stage. Re- 
 flecting that this was the Monday in Holy-Week, she 
 thought she would supply him with suitable literature at 
 rate tk offer of books would make a good opening for 
 
248 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 conversation. So she began boldly, yet with an effort that 
 surprised her; somehow, although she had astonishing 
 theories as to the universal depravity of young men, she 
 had an undefined consciousness that Carlo Doiiati was nofc 
 so immeasurably beneath her as the curates and the men 
 to be met with at dances and tennis-parties. This percep- 
 tion did not please her. 
 
 * ' Clare said your things had been put in here, " she began ; 
 " but I don't see anything but music no books at all." 
 
 "I don't think I have any," said Carlo; "I am not 
 much of a reader. * 
 
 Kate felt dismayed; she could hardly conceive that 
 any one could get on in life without her particular little 
 library of good books. It was a slight relief to her to dis- 
 cover that among the pile of operas, wedged in between 
 "Masaniello " and " Semiramide, " were a shabby little 
 Italian Testament and a very minute English Prayer-book. 
 
 Carlo, on seeing this last, gave a quick exclamation. 
 
 " Did I leave that out? Will you give it me, please?" 
 
 "And even this is not yours, but Francesca's!" she 
 said, laughing, as accidentally she dropped the book and 
 noticed her cousin's name on the fly-leaf. 
 
 He colored. 
 
 ' She lent it to me the first time I went to the English 
 church, and since then I have always had it," he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 44 It is dreadful print," said Kate, in her matter-of-facfc 
 way. " You had better let me lend you a clearer one." 
 
 But Carlo held out his hand for it, and his fingers closed 
 over it jealously. 
 
 44 It will do very nicely," he said. " I don't suppose I 
 shall read it. ' ' 
 
 Which illogical statement would possibly have roused 
 Kate's suspicion had she not been racking her brain for 
 the devotional books most appropriate to his case. 
 
 She went across to her own particular book-shelf, and, 
 to do her justice, chose out a few books really worth read- 
 ing; eschewed a 44 Treasury of Devotion," as likely to be 
 uncongenial to one of Carlo's turn of mind, and returned 
 bearing 4 ' The Christian Year," Taylor's 4 ' Holy Living and 
 Dying," and a book of meditations for Holy -Week, of 
 which she was fond. He thanked her, but when later in 
 the morning she saw him again, she found, to her great 
 disgust, that he was poring over 44 Les Huguenots," and 
 that her books were pushed aside. 
 
 "You didn't like them?'' she said, with a touch of dis- 
 appointment in her tone. 
 
 44 I'm afraid I didn't read much," he said, apologetically 
 ** you see, to have this music within reach was more than 
 
RNIGHT-ERRANT. 349 
 
 I could resist. We have not yet done 'Les Huguenots,' 
 but we shall rehearse it in the summer, and give it in 
 America this autumn. Do you know it well?" 
 
 "I have never heard an opera in my life," said Kate, 
 feeling annoyed at his astonishment. "Do you really 
 mean to go back to such a life? It must surely be very 
 bad for you." 
 
 " But you see the doctor quite gives me hope of being as 
 strong as ever again," replied Carlo, thinking she must 
 refer to his health. 
 
 "I didn't mean that," replied Kate; " I meant it must 
 surely be a very bad life in other ways." 
 
 " It is very much like other lives, I fancy : it is what you 
 like to make it," he replied, quietlv. He did not feel that 
 he could very well enter into a discussion with a young 
 girl on the special temptations of stage life, and there was 
 a silence. 
 
 "But surely all the applause and praise must be very 
 trying?" said Kate. 
 
 " Applause always make? me think of a meringue" said 
 Carlo, laughing a little "sweet and evanescent, and 
 leaves you longing for more. I don't deny that it is a 
 great pleasure and a great help, but I think it is a very in- 
 nocent and legitimate pleasure. ' ' 
 
 "It must surely make you very vain?" 
 
 "Well, I hope not," said Carlo, smiling. "Of course 
 every artist has to be careful not to get into the way of 
 thinking that his powers are merits instead of gifts. 
 Years ago I heard Togni play at Naples, and you know 
 when our people applaud they applaud tremendously ; I 
 shall never forget the deafening outburst ; but it seemed 
 to me like a great thanksgiving to God who had given 
 such power to men. It was not Togni we applauded ; it 
 was the wonderful beauty and power which he had un- 
 folded for us." 
 
 "But clearly," said Kate, "the life must be full of ex- 
 citement. Surely your constant craving to get back to it 
 shows how engrossing and dangerous it must be." 
 
 He could not explain to her that it was no anxiety for 
 applause which made him so eager to be back once more 
 in Merlino's troupe, so he turned the conversation, and 
 Kate naturally concluded that her remark had struck 
 home. She despised him for evading the subject, but 
 noticing that he looked tired, offered to read to him. 
 
 He seemed relieved at the proposal, and opening ' ' The 
 Christian Year," asked her to read over again something 
 which had taken his fancy. 
 
 " Exactly like his perverseness to choose the Tuesday in 
 Whitsun-Week on the Monday in Holy- Week," ehe re- 
 
390 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 fleeted, knowing nothing of his Whitsuntide associations. 
 Moreover, the poem was the last one she would have ex- 
 pected him to like ; it seemed a mockery to her that a man 
 who was " fooling away his life on the stage " should be 
 struck with the lines: 
 
 " And wheresoe'er on earth's wide field 
 Ye lift for him the red-cross shield, 
 Be this your song, your joy and pride, 
 * Our Champion went before and died.' " 
 
 It had never occurred to her as a possibility that an oper- 
 atic singer could appreciate sentiments of that sort. Ajid 
 she would have been scandalized and dismayed could she 
 have known of the unconscious, matter-of-fact way in 
 which Carlo would go from the altar to the theater, or, if 
 it suited him better 'as to time, from the theater to the 
 altar. 
 
 Very much perplexed as to the Italian's character, she 
 walked that afternoon down to the village, but had 
 scarcely left the grounds when she encountered the vicar. 
 
 "I was just coming to your house, " he remarked. " I 
 hear you have a young Italian staying with you, and was 
 coming to inquire after him. Is he better?" 
 
 "Oh, he is much better, thank you," said Kate. "I 
 wish you would go to see him, for perhaps you who feel so 
 strongly about such matters would be able to persuade him 
 to leave the stage. I can't understand him at all; he 
 seems quite wrapped up in his profession, and it is so sad to 
 think of a really good man wasting his life in work of that 
 sort." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to see him," said the vicar; " it 
 will be quite a treat to me to talk Italian again!" And 
 without more delay he made his way to the house, smiling 
 to himself a little at Kate Britton's eagerness to influence 
 all she came across, and rather pleased at the prospect of 
 a new acquaintance in his small and not very interesting 
 parish. He had preached only a little while ago against 
 theaters, and it was satisfactory to be brought face to face 
 in this way with a veritable member of the profession. 
 
 Having received a message that Signor Donati would be 
 very glad to see him, the vicar followed the servant up- 
 stairs to the morning-room, where he found the invalid on 
 a couch drawn close to the fire. He was surprised at his 
 fluent English; his accent, too, was perfect, and it was 
 only by a very slight peculiarity in the intonation, and 
 every now and then by some unusual little bit of phrase- 
 ology, that he betrayed his foreign birth. His face, how- 
 ever, was unmistakably Italian, and though he was evi- 
 dently weak and tired, the vicar thought him looking much 
 less ifi than might have been expected after so serious aa 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 251 
 
 attack. The formal greetings were only just over when 
 Carlo, having thoroughly studied the strong, intellectual 
 face of his visitor his calm, deep -set eyes, and the sort of 
 general air of " iron-gray " which characterized him ex- 
 claimed, with an excitement which surprised the vicar : 
 
 "I believe, sir indeed, lam quite sure that we have 
 met before!" 
 
 Now the vicar had at that moment been thinking of his 
 sermon at St. Cyprian's, and admitting to himself that this 
 actor, at any rate, did not at all fit in .vith his precon- 
 ceived notion of the members of the * ' unhallowed calling, ' ' 
 so, naturally enough, he thought that Carlo must refer to 
 this occasion. 
 
 "Can you have been in the congregation at St. Cyp- 
 prian's when I preached there the other day?" he ex- 
 claimed. u I little thought I was addressing any one con- 
 nected with the stage. ' ' 
 
 "Ah! was it indeed you who preached that sermon?'* 
 said Carlo, quickly. "Yes, I was there with my friend 
 Sardoni, the tenor of the company ; but we were quite at 
 the back^of the church, and could not even see the pulpit. 
 Was it indeed you who preached? That is one of the odd- 
 est coincidences I ever knew.'* 
 
 "But when can you have met me before?" said the 
 vicar, looking puzzled. ' ' Can I have met you in Italy and 
 have forgotten?" 
 
 " Do you remember being in Naples last May, and going 
 one afternoon into one of the cafes in the Piazza Plebiscite, 
 and talking with your companion as to the improvement 
 of the world in general in the nineteenth century ?' ' 
 
 "With Stanley! Yes, yes, I remember it quite well," 
 said the vicar. 
 
 "Do you remember how you said that men were not 
 more willing to live the life of the Crucified? Well, I was 
 sitting close by and heard you, and I owe you much, for 
 those words haunted me continually, and but this will, I 
 fear, shock you they helped me to choose my present pro- 
 fession!" 
 
 The vicar smiled a little. He could just perceive, though 
 not so clearly as Carlo perceived, the irony of the situa- 
 tion. Mr. Britton had given him a hint as to Donati's mo- 
 tive in going on the stage, and had expressed a hope that 
 the vicar, if he had any opportunity, would do his best to 
 dissuade him from returning to it, feeling convinced that 
 Madame Merlino's case was hopeless. And now to be told 
 that it was in some degree owing to words of his that the 
 choice had been made was, to say the least of it, startling, 
 while the knowledge that the Italian had been listening in 
 St. Cyprian's to his tirade againso theaters vexed him ngt 
 
252 RtflGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 a little. The vicar was a kind-hearted man, though many 
 people considered him hard ; but, as a matter of fact, the 
 idea of having denounced such a man as Donati to his face, 
 and having probably pained him, caused him serious an- 
 
 " I have always disapproved of the stage," he said, after 
 a brief pause. ** But I am exceedingly sorry that you 
 heard that sermon the other night, for it must have seemed 
 hard and unjust to you, I am afraid." 
 
 "I will tell you quite candidly just how it was," said 
 Carlo. *' It did vex me, I must allow, but then I was be- 
 ginning to feel ill and overcome, and had had rather a 
 rough time of it through the week, and it seemed hard to 
 lose the sense of fellowship which one counts on getting, at 
 any rate, in church. But what vexed me most of all, and 
 perhaps made me exaggerate your denunciation, was that 
 my friend Sardoni, who does not go in much for church- 
 services, happened that night to have come with me." 
 
 " Did it dp him harm, do you think?" asked the vicar. 
 
 Carlo hesitated. 
 
 "He was very angry about it," he said, at length; 
 "unreasonably angry, I thought. But he has a good deal 
 to trouble him, and there were reasons which made any 
 attack from the Church on our profession specially pain- 
 ful to him." 
 
 He broke off as the door opened, and looked with feverish 
 eagerness towards the servant who entered with the after- 
 noon letters. Just at this time he seemed to live in perpet- 
 ual craving for post-time; for not only was he terribly anx- 
 ious to hear from Sardoni how matters were going in the 
 company, but he had always an undefined hope that some 
 one at Merlebank would hear from Francesca, and that at 
 least some fragments of the letter might be read or quoted 
 in his presence. This afternoon there arrived the letter 
 from Sardoni for which he had looked and waited so long. 
 
 " "VVill you excuse me just for one minute?" he said. 
 " This is from my friend Sardoni, of whom we were just 
 speaking. If you will allow me I am ashamed to ask 
 such a thing but I am very anxious to see how things are 
 going with them." 
 
 He opened the envelope, tossed it aside, and began to 
 read eagerly. Involuntarily the vicar glanced at the 
 handwriting of the direction. It was large and marked 
 a peculiar and thoroughly characteristic hand. The color 
 rose to his forehead, his lips trembled. He waited, partly 
 to recover his self-control, partly to allow Carlo time to 
 glance through the letter, then, with undisguised eager- 
 ness, be exclaimed: 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 253 
 
 'This friend of yours, Signor Donati what did you say 
 he was called?" 
 
 "Sardoni; he is primo tenore of our troupe. Such a 
 good-hearted fellow ! I don't know what I should do with- 
 out him." 
 
 " But that, perhaps, is an assumed name? What is his 
 true name? Is he not an Englishman?" 
 
 44 He is English, but he keeps entirely to his nom de 
 guerre," said Carlo. 
 
 " Even you, his friend, do not know his true name?" 
 
 "Yes, I do know it; but he does not wish it generally 
 known. Have you any special reason for asking? Good 
 heavens!" he exclaimed, as an idea suddenly occurred to 
 him, " can it possibly be that which altered him so much 
 after the sermon? Sir, I beg you to tell me your name ! I 
 have only heard you spoken of as the vicar." 
 
 "My name is John Postlethwayte," said the vicar, 
 watching with anxiety indescribable the effect of his words 
 011 the Italian. 
 
 There was no mistaking the intense excitement which 
 dawned in Carlo's face. 
 
 "You saw and recognized this writing?" he asked, 
 breathlessly, pointing to the envelope; then, as the vicar 
 signed an assent, ' ' Thank God, I have come across you 1 I 
 see there can be no doubt that you are his father!" 
 
 Tears started to the Englishman's eyes. Carlo observed 
 this with relief. The vicar did not seem nearly so hard and 
 uncompromising as Sardoni had led him to expect. 
 
 " My son was here, then, in Ashborough!" he exclaimed 
 " was actually in the church that night, and never came 
 near me ! I have spent my life in looking for him have 
 wandered all over the Continent in the hope of finding him 
 once more and does he now avoid and shun me when we 
 are in the same town?" 
 
 " It must have been that which made him feel the ser- 
 mon so much," said Carlo. " He knew you disapproved 
 of the stage ; he was afraid you would not believe that he 
 had turned over a new leaf he told me that long ago ; and 
 then, of course, when he heard you speak so strongly 
 against actors and their calling, he would naturally be re- 
 pulsed and disheartened!" 
 
 The vicar paced the room in great distress. It was in- 
 describably bitter to him to realize that his son should have 
 happened to hear that one sermon, and to reflect that the 
 whole course of his life might have been altered had his 
 theme been of reconciliation and charity. 
 
 " But all will be well now, " said Carlo; " for if you have 
 searched for him, then you must really care to be recon- 
 ciled to him and, indeed, he wishes your forgiveness 
 
254 KXIGHT-EItRANT. 
 
 The very first day after we landed in England he went 
 straight to your old home, fully expecting to find you there. 
 It was then he told me all about it, and gave me his true 
 name. Poor Jack ! I shall never forget, his misery when 
 he found a stranger in your place." 
 
 " Did he go, indeed, to the old home?" said the vioar, 
 eagerly. " My poor boy ! if only I had been there to meet 
 him ! But surely he could have found out in the village 
 where I had gone to?" 
 
 " He did send me to make inquiries, " said Carlo, " and 
 the old sexton told me you were at Cleevering, in Mount- 
 shire. But when Jack found how, through his fault, your 
 home had been broken up and your work spoiled, he said 
 he could not write to you or seek you out. Indeed, I 
 doubt if we shall ever get him here unless we take him 
 altogether by surprise. He would say that he would not 
 come back to be a disgrace to you in a new parish. ' ' 
 
 '' Then I must go to him!" said the vicar. 
 
 Carlo hesitated. He pictured to himself the sort of meet 
 ing that might take place in one of the second-rate hotels^ 
 or in the dingy lodgings which Merlino's troupe frequented, 
 where privacy was out of the question, and where Sardoni, 
 because of his surroundings, would certainly not show to 
 the greatest advantage. He thought of the gossip which 
 would be set afloat in the troupe, and realized how distaste- 
 ful it would all be to his friend. 
 
 " If you don't mind," he said, "I think it would be much 
 better if I wrote to him and begged him to come down and 
 see me ; I think I could write urgently enough to bring him, 
 and on Good -Friday there will of course be no opera, and 
 it is possible that he might even be able to arrange to stay 
 over Easter-Sunday. Will you mind just handing me that 
 pocket-book, and I will see where the company will be? 
 Ah, yes, I thought so ; they will be at Worcester, and on 
 the Saturday will be giving ' Marta.' I have no doubt that 
 Merlinowill let Caffieri take Lionello in Jack's place; he did 
 so once in the autumn." 
 
 Spite of his excitement and anxiety, the vicar could not 
 but perceive that his visit was tiring the invalid. 
 
 " I am ashamed to have forgotten your illness in my own 
 great joy," he said, rising to go. " I little thought what 
 news awaited me when I came here." 
 
 4 'This is worth being sick for," said Carlo. " I shall 
 write to Jack by the first post to-morrow." 
 
 Probably the doctor would have highly disapproved had 
 he known of the little plot which was being worked out in 
 his patient's room; but only Clare and Mr. Britton were 
 taken into the secret, and in truth the excitement and 
 hope acted like a sort of tonic, and Carlo forgot for a time 
 
KN1QBT-ERRANT. 255 
 
 his own anxieties in planning his various arrangements 
 for that eventful Good Friday. Sardoni had written to 
 say that he would come at half -past three in the afternoon, 
 and Carlo awaited his arrival in some trepidation. Re- 
 membering the unpleasant sensation he had experienced 
 at Piale's house of having been entrapped, he abandoned 
 the rather stagey idea which had first suggested itself to 
 him, of allowing Sardoni to be shown in upon his father 
 without any preparation, Nevertheless, he was too thor- 
 ough an Italian not to be dramatic, and the vicar was glad 
 enough to trust the management of all to one who really 
 knew his son much better than he could pretend to do. 
 He listened to the Italian's ideas with some surprise, but 
 he did not call them in question. Sardoni might now be 
 expected to arrive at any minute, and the vicar, waiting 
 with Carlo in the morning-room, was enduring tortures of 
 suspense and anxiety. 
 
 "When we hear him arrive," said Carlo, quietly, "I 
 want you to go through that inner door into the next 
 room ; leave the door ajar. Then, when Jack comes, I will 
 tell him the whole truth, and how I came across you, and 
 how you recognized his writing. That being settled, I 
 shall ask him to help me to my bedroom. When you hear 
 us get up, then leave my room where you have waited by 
 the other door, leading into the passage, and come back 
 here. I know you are thinking me like a stage-manager, 
 but, don't you see, this is the only means of getting me 
 out of the way. You will now meet alone and unobserved ; 
 Jack will have been prepared, and will not feel that we 
 have dealt unfairly by him ; and yet he will in a sense be 
 surprised when he goes back to find you there, because he 
 will have been bracing up his mind to the idea of seeking 
 you out at the vicarage." 
 
 All these little considerations would never have occurred 
 to Mr. Postlethwayte ; he was dreadfully afraid that some- 
 thing would not work, that he should make a blunder and 
 forget when to make his exit, or by what door. But Carlo 
 seemed to have perfect confidence in his little plot; and 
 when the supreme moment arrived ; the vicar, waiting in 
 the inner room, began to feel confidence in the man who 
 had planned all with .juch perfect appreciation of the feel- 
 ings of others, and whose sole thought of himself had been 
 how, when his work was over, he could best be got out of 
 the way. 
 
 And now a brisk, familiar step was heard in the passage, 
 the maid-servant announced, in the most prim and ordinary 
 way, "Signor Sardoni, "and the next moment Jack strode 
 into the room. The vicar bit his lip hard as he heard the 
 
356 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 hearty, cheerful voice which had been silent to him for so 
 many years. 
 
 " Well, old fellow, how are you? Why, you are looking 
 almost yourself again. This is a case of Mother Hubbard's 
 dog ; I thought I should find you ready to make your last 
 will and testament, as you were so anxious to see me once 
 more. I shall take back good news for the troupe ; we are 
 all longing for you back again, though Comerio tries hard 
 to be civil, and to win golden opinions. And that reminds 
 me, Val; I've just hit upon a way of turning an honest 
 penny." 
 
 " What's that?" said Carlo, getting in a word with diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 "Why, I mean to write a sensational article for one of 
 the reviews, on the Italian character the motto to be the 
 old nursery rhyme, adapted: 
 
 " When they are good, they are very, very good, 
 And when they are bad, they are horrid." 
 
 That man is a fiend, his cunning and malice are beyond any- 
 thing I ever knew." 
 
 " Presently I want you to tell me all," interposed Carlo, 
 seizing at once on the momentary pause. "But, Jack; 
 first of all, there is something I must tell you. What par- 
 ish do you think this house is in?" 
 
 " Parish ! How should I know? 1 ' said Sardoni. 
 
 " It is in the parish of Cleevering," said Carlo, quietly. 
 
 Sardoni sprung to his feet. 
 
 " Good God, Donati! and did you bring me here for that 
 reason ! Have I not told you that nothing will induce me 
 to revive the old disgrace? Look here! that attack we 
 heard in the church the other night on the stage that was 
 spoken by my father! Do you think, after that, he would 
 care to have me coming home?" 
 
 "I know he would," said Carlo. "Don't be angry, 
 Jack ; just hear me quietly to the end. I did not betray 
 you, but your father has found you out." He told him 
 graphically just what had happened, then continued, "Do 
 you think he was thinking of the 'disgrace' when he 
 threw up everything to go and search for you on the Con- 
 tinent? Do you think he cares a rush for what people say 
 when his first impulse was to go straight to Worcester and 
 see you? Perhaps it would have been better, after all, if I 
 had not suggested this other plan." 
 
 " No, no I" broke in Sardoni; "I could never have stood 
 that. But yet I doubt if I can do it, Val. It was hard 
 enough last time with you. And alone I No, I can't do it! 
 You'll never know what it is to an Englishman the mere 
 walking up to the house and ringing the belli" 
 
257 
 
 11 But you would at least do as much as that for one who 
 has tramped all over Europe for you?" said Carlo. 
 
 41 It's not that," said Sardoni, "brushing his hand impa- 
 tiently across his eyes. " It's not that I mean. Upon my 
 soul, Donati, I think you are too good to understand how 
 it is with me." 
 
 Carlo replied only by one of his expressive gestures. 
 
 " Too tired to discuss the matter further, we will say. 
 Give me an arm, will you, Jack ? I will go to my room and 
 rest, and will see you again later on." 
 
 "I forgot how ill you had been!" said Sardoni, with 
 compunction. "And now I have tired you, and thought 
 only of my own affairs, like the brute that I am!" 
 
 He helped him into the adjoining room, and Carlo, 
 conscious of much the same sensation about the heart as 
 he had felt on the night of his first appearance in public, 
 dismissed him. 
 
 "If you ring the bell in the next room," he remarked, 
 '* they'll show you to your room, or, if you make up your 
 mind to go to the vicarage, steer for the church- tower, and 
 you can't mistake the house, for they say there is none 
 other near." 
 
 " I wish you were about, and could go there with me," 
 said Sardoni, with a sigh. 
 
 "You are much better alone. I told you last time I 
 should only have been in the way. Now for my siesta. 
 A rivederci!" 
 
 Sardoni turned away slowly and with a sort of reluctance 
 almost as if he were already in imagination rehearsing 
 that difficult return which Carlo had spoken of. To steer 
 straight for the church-tower! What a walk that would 
 be ! what a fight would be involved in every step ! He 
 closed the door, and once more re-entered the morning- 
 room. Was that Mr. Britton standing by the window? 
 But at the sound of the shutting of the door the figure 
 turned, and crossed the room in eager haste. 
 
 Sardoni' s heart beat like a sledge-hammer, the tears 
 rushed to his eyes. 
 
 * ' Father ! " he faltered. * ' Did you come ? are you here ?' ' 
 
 And Carlo himself would have been satisfied could he 
 have seen the manner of their meeting. 
 
 When they could speak, the vicar replied to the incoher- 
 ent question. 
 
 4 ' It was your friend's doing ! He thought this would be 
 the best place." 
 
 " It is all his doing! said Sardoni, in a choked voice. 
 
 There was a pause, broken at last by the father. 
 
 "Let us come home together!" he said. 
 
 And Carlo, lying tired out in the next room, beard thfl 
 
288 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 door of the morning-room open, and knew that all was 
 well, and pictured to himself how the two would walk to- 
 gether toward the house by the church, and how Sardoni 
 would smile to himself when he found that there was no 
 question as to ringing of bells, since the father would throw 
 the door wide, and himself take him into the new home, 
 where even dark memories would not be allowed to enter 
 and spoil the peace of their reconciliation. 
 
 But what passed he never actually knew, because there 
 are things too sacred to be put into words things which 
 men learn to take on trust even with their closest friends. 
 
 Sardoni returned in the evening, and talked of Anita, 
 and Comerio, and Gigi, and of the various vicissitudes of 
 the company in the last three weeks. But on Easter-eve, 
 in the morning, when Carlo, like a true Neapolitan, de- 
 sired to begin thefesta, the vicar came, true to his appoint- 
 ment, and with him came his son. 
 
 ' k You will have the necessary third without me," whis- 
 pered Clare, thinking they would rather be alone. " I will 
 go." 
 
 *' No," said Carlo. "I should like to have you both, if 
 you don't mind. Jack, this is my friend, Miss Clare- 
 mont." 
 
 Clare welcomed him quietly, and the two friends just 
 gripped each others hands, and not another word passed 
 between them till they had joined in their Easter com- 
 munion. 
 
 The vicar was a man of large experience, and he had 
 learned not to be very much surprised at the extraordinary 
 coincidents of life, and to believe in the truth of the saying 
 that it is the unexpected which happens. But, with all his 
 knowledge of life, he would hardly have credited the 
 words of one who had foretold to him that within a few 
 weeks of his denunciation of the stage he should be under 
 the deepest of obligations to an operatic singer, and 
 should have joined with him, and with his long-lost son, in 
 the most sacred act of worship and sign of fellowship. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 CONVALESCENT. 
 
 ** Look not on thine own loss, but look beyond, 
 And take the Cross for glory and for guide." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton &tag. 
 
 WHEN the excitement of Sardoni 1 s visit was over, Carlo 
 flagged a little, but the weariness and languor were far 
 less trying to bear than what followed. He could live pa- 
 tiently enough through those days could even enjoy the 
 familv life going on around him oould be quietly amused 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 259 
 
 ft* Kate's efforts to conform him to her own ideal of what 
 a young man should be could find comfort in talking to 
 Clare about the old days at Casa Bella, and about his 
 mother. 
 
 But by and by, when his strength returned, there came 
 very different days days when he felt that to live any 
 longer without Francesca was more than mortal man 
 Could bear days when in very truth his own words to her 
 in the belvedere were fulfilled, and to be without her was 
 to be crucified. His love for Francesca was no light senti- 
 ment, no passing fancy ; it was the strongest, most ardent 
 love that man can feel for woman. He loved her with his 
 whole being with the passionate warmth of a southern 
 nature with the force of a pure and noble soul with the 
 lofty], undying devotion of an awakened spirit. It was 
 inevitable that he should suffer; and though of course 
 such times were nothing new to him, he could not in his 
 present state plunge into work, or into the affairs of other 
 people, as in his ordinary life he had found comfort in 
 doing. 
 
 Worst of all, he knew that his kindly host the only one 
 able to guess what was the matter with him desired 
 nothing so much as to see him quitting the stage and mar- 
 rying his niece. 
 
 But if pain was inevitable, failure was not so. He loved as 
 a man loves at four-and-twenty, but he had the strength oE 
 one who has resolutely denied himself and honestly tried to 
 be true to his profession ; ' k his strength was as the strength 
 of ten." And when Mr. Britton urged his view of the case 
 upon him with the best and kindest of intentions, he 
 always fell back on the certainty that his duty had been 
 made clear to him, and on the faith which was his great 
 stronghold, and which, in its fearless unselfishness, dif- 
 fered as much from credulity as day from night. 
 
 Strangely enough, the man to whom he instinctively 
 turned most at this time was Sardoni's father. He dis- 
 agreed with the vicar on politics, on many theological 
 points, on the question of the stage, and on most other 
 things, and yet there was something in the man's great 
 goodness which made all else quite a secondary considera- 
 tion, which even made one forget his tendency to lay down 
 the law, and only delight in the sense of his devotion. 
 Without that touch of dogmatism he would have been a 
 saint ; his failing interfered a good deal with his influence 
 in most quarters, but with Carlo hardly at all. The beau- 
 tiful goodness of the man attracted him too strongly, and 
 quite eclipsed all else. It was a relief, too, when he was 
 allowed to go out again for the briefest of airings on sunny- 
 days when the wind was favorable ; and after a time he 
 
260 KNIGHT-ERPANT. 
 
 was able to read Dante with Kate and Lucy, and to study 
 44 Zampa," and, little by little, to find that the outer world 
 was not so altogether flavorless as in his dark days it had 
 seemed. 
 
 One sunny spring day, when the doctor had allowed him 
 to go for a short drive, Clare and Kate took him for the 
 first time outside the Merlebank grounds, and drove him 
 through the little village of Cleevering. By this time he 
 had himself pretty well in hand had schooled himself 
 into a sort or content with incompleteness had worked 
 himself round to a state in which he could feel that it 
 was at any rate something to be with Francesca's rela- 
 tions, to hear her name every now and then, to be at least 
 certain of knowing if she were in any particular need or 
 trouble. 
 
 " We may as well call for the letters as we are passing 
 the post-office," said Kate, drawing up at the village shop. 
 She sprung out of the chaise, Carlo offering to hold the 
 pony for her. He had neither ridden nor driven since he 
 had left Italy, and the mere feeling of the reins between 
 his fingers awoke new life within him ; it was long since he 
 had been able really to desire any attainable thing, but now 
 he was seized with* a strong desire to ride once more, and 
 the mere capability of wishing was a relief. He had an 
 almost boyish pleasure in feeling the movements of the 
 pony's head as it champed the bit, in hearing the impatient 
 pawing of the ground. 
 
 4 'Two letters for you, Clare," said Kate, reappearing; 
 and Clare took them rather anxiously, and opening the 
 one from her home began to read. 
 
 " None for me?" asked Carlo. 
 
 " Not one," said Kate, tossing two or three envelopes on 
 to the vacant seat. He instantly detected that one of them 
 bore the blue stamp of Italy. Was it from Francesca? he 
 wondered, or perhaps from Captain Britton to his brother? 
 It was something to be staying in a house where letters 
 were received from Casa Bella, and yet it was a sort of 
 torture to him to sit quietly in the pony -chaise, obliged tc 
 content himself with studying the length of King Hum- 
 bert's mustache and the big letters of "NAPOLI" on the 
 post- mark. Doubtless, he thought, the letter had been 
 posted as they went in to church on Sunday, and he hardly 
 knew whether the thought made him feel nearer to his love 
 or more hopelessly cut off from her. He did not dare to 
 ask any questions lest he should awaken Kate's suspicion, 
 but he hoped against hope that she would speak and put 
 him out of his suspense. Kate, however, talked of the 
 scenery, and the weather, and the spring-green of the 
 trees, and of every unimportant thing under the sun ; but 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 261 
 
 of that letter she said not a word, and he had to endure 
 walking up-stairs behind her when they reached the house, 
 and seeing her disappear with it into her own room. 
 
 It was hard ; but then sore need had taught him to be 
 thankful for small mercies, and he cheered himself with 
 the reflection that at any rate he was now tolerably certain 
 that the letter was from Francesca herself, that by this? 
 time she knew of his illness, for Clare had mentioned it in 
 one of her letters, and that it was even remotely possible that 
 the captain might have permitted her to send some mes- 
 sage. Torturing himself with hopes and fears after the 
 manner of lovers, he waited as long as he could make him- 
 self wait up-stairs; then, with the hope predominating and 
 the impatience no longer to be resisted, found his way into 
 the drawing-room, and looked round for Kate. The room 
 was empty, but on the mantel-piece there gleamed the blue 
 Kung Humbert and the big ' ' NAPOLI," and the direction in 
 Francesca's own writing to s ' Miss Britton, Merlebank, nr> 
 Ashborough, Inghilterra. ' ' 
 
 He longed to snatch it up and kiss it, but restrained him- 
 self because even the envelope was not his ; with a sigh he 
 crossed the room and tried to make the time pass by play- 
 ing all Francesca's favorite airs; and after what seemed a 
 long while, the footman came in with the afternoon tea, 
 ard was soon followed by Mr. Britton. 
 
 44 You are early home this afternoon," said Carlo, leav- 
 ing the piano, and shivering a little as he came over to the 
 fire. 
 
 " I have a.i appointment at Cleevering at half- past five, 
 and thought I would snatch a cup of tea on the way, "said 
 Mr. Britton. "You don't look quite so well; I'm afraid 
 you have been overtiring yourself. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you," said Carlo, wondering how his 
 companion could stand within a yard of Francesca's letter 
 and not notice it. "1 have been for a drive to-day, and 
 enjoyed it very much." 
 
 "That's right," said the ship- builder, in his kindly voice. 
 " We must begin to lionize you now that you are getting 
 stronger. You ought to go over to Tancroft Castle; it is a 
 fine old Norman ruin. You would find a great deal to in- 
 terest you there." 
 
 Carlo thought differently ; at any rate just at the present 
 moment he was inclined to wish all fine old Norman ruins 
 at the bottom of the sea. It was horrible to feel that he, 
 jvith his ardent love, must be patiently polite, and must de- 
 pend on others for the smallest scrap of tidings from Fran- 
 cesca. At length old Bevis. the 'deer-hound, came to his 
 help, by stretching up his head and licking his master's 
 hand. Mr. Britton bent down to pat his old favorite, and 
 
262 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 as he raised his head again his eye was attracted by the 
 foreign letter on the mantel-piece. 
 
 " Ah f ' he exclaimed, 4 ' a letter from Casa Bella? What 
 news?" 
 
 "I do not know," said Carlo. "I was not here when 
 Miae Britton read it." 
 
 Something of the chafed, impatient craving, which was 
 making tumult in his heart, found its way into his voice. 
 Mr. Britton, understanding all perfectly well, felt very- 
 sorry for him. He took up the letter, and, going out into 
 the hall, called his daughter. 
 
 Kate came running down-stairs in reply to the summon^ 
 looking hurried and annoyed. 
 
 "How early you have come home, father!" she ex- 
 claimed. kk l was just trying to get the 'Mothers' Meet- 
 ing' accounts right." 
 
 " I am sorry to have interrupted you, my dear; but will 
 you make tea, for I have to go down to the village di- 
 rectly?" 
 
 Kate, in no very good temper, approached the tea-table, 
 perceived that the tray was crooked, and set it straight 
 with a gesture betraving inward irritation. Carlo, as 
 usual, offered his services with the kettle, but was so ab- 
 sent-minded that he was far from proving an efficient 
 helper, and only made Kate feel that everything was con- 
 spiring together to annoy her. Surely only a lover could 
 have been so absent as to go on filling a teapot till it over- 
 flowed, and to be deaf to repeated orders to stop! Was 
 this tiresome Italian really going to fall in love with the 
 daughter of his host like the hero of a novel? 
 
 All his apologies could not make her unbend from the 
 chilly reserve in which she encased herself. 
 
 " What news from Casa Bella?" asked Mr. Britton, 
 when the disaster on the tea-tray no longer engrossed the 
 general attention. 
 
 "Oh!" said Kate, bestowing a cup of tea on Carlo with 
 a frigid air that \vas quite lost on him, *' Francesca writes 
 to ask if she may come next week instead of in June. It's 
 very provoking, for I shall be so busy just then, and there 
 will be no tennis or anything to amuse her." 
 
 Carlo did not dare to raise his eyes lest the wild rapture 
 of hope which was filling them should become visible to 
 Kate. He sa f j mechanically stirring his tea, making so 
 strong an effort to control his face and keep his joy secret, 
 \hat he felt as if his features must have become as expres- 
 sionless as a block of wood. 
 
 " I don't fancy she is much of a tennis-player," said Mr, 
 Britton. " Is there no inclosure for me?" 
 
 * Oh yes, I beg your pardon, father, I quite forgot ; there 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 263 
 
 g a line for you from Uncle Britton, and a little note from 
 Francesca, too." 
 
 Mr. Britton glanced through them, then deliberately 
 handed Francesca' s note to Carlo, possibly intending his 
 daughter to draw her own conclusions from the act. 
 
 44 1 am glad she comes earlier; you two are old friends, 
 and it would be a pity that you should not meet." 
 
 But Kate observed nothing; for she was full of her pre- 
 conceived theory. She did not notice the quick flush which 
 rose to Carlo's brow as he took the letter; instead, she was 
 secretly resolving to lose no opportunity of snubbing the 
 Italian, and proving that she was quite indifferent to him, 
 and was above that despicable feminine weakness of fall- 
 ing in love with a handsome face and a fine voice. 
 
 44 Will you have any more tea, Signor Donati?" she asked, 
 in her coldly polite voice. 
 
 44 No more, thank you," said Carlo, looking up for a mo- 
 ment from the letter. 
 
 His eyes startled her ; there was an expression in their 
 dark, liquid depths which she had never seen before in the 
 eyes of any man. She got up quickly. 
 
 44 If you'll excuse me, father, I'll just finish those ac- 
 counts," she said. "Clare and the girls will be down di- 
 rectly." 
 
 Meanwhile '' arlo, feeling like one in a beautiful dream, 
 which is only marred by the dim consciousness that there 
 must be an / /aking, read and reread the following note: 
 
 "DEAR 'yNCLE GEORGE, Thank you so much f or your 
 letters; I never thought it possible that father would let 
 me come, but something in your note to him has made him 
 consent; and also, perhaps, something that has happened 
 here makes him see that I had better leave home for a lit- 
 tle while. It was just like you to keep your promise in 
 that way, and be Carlo's friend, and just like you, too, to 
 write so often, for I have been dreadfully anxious. Father 
 says, can you conveniently meet me, or send some one to 
 meet me, at Charing Cross by the tidal train on Wednes- 
 day morning? He does not much like me to come such a 
 long way alone, and the lady with whom I travel from 
 Naples only goes as far as London. 
 
 "Ever, dear uncle, your loving niece, 
 
 44 FRANCESCA BRITTON." 
 
 He had his moments of unalloyed bliss ; then came the 
 inevitable awaking. 
 
 44 Do you think I ought to go away?" he said, returning 
 the letter to Mr. Britton. 
 
 There was something so appealing in his tone that MR 
 
264 KNIGHT-ERBANT. 
 
 Britton felt a genuine thrill of pleasure in being able to 
 answer, with a clear conscience. 
 
 "Certainly not; the most scrupulous sense of honor 
 can't demand that, since her father is perfectly well aware 
 that you are staying with us." 
 
 " What do you think makes him willing to let us meet?" 
 said Carlo, anxiously. 
 
 ' ' Well, to speak quite frankly, I think that probably 
 Francesca has just refused some good offer of marriage, 
 and that my brother finds that it is hopeless to see her set- 
 tled in life as he would wish while her heart is here at 
 Merlebank. Very possibly he hopes as I, too, confess I 
 hope that circumstances will lead you to see that it is 
 useless for you to continue any longer on the stage, and 
 that all may end well, and you and Francesca be ' very 
 happy ever after,' as they say in the stories." 
 
 Carlo was silent, for suddenly, in that comfortable En- 
 glish drawing-room, there flashed across his mind the old 
 temptation, which he thought could never have risen 
 again after the decisive blow dealt it in the garden at Villa 
 Bruno. This time the strong point of his character, his 
 genuine humility, was appealed^to. 
 
 * ' See, ' ' urged the tempter, ' ' you are wrecking Fran- 
 cesca's life and your own, all from an overstrained notion 
 of self-sacrifice. Is it likely you will succeed in saving 
 Anita? Leave that to better and wiser people. All the 
 best men and women you know think you are mistaken 
 think that you will fail. Are you going to be so head- 
 strong and conceited as still to persist in this unnecessary 
 sacrifice? You have tried your best, and have failed 
 you know that you have miserably failed. To go on 
 longer would be mere presumption and vanity." 
 
 He turned away and stood in the window, looking out at 
 the mellow western sky and at the grassy slopes beneath the 
 trees in the park, where sheep were peacefully feeding. 
 The sight made him think of the thorn-crowned Shepherd. 
 But instantly the fiend turned even this to his advantage, 
 and beset him more vigorously than ever. 
 
 ' Are you so stupid and vain as to think the world needs 
 such a man as you to take care of it? Go home to Italy, 
 and live the peaceful life for which you are so much better 
 fitted. Do you think the Good Shepherd needs yov,r help? 
 Do you think He can't get on just as weh 1 without you ?" 
 
 But the vision of the Constant Shepherd \vould not fade, 
 and a voice, less vehement but more familiar to him, said 
 plainly, "Follow me!" 
 
 "Do you mean to say,' 1 resumed the fiend, "that you 
 are going to bear all your life this miserable incomplete- 
 ness? Remember what you have suifered this last forfr 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 265 
 
 night ! If you think you can bear such misery for long y9u 
 are mistaken. All your life long think of it ! think of it ! 
 If you dream of being strong enough to bear such a life you 
 vastly overrate your own powers." 
 
 But again, more clearly, the other voice repeated, " Fol- 
 low me!" 
 
 At this minute Clare and the younger girls entered the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 "Have you had tea, Signer Donati?" said Molly, who 
 dearly loved officiating at the tea-table in the absence of her 
 elders and betters. 
 
 "Did you like your drive?" chirped Flo. dancing up to 
 him in her free, childish fashion. 
 
 He came back with an effort to the outer life, and began 
 to hand about plates of cake and bread and butter, and to 
 wait upon every one, as was his wont, while Mr. Britton 
 told Clare about Francesca's visit. 
 
 44 Why that will seem delightfully natural to have both 
 you and Francesca here with me," said Clare. " You will 
 like to meet her again, and hear all the news from Poz- 
 zuoli." 
 
 4 ' Yes, unless my doctor has permitted me by that time 
 to set to work again," said Carlo, quietly. 
 
 " Oh, but he will not; you know he said nine weeks from 
 the first." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Mr. Britton, "you need at least three 
 more weeks' rest before thinking of work myself I doubt 
 if even then you will be fit for it ; we shall see what Kava- 
 nagh says." 
 
 No more passed on the subject just then, but after din- 
 ner, when Harry had left the dining-room to escort Kate 
 down to one of "her evening classes in the village, Carlo 
 spoke once more about it to Mr. Britton, having gained 
 much in the interval. 
 
 "What I want to ask you is this," he began, in his direct, 
 unembarrassed way. "Am I justified in staying on here 
 in the same house with Francesca when I have not the 
 least idea of renouncing the stage, when I hope to be able 
 to resist all temptations to yield, when I sincerely believe 
 that Captain Britton's expectations will be frustrated?" 
 
 4 ' I like you the better for thinking out the matter so 
 frankly," said Mr. Britton; " but it seems to me that the 
 responsibility rests with my brother. If he chooses to 
 send Francesca here I don't see that you are bound to trou- 
 ble about his expectations. I suppose it will, at any rate, 
 be some comfort to you both to meet evenjjas ordinary ac- 
 quaintances, with other people around, and I advise you 
 to get what pleasure you can out of the slight concession 
 
 jpy brother &as been willing to WQ&& ' Tak the goods 
 
26 KNIGHT-ERRANT.' 
 
 the gods provide you.' You can certainly do that with a 
 clear conscience. " 
 
 "Thank you," said Carlo, gratefully; 'it has been a 
 great help to talk it over with you. I think I may stay." 
 
 The week of rapturous expectation that followed was the 
 happiest he had known since the abrupt ending of his 
 betrothal. He went about with a glad light in his eyes, 
 which made Kate more and more repressive; his step was 
 no longer the step of an invalid, his voice grew stronger 
 each day, he felt in harmony with the delicious spring 
 weather, for all cares had faded from his mind, and he 
 was conscious once more of youth and hope conscious 
 that of late he had felt preposterously old, and that now 
 he felt ridiculously but delightfully young. 
 
 Counting the days, and indeed the very hours, he lived 
 through the interval, and at length the day on which 
 Francesca was expected came. But, to his surprise, as it 
 advanced the expectation changed to torment; he could 
 only sit watching the clock, and from time to time looking 
 from the window with a restless agitation which put hap- 
 piness out of the question. At last the supreme moment 
 arrived ; he heard the wheels of the carriage and the sud- 
 den rush of girls from the school-room; then Clare looked 
 in for a minute. 
 
 "She is just here; but don't come out into the hall, 
 Carlo, for the wind is so cold to-day." 
 
 He made some sort of reply, and felt relieved that Clare 
 left the drawing-room door open as she hastened out to 
 greet her old pupil. Good heavens ! how was he to meet 
 her like an ordinary acquaintance? His breathing was 
 labored, his heart throbbed, he trembled from head to 
 foot; yet through it ah 1 he listened with longing indescrib- 
 able. Ah, yes ! that was her voice, above all the tumult 
 within and without. 
 
 "How are you, dear Clare?" it said; and again, after a 
 pause : "A beautiful crossing, thank you. Why, Flo, how 
 you have grown !' ' 
 
 The voice was drawing nearer and nearer ; the oppression 
 grew frightful. With an effort he rose to his feet, and at 
 that instant caught the first glimpse of his love as she 
 crossed the hall the pure, sweet, delicate face, with its 
 lovely coloring; the slight, lithe figure, the gray eyes, 
 seeking him out eagerly, yet so shyly. He went quickly 
 forward to meet her, unable to feel for very excess of feel- 
 ing, bewildered and overpowered by the tumult that her 
 presence caused. 
 
 And yet it was all over so soon, this meeting which h 
 had rehearsed so often, both waking and sleeping; a con- 
 ventional hand-clasp, a smile carefully regulated, a fe* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 267 
 
 quick words of Italian, since his native tongue came natu- 
 rally to him, and for the moment he could not remember a 
 single word of English. After that there was a pause 
 which he did not dare to break, because he knew he could 
 not steady his voice ; all he could do was to try to look and 
 move naturally, and to get back the perception that his 
 arms were his own in time to hand about the cups of tea 
 which Kate, in her cool, business-like way, was preparing. 
 
 After awhile he began to hear what the others were say- 
 ing, and soon Francesca's sweet, low voice thrilled through 
 him once more, and before long he was carried away by 
 the happiness of the present, and, forgetting the past, dared 
 to put in his oar, so that the conversation became general, 
 he taking a natural share in it, and falling back to the old 
 footing of the days when Francesca had been his playmate 
 and friend. 
 
 At first the mere possibility of looking at her, talking to 
 her, and waiting on her, kept him happy. When Mr. 
 Britton was present he was a little less at his ease, because 
 he knew that the kindly host was well aware of their 
 story ; but by day, when old Mrs. Britton, or Clare, or the 
 girls were present, he seemed really able to ignore the 
 past, and act as though their three weeks' betrothal had 
 never been. The sense of helping her to play this part, 
 the knowledge that he could shield and protect her, was no 
 small incentive, though at times he half wished that Cap- 
 tain Britton had permitted Clare to be told, because her 
 sympathy would have been so well worth having. 
 
 As to Kate, both the lovers were unable to help being 
 amused by her, for Francosca quickly perceived her desire 
 to convert Carlo to her own ideas, and Carlo instinctively 
 knew that she had perceived it. 
 
 But one rainy morning, when the two girls were at work 
 in the morning-room, Francesca found that there are 
 times when an undeclared love-story has its disadvan- 
 tages. 
 
 " I have hardly seen you alone yet," began Kate. " and 
 there is so much I wanted to talk to you about. But you 
 see I have been so frightfully busy since you came; indeed, 
 it has been one incessant rush of work all through the 
 spring, and having Signor Donati here takes up more 
 time than people might fancy." 
 
 *' It was so good of uncle to ask him here," said Fran- 
 cesca, keeping her eyes fixed on her needlework." 
 
 "Father is always doing that kind of thing. But we 
 have never had a visitor here for so long whom I felt to 
 understand so little; I don't think I like him very much." 
 
 "Don't you?" said Francesca, stifling a strong inclina- 
 tion to laugh. 
 
2*8 KNIGHT-ERKANT. 
 
 " Well, he is so deceptive; he gives you the impression 
 of being so good and thinking so much of other people, and 
 yet I can't make out that he has done one single stroke of 
 good, useful work in his life. He seems to me exactly like 
 the fig-tree which had nothing but leaves. How can he 
 bear to waste his life on the stage?" 
 
 " You must not malign my old friend," said Francesca, 
 fi'ishing crimson, yet still feeling more amused than angry, 
 because Kate was so ludicrously mistaken, and so perfectly 
 convinced that she must infallibly be right. 
 
 " Well, since you are his friend, do just candidly tell me 
 Is he so good as Clare makes out? Is he really so 
 delightful as my father seems to think?" 
 
 The skeptical stress on the " Is he " made the question all 
 the more embarrassing. To be coolly asked her unbiased 
 opinion of the man she loved was a new experience to Fran- 
 cesca; for a moment she lost her presence of mind. What 
 in the world could she say? How was she to gain the com- 
 posed tone needful for a reply? 
 
 44 Oh, yes, indeed he is!" 1 she said at length, in a toler- 
 ably natural tone. "I have known him for years and 
 years, you know." 
 
 And then, because the answer seemed to her so absurdly 
 inadequate, and because she was vexed with Kate for hav- 
 ing asked such a question, she felt ready to cry. 
 
 But, luckily, Kate was not observant. She went on 
 serenely : 
 
 "Well, for my part, I don't understand that kind of 
 ricin. I don't think I understand Italians at all." 
 
 At that moment Carlo entered, overhearing the last 
 words. He at once guessed that Kate had been attacking 
 Francesca as to his character, and knowing that they would 
 feel uncomfortable, said, in his easy way : 
 
 "Not even after all our Dante readings, Miss Britton? 
 Has not our great poet raised your opinion of his country- 
 men? I am afraid you are very hard on the South." 
 
 "Well, frankly," said Kate, "I don't understand 
 southern natures ; and why you are so wrapped up in your 
 country I can't imagine." 
 
 "You see, to you Italy is merely 'a geographical ex- 
 pression,' as Prince Metternich used to say. To me it is 
 the land for which my father, and his father before him, 
 fought and died." 
 
 He broke off rather abruptly, afraid of repelling her 
 English nature by too much warmth of utterance. He 
 had not lived so much among English people without 
 learning to restrain his speech, and bring it round pretty 
 nearly to the conventional terseness of a true Britoix 
 Francesca knew that, had the/ bcea alone, a torrent of 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 261 
 
 Italian would have escaped his lips, and the full force of 
 his eager patriotism would have been revealed. 
 
 "You will think me very blunt, said Kate, "but I really 
 dont't see what you Italians have to be so proud of. I don't 
 see that you have any great men to boast of except, of 
 course, painters and musicians." 
 
 Carlo laughed. " You will at least allow us Dante?" 
 
 " Dante belongs to the world," said Kate. 
 
 "True, that might be said also of Shakespeare; yet 
 Shakespeare is English and Dante is Italian." 
 
 "Dante counts among the artists," said Kate, in her de- 
 cided tone. " You have no other great men. " 
 
 Francesca sat watching the disputants, intensely amused 
 at Kate's calm, argumentative manner; as to Carlo, he 
 seemed gradually losing his English sobriety, and the more 
 Kate attacked his nation the more Italian he became. 
 
 * ' What 1" he exclaimed. ' ' Do you then wish for greater 
 men than Galileo, than Savonarola, than Columbus, than 
 Daniele Manin, than Mazzini, than Garibaldi? Is it 
 nothing to have produced a man of science like Galvania, 
 a saint like Francesco of Assisi, patriots like Pellico and 
 Poerio?" 
 
 Now Silvio Pellico was no hero to Kate; she smiled at 
 the mention of his name. He only meant to her a long, 
 dull Italian book, which she had struggled half through, 
 until, to her delight, she had been prompted to I Promessi 
 Sposi. She had not lived with Pellico in his stifling cell 
 under the piombi at Venice, or wearied with him through 
 his long years in the Austrian fortress, as Carlo had done 
 in his childhood. 
 
 "You care so much for your country," she remarked, 
 "but, after all, patriotism seems to me a very narrow 
 thing; we ought instead to love the whole human race." 
 
 He started to his feet with a gesture that surprised her. 
 
 4 ' Believe me !" he exclaimed, * ' you are mistaken. There 
 is no true love of race till you love your own land ; just as 
 there is no ' charity,' in the wide sense of the word, till you 
 have genuine love for those of your own family. For what 
 else are we set in families and in nations? And how is it that 
 we have any number of people vaguely longing to work 
 for * humanity ' and sentimentalizing about the * masses ' 
 in the humanitarian cant of the day, and a mere handful of 
 men and women ready to make their own homes the 
 heaven on earth that home might be? It is because we 
 all want to begin at the wrong end, to launch out on the 
 great undertakings before we have been faithful to the 
 smaller duties. Because we mistake the meaning of sac- 
 rifice, and choose our own way even in that, and hunger 
 lor the great, and the striking, and the picturesque, but 
 
370 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 are slow to sacrifice ourselves for one akin to us, or for a 
 cause which is unattractive, or for a unit instead of a 
 vague multitude. ' ' 
 
 There was a force and passion in what he said that ap- 
 pealed to Kate's honest nature. But the words struck 
 home because she knew only too well that, while ready to 
 slave for her school- children or for the poor, she was often 
 f cross and tyrannical to her own brothers and sisters. She 
 thought Carlo must be alluding to her, but, as a matter of 
 fact, she was far away from his thoughts ; and what made 
 him able to speak with so much fire on an abstract sub- 
 ject was that he spoke of the things which he knew, of the 
 the things which he had proved by fierce and long conflict. 
 
 "And yet," said Kate, angry at having the tables 
 turned on her, "you who speak so enthusiastically about 
 sacrifice, and all the rest of it, can be content to sing and 
 act and amuse people, while the poor are starving and sin- 
 ning and dying ! You can be content to fiddle like Nero 
 while Rome is burning ! Oh, it seems to me unworthy of 
 you ! You can't be content with such a life !' ' 
 
 * ' With what I make of it no, ' ' he replied. * ' With the 
 life itself, with my calling quite content quite ! See ! a 
 year ago I talked Socialism, and theorized, and longed to 
 solve the problems of the day, and thought that by speak- 
 ing and agitating the Utopian age would be brought on. 
 But I see now that it is quite possible to theorize about the 
 better arrangement of the world, and all the time to be 
 neglecting perhaps your own relations to wish to reclaim 
 all the waste lands, and to misuse your own tiny strip of 
 garden." 
 
 But here the conversation was abruptly ended, for at 
 that minute Miss Claremont and Lucy came in armed with 
 Dante and dictionaries, and Carlo said no more, but open- 
 ing his copy of the "Inferno," began, at Clare's request, 
 to read to them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 BITTER -SWEET. 
 
 " Thou Who hast Thyself 
 
 Endnred this fleshhood knowing how, as a soaked 
 And sucking vesture, it can drag us down 
 And choke us in the melancholy deep 
 Sustain me, that with Thee I walk these waves 
 Resisting! Breathe me upward, Thou in me 
 Aspiring, Who art the Way, the Truth, the Lifel 
 That no truth henceforth seem indifferent, 
 No way to truth laborious, and no life 
 Not even this life I live intolerable!" Aurora Leigh. 
 
 IN the grounds at Merlpbank there stood a pretty littla 
 log-hut, fantastically built, and divided within into two 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 271 
 
 Towns. It had been the work of one of Mr. Britton's sum- 
 mer holidays many years ago, and had been specially built 
 for the children. At first they had played in it incessantly, 
 had learned a fair amount of cookery with the help of the 
 little stove in the outer room, and had found the place in- 
 valuable in ail adventuring games wherein desert islands 
 figured. But now they had rather outgrown this sort of 
 thing, and " Mavis Hut," as it was called, served only for 
 refreshments at garden-parties, for a convenient place to 
 keep the lawn-tennis box, and occasionally for church 
 decorations. 
 
 On the afternoon after the discussion with Carlo, Kate 
 happened to be arranging the church vases in the inner 
 room of Mavis Hut. She had been round the garden 
 gathering the wet flowers, had taken all she wanted from 
 the greenhouses, and now sat comfortably down to her 
 work at the rough, wooden table, with the brass vases and 
 the lovely red and white flowers all ready to hand. 
 
 She felt still a little sore at the implied rebuke in Carlo's 
 words that morning, but she was too good and well-mean- 
 ing to blind herself to the truth. He had given her, 
 whether consciously or unconsciously, a home-thrust; and 
 Kate, though she disliked him in consequence, fully ad- 
 mitted the justice of the remarks as applied to herself. 
 She sighed a little as she arranged her vases; then, finding 
 her own failings no very pleasant study, she turned her 
 thoughts back to Carlo himself. He puzzled her more and 
 more, but though she would have liked to think him con- 
 ceited, or priggish, or hypocritical, she could not do so; 
 the worst she cQuld say of him was that he was living a 
 worthless life, and that he was an inconsistent sort of man. 
 His absence of self-consciousness appealed to her strongly, 
 however, because it was incomprehensible to her; and 
 though persuading herself that she despised and disliked 
 him, she knew all the time in her secret heart that this 
 was largely owing to her own perversity. 
 
 The sun had been shining brightly a few minutes before, 
 but as Kate arranged her flowers she noticed that the sum- 
 mer-house grew dark, and was not surprised to hear before 
 long a steady downpour of rain. 
 
 " I dare say it will be over before I have finished," she 
 thought to herself, and was going on with her work when, 
 to her surprise, the door of the hut was opened, and Carlo 
 walked into the outer room, evidently seeking shelter from 
 the rain. 
 
 "What a bother!" thought Kate. "But, after all, 
 though I can see him through this crack in the wood- work, 
 he can't see me. I don't think I shall let him know I am 
 
37* KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 here ; he would interrupt me, and perhaps talk again as he 
 did this morning and, besides, I dislike him!" 
 
 Hardly had she taken her resolution, when once more 
 the outer door opened, and Francesca hurried in, wet and 
 flushed. 
 
 "You here! ' she exclaimed, in a voice so startled that 
 Kate's attention was instantly arrested. 
 
 Carlo had been standing at one of the little lattice win- 
 dows, watching the torrents of rain. She had not per- 
 ceived him till she had closed the door behind her. He 
 turned instantly. There was no time for thought. It was 
 impossible that any recollection of Captain Britton or Anita 
 should cloud that perfect moment. He was only conscious 
 of two things that Francesca was present, and that there 
 was no longer the dreary necessity of behaving as though 
 their love was non-existent. 
 
 "Carina! carina mia!"* he cried, crossing the hut at 
 lightning speed; and the next moment Francesca was 
 clasped in his arms. 
 
 All bad passed so quickly that there had been no chance 
 for poor Kate to make her presence known, and she sat 
 now in the inner room petrified with astonishment. Her 
 first thought was one of indignation, but when she saw that 
 Francesca clung to her lover, sobbing pitifully, her heart 
 was touched; and though she told herself that she "dis- 
 tinctly disapproved of this sort of nonsense," she began to 
 see that there must be something in the past of her cousin 
 and Signer Donati of which she was unaware probably 
 an undeclared love-story, well known to her father. What 
 so likely as that he should have interested himself in the 
 J-oung Italian on this account, and himself have hastened 
 Francesca' s visit in the hope that the barrier between them 
 whatever it might be would be removed? 
 
 All this flashed through Kate's mind as she watched the 
 two who stood but a few paces from her, and heard with 
 unwilling ears the mingled love and grief so little intended 
 for any outsider. Yet what could she do? To leave the 
 summer-house she must pass through the room in which 
 they were talking must not only put an end to the inter- 
 view, but embarrass them past bearing. 
 
 Again, if she even moved a muscle, Carlo, with his pre- 
 ternaturally sharp hearing, would certainly notice it ; she 
 did not dare even to raise her hands to stop her ears, lest 
 he should overhear the movement and so in sore vexation 
 she remained an unwilling spectator of all that passed. 
 True, when the} 7 spoke low and fast in Italian, she could not 
 always follow them, but very often they would suddenly 
 into English, and then every syllabi^ epuld be heftWt 
 
 lii9 tkia wooden partition. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 373 
 
 "Tell me," said Carlo, when, after a time, they sat down 
 on the rustic seat at the other end of the hut, Francesca's 
 head drawn close down on his shoulder " tell me, darling, 
 this one thing. Why did your father wish you to leave 
 home? Mr. Britton showed me your letter to him, and you 
 said " 
 
 44 Well, I didn't mean to have told you," said Francesca, 
 breaking in quickly; "but it was this, Carlino. Count 
 Carossa the man who took Villa Bruno, you know made 
 father an offer of marriage for me, and that, of course, had 
 to be declined, though father was veked, and really wanted 
 me to accept him. Then I had to speak, for I was afraid 
 we should be constantly having such troubles; so I told 
 him that though, of course, I would always obey him, and 
 would consider my betrothal with you at an end, yet there 
 was an inner sense in which it could never end for me, and 
 I said all I dared to him about the future, yet could not 
 move him. He doesn't see what a false position it puts me 
 in how hard it is to go out into the world, and keep 
 people at a distance without being rude or prudish. Even 
 Enrico Hitter at first was angry with me, because he 
 thought I ought to have been able to freeze away the 
 stupid men who will crowd around one at parties. Enrico 
 is very good to me now, though; he is the one man worth 
 speaking to in Naples, because he tells me when he has 
 heard from you, and if you are well." 
 
 "He writes to tell me when he has seen you," said 
 Carlo. 
 
 44 It is only such a pity," continued Francesca, "that he 
 is not Italian instead of German ; then, perhaps, he would 
 be a better talker and tell me more about you. He some- 
 how gets in so little and stumbles so, and it is just as if I 
 were starving, and he were doling me out crumbs instead 
 of bits of bread." 
 
 44 It is a shame to abuse the dear old fellow," said Carlo, 
 smiling; " yet that is just what I have felt all these months 
 with his letters. Perhaps, after weeks of waiting, I get 
 one very long, very clever, very philosophical, and then in 
 the postscript he will remark, 4 Miss Britton is all right; I 
 saw her in the English church on Sunday. 7 Not another 
 word ! If only Enrico could know what it means to be in, 
 love ! And yet such crumbs are better than nothing. And 
 he is the best and truest of friends." 
 
 44 Yes; there is something so stanch and faithful about 
 him. Oh ! he has been so good to me, especially once at a 
 ball when we overheard some wretches talking about you, 
 &nd saying such horrid things of you." 
 
 "What sort of things?" 
 
 I caa't tell you hateful things about you* ssasona 
 
$74 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 lor going on the stage. You see, people can't understand 
 the real reason, and so I suppose they try to invent one. I 
 can't think. Carlo mio. how you bear it so patiently; how 
 you could let Kate lecture you this morning about your 
 useless life, and to never get even a little bit angry. "You 
 wouldn't have done it a year ago." 
 
 "I am growing old, you see," he answered, smiling, 
 44 and that was nothing nothing at all. I am a little sorry 
 that I shock her, but you see it is inevitable." 
 
 " And your sister, what of her? Are you happier about 
 her? Have you learned to understand each other better?" 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 4 'It is uphill work. Did you know that Comerio fol- 
 lowed us to England?" 
 
 4 ' No ; Enrico never told me that ; I suppose he thought 
 I should not know anything about such a bad character." 
 
 44 He came to London when we were there in the winter. 
 That has been the hardest part of it all ; for I was begin- 
 ning to knock up then, and all the time there was the hor- 
 rible feeling that he was hovering over me like a vulture, 
 only waiting for me to fall that he might pounce down." 
 
 ' : That was what made you struggle on through that last 
 opera," said Francsca, wiping away her tears; 4 ' Harry 
 told me all about it the other day. "But what happened! 
 Did he take your place?" 
 
 Carlo signed an assent. 
 
 *' He is there now." 
 
 "How hard it must have been for you to be helpless! 
 What torture to have to lie there ill and think about it 
 all!" 
 
 " Yes; it was hard till one remembered that of course it 
 must be all right, and then it was a great comfort to be 
 able to try to get well. Besides. I have a great hope that 
 Rita's little boy will prove a safeguard to her; she begins 
 really to care for him. My one fear is that Comerio may 
 manage to get round Merlino and induce him not to renew 
 his contract with me in the summer. I know he will move 
 heaven and earth to go to America with the troupe, and to 
 get me turned off." 
 
 4 ' And Signer Merlino? What is he like? Do you dislike 
 him so much as when you first saw him?" 
 
 4t Do you know, I have really grown fond of him. He is 
 tyrannical, and.has a bad temper, but I believe he honestly 
 lives up to his lights. Now and then one gets out of heart 
 with the whole concern, and then Merlino seems intoler- 
 able, but that has never been more than a pasting mood 
 with me." 
 
 44 And you don't think stage life so. black as it is painted 
 by my father for instance?" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 275 
 
 "No, I do not," said Carlo; "it is less morally trying 
 than I fancied, but more physically tiring. However, I 
 shall be well set up after this long rest. I have written to 
 propose going back at the end of next week, or, if it fits 
 in with their arrangements, on the following Monday." 
 
 "So soon," said Francesca, with a little sob. "Oh, 
 Carlino, I don't think you are strong enough; and it 
 seems such a miserable, wandering life for you." 
 
 "All life without you, carina, must be hard," he said, 
 stroking the crisp, brown Jiair from her forehead tenderly; 
 " my only comfort is in hoping and fighting for Nita's 
 safety. You must not think of the mere discomforts of 
 the life they are nothing less than nothing. Indeed, I 
 frankly tell you that never have I suffered so terribly as 
 in this idle time, with everything so comfortable and lux- 
 urious all round. It seemed impossible to be willing to 
 live without you, to endure this separation any longer. 
 But, then, no impossible order is ever given except by bad 
 generals there is comfort in that. It is not impossible, 
 carina, and it must be done." 
 
 "But 1 I only have to stay at home; I can't even 
 watch you fighting," sobbed Francesca. "That was al- 
 ways the fate of women. I have the wretched, easy life, 
 and can only wonder and wonder what is happening to 
 you. Oh, it is so hard ! so hard !' ' 
 
 "Yes," he said, "it is the hardest lot. Yet, my own, 
 you told me to go out; and even if you asked me, which I 
 know you never would do, I could not now turn my back." 
 
 "Of course not," she said, eagerly; "you will go on, 
 and in the end right must win. Perhaps they will no 
 longer care for each other, or perhaps indeed, I try not 
 to wish it exactly Comerio might die, or ' ' 
 
 "Don't let us try to look on," said Carlo, with a shud- 
 der. "God helping me, I'll be faithful to death, but I 
 can't manage more than a day at a time. And see, my 
 own, the sun is shining again and the rain is over. It is 
 hard to say it, but I don't think we have any business to 
 stay here longer. Your father might justly complain, and 
 we will not give him cause to do that. ' ' 
 
 She clung to him, while her tears rained down. Kate 
 could not see her face, but the sunlight fell fail upon his, 
 revealing plainly the terrible struggle he was passing 
 through. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing 
 when this man, whom she had disliked and half despised 
 this man whose life she had compared to the barren fig- 
 tree, began to speak. 
 
 "See, carina," he said, falling back to his native lan- 
 guage, and speaking with the direct simplicity which is as 
 rare as it is attractive; " God is so just so fair don't you 
 
2T KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 think He must be nearest those who suffer? We have 
 to be separated, darling, but yet there is compensation for 
 us both. We can surely trust Him with our lives yes, 
 and delight in that!" 
 
 "But I can't help being afraid for you," she sobbed; 
 *' you are so far away, and how can I tell what may be 
 happening when that bad man hates you so, and wants to 
 get rid of you!" 
 
 " Yet it is often when we fear most that we learn not to 
 fear," he said. "Oh, I remember so well the first time 
 that came to me! I was about Gigi's age; it was at the 
 time of one of the earthquake panics, and I remember 
 waking in an awful fright and trembling at the darkness 
 and loneliness, then finding that there was One nearer than 
 my mother, and that the house might fall or be swallowed 
 up, yet He would be with us." 
 
 What followed was inaudible to Kate, but presently 
 through her tears she saw that after a long embrace they 
 parted, that he held the door open for Franeesca, and let 
 tier pass out into the sunshine alone, then shut himself in 
 once more, and began to pace to and fro in agitation 
 which alarmed her. 
 
 She saw how strong a restraint he must have put on him 
 Self when Francesca was present, but now the limits of en- 
 durance seemed to be passed; he could but let his wild 
 grief drive him as it would. Kate held her breath for awe 
 while he paced to and fro, pausing for awhile with a groan, 
 and resting his head on his upraised hands as they clutched 
 for support at the rough, wooden wall, then once more 
 pacing the little room faster and yet faster, till with a 
 stifled cry he threw himself down on the ground, and 
 broke into passionate sobbing and tears. 
 
 The waiting seemed terribly long to her ; she tried not to 
 look at him, and fixed her eyes on the red and white 
 flowers in the altar-vases, but still each stifled sob fell on 
 her ear; and she, who had ever deemed herself a model of 
 self-control, found her tears streaming down merely for 
 sympathy. She had never seen a man cry before ; indeed, 
 she had cherished the idea, common to most girls, that men 
 never do cry. The sight frightened her; it moved her 
 strangely, and the relief was indescribable when at last he 
 grew calmer. 
 
 Presently, with intervals between, came broken snatches 
 of prayer, spoken always in Italian. 
 
 "My God! it must be that since Thou hast shown me 
 
 Thy will Thou wilt give me strength to do it." 
 
 ******* 
 
 " I know that Thou art stronger than these fiends that 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 277 
 
 r *'If I could but feel Thee near all would be light, but I 
 am in darkness and torment past feeling past thinking. " 
 
 ******* 
 
 * ' Yet the darkness is no darkness to Thee. Suffer me 
 not to be false and selfish a coward a recreant?" 
 
 Again, after a long pause, the stillness of the hut was 
 broken, but there was the dawning now of hope and tri- 
 umph in his tone. 
 
 %/ My Lord, I thank Thee that Thou wert no passionlesi 
 angel "here, but a man a man tempted as I am tempted. 
 By Thy victory, by Thy faith, by Thy perfect love, oh, 
 Christ, save me now!" 
 
 Kate waited in cramped, painful stillness, half fearing, 
 half hoping to hear more; but he did not say another 
 word, and after a time rose to his feet and crossed the hut 
 to look at the weather. The sun was shining brightly; he 
 stood by the window for some minutes, apparently in deep 
 thought ; then, with a sigh, glanced lingeringly round the 
 little room, arranged his manifold wraps in the Italian 
 fashion against which Kate had been wont to inveigh, and 
 left the summer-house. 
 
 When his footsteps had died away in the distance Katf> 
 snatched up her vases and fled. School hours were not yeV 
 ended, and it was almost an unheard-of thing for her to g(j 
 to the school-room during the younger girls' lessons; but 
 she felt that for this Clare would forgive a breach of rules, 
 and went boldly in with her request. 
 
 "Clare," she said, breathlessly, " wfll you spare me ten 
 minutes for something that will not wait?" 
 
 Miss Claremont looked up in surprise, but one glance at 
 Kate's face was enough for her; she rose directly, gave 
 two or three brief directions to Molly and Flo, and fol- 
 lowed Kate to her bedroom. As a girl, Kate had wor- 
 shiped Miss Claremont ; but she was now just at the time 
 when the stage of worshiping one's elders and betters is 
 ended, and the stage of friendship with them has hardly 
 begun; there had been something not exactly amounting 
 to a coolness between them for the last two years; but 
 Clare, though she was human enough to be a little grieved, 
 had understood it all perfectly, and knew that in time 
 Kate would need her again, and would fall back into the 
 old loving confidence, with the friendship of a woman sub- 
 ctituted for the extravagant worship of a girl. 
 
 " You are in trouble, dear?" she asked, sitting down on 
 the sofa, with that air of being perfectly at leisure and not 
 an the least hurried which was peculiar to her. 
 
 Not without many tears, Kate told her story. 
 
 '* And, oh, what can I do?" she sobbed. "I have been 
 CJB eavesdropper againsi my will; but what ought I to do?" 
 
278 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " The whole story is such a complete surprise to me," 
 said Clare, slowly. " You must leave me a minute or two 
 to think. Poor children ! poor children ! It was natural 
 enough ! I wonder the thought never crossed my mind : but 
 somehow I had always fancied quite a different love-story 
 for Francesca. and I suppose that blinded me." 
 
 " I know what you are thinking of," said Kate. "I, 
 too, thought that she and Harry cared for each other ; and 
 I used to be so jealous because he liked to be with her bet- 
 ter than with me. Don't you remember that summer long 
 ago. when you first came to live here?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember well" said Clare. " I suppose on his 
 side it was a mere passing fancy, and on hers genuine 
 cousinly liking, for she is exactly the same with him now. 
 You understood that she had actually been betrothed to 
 Carlo?" 
 
 *' She said so, distinctly. I think it must have been at 
 the time he went on the stage, and that must clearly have 
 been to save his sister from this C9merio. Oh, Clare! the 
 horrible part to me is that I've misjudged him so cruelly! 
 I can never forgive myself!" 
 
 "I suspected from the first that it was in order to be 
 with his sister that he took to the stage," said Clare. 
 " But I little thought what he had had to give up." 
 
 "Oh, if you could have seen him!" said poor Kate, cry- 
 ing anew at the recollection of the scene she had wit- 
 nessed. " It was so terrible I can never forget it I can 
 never be the same again ! I used to think it grand to be 
 above that sort of thing; but I never knew till now what 
 love meant." 
 
 Clare was not sorry that Kate's theories as to the de- 
 pravity of man were annihilated. She let her talk on, 
 putting in a sympathetic word now and then. 
 
 " I can't think how he can have helped hating me when 
 I lectured him on things I knew nothing about, and told 
 him he was like Nero, and talked just as if my life were 
 perfection and his life quite useless." 
 
 " There is no pain so sharp as to find that we have mis- 
 judged another," said Clare, "and have blamed them 
 when rather they should have been honored and revered. 
 But a sharp lesson like this stamps 'Judge not ' on one's 
 heart as nothing else can ; it is a lesson we most of us have 
 had to learn, dear." 
 
 "You don't think we ought to tell them that I was in 
 the hut?" 
 
 "No; that could only make you all three very uncom- 
 fortable. I think you acted for the best in a very diffi- 
 cult position, and Carlo and Francesca may just as well 
 keep all the comfort they can from that one interview ; but 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. $79 
 
 I think it may be well to let your father know that we 
 
 know." 
 
 "There can be no doubt that he must have learned the 
 story at Naples," said Kate. "I should like him to know 
 about this afternoon ; it will make me feel less of a hypo- 
 crite; but I wish you would tell him, Clare." 
 4 1 will, if you like, dear," she answered. 
 
 " And do come down quickly to afternoon tea, for I don't 
 know how I shall meet them as if nothing had happened," 
 said Kate. 
 
 "We will be guite punctual," replied Clare. "But I 
 would not dread it too much ; such things pass off more 
 easily than you would fancy possible just now. Don't 
 think of your own part in the matter at all; just put your- 
 self in their place." 
 
 Left to herself once more, Kate sat still musing. The 
 Strange and almost unprecedented insight she had gained 
 that afternoon into the heart and life of another had al- 
 tered her whole world. Through that revelation she saw 
 everything in a new light, and the change bewildered her; 
 she wanted time to think, for all her preconceived theo- 
 ries were overthrown; and though the actual sight of that 
 Struggle and victory had taught her more than thousands 
 of sermons, or libraries of ' ' good books, ' ' it had also sent 
 her away with a crushing sense of her own shortcomings. 
 Very honestly she sat and looked at her life. Her greatest 
 wish had always been not to work among the respectable 
 and humdrum poor, but to rescue the bad from lives of 
 shame. She was constantly hankering after this partic- 
 ular work, and bitterly resented the assurance that she was 
 too young to handle such subjects. 
 
 Unluckily she was very intimate with some of those 
 workers whose zeal outruns their discretion, and who spoil 
 their brave efforts by making untimely allusions to them 
 by dragging them into conversations at table or in the 
 drawing-room, till the hearers can only wonder what has 
 become of English reserve. A doctor discussing horrible 
 diseases and their cure in his family would be loudly and 
 universally condemned ; but those whose work it is to wage 
 war on vice seem too often, in their eagerness, to think 
 themselves justified in talking "shop" in and out of sea- 
 son. Kate had, moreover, acquired the terrible failing 
 which seems to be becoming more and more of a danger 
 among the really good and earnest she was so eager in 
 wishing to fight the evil that she began to take a sort of 
 indignant delight in tracing evil back to its source, partic- 
 ularly when any well-known character was involved. She 
 took her excitement, not in reading the malicious gossip of 
 society papers, but in discussing the latest scandal with 
 
280 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 the religious world. Yet nothing can be more certain than 
 that social purity is never advanced by scandal-monger- 
 ing, albeit the scandal may have filtered through district- 
 visitors and enthusiastic suppressors of vice. 
 
 This afternoon, in the light of the new revelation, Kate 
 remembered with burning shame how angry she had been 
 when two or three times she had tried to make inquiries as 
 to the state of morals in theatrical life, and Carlo had 
 courteously but firmly turned the conversation. She had 
 accused him in her own mind of shuffling and evading the 
 topic had imagined everything bad of him; and now she 
 found that this very man who would not discuss the mat- 
 ter, and who had none of the surface enthusiasm of her 
 friends, had quietly devoted his life to the work of saving 
 one woman. 
 
 " What is it that keeps him silent?" she thought to her- 
 self. " And what is it that makes me love to talk? Is the 
 silent work 'golden'? Is the talk unwholesome? Yet 
 'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' 
 There can be no harm in it then. No, that won't hold, 
 though ! because our hearts ought to be full of what we 
 want to save them to, not what we want to save them 
 from. And yet we can't very well talk of that side, or 
 people would think it was all cant. That is an odd thing 
 about Carlo Donati, he never seems afraid that people may 
 think he is talking cant; I dp believe he goes right on with- 
 out thinking what people think of him at all. I fancy it is 
 that he has no conceit, and that I have a great deal ; he 
 does things quietly, and I with a fuss and a flourish. Who 
 would have dreamed that with his quiet, easy way of going 
 on, and all the time he was singing and reading and talk- 
 ing to us, he was living through such a fierce struggle? 
 Gh, what a goose what a goose I have been ! How hate- 
 f ul and contemptible to be afraid he was in love with me, 
 \vhen it was merely thinking of Francesca that made him 
 look like that! And I have been snubbing him. and look- 
 ing down on him, and talking such nonsense about him to 
 Francesca herself! How they must despise me!'' 
 
 Vrith relief she turned, as Clare had advised her, from 
 the thought of herself to the thought of her cousin and of 
 Carlo. Hitherto she had considered Francesca to be very 
 charming, very innocent, very reprehensibly idle; one of 
 those girls who did not take up " parish work," and who 
 were deserving of mingled pity and blame. Now she asked 
 herself honestly whether she could, in Francesca's posi- 
 tion, have given up all so bravely. And Madame Merlino* 
 from all she had gathered about her from various sources 
 was no "interesting case," but a very ordinary, common, 
 place, ill- tempered person.* wUg as yet apparently was Car 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 281 
 
 from grateful for the sacrifice which had cost the lovers so 
 much. 
 
 "For some charming, delightful person who cared for 
 me I might have done it," thought Kate; "but for one of 
 those women like Madame Merlino, who just get into dan- 
 ger because they are weak and foolish, who are dull and 
 uninteresting and heartless no, I could never have done 
 it! Never!" 
 
 Again she went back to her recollections of that scene in 
 the hut. What was it that had given Carlo power to 
 choose this hard, distasteful life? Why had he been able 
 to leave Francesca, and bear shame and loss and grief? It 
 was not that his love for her was less keen than the love of 
 other men; on the contrary, the passionate fervor of his 
 love had terrified, had transcended all her dreams of what 
 love in the best of men might mean. 
 
 It must be because he was trying with all his might, try- 
 ing continuously, to live the Christ-life, which most of us 
 do spasmodically, and not with the whole force of our nat- 
 ure; because his faith was perfect trust in One who was 
 stronger than the darkness, the danger, the misery which 
 overwhelmed him; One whom he knew and loved; One 
 whom he desired above all things to serve with the free de- 
 votion of a man, not the grudging submission of a slave. 
 It was clearly a faith which was independent of his feel- 
 ings, independent of his intellect, independent of his sur- 
 roundings; he. had owned himself past feeling and past 
 thinking; he had been overwhelmed with the temptations 
 of that valley of the shadow of death, yet all the time had 
 held unshaken to the one fact, which he knew as he knew 
 his own identity" Thou art with me!" 
 
 The clock striking five recalled her to the necessity of 
 going down-stairs, and of getting through as best she 
 might the dreaded meeting. 
 
 " It serves me right," she thought to herself, sadly. " I 
 have been conceited and patronizing, have looked on every- 
 thing and spoken of everybody as from a superior height, 
 and now I learn that I have been taking false, distorted 
 views, and have to begin life all over again." 
 
 The loss of her old self-confidence was no pleasant sen- 
 sation, however salutary it might be; she entered the 
 drawing-room apprehensively, and hardly knew whether 
 to feel relieved or disappointed when she found Carlo bend- 
 ing over his copy of Verdi's " Ernani," and looking exactly 
 as usual. Perhaps she had not expected to see him bear- 
 ing a long face, or an expression of conventionally pious 
 resignation, but yet it astonished her to find that after 
 passing through so much a man could in two hours' time 
 
282 KNIQHT-ERRANT. 
 
 so completely have regained control over look and voice 
 and manner. 
 
 *' I shall quite miss this delightful English institution of 
 kettle-drum," he remarked, pushing aside his book, and as 
 usual coming forward to help her. " I'm afraid nothing 
 would make it fit in, though, with the hours we have to 
 keep." 
 
 A great lump rose in Kate's throat as she remembered 
 how foolish and disagreeable she had been to him on tho 
 day when Francesca's letter had arrived, and had made 
 him so absent-minded. 
 
 " And tea, I suppose," is not good before singing," she 
 replied, putting forth the first platitude that came into her 
 head. 
 
 " No," he said, with a smile which was wholly pleasant, 
 and had no suspicion of sarcasm. "There are a few things 
 which must be renounced even by the Neros who fiddle 
 while Rome is burning!" 
 
 The genuinely humorous look in the eyes which but a 
 littlw while ago she had seen full of tears, touched Kate ; 
 she felt half choked, and her usually ready words fal- 
 tered. 
 
 "I want to beg your pardon for saying that," she began, 
 hesitatingly; " I don't really know anything about stage 
 
 life I I " (the admission was hard to make) "have 
 
 never even been inside a theater; only somehow one gets 
 in the way of picking up other people's notions and echo- 
 ing them without really finding out the truth. I had no 
 right to say such a thing, I hope you will forgive me." 
 
 His warm-hearted Italian reception of the apology a lit- 
 tle overwhelmed her, and she was glad that the entrance 
 of Clare and the girls made the talk more general. 
 
 " The English seem to have a rooted idea that an actor 
 must be a dangerous sort of fellow, and they generally 
 look askance at a foreigner," said Carlo. " I don't think 
 tli ore are many Merlebanks ready to befriend fog-stricken 
 singers, and I assure you I have become well accustomed 
 to b^ing regarded as a sort of dynamite, to be kept at a 
 safe distance." 
 
 "The effect of Puritan traditions," said Clare. "But 
 there is certainly something in the argument that now the 
 stage is so greatly improved the attitude toward it ought 
 to be changed. I am not sure, Carlo, that in the end you 
 may not convert me." 
 
 ' ' It is not I who ought to convert you, but the many 
 English actors and actresses now living, who by their 
 noble efforts to raise the drama, and by their own pure 
 and upright lives, give the lie to the old view which the 
 were no doubt quite warranted in holding. Qr, 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 283 
 
 if you will not be converted by the living, at least study 
 the lives of the dead ; think of such a man as Phelps, such 
 a woman as your Mrs. Sid dons!" 
 
 The talk was interrupted by an abrupt question from 
 Molly: 
 
 4 'What can have become of Francesca? I never knew 
 her late for tea before." 
 
 Kate felt herself coloring, but was relieved when Carlo 
 quietly turned off the remark. 
 
 " Don't you think she may be finishing her sketch in the 
 church?" he said. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Molly, quite satisfied, " and perhaps she 
 will stay on and hear them practice the anthem for to- 
 morrow. It is our yearly festival to-morrow, you know. 
 By the bye, Kate, have you done the vases?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kate, snatching up a biscuit, and crossing 
 the room to feed Bevis, that her burning cheeks might not 
 attract notice. 
 
 Francesca did not appear till dinner-time, Kate glanced 
 at her then apprehensively, and saw that she had not been 
 nearly so successful as Carlo in getting rid of all traces of 
 her emotion. It must have been patent to any one with 
 eyes in his head that she had been crying; and Harry, with 
 the inconvenient candor which cousins and brothers 
 often exhibit, commented across the table on her appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " Why, Francesca, you look dreadfully tired. Has Kate 
 been showing you all the harrowing sights in her district, 
 or telling you of the horrors of the Ashborough slums?" 
 
 She blushed and faltered; Kate longed helplessly to come 
 to her rescue, but before she could think of a single thing 
 to say, Carlo had dashed recklessly into the conversation, 
 not at all troubling himself about his matter or his man- 
 ner, but only desirous to turn the subject somehow, and 
 save Francesca from embarrassment. 
 
 4 'To slum!" he exclaimed, quickly, catching at the last 
 word; " that is your new English verb, just invented, is it 
 not? I was told" in London that slumming had become a 
 fashion. Is it so at Ashborough, too?" 
 
 " Not quite so much ; the old houses in Ashborough are 
 notorious for being infested with a particular kind of 
 vermin, to which the fashionable have a mortal antipathy. 
 I don't think it is likely to become very popular here to 
 slum." 
 
 By this time Kate had recovered her presence of mind, 
 and bravely kept the ball going, Clare helping her adroitly, 
 and the lovers feeling relieved that all had been so well 
 tided over. Kate was conscious all through the evening 
 that Carto was shielding Francesca from observation, talfr 
 
284 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ing more than usual to cover her silence, carrying Harry 
 off to sing when he was making his way to the shady cor- 
 ner of the drawing-room where she had ensconced herself, 
 and skillfully contriving to lead the conversation round to 
 cards by volunteering to show them some Italian tricks, 
 from which they somehow glided naturally into a rubber. 
 
 " He is managing us all," thought Kate to herself, admit- 
 ting that the sensation was novel; "but it is for Fran- 
 cesca's sake; he does not seem to think about himself. 
 How will he dispose of me, I wonder?" 
 
 She was not left long in doubt, for at that minute he 
 turned to her. 
 
 "You have no class this evening?" he inquired. " Then, 
 I wish you would play us once more those Kinderscenen of 
 Schumann's which you played the other night." 
 
 "Yes, Kate, do play," urged Harry; "I always get on 
 better at whist with music going." 
 
 Whereupon Carlo began to tell them a story which he 
 had once heard of a gambler's wife, whose miserable lot it 
 was every evening to sit at the piano, where, in a mirror, 
 she could see the hands of her husband's dupes, and reveal 
 to him by her playing what cards they held. 
 
 While he talked he had been finding her music for her; 
 then, with one swift glance toward the quiet corner where 
 Francesca sat with her needlework, he went back to the 
 card- table. 
 
 Kate could see him from where she sat, and as she 
 played on dreamily, musing over that strange afternoon, 
 and watching Carlo's untroubled face, she said to herself 
 again and again, " I have been a fool! a fool! He is the 
 bravest man I ever met, and the best!" 
 
 Miss Claremont told all to Mr. Britton that evening, and 
 it was agreed that when she could find a good opportunity 
 she should allow Carlo to see that she knew about his be- 
 trothal and its abrupt ending. A few words spoken by 
 Mr. Kavanagh, the doctor, after his final visit to Carlo the 
 next morning, made her doubly desirous to talk the whole 
 matter over with him, and she was not sorry that the fes- 
 tival evening proved too cold and damp for him to risk 
 going to church, so that he was left quite alone, and gladly 
 accepted her invitation to come and chat comfortably over 
 the school room fire. 
 
 "This sort of life is very spoiling, " he said, throwing 
 himself back in an arm-chair with the easy grace which 
 characterized all his movements, and glancing round the 
 delightfully snug, home -like room. "I can't think what 
 it is that you English people do to your houses; there is a 
 charm about them one does not seem to get elsewhere." 
 
 "I wish you could have seen a little more of English 
 
KNIGRT-ERRANT. 285 
 
 home life," said Clare. "If only you had been strong 
 enough there are several people about here whom I should 
 have liked you to meet." 
 
 "It is better not, perhaps," he replied; "I should only 
 grow discontented wit* the life I shall have to go back to, 
 and feel the contrast all the more between houses like this 
 and the dingy lodging-houses and third-rate hotels which 
 we have to frequent." 
 
 "It must be a wretched life, wandering from place to 
 place," she said. 
 
 He sighed a little. 
 
 4 'There are a few discomforts, but, after all, they are 
 but trifles. No; what I shall feel most is the going away 
 from this home where all is congenial; away from all of 
 you who can talk well on every subject under the sun ; you 
 who have so many interests, and who read and think. 
 Borne people do not seem to feel the atmosphere they live 
 in, but tome it makes all the difference; it is stimulating 
 to live in a household like this, .and to be with a man like 
 Mr. Britton ; and it is depressing to live perpetually with 
 people who take little interest in anything outside their own 
 profession, and to hear nothing but gossip and stage talk." 
 
 "Then they are not very highly educated, I suppose, the 
 members of Signer Merlino's company?" 
 
 ' ' No, except as regards music. Of course, you know I 
 am not a bit intellectual myself, and am nothing of a 
 leader; but, all the same, I breathe better in this sort of 
 atmosphere, perhaps merely because it is what I was ac- 
 customed to at home. If it were not for Sardoni, who is 
 witty pnd clever, I don't know how I should bear the 
 ruonotony of it. Sometimes I would give anything to be 
 older and cleverer ; many men would be able to alter the 
 atmosphere Enrico Ritter, for instance, with his brains 
 and his power as a talker ,- might work a revolution in the 
 -greenroom." 
 
 Clare could have smiled at the notion of Enrico^ gaining 
 more real influence by his ready tongue than Carlo by his 
 fascinating character and unselfish life, but she would not 
 for the world have said anything which, even for a mo- 
 ment, could have broken the unconscious simplicity that 
 fras one of his great charms. 
 
 "I suppose Signor Sardoni is your only friend?" she 
 
 " Oh, he is a sort of brother to me, but many of them 
 are my friends. That is one thing which makes up for 
 many other shortcomings in stage life the wonderful 
 good-nature. I can't tell you how good-natured most of 
 them have been to me, though I came among them as a* 
 , and am by far the youngest in the company ," 
 
286 KXIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 " I had always heard that there is so much jealousy 
 in professional life." 
 
 " Well, that is true, too. There are jealousies and quar- 
 rels, but then so there are in private life; and nowhere in 
 private life, setting aside Merlebank, have I met with 
 such real, genuine kindness as from men like Sardoni, 
 and Caffieri, and Marioni indeed from almost all of 
 them." 
 
 "Do you know I was talking this morning to Mr. Ivava- 
 nagh?" said Clare. " I am such an old friend that 1 hope 
 you will forgive me for meddling." 
 
 " My best nurse has certainly the first right to interview 
 the doctor," said Carlo, smiling. "I like Mr. Kavanagh, 
 though he seems rather inclined to think that everything 
 must give way to the supreme duty of minding your own 
 health. He reminds me of Marioni, who is so wrapped up 
 in his profession that if the world were turned topsy- 
 turvy he would only wonder what the effect would be on 
 Italian opera." 
 
 " Mr. Kavanagh tells me he is a little afraid you do not 
 quite understand his English." 
 
 1 - That is either a lib on his pronunciation or on my 
 intellect. I understand him perfectly." 
 
 "He said," continued Clare, "that he did not think 
 you could have grasped his meaning to-day after he had 
 been sounding you, beci ase you seemed hardly to bestow 
 a thought on the matter, though he told you that this 
 continuous public singing would either kill you or cure 
 you. Did you gather that from what he said?" 
 
 "Yes, I did. He told me there was no disease of the 
 lungs, but a slight delicacy, and that using my voice in 
 this way would be a case of kill or cure. Of course I hope 
 for the cure, but if the other thing comes, why there is 
 no more to be said. A singer may as fitly die in. harness 
 as any other man." 
 
 " But do you really mean to run so grave a risk? Life is 
 surely a gift not to "be treated lightly ! Are you wise to 
 try the sharp American winter, the long journeys, the 
 singing which you are told is a doubtful experiment?" 
 
 "It must seem stupid and headstrong to you, I am 
 afraid, and I can't altogether explain it; but if what you 
 believed to be your duty called you one way, and the care 
 of your health 'called you another, I think you would agree 
 that health must go to the wall." 
 
 "I want to tell you," began Clare, a little nervously, 
 "that I have just learned the true facts of the case. Mr. 
 Brit ton, as you know, Knew much and guessed the resi; 
 and I hope, Carlo, you will not be vexed that I, toa should 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 287 
 
 know about it. It was very blind of me never to have 
 seen how matters were with you and Francesca." 
 
 " You really know about that!" he exclaimed, with re- 
 lief. "Then we can talk quite plainly. I am glad that 
 you know, more glad than I can tell you. I have longed 
 to talk to you about it all these weeks. And then, too, 
 you will be such a comfort to Francesca. You will take 
 care of her next week when I am gone. 
 
 His voice shook, and Clare felt the tears starting to her 
 eyes for sympathy. 
 
 4 You told me that you promised your mother to be 
 with Madame Merlino," she said; "but if she had known 
 all that the promise would cost you, do you think she 
 would have wished you to keep it?" 
 
 " Perhaps not; but I don't see that one can get any sort 
 of guidance out of that. It is not because I made the 
 promise that I must go on with the life, but because I 
 know it to be right know that I am called to do it." 
 
 "I suppose it would not have been possible to induce 
 your sister to leave the stage?" 
 
 "No. Her husband would never have consented to ifc 
 for one thing; and then, even if she had done so, there 
 would have been nothing to prevent Comerio from ending 
 his engagement with Merlino, and following her wherever 
 she choose to settle down. There was no way but this 
 there is no way." 
 
 "Such a case is surely a heavy indictment against 
 theatrical life, ' ' said Clare. 
 
 "Do you think so? That seems to me hardly just. A 
 scandal connected with the stage is in every one's mouth, 
 but the sins of private people are hushed up and kindly 
 forgotten, though there is not really more immorality 
 among us than among them. If an actress loses her 
 reputation you hear of it, because she has to live in the 
 ' fierce light ' of public life, and so you come to think that 
 we are worse than the other professions. However, I feel 
 with you, that Nita would probably have been safer and 
 happier had she been brought up in a home like this, for, 
 instance, and had married in private life. Such a brave, 
 noble woman as Domenica Borelli, or any woman capable 
 of taking care of herself, may well become an actress if 
 that is her true vocation. If she is not able to take care of 
 herself, and is yet unable to retire from the stage, why, 
 then her husband, or father, or brother must do all he can 
 to shield her." 
 
 Clare was silent for some minutes ; it was very hard to 
 withstand the mingled humility and self-reliance which 
 seemed so strangely blended in. Carlo's character. He was 
 a man who listened to advice and suggestion with th 
 
988 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 patience nrsd deference of a child, but when once convinced 
 of the right nothing could shake him; and she knew that 
 it was his genuine goodness which gave him this power, the 
 fearless faith which she had long ago noticed as the strong 
 point in his nature, and which, during all these years, had 
 been strengthening and developing. Young as he was, ha 
 seemed to her indeed well fitted to be poor Nita's champion, 
 even while in her heart she longed to persuade him to turn 
 back, blinded by her love for him and for Francesca. 
 
 The thought of Mr. Kavanagh's words returned to her 
 with so keen a pang that to be silent was impossible. 
 
 "Yet surely," she urged, "there is a noble mistake 
 which you may be falling into an exaggerated self-sacri- 
 fice, a needless throwing away of life and happiness? After 
 all, you know, the command is to love our neighbors as 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Do you quite think that?" he said. " I thought it was 
 now, * Love one another as I have loved you. ' It ought 
 not to be as impossible as it seems to live out that rule." 
 
 He sighed, because he remembered that a few weeks ago 
 the struggle had been to endure the being laid aside, while 
 now his heart sided with Clare, and he only longed to be 
 able to think her arguments right. 
 
 "You must recollect how ill you have been," she con- 
 tinued. " It is true, you have recovered wonderfully fast, 
 but it was a very severe attack of pleurisy ; it seems to me 
 that you ought to think very seriously indeed before vent- 
 uring on the Western winter. And even if your health 
 stands the life, it is so miserable for you ; I can't bear to 
 think that you should have to go on with it year after 
 year." 
 
 As she spoke, a vision of his future life rose before him. 
 He thought of the monotonous gossip of the greenroom, 
 the perpetual bustle and confusion, the manifold packings 
 and unpackings, the desolate lodgings, the long journeys; 
 he thought of the insults of Gomez, the ill-temper of Mer- 
 lino, the stinging words and cold manner of Anita, the un- 
 welcome love and admiration of sentimental women, and, 
 above all, of the daily martyrdom of separation from Fran- 
 cesca. His heart sank down like lead. 
 
 " It is humiliating to be such a creature of moods," he 
 said; "last night I had got to the point of being content 
 and even happy to have been called out to battle, and here 
 I am hankering after love, and home, and peace again. 
 Man is a contradictory animal, Clare!" 
 
 "If you are sure quite sure that you are choosing 
 rightly, I will not say a word," she replied. "But you 
 and Francesca are very dear to me, and I can't bear to 
 fchink that you may be throwing away your life on a hope- 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT* 289 
 
 less task, and bringing such a terrible grief to her. She 
 is so young: and fragile, so little fitted to bear great sor- 
 row. ' ' 
 
 He tried to speak, but his voice failed him ; he pushed 
 back his chair and took several turns up and down the 
 room, then returned to the fireside, and stood with his el- 
 bows on the mantel-piece and his head in his hands. 
 
 "You see, Carlo," she resumed, "I can't help wishing 
 Francesca to have the happiest life, and though I would be 
 the last to say that a single woman may not be extremely 
 happy and *isef ul, yet it does no good to blink the fact that 
 her life is incomplete. You will think it strange that a 
 very happy old maid of fifty should speak like this, but 
 Fanny Kemble's words are very true: 'Those who are 
 alone must learn to be lonely;' and we old people, who 
 know how hard that is, shrink from the thought of the 
 young ones setiing out on the rough road by which we have 
 traveled." 
 
 "Clare, for God's sake say no more!" he exclaimed, 
 turning toward her a face so full of anguish that she sorely 
 regretted her words. " I must not turn back like a cow- 
 ard, even for the love of her ; but it is hard so fearfully 
 hard when the very saints of the earth tempt one ! And 
 that she should have to suffer that seems so unjust, so in- 
 tolerable!" 
 
 She signed to him to sit down on the sofa beside her, 
 and looked with her quiet, shining eyes into his troubled 
 ones. 
 
 " Francesca will not; think that intolerable; to share your 
 pain will be her comfort. And since you are called to 
 make this choice, which will bring shadow on both your 
 lives, why then I have nothing more to say. Once sure of 
 God's will, we need not trouble about the rest." 
 
 "And if I choose my own will now, why, I should not be 
 fit to make Francesca happy," he said, musingly. " Some- 
 times, Clare, it seems to me that the Donati are fated to' 
 give their lives for a forlorn hope.'* 
 
 Clare mused over the well-known story of the two 
 patriots. They had been called to give up home, and love, 
 and at last life itself, to save their country from tyranny ; the 
 third Donati seemed to be called to give up home, and love, 
 and possibly life also, to save one soul from sin. It was a 
 less picturesque lot, but who would dare to say that n, was 
 lower? 
 
 4 ' It is strange," she said at length, "but your very name 
 means, ' A given man.' ' 
 
 " Does Carlo mean * man?' I never knew that before." 
 
 He fell into deep thought, and Clare noticed 
 gradually resumed its usual expression. 
 
890 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "After all," he said, presently, "it does seem strange 
 that we should eternally be slipping back to a short-sighted 
 selfishness. Between whiles, one can only Bonder at the 
 fuss one makes over sorrow, and then comes a slight 
 change in weather, or health, or people, or devils, and the 
 struggle begins all over again. I see there is some truth 
 in Captain Britten's accusation we Italians do lore pleas- 
 ure and ease, and do cordially detest storm and strife." 
 
 " Dear boy, I think English people are much the same!" 
 said Clare, laughing. Then growing grave again, "But 
 tell me, Carlo, is there nothing I can do for you? Since I 
 can't see you as happy as I should wish, let me at least have 
 some little way of helping you." 
 
 He took her hand in his courtly Italian fashion and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "It is thinking what you have made of life, Clare, that 
 will help us most," he said. 
 
 She colored, and her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "To be able to talk to you and write to you freely will 
 be a comfort to Francesca, and do you think, Clare, you 
 would sometimes write to me?" 
 
 " Of course I will," she replied, warmly. 
 
 " Thank you; that will be something to look forward to. 
 You see it is rather dreary to have no belongings in the 
 world. Enrico Ritter is my only correspondent; for, 
 though my old maestro writes every now and then, he 
 confines himself strictly to his one subject." 
 
 At that moment they were interrupted by one of the ex- 
 traordinary coincidences which afford subject-matter to 
 the Society for Psychical Research. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 A NEW PROPOSAL. 
 
 * f Choose well; your choice is 
 Brief and yet endless." (foetfa. 
 
 44 Two gentlemen to see you, sir," announced the serv- 
 ant, advancing with a visiting-card on the salver. 
 
 Carlo having just given out that he had no belongings in 
 the world, wondered who could possibly have arrived at 
 this time in the evening to see him, and while the footman 
 crossed the school -room, had had time to wonder whether 
 Merlino or Sardoni might, for some reason, need him; 
 whether it could be a plot of ComerioV, whether Uncle 
 Guido had at last relented and come to seek him out and 
 make up their quarrel. 
 
 To his utter astonishment he read on the card the name 
 of "Pialo." 
 
 'Now, of all extraordinary things, that the dear old 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 391 
 
 maestro should come here just as I was speaking of him!" 
 he exclaimed. " And the other? He sent in no card? Is 
 he young, light-haired, German -looking?" 
 
 ""No, sir," replied the servant, "middle-aged, and looked 
 like an English gentleman. He gave no card, sir." 
 
 Carlo's hope that possibly Enrico might have come over 
 with Piale faded away, and, asking Clare to excuse him, 
 he went down quickly to the drawing-room, where with 
 one swift glance he perceived a stranger, tall, thin, busi- 
 ness-like, evidently English, and dear old Piale himself, 
 with his thick bush of grizzled hair, his parchment-like 
 skin, and his eager, fiery eyes. 
 
 The warmth of the greeting between master and pupil 
 must have amused the stranger; but perhaps he was well 
 used to demonstrative foreigners, for the business-like air 
 never forsook him for an instant as he watched the face 
 and figure of the young Italian. By the time he had thor- 
 oughly scrutinized him, had taken in his various merits 
 and defects, had glanced at the clock on the mantel-piece 
 and at the open piano, the two friends remembered his 
 presence, and Piale, with pride and emotion, said, as ho 
 turned toward him : 
 
 " There, sir! now let me introduce to you my best pupil 
 not looking so much the worse for his illness as I had 
 feared!" 
 
 "I had the pleasure of hearing Signer Donati several 
 times in town last winter," said the Englishman, pleas- 
 antly; "and am glad to make his acquaintance." 
 
 "And your voice, my son," said Piale, eagerly "it has 
 really not suffered, you think?" 
 
 "It seems all the better for the rest," said Carlo; " and 
 I hope to be at work again in a week's time." 
 
 4 ' Let me hear you !' ' said Piale. * ' Come ! what will you 
 sing to me? 'II balen?' 'Largo al factotum?' What 
 have we here? 'Carmen!' Are you studying that?" 
 
 " Yes; we are to give it in America this autumn." 
 
 "Let me hear what you make of the toreador's song!" 
 said the maestro, seating himself at the piano. 
 
 " But you are tired with your journey," suggested 
 Carlo. " You say you have traveled night and day. Let 
 me come over to-morrow to Ashborough and sing to you 
 there." 
 
 "Bah!" exclaimed Piale, with a snort of contempt. 
 "Am I to find more refreshment in eating or drinking or 
 sleeping than in music, my friend?" 
 
 And with an expression of intense satisfaction he thun- 
 dered out the introduction to the song, while Carlo obedi- 
 ently braced himself up to sing, anxious as ever to please 
 the autocratic old man, but a little nervous about attam.pt- 
 
292 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ing this particular song, which he had only studied by 
 himself, and slightly troubled by speculations as to the 
 English stranger and Piale' s hurried journey. Once be- 
 fore the maestro had plotted against him, and he could not 
 help fancying that the stranger had something to do with 
 a possible engagement. 
 
 All this faded, however, the instant he began to sing. 
 Piale's accompaniment was exhilarating. For the first 
 time he began to feel that he was Escamillo, and his ren- 
 dering of the song brought a look of perfect serenity over 
 the maestro' s face, and drew forth hearty exclamations of 
 4 'Bravo! bravo!" from the business-like'Englishman. 
 
 He had hardly returned to himself and ceased to be the 
 toreador, when both visitors beset him, Piale with an im- 
 petuous gust of words, the stranger with more eagerness of 
 manner than might be expected of an Englishman. Ho 
 listened half bewildered to the proposal, only taking in by 
 degrees that the stranger was a well-known London man- 
 ager, that he was offering him an immediate engagement 
 precisely the engagement which would most advance his 
 professional career that the terms were higher than any- 
 thing he had ever dreamed of attaining to, that they made 
 his weekly pittance in. Merlino's company seem more than 
 ever scanty and insufficient. As in a dream, he listened to 
 the praises heaped on him to the assurances that he would 
 be the lion of the London season, that already his appear- 
 ance was eagerly awaited, since, even in the unsuccessful 
 winter performances, and with health, and weather, and 
 surroundings against him, he had made his mark in the 
 musical world. For a minute he was dazzled by the brill- 
 iant prospects held out before him. Fame, a rapid and 
 striking success, wealth and ease, thoroughly competent 
 fellow-artists, the London world at his feet, and his future 
 assured what wonder if such a glowing possibility should 
 for a minute attract him ! And attract him it did. He 
 longed for it as a few hours before he could not have be- 
 lieved it possible that he should have longed for anything 
 having no connection with Francesca. It seemed to him 
 impossible to turn from this bright future to the dis- 
 mal drudgery in the provinces with Merlino the poverty, 
 and hard work, and scant sympathy. He was young, and 
 longed for happiness an artist, and longed to bring his art 
 to its highest perfection under the best conditions a 
 human being, and appreciation was cheering, and lack of 
 recognition depressing. 
 
 But, for all that, above the eager representations of Piale 
 and the London manager, and above his own personal 
 craving for this new life, he could distinctly hear the inner 
 
KNIQHT-ERRANT. 293 
 
 voice, which had never failed him, repeating again and 
 again: 
 
 4 ' Kemember Anita ! She has no one but you ! Be faith- 
 ful!" 
 
 Long before he had ended the struggle came the necessity 
 of making some sort of reply to the offer, but no one ever 
 passed through a temptation and found all the time he de- 
 sired for preparation. Every inch of the ground had to be 
 contested, and even in his courteous thanks there was an 
 unusual amount of hesitation, which the London manager 
 put down to diffidence and inexperience. Piale, however, 
 knowing him better, began to fear that it boded a refusal. 
 
 " You are not strong enough for the drudgery of a trav- 
 eling company," he exclaimed. "Everything points to 
 your accepting this offer." 
 
 Carlo looked at him a trifle reproachfully, and his man- 
 ner became less diffident and his words more to the point. 
 
 " The offer is indeed a tempting one," he said; " but I 
 fear I must refuse it. You see, sir, Merlino is my brother- 
 in-law, and my engagement with him though it may be 
 ended next month, if either of us wishes it to be ended " 
 
 The manager interrupted him. 
 
 " But the mere fact that the impresario is your brother- 
 in-law is surely in your favor. He would be interested in 
 your success would wish you to seize on this opportu- 
 nity, which may be turned to very good account, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Carlo gave Piale a glance which said as plainly as words, 
 " See what a difficulty you have landed me in." 
 
 The maestro responded to it by a suggestion which re- 
 lieved his conscience, and proved of some use to Carlo. 
 
 " Take a few hours to think it all over," he suggested. 
 " I will come and see you again about it to-morrow." 
 
 "That is not a bad idea," said the manager. "But I 
 must beg for a final answer to-morrow morning, for Metasti 
 has failed me suddenly, and we are in great need of a bary- 
 tone. If you refuse but you'll not refuse, I hope. Signer 
 Piale, you must talk him over!" 
 
 And after a little friendly banter, and a few skillfully- 
 framed compliments, the manager rose to go, shaking 
 hands cordially with Carlo. 
 
 "And I shall hope soon to number you in my com- 
 pany!" were his parting words. 
 
 "Don't on any account come to the door!" said Piale, 
 excitedly. ' ' The damp night your throat ! f or Heaven's 
 sake, take care of your throat! And to-morrow I shall 
 come over to receive your definite acceptance nothing 
 less, mind a definite acceptance or, diavolol I shall 
 think you have gone clean demented I" 
 
294 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 For the greater part of that night Carlo fought the terri- 
 ble craving that had seized him to accept the London offer. 
 He was ashamed to find how ardently he longed for all 
 that the manager had suggested ; while Piale's assurance 
 that he was not strong enough for the hard work in Mer- 
 lino's company had in it a truth which made it doubly dan- 
 gerous. It was to be a case of kill or cure -the doctor had 
 told him as much ; and though at first the idea had not in 
 the least shaken his purpose, yet now that he was alone, 
 with all around him dark and still, he began to consider 
 the two possibilities. 
 
 There was that glowing picture of life and success which 
 the London manager had painted. In imagination he 
 lived through the inspiriting reception, the artistic tri- 
 umph; he thought of Piale's delight; he began even to 
 fancy that, to crown all, it would prove indeed that 
 " nothing succeeds like success," and that Captain Britton 
 would at last be won over, would join in the general hom- 
 age, and see that after all a son-in-law on the operatic 
 stage was not a man to be despised. He was human, 
 and very young, and for awhile he reveled in this thought. 
 
 Then, in sharp contrast, he saw another picture. 
 
 He was back in Merlino's company, toiling through the 
 familiar round of operas, overworked, underpaid doing, 
 as Sardoni put it, the "dirty work " of the troupe; his 
 voice gradually failing, till he had sunk below the level 
 even of Fasola, and had to content himself with the minor 
 parts ; and so on through a weary, indefinite time ; till at 
 last, left behind by his companions in some far-away 
 American hotel or hospital, he died, alone among stran- 
 gers, with no one near him who could even understand hia 
 native tongue. 
 
 To be killed by his work ! When looked at in this fash- 
 ion when seen in detail it was no attractive prospect ! 
 At four-and-twenty no healthy man can contemplate 
 death without a strong natural repugnance; the mere 
 "lust of finishing " chains him to this world where his 
 work has just begun. The old whose work seems ended, 
 or the young whose bodies are worn out by disease, may 
 naturally long to die ; but Carlo was not worn out either 
 mentally or physically ; he was at the threshold of life ; 
 and notwithstanding all he had been through, life looked 
 beautiful and desirable, and death dark and unattractive. 
 Whether right or wrong, these were his feelings, and he 
 could not alter them in order to fit in with the ideas of the 
 religious world. 
 
 And yet, without direct disobedience to his orders, he 
 must choose the hard course and refuse the easy one. 
 Bossing miserably to and fro, he wondered whether his 
 
KNIGHT-EHRANT. . 295 
 
 whole life was to be like this ; wondered whether every one 
 had this hard wrestling with temptation; wondered how it 
 was that most men seemed to drift along so comfortably. 
 Did they all the time wage an unseen warfare like this? 
 Or was he naturally more selfish and indolent? Or had the 
 devil a special spite against him? 
 
 Then, in the midst of his questionings, there floated back 
 to him the familiar words, "Men are not more willing to 
 live the life of the Crucified." 
 
 Willing to live the life, indeed ! Why, he had forgotten 
 all about it ! Had been thinking of a life of ease and glory 
 and pleasure ; had had his own interests in view, not the 
 interests of other people; had consulted his own will, not 
 the will of the All -Father. Slowly the ruling power of his 
 life resumed its sway over him ; and then, tired out with 
 all he had gone through, he fell asleep for very exhaus- 
 tion. 
 
 When he woke the night was over, the sun was shining, 
 the thrushes and blackbirds were singing, the rooks were 
 cawing, and by the light of the early morning he could see 
 the familiar picture of the Constant Shepherd. The night 
 of temptation was over, too, the darkness had passed, and 
 what he had to do was as clear as day to him ; moreover, 
 he knew that he could do it. 
 
 He must definitely decline the London offer. He must 
 not, as he was half tempted to do, mention it to Merlino, 
 by way of inducing him to renew his engagement at once 
 or to raise his salary. If he did this, Merlino's suspicions 
 might be roused ; his brother- in-law would certainly won- 
 der what prompted him to refuse so good an offer. Then, 
 when Piale came over that day, he must beg him to men- 
 tion Comerio to the London manager; he must move 
 heaven and earth to procure for his rival the offer which 
 he had declined. To say that he liked doing this would be 
 untrue. It was undeniably bitter to him, but he saw that 
 it would safely dispose of Comerio during the summer; 
 and, moreover, he wished to be just, even to his enemy, 
 and since he had been the means of ending one engage- 
 ment for Comerio, it seemed but fair that he should do his 
 best to help him when opportunity offered. 
 
 He found, however, that Piale hardly understood this 
 view of the case, and his interview with the maestro was 
 stormy. In the end, however, Piale had to submit to the 
 inevitable ; and with a sigh and a shrug of the shoulders, 
 owned that he could not stand against the folly of a man 
 who had no eye to his own interests, and who deliberately 
 threw away the very ticket which would have brought 
 him a prize in the world's lottery. 
 
 He stayed to lunch at Merlebank, and diverted the Brit' 
 
296 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 tons very much by the mingled fondness and ferocity with 
 which he seemed to regard his pupil. He tried to win 
 them over to sympathize with his disappointment; and it 
 transpired that the instant he had heard of Metasti's ill- 
 ness, he had hurried to London to see if he could not obtain 
 the engagement for his pupil. 
 
 "But. you see, he is bent on his own destruction," con- 
 cluded the old man. with a gesture of impatience. " One 
 might as well try to argue with a mule! However, my 
 son, since you are set on going to America, let me give you 
 one piece of advice beware of damp beds: take my'ad- 
 Tice, and always sleep between the blankets." 
 
 Carlo made a gesture of horror. 
 
 "Now. dear maestro, you really expect me to be too self- 
 denying!" 
 
 *' Self -denj- ing, indeed! why, yes, the life of an opera- 
 einger is one eternal practice of self denial I" said Piale, 
 gesticulating with his knife and fork. 
 
 Carlo laughed lightly. 
 
 44 And I do my best to be your very good pupil, but at 
 hotel Blankets I draw the line! 1 ' 
 
 Franceses and Clare did all they could to talk the old 
 man into a good-humor, and to console him under his dis- 
 appointment; and when Carlo parted with him at the Ash- 
 borough station, he was not at all sure that it was not 
 emotion which made his answers so curt and his voice so 
 gruff. 
 
 4 'You will not forget about Comerio?'' he pleaded, at the 
 very last moment. 
 
 Piale replied only by a grunt. But there was nothing 
 but affection in his parting glance; and apparently he 
 must have conciliated the London manager, and spoken in 
 high terms of Comerio, for in three day's time Carlo re- 
 ceived the following letter from Sardoni: 
 
 * * DEAR VAL. Our worthy Comerio has fallen on his feet, 
 and has obtained the height of his ambition an engage- 
 ment for the London season. Lucky is he who deserveth 
 nothing! By w hat rule of philosophy or religion do you 
 explain such an event? However, it is an ill wind that 
 blows nobody good. We shall be quit of him, and 
 Heaven be praised ! this is the last week I shall have to 
 keep an eye on him by day and share dressing-rooms with 
 him at night. Your costumes are already being taken in 
 and up; Can lerio growled not a little at the nuisance of 
 having them all refitted when he first came back. He re- 
 mains in Merlino's good books, and has been fishing hard 
 for America in the autumn; but when anything goes 
 Wrong it scores one to you, for the impresario always 
 
 5 
 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. %Vt 
 
 swears that it would never have happened had you been in 
 the company. We go to Brighton on Whit-Sunday, and 
 open the next day with * Faust. ' It is supposed that the 
 Whitsuntide holidays may make the thing a success. I 
 have my doubts. However, with you as Valentino it may 
 be. Write and tell me whether you come back on the 
 Sunday or Monday, and I will meet you at the station. 
 Monday will be all right, if you don't want to call a special 
 rehearsal after the pleurisy ; but as I'm sure you could do 
 Valentino in your sleep, I don't see that we need bo 
 bothered with that. If you are at the vicarage, you might 
 mention that we sail in September, and that I could spare 
 a few days in August if they would like it. Gigi sends 
 affectionate messages by the yard. He talks of little else 
 but your return. Ever yours, SARDONI." 
 
 Once again Carlo and Francesca kept their Whitsuntide 
 together. It had fallen earlier than on the previous year, 
 and it was no small comfort to Carlo that his last day at 
 Merlebank should have chanced to be that quiet Sunday, 
 when he was able to walk through the sunny grounds to 
 church with Francesca, and later in the day to have a long, 
 quiet talk with her as to the future. Of Mr. Kavanagh's 
 kill-or-cure verdict he would not allow her to hear a word; 
 she was quite anxious enough about him already, and Clare 
 agreed with him that there was no need to mention it. But 
 the doctor's verdict troubled kind-hearted Mr. Britton; 
 and when on the Monday morning the carriage was an- 
 nounced, and all the family met together in the hall to 
 wish Carlo good-bye, he watched with deep sympathy the 
 silent hand-shake that passed between the lovers. They 
 both tried so bravely to keep up appearances, that Mr. 
 Britton was touched with compassion and drew Francesca 
 aside into his study. If the work should indeed prove too 
 much for Carlo, Francesca would never see him again. He 
 would at least give them the comfort of a less public fare- 
 well ; the captain might possibly be vexed, but Mr. Britton 
 was willing to risk something for the niece who was almost 
 as dear to him as his own children. 
 
 "Donati," he said, "just come in here one minute, will 
 you?" then, closing the -door after Carlo, he gave him a 
 little push on the shoulder, indicating that he should go 
 across to Francesca. 
 
 Carlo did not speak, but he gave his host a grateful look, 
 and Mr. Britton kindly turned his back on them and began 
 50 make hay in the papers on his table, to unlock a drawer 
 with a most unusual rattling of his keys, and to behave as 
 a kind-hearted uncle should behave under the circum- 
 stances. Presently, crossing the room, he opened the 
 
208 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 French window, signed to Francesca that she might beat a 
 retreat into the garden and avoid the assembled family, 
 then pioneered Carlo through the hall to the carriage, talk- 
 ing to him as if they were just ending the discussion of 
 some business matter. There were manifold hand-shak- 
 ings, good wishes, regrets, and entreaties from Flo that he 
 would come again ; but at last the ordeal was over, Carlo 
 ^as shut into the carriage with Mr. Britton, and was 
 driven rapidly along the dusty road to Ashborough. He 
 was quite silent, and sat gazing out at the green hedge- 
 rows, seeing nothing, however, but the inward vision of 
 the woman he loved. Not till they had reached the town 
 did he dare to trust his voice, but a sudden perception that 
 the time left to him was short, roused his native courtesy, 
 and he tried to thank his host for all the great kindness 
 shown to him during his illness. 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Mr. Britton, "I can only say 
 that it has been a great pleasure to have you. I look on 
 you as my prospective nephew, you know, though for the 
 present we must keep that hope to ourselves." 
 
 Carlo grasped his hand; those kindly words of hope 
 seemed to put new life into him, and all through that dark 
 day they rang in his ears. Traveling to Brighton, among 
 the hosts of holiday excursionists, he could not help re- 
 membering the drive back from Pompeii on that last Whit- 
 Monday. It was less than a year ago, and yet how endlesa 
 the time seemed to him! How should he ever get through 
 a whole lifetime when eleven months had seemed so long 
 and weary? But, fortunately, he had long ago discovered 
 that by trying to take in the idea of life as a whole we only 
 give ourselves mental indigestion, and that a day at a time 
 is as much as a man can healthily swallow. He turned 
 quite away from both past and future, and taking out his 
 copy of "Ernani," began to study the part of Don Carlos 
 with the close attention and imaginative power which made 
 his impersonations so great a contrast to the average at- 
 tainments of an operatic singer. 
 
 Sardoni was waiting for him at the Brighton station, and 
 though the thought of returning to the old life had been 
 distasteful, yet somehow he fell back into his old plac 
 very naturally, and talked cheerfully enough an they drove 
 through the crowded streets to the Merlinos' lodgings. 
 
 " Merlino has engaged a room for you," explained Sar- 
 doni; " they are staying close to the theater, and I thought 
 you would rather be with them. Marioni and I are down 
 by the sea." 
 
 " And Comerio has gone?" 
 
 " Thank Heaven, yes ! He came to see us off at Victoria 
 night. That London engagement came in the very 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 299 
 
 nick of time. If it hadn't been for that I believe he would 
 have managed to prevent your coming back. These are 
 your quarters, and look! there is Gigi on the balcony." 
 
 On catching sight of them the little fellow beat a hasty 
 retreat, and came rushing headlong down the stairs, 
 where, with a cry of joy, he flung himself into Carlo's 
 arms, and clung with all the strength of a child's eager 
 love round his neck. 
 
 "Mamma is upstairs," panted Gigi "come and see 
 her." 
 
 Carlo, still carrying the little brown- faced fellow in his 
 arms, went up to the sitting-room, looking anxiously 
 toward the pretty, slim figure standing in the bay-win- 
 dow. The brother and sister had been long enough apart 
 to see each other with something of the freshness of ob- 
 servation which comes to relations after- they have been 
 separated for some time. 
 
 Nita thought she had never before noticed what a beau- 
 tiful face he had; Carlo perceived, as he had never per- 
 ceived before, the worn, unsatisfied expression which was 
 now so plainly visible about her mouth and in her eyes. 
 "If I could only comfort her," he thought; "if I could 
 only get the least bit nearer to her I" But more than ever 
 he felt that she kept him willfully at a distance, and that 
 her love for Comerio was an impassable barrier, which 
 must make her cold and distant to the man who had 
 taken his place. 
 
 This was the hardest part of all that he loved her, and 
 yet could not win her love ; that he had lost all to help 
 her, and that she would not be helped ; that he tried cease- 
 lessly to break down the barrier between them, and that 
 she as persistently tried to build it up again. 
 
 There was nothing for him to do but to go on patiently, 
 never despairing; but it was hard work, and his heart sank 
 within him at the prospect, even while he talked cheer- 
 fully to Merlino, and dined composedly, and answered 
 Gigi's questions about Merlebank. He lingered behind the 
 others to see the last of the little boy, then made his way 
 along the colonnade to the stage door of the theater. The 
 door-keeper looked up from his newspaper and gave him a 
 friendly greeting, for Merlino' s company had had a very 
 successful week at Brighton in November, and Carlo in- 
 pleasant 
 
 ^ . . have a 
 
 letter for you here. ' ' 
 
 He handed him an envelope; Carlo thanked him and 
 passed on to his dressing-room, where not without a cer- 
 tain repugnance, he perceived the crimson velvet costume, 
 
800 -KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 worn last Monday by Comerio, laid out for him. Then he 
 looked again at the handwriting of his letter, and, failing 
 to recognize it, began to wonder whether it would prove to 
 be an unwelcome love-letter or a forgotten bill. It was 
 late, however, and he dressed before satisfying his curios- 
 ity; then making his way to the greenroom, opened it 
 and glanced at the contents. 
 
 The letter was neither addressed nor signed, but he had 
 not lived through all these months of public life without 
 receiving sundry anonymous communications, some of 
 them kindly, some of them grossly insulting. 
 
 This particular missive consisted solely of an Italian 
 proverb: " Aspetto tempo e luogo a far tua vendetta, che 
 la non si fa mai ben in fretta!" (Wait time and place to 
 act thy revenge, for it is never well done in a hurry.) 
 
 There was a vagueness about this which puzzled him. 
 Was it from some outsider who would warn him that his 
 haste in getting rid of Comerio had been impolitic? Or 
 was it from Comerio himself, and did it imply that, al- 
 though he might not at once revenge himself , yet Carlo 
 was not to think that he had forgotten that vengeance 
 would most certainly follow him? 
 
 While he waited for his first entrance he showed the 
 note to Sardoni, who at once solved the mystery by recog- 
 nizing Comer io's handwriting. 
 
 "That is from our friend, the Corsican," he remarked. 
 '* I should know his writing anywhere." 
 
 "Is Comerio a Corsican? I never knew that. Then 
 euch a message is doubly significant.' 7 
 
 " Why?" asked Sardoni. 
 
 * ' Because a Corsican never forgives. A Neapolitan may- 
 kill his man in sudden passion, but a Corsican will wait 
 for years, and strike at last with the cool premeditation of 
 a devil." 
 
 Sardoni looked grave ; he could believe anything of such 
 a man as Comerio, and he resolved to keep a sharp watch, 
 and play the part of detective in the interests of his 
 friend. It was not a very cheerful missive to receive just 
 before going on the sta*ge; but though Carlo candidly 
 owned that the thought of a stealthy vengeance dogging 
 his steps sent an occasional cold chill through his veins, 
 yet he reminded himself that one can grow accustomed 
 to almost anything, and that, after all, his enemy's 
 vengeance was powerless to shorten the life that had been 
 marked out for him by a single hour. And perhaps his 
 own private troubles helped him to give a yet more power- 
 lul rendering of the duel scene and the death of Valentino. 
 
 "It frightens me to act with you," was Nita's com- 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 301 
 
 ment ; " you make it all too horribly real, you die so dread- 
 fully." 
 
 "Yet he is not so violent as Comerio," remarked old 
 riauer. "He does not push you away for instance, but 
 dies like a Christian, kissing the cross and forgiving you." 
 
 "The difference is," said Marioni, "that Comerio dies 
 like an angry blusterer and Donati like a heart-broken 
 hero. His voice seems better than ever after the rest." 
 
 The next morning Carlo felt a not unnatural reaction 
 after the strain of the previous day ; the long rest had, as 
 Marioni remarked, strengthened his voice, but he felt 
 ludicrously stiff after his two falls in the duel scene, and 
 quite perceived that though being out of practice might 
 not affect his acting at the time, yet it told severely on 
 him afterward, and made the work, to which in course of 
 time he would become inured, a hard and wearing toil. 
 After breakfast he strolled with Gigi through the Pavilion 
 gardens; then, remembering that he had asked that letters 
 from Merlebank might be directed to him at the General 
 Post-office, he went to inquire if any had arrived, not ex- 
 actly expecting any, but with a lover's restless hope for 
 the improbable. His heart beat quickly when an envelope 
 in Clare's writing was handed to him, but it only inclosed 
 a letter from Enrico Hitter, which had arrived just after 
 he had left Merlebank. Now that Francesca was in Eng- 
 land, Enrico's letters meant much less to him, and he 
 sauntered down Ship Street, and yielded to Gigi's entreat- 
 ies to go on the beach before he began to read it. The let- 
 ter was unusually short and abrupt, and had evidently 
 been written in great haste. 
 
 "Prepare your mind for bad news, amico mio," it began. 
 " Your uncle has died suddenly of an apoplexy, and I have 
 just learned the conditions of his will. He has kept to his 
 word, and has disinherited you, leaving every penny he 
 possesses to the Little Sisters of the Poor. We are all, as 
 you may imagine, in a fine state of indignation, and find it 
 beyond human nature not to speak evil of the dead. I must 
 warn you, too, that you have a living enemy, who is doing 
 his best to rob you, not of money, but of your reputation. 
 Some person or persons unknown have set on foot a scan- 
 dal about you and Mademoiselle Borelli, and it is all over 
 the place. Something of the sort was suggested last 
 autumn; the first I heard of it was a mere surmise, half- 
 jestingly made at a ball ; Miss Britton also overheard the 
 words, and for her sake I made as light of them as pos- 
 sible, and, indeed, they were, I believe, lightly meant. 
 Now, it is possible, of course, that these words started the 
 Current slander, but I think it very probable that Comerio 
 
302 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 may have had a hand in the affair, and thought ifc best to 
 tell you plainly the truth that you and Mademoiselle 
 Borelli are the talk of Naples. You can now take what- 
 ever steps you think fit, and, of course, can count on us to 
 fight your battles." 
 
 Carlo looked up from this ill-fated letter with a dazzled, 
 confused feeling that all the world was against him. The 
 calm blue sea, and the pleasure-boats, and the merry chil- 
 dren playing on the shore, contrasted painfully enough 
 with his troubled life. His uncle was dead, and had never 
 forgiven him ! The thought was a real grief, for he had 
 loved the autocratic old man, and had hoped that some 
 day all might be made right between them. Then there 
 was that vile, that extraordinary slander. Burning wrath 
 consumed him as he pictured to'himself Domenica Borelli, 
 of all women on earth, singled out to be the victim of such 
 hateful gossip. And what could be done? How could 
 such a slander be stamped out? It might be met with 
 authoritative denial, but what would Neapolitan gos- 
 sips care for that? Though very possibly Comerio might 
 have circulated the story, yet it could not definitely be 
 traced home to him ; no one had heard him publicly make 
 such a statement, and a prosecution was out of the ques- 
 tion, even if he had been rich enough to afford it. No. he 
 could do nothing but endure as patiently as might be; but 
 he realized only too painf ully that slander, however false, 
 however actively contradicted, does in this world leave a 
 slur, and that the purest life and the highest motives are 
 no protection against those whose work consists of 
 
 " Peddling in the devil's hardware, 
 Gossip and innuendo." 
 
 And, alas ! how little he had as yet gained. How far from 
 satisfied could he as yet feel about Anita. For a mere 
 hope he had lost everything; the love of poor old Uncle 
 Guido, the inheritance that was his by right, the home and 
 country which he loved, the wife who should have been 
 his, and now either deliberate malice or mere careless and 
 baleful talk had robbed him of the last thing left to him 
 his fair and stainless reputation. 
 
 He was very young, and when the first hot indignation 
 had died away, "he could only wonder, with a sort of blank 
 astonishment, how that particular charge could possibly 
 have been brought up against him. People might justly 
 have reproached him with his hasty temper, his impatience, 
 his love of ease and pleasure, with a hundred other faults 
 of which he was perfectly conscious; but to fasten upon 
 him that particular accusation, to charge him with the very 
 sin from which he was trying at all costs to save anoth&r 
 
ANIGHT-ERRANT. 303 
 
 that seemed to him hard measure ; it wounded him aa 
 nothing else could have wounded him. 
 
 Those who know life well, and have bought their experi- 
 ence, aijd have gained that long-sighted vision which be- 
 longs to the full-grown, can, even in the first pain of a per- 
 sonal attack, ' k rejoice and be exceeding glad, ' ' and realize 
 that the devil thinks their work worth molesting. But the 
 young have always a feeling that the devil is not so black 
 as he is painted, and that the world is, after all, kindly dis- 
 posed, and so their first experience of injustice comes 
 like a crushing blow ; it amazes them, and they learn with 
 a shudder that the world will always impute low motives, 
 and that they must learn to expect this and bear it with 
 composure. 
 
 The news in the letter which would have most pain- 
 fully affected many the account of the lost inheritance- 
 was the last point which occurred to Carlo. Still, he did 
 not regard money with absolute indifference, or consider 
 that there was any particular merit in poverty, and it was 
 not in nature that a man of four-and- twenty should lose a 
 fortune and feel no pang of regret. Money was a power, 
 there was no denying that, and he was living now from 
 hand to mouth a process less pleasant in practice than in 
 theory. In the reaction from inordinate love of riches 
 there is nowadays a good deal of cant about "holy pov- 
 erty" and "contemptible wealth;" but Carlo, being a 
 very practical and simple-natured man, did not affect to 
 look on the loss of his inheritance from any superior 
 height of other-worldliness. It chafed him sorely to owe 
 money to Herr Hitter, and to see no immediate prospect of 
 
 Eay i ng b*ck the principal -/it had cost him much to #sk 
 is doctor whether he would allow him to pay by install- 
 ments for the constant attendance through the weeks at 
 Merlebank; it had pained him to have to calculate the cost 
 of his journey to Brighton, and to find that his donations 
 to the servants who had been so good to him must be of 
 the smallest. For money in itself he cared not at all, but 
 being in the true sense of the word a gentleman, he had a 
 horror of being in debt, and found the constant care neces- 
 sary to make both ends of his scanty income meet a most 
 irksome duty. 
 
 Such matters cannot be looked at in a vague, impersonal 
 way ; and though the ideal hero of sentimental romance is 
 always above such contemptible considerations, yet a 
 straightforward, honorable man is bound to care for the 
 possession of such money as will enable him to pay his 
 way honestly in the world. Carlo thought with a sigh of 
 the thousands of pounds which he had been led to expect 
 as his inheritance, arid then of the constant struggle to 
 
304 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 live on his small salary. Comerio had received six 
 guineas a week, bat he as a novice had consented tc take 
 only half that amount, and Piale, thinking that he would 
 never continue in a traveling company after the first year, 
 had been fairly well satisfied with the arrangement, and, 
 indeed, would have consented to anything so long as his 
 wish of inducing his pupil to go on the stage had been 
 gratified. Carlo had no intention, however, of accepting 
 better offers at the end of the first year, so he saw before 
 him an indefinite time of hard work and small pay ; for he 
 could not afford to bargain with Merlino or quarrel with 
 him, as any other novice might have done. 
 
 As Carlyle remarks, ' ' No beautif ulest poet is a bird of 
 paradise, living on perfumes, sleeping in the aether with 
 out-stretched wings. The heroic, independent of bed and 
 board, is found in Drury Lane Theater only. ' ' 
 
 Out of his three guineas a week he must somehow man- 
 age to pay for board, lodging, and clothes, must give the 
 conventional gratuities to his dresser, must provide certain 
 parts of his stage wardrobe to wit, shoes, tights, wigs, 
 and feathers must pay the interest on the loan from Herr 
 Hitter, and try to put by as much as might be toward Mr. 
 Kavanagh's account. He knew, of course, that many a 
 clerk, many an English curate, had to count himself lucky 
 if he got as large a salary ; but then it was less possible for 
 him to economize. Lodgings, hastily sought in a foreign 
 country, often proved dear as well as comfortless; bills, 
 even at third- rate hotels, seemed to mount up with fright- 
 ful rapidity ; while to play any pranks with his diet was 
 out of the question, since his voice was dependent on regu- 
 lar and suitable food. He longed impatiently to be free 
 from this grinding poverty which was so foreign to his nat- 
 ure, nor did it comfort him much to reflect that he was 
 better off than many members of traveling companies, 
 since, at any rate, Merlino always paid his way, was a man 
 with capital, and was not forever trembling on the brink 
 of bankruptcy. It only made him feel very sorry for his 
 brother artists, and slightly curious to know how they 
 managed to live at all. 
 
 He had reached this point in his reflections when Gigi 
 came running up to him. 
 
 " I do so dreadfully want a spade and pail, zio caro," he 
 said, looking up at him with his wistful brown eyes. 
 
 ' ' There are many things, my Gigi, which we do so dread- 
 fully want, but can't have," he replied, laughing a little, 
 and stroking the child's brown cheek. "You and I, Gigi, 
 must learn to go without, and must do what we can to 
 amuse each other." 
 
 forgetting poverty and slander, and even poor old 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 305 
 
 Uncle Guido, he transformed himself into so delightful a sea- 
 monster that Gigi rushed in blissful terror and excitement 
 to the shelter of the nearest boat, and by the time the 
 chase was over, and he had been devoured and resuscitated 
 in the conventional manner, all thought of spades and 
 pails had vanished from his mind, and he had fallen back 
 to his old refrain of " I do love you sol" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTI. 
 
 AFTER TWO YEARS. 
 11 Heart, thou must learn to do without-* 
 That is the riches of the poor; 
 Their liberty is to endure; 
 Wrap thou thy old cloak thee about, 
 And carol loud, and carol stout! 
 ***** 
 
 Why should'st thou only wear no clout? 
 Thou only walk in love-robes pure? 
 Thy step alone be firm and sure? 
 Thou only free of fortune's flout? 
 Nay, nay! but learn to go without, 
 And so be humbly, richly poor." 
 
 A Threefold Hard. 
 
 THE bright spring sunshine was streaming into a sitting- 
 room in the Lafayette, at Philadelphia, and Nita's sweet, 
 clear soprano woke the echoes with that most charming of 
 songs, " Caro Nome." Carlo, who from the first had con- 
 stituted himself her accompanyist at her daily practice, 
 was seated at the piano, and something in the faces of 
 both brother and sister showed plainly that time had 
 passed. Two years had gone by since Carlo had rejoined 
 the company at Brighton, and spite of excessively hard 
 work spite of the weary day and night journeys, with 
 too often an exhausting performance at the end of them 
 his healthy, vigorous nature had asserted itself, and all 
 signs of delicacy of chest had disappeared, while further 
 cultivation, and increasing physical strength, had rendered 
 his voice more than ever notable. The daily round of 
 work had been monotonous enough, and yet the second 
 and third years of his professional life had certainly 
 seemed far shorter to him than the first had done. 
 
 But then nothing flies so fast as fully occupied time, 
 especially when no very important events come to inter- 
 rupt the routine. And nothing had happened worthy of 
 note in these two years. Comerio's vengeance had not as 
 yet taken effect he had not followed them to America 
 and scarcely any changes had been made in the company. 
 Mademoiselle de Caisne had, indeed, gone back to Italy, 
 finding it impossible to make the slightest impression on 
 the new barytone; her place had been filled by a very 
 
806 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 young American girl. It seemed probable, too, that 
 Sardoni and Domenica Borelli would not remain very 
 much longer in the troupe. They had now been betrothed 
 for several months, and were to be married in New York 
 before Merlino's company sailed for Italy, which they 
 expected to do toward the end of May. Carlo hardly knew 
 how to face the thought of life without his two best friends, 
 but their contracts with Merlino both expired in the fol- 
 lowing autumn, and he could not but admit that their 
 married life would probably be much happier if they 
 carried out Sardoni's idea, and settled down in London, 
 where they might both hope to gain a fair livelihood by 
 teaching, eked out by occasional engagements. But, 
 though little had happened, the general tone of the com- 
 pany had certainly been raised; the impresario had 
 become a trifle less rough and overbearing ; Nita, though 
 she was still as far as ever from being a happy wife, 
 seemed to rebel less bitterly against her lot; while Carlo's 
 character had grown and developed as a man's character 
 does develop when he is trying incessantly to live the 
 highest life. 
 
 As he played the accompaniment of " Caro Nome," his 
 thoughts involuntarily turned to Francesca, and he began 
 to wonder whether Sardoni would soon come back from 
 his walk, and whether he would have remembered to call 
 at the post-office for letters. It was possible that he might 
 to-day hear from Enrico, and he was terribly hungry for 
 news, for Clare, with the best of intentions, was too busy 
 to write very often, and when she did write could only give 
 him second-hand reports, while Enrico was as far as ever 
 from understanding the sort of details for which a lover 
 craves. 
 
 He looked up eagerly as the door opened, and Sardoni 
 entered. 
 
 ik Did you remember the letters?" he asked, glad that 
 the song "should have ended at such an opportune moment. 
 
 " For a wonder, yes," replied Sardoni, who since his en- 
 gagement to Domenica had been ludicrously absent-minded. 
 44 But there were none for you, Val, only one for Madame 
 Merlino." 
 
 Carlo was sadly disappointed, but yet was so well used 
 to disappointment that by the time he had played through 
 a few bars of "Caro Nome," his face had resumed its 
 usual expression. 
 
 Sardoni left the room again, and Nita, throwing herself 
 back in a rocking-chair, began to read the letter. As she 
 read, an uncontrollable exclamation of surprise escaped 
 tier. Carlo, who was turning over the pages of " 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 307 
 
 letto," and still whistling the air of " Caro Nome," looked 
 up quickly. 
 
 " Is anything the matter?" he asked; and as he spoke he 
 noticed for the first time the big letters of the " Napoli " 
 post-mark. 
 
 She read on without answering, but something in her 
 face roused a nameless fear in his heart ; did the letter con- 
 cern Comerio? The handwriting was not Enrico's, or his 
 fears would have been instantly aroused ; he would have 
 imagined that some evil must have befallen Francesca 
 some evil which his friend did not dare to tell him abruptly 
 and without preparation. But that fear was not awak- 
 ened. It must, then, surely be connected with Cornerio, 
 this Italian letter! If only she would speak and put him 
 out of his suspense ! 
 
 He sat down near her and waited, not wishing to force 
 himself upon her in any way ; and at length she looked up, 
 and, with a strange tone in her voice, said : 
 
 *' I have heard from Mademoiselle De Caisne, Carlo. You 
 had better read her letter, and she incloses these. ' ' 
 
 In some surprise he took the papers she handed to him, 
 and glanced at the first. It was a half- sheet of paper, on 
 the back of which the following words were written in 
 Italian : " An advertisement cut out of the Times. ' ' Neatly 
 pasted on the other side were a few brief lines of English 
 print : 
 
 " On the 26th inst., at Naples, by the British consul and 
 by the Reverend J. Smith, Renato, Conte Carossa, to Fran-, 
 cesca, elder daughter of Captain John Britton, R. N." 
 
 Carlo neither spoke nor moved ; the blow struck at his 
 heart had been so fearfully sudden that after the first mo- 
 ment of agony he felt nothing, but was like one paralyzed. 
 Still holding the advertisement in his hand, he stared at 
 those words which had shattered his whole life; then, as 
 sensation slowly returned, a horrible craving to know 
 more seized him, and he snatched up the next paper. Ifc 
 was a leaflet printed in silver, an English wedding-hymn, 
 beginning, u The voice that breathed o'er Eden;" he read 
 it through from beginning to end with a sort of blank, 
 dazed feeling. Then he took the next slip. It was a cut- 
 ting from the Roma, just a short paragraph stating that 
 the marriage of Count Carossa had called forth general 
 attention, owing to the fact that his bride was the ac- 
 knowledged belle of Naples. That the beautiful English 
 girl had made a charming bride, and that, according to the 
 English custom, the wedding party had been entertained 
 tat breakfast after the ceremony at Casa Bella, the resi- 
 dence of Captain Britton. 
 
308 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Lastly, he read with feverish haste Mademoiselle De 
 Caisne's letter, rushing impatiently through the prelimi- 
 naries till he came to the following remarks: 
 
 '* The marriage of Count Carossa is the great topic of the 
 day here, and knowing how intimate you and your brother 
 were with the English owners of Casa Bella, I send you 
 full particulars. The wedding was really a beautiful sight ; 
 the bride wore a dress of ivory-white satin with a very 
 long train, and it really is wonderful how even in this 
 climate English girls seem to preserve their complexion. 
 Miss Britton's is the most charmingly delicate coloring I 
 ever saw. Every one is envious of Count Carossa. I only 
 hope he deserves so fascinating a wife!" 
 
 Carlo folded the papers and put them back in their en- 
 velope. Every vestige of color had left his face, and IXita 
 began to wonder whether he would ever move or speak 
 again he looked as if he had been turned to stone. She 
 was frightened, and yet the sight did not appeal to her; it 
 even made her a little angry and impatient, for she had 
 not heart enough to understand him. 
 
 There was a long, burdened silence, broken at length by 
 Nita. 
 
 " Well," she said, with a bitter tone in her voice, " now, 
 at any rate, you will know what it means to have a legal 
 bar between you and the one you love." 
 
 At that the stony despair suddenly changed ; the frozen 
 blood seemed to boil in his veins, and a look of anguish, 
 which terrified her, dawned in his eyes. Her words had 
 most cruelly, most recklessly, thrust the terrible truth be- 
 fore him. He got up quickly, and walked with unsteady 
 steps to the door, by a sort of blind instinct perceiving that 
 to be away from his sister would be a relief. 
 
 But Nita had no sooner spoken than she regretted her 
 words, and would have have given any thing to recall them. 
 She rushed after him and caught his hand in hers. 
 
 44 Don't go, Carlo!" she cried. " I am sorry I said that 
 I am sorry for you. Carlino! Stay!" 
 
 Her presence was almost more than he could endure, 
 but though past thinking definitely of anything but the 
 crushing blow he had received, and the torturing pain it 
 caused him, the mere habit of considering others before 
 himself made him pause now, though he longed sorely to 
 be alone with his trouble. 
 
 "Ah! why should we have such things to bear?" she 
 cried, passionately, thinking even now far more of her own 
 trouble than of his. 
 
 *" God help us both !'' he groaned. 
 
 Then, dropping her hand, he turned away and flung him- 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 309 
 
 self face downward on the couch, unable to resist any 
 longer the paroxysm of grief which overwhelmed him. 
 
 Nita watched him much as Kate Britton had watched 
 him in the hut; her woman's soul was touched to the 
 quick, and though only a minute before she had cried, 
 ** Why should we have such things to bear?" she saw now, 
 with a sharp pang of regret, that Carlo's grief was the di- 
 rect consequence of her own weakness. She fell down on 
 her knees beside him. 
 
 ' ' Carlino !' ' she sobbed, ' ' forgive me forgive me ! It is 
 I who have brought it all on you." 
 
 He did not look up or speak, but put out his hand for 
 hers, and held it fast in a grasp that seemed to burn her. 
 She thought he grew calmer, and ventured to speak 
 again, longing to awaken his pity for her own case. 
 
 44 Don't you see now, Carlo, that you have been expecting 
 too much of me?" she pleaded. " Oh, don't you see now 
 how all those high ideas of yours are in practice impossi- 
 ble?" 
 
 Her last word, emphatically spoken, seemed to fill him 
 with strength. In an instant he was on his feet, while she 
 still knelt on, looking up at him in awe and astonishment. 
 Somehow it seemed to her that she was face to face with 
 the perfection of manhood. 
 
 "Nothing is impossible!" he said. 
 
 And the words seemed to ring and pulsate in her ears as 
 no words had ever done before. 
 
 She cowered down and hid her face, trembling before the 
 first divine revelation which had come home to her inner- 
 most heart. It was a relief to her when she heard him 
 leave the room, but the pitifulness of the story overcame 
 her again; the love, so far beyond any love of which she 
 herself was yet capable, had at length touched her heart, 
 and she sobbed for grief and pity. 
 
 "Why oh why," she thought, with bitter regret, " did 
 I not from the first resist the evil thoughts that came? It 
 must have been possible for me, too!" 
 
 In the meantime Carlo had locked himself into his own 
 room, and there, pacing to and fro, looked his sorrow in 
 the face like a man. Thousands, as he was well aware, 
 must have been called to bear the same thing before, but 
 yet there were circumstances which made his case doubly 
 hard; the utter want of preparation, the dearth of all but 
 the most public accounts of the marriage, the knowledge 
 that of his own free-will he had left Francesca and gone 
 out into the world. For eight long years he had loved her, 
 and though there had been grief, and trouble, and separa- 
 tion for them, yet he had been sure of her love through all, 
 and had been free to lavish on her his heart's devotion. 
 
810 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 But now in one moment all was ended between them, and 
 -the thought of his love, which, in spite of the separation, 
 had been an unfailing solace to him through those weary 
 years of public life, was no w only a torture, a peril. There 
 would be no beautiful reality, all his own, to which he 
 could come back when the day's work was over, as to some 
 sacred and safe retreat ; she was now the wife of another, 
 and he must no longer think of her as his betrothed. His 
 safe retreat had become a place of torment. He saw that 
 life would be one long battle, and that the best he could 
 hope for, after long conflict, was so far to subdue himself 
 that he should dare to meet her as a friend ; be able, per- 
 haps, to serve her in some faint, far-off way ; be at least 
 able to carry a brave front, and cast no shadow on her 
 wedded happiness. 
 
 But was she happy? Had she, perhaps, been forced to 
 acquiesce, in obedience to her father's wishes? Count 
 Carossa might well prove an importunate suitor, and de- 
 cline to accept as final her first refusal. Had she been 
 forced against her will to accept him? Or had he really 
 won her heart ; and did she now see that the past was but 
 a girlish dream, evanescent, and not wholly sweet? He 
 hardly knew which of these possibilities pained him most ; 
 he glanced now at one, now at the other, till the misery of 
 ignorance and suspense almost maddened him. And then, 
 with a pang of the worst pain he had yet felt, a horrible 
 new idea shot through his mind. 
 
 There was that vile slander which had been set on foot 
 two years ago, and which still inevitably worked its poi- 
 sonous way, growing more dangerous with age, as slan- 
 ders do. Francesca had heard the first rumors, Enrico 
 had told him as much; she herself at Merlebank had half 
 hinted something of the sort. At first she had indignantly 
 refused to credit them, but when the tale was in every 
 one's mouth, why then her very innocence and ignorance 
 of the world would surely make her credit them the more 
 easily; and how ready the captain would be to believe any- 
 thing of the sort touching an operatic singer, he realized 
 only too bitterly. More and more as he thought of it this 
 seemed to him the only explanation of the marriage. He 
 could not believe that anything else could possibly have 
 robbed him of Francesca' s love. 
 
 But if all around her believed him to be not only guilty 
 of such a sin, but to be such a contemptible hypocrite as to 
 have sought his own pleasure under the cover of protect- 
 ing his sister, might she not possibly have been induced to 
 believe the slander too? And, once believed, such a story 
 must inevitably kill love. For a while he sat rapt in the 
 miserable contemplation of this_ thought, then suddenly 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 317 
 
 his mind revolted from the idea of any kind of distrust in 
 Francesca. No, it was not possible ! She would believe in 
 him against the whole world, would love him forever, not 
 for any merit in himself, but because of the truth and 
 purity and beauty of her own nature. She had been co- 
 erced into the marriage with Count Carossa. Again he 
 fell back into the weary round of surmises, rejecting each 
 in turn, but always confronted by the terrible realization 
 that, however the marriage had been brought about, it 
 was a fact a fact which gave the death-blow to his hope, 
 and doomed him to go through life alone. 
 
 For he must go on living, and must face the thought at 
 once. Indeed, into his simple, healthy mind no thought 
 of death had entered, thougn most truly life looked to him 
 desolate enough ; but it is in times of great trouble that a 
 good man's real character is tested, and every dull, monot- 
 onous day of work in Merlino's company had added some- 
 thing to his manly steadfastness, and gave him power now 
 to go straight on and do his duty without flinching. He 
 brought back his thoughts with an effort to the present 
 " Bigoletto" that evening, the necessity of dining at once, 
 the fear lest his trouble should at all mar the happiness of 
 Sardoni and Domenica, his best friends, and a resolution 
 to keep the news from them if possible till their wedding 
 WHS over. With this thought in his mind he turned to 
 the glass, saw that trouble was very legibly stamped on, 
 his face, and resolved to dine alone at some restaurant, 
 that he might escape observation. On the staircase he 
 met Anita; she looked up at him in a scared way. 
 
 "Do not speak of this to anyone else," he said, in alow 
 voice; " above all, not to Sardoni or Domenica. Let it bo 
 only between us two, at any rate, till after the wedding." 
 
 She promised, although she was far from understand- 
 ing the motives which prompted the request, and Carlo 
 with a heavy heart passed on and walked slowly down 
 Broad Street. He remembered, as he walked, the sense of 
 horrible loneliness which had seized him when he walked 
 back from the Strada Nuova to Palazzo Forti, after the 
 Pilgrim had sailed from Naples ; but that suffering had 
 been light indeed compared to what he was called to bear 
 to-day. It seemed to him now that he was alive and yet 
 dead, that the outer shell of every-day existence would go 
 on in a mechanical way, just as if nothing had happened, 
 but that the heart had been destroyed, and that nothing 
 could ever bring it back to vitality. 
 
 In a sort of dream of pain he watched the passers-by, 
 and wondered whether in their careless talk they, too, 
 might be robbing some one of his reputation, and doing 
 the devil's work in the world. A feeling of strong reseat- 
 
812 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ment rose up in his mind; he walked more quickly, the 
 color came back to his face, and his hot, southern blood 
 began to burn and tingle in his veins; if he could have been 
 suddenly confronted by the unknown being who had set 
 on foot this slander he could have killed him, at least 
 so in his hot indignation he fancied. 
 
 Once more Nita's bitter words rang in his ears, "A legal 
 bar between you and the one you love." 
 
 "After all," urged the tempter, " are you not aiming at 
 the impossible? Why should you think of her as his Avife 
 when the thought tortures you? What ! you mean to allow 
 no thought that you could not lay bare to her sight, or the 
 sight of her husband? Fool! Give up! Is such a love as 
 yours to be cramped and fettered and starved ; love that 
 has lasted all these years?" 
 
 " You'll forgive me making bold to stop you, sir," said a 
 familiar voice. He looked round and saw Adamson, the 
 scene-shifter. "I wanted to catch you alone, sir, and at 
 the theater there be always others within hearing; and I 
 guessed you'd be glad to hear, sir, that it's all come right." 
 
 The sudden reaction from the terrible temptation to the 
 story of the honest -looking old man, who had been one of 
 his first friends in the troupe, taxed his Bowers to the ut- 
 most. His brain seemed to reel, but with an effort he 
 dragged himself back to the recollection of Adamson's 
 trouble. His daughter, a pretty American girl, sang so- 
 prano in the chorus, and for some time her father had been 
 very uneasy about her, and Carlo had watched with a good 
 deal of interest the progress of a small drama in which his 
 dresser, Sebastiano, played the part of lover. 
 
 " It's all come rignt, sir," repeated Adamson; "and it's 
 all owing to you. I don't know what you've done to Se- 
 bastiano, sir," but he's kind of altered. They're a-going to 
 git married right away !" 
 
 The need of giving the old man his hearty sympathy re- 
 stored Carlo to himself. He went into a restaurant and 
 ate his dinner soberly, but in his dark sky there were two 
 gleams of light ; the first was the recollection that Nita's 
 heart had been at length reached ; the second, that his 
 hopes for Sebastiano had been fulfilled. There came to 
 him, too, the perception that there was still one way in 
 which he might safely serve Francesca. He could pray 
 that her marriage might be a happy one. There was at 
 least that still to be hoped for. 
 
 He went back to the Lafayette, found a letter which he 
 had written earlier in the day to Enrico, and added the 
 following brief postscript : 
 
 "Why did you tell me nothing of Count Carx>esa'a 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 313 
 
 marriage? Send me all particulars, if you can, to New 
 York." 
 
 More than that he could not bring himself to put even to 
 his friend, but to Clare he wrote a long letter and poured 
 out all his trouble, for she was a woman, and he knew she 
 would understand. Then, relieved a little by this, he took 
 the letters himself to the post, and made his way to the 
 theater. In Locust Street, close to the stage door, he met 
 Sardoni, who was much too full of his own affairs to be 
 very observant. 
 
 " The day is fixed at last," he said, cheerfully; " it is to 
 be at New York next Sunday week. Will you be my best 
 man, old fellow?" 
 
 "Of course I will. Jack, if you wish it," said Carlo. 
 " Does your father come out for the wedding?" 
 
 "No; but he has asked us to stay with him in the au- 
 tumn, and your letter has evidently done a good deal to- 
 ward reconciling him to the notion. We owe everything 
 to you, Val." 
 
 Carlo turned into his dressing-room, only to be con- 
 fronted by Sebastiano. He had heard too much of mar- 
 riages that day, but yet must congratulate his dresser, 
 and, as he put on his jester's costume of red and yellow 
 motley, must listen to the story old Adamson had told 
 him all over again. 
 
 " Why signer I" exclaimed Sebastiano, when he had fin- 
 ished his tale, * ' see ! You have put the red stocking on 
 the left leg instead of the yellow one ! One might think 
 that you were in my case !" 
 
 Carlo smiled good-naturedly, congratulated the dresser 
 again and dismissed him; but when he was alone he 
 bowed his head on his hands and gat for a long time mo- 
 tionless, overwhelmed by a sense of his utter desolation. 
 What was there left to him? Well, there was a certain 
 increasing fame. But, after all, what was that? Success 
 was sweet, and yet in a way it did but make him feel his 
 loneliness the more. Often enough the tears would start 
 to his eyes when he read glowing praise of his artistic 
 work, because he could not help thinking how such things 
 would have pltased his mother. The chief worth of all 
 such recognition is the pleasure it gives to those who love 
 us, and he now stood practically alone in the world ; suc- 
 cess and fame would be his, but neither father nor mother, 
 neither wife nor child, would be present with him to make 
 them seem worth while. 
 
 The voice of the call-boy roused him from his sad 
 thoughts. He wrung his hands together. 
 
 "My God, help mel" he groaned. 
 
314 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Then taking up his jester's cap with its gold coxcomb, 
 he made his way to the wings and was soon transformed 
 into the malicious, mocking Kigoletto, playing the part 
 with his customary skill, and receiving with his usual 
 quiet modesty the thunder of applause which rewarded 
 him, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXHL 
 
 GENOA. 
 
 44 Ah, well, the world is discreet; 
 
 There are plenty to pause and wait; 
 But here was a man who set his feet 
 Sometimes in advance of fate. 
 
 41 Never rode to the wrong's redressing 
 
 A worthier paladin. 
 Shall he not hear the blessing 
 'Good and faithful, enter in?' " Whittier. 
 
 A MONTH passed by. In his outer life Carlo went through 
 the series of farewell performances at New York, at- 
 tended Sardoni's wedding, and traveled back to Italy. In 
 his inner life he fought a terrible battle and came out con- 
 querer. 
 
 No further details of Francesca's marriage had as yet 
 reached him to relieve his misery of ignorance and sus- 
 pense. Apparently both Clare and Enrico shrank from 
 touching on so difficult a subject, and all he had received 
 by way of answer to his letter was a copy of the Roma 
 from Enrico, containing the same paragraph which Made- 
 moiselle De Caisne had inclosed. 
 
 The shrewd-looking official who presided at the bureau 
 in the hall of one of the hotels at Genoa sat speculating to 
 himself as he saw the much-talked-of barytone pass into 
 the breakfast-room on the morning after Merlino's com- 
 pany had landed in Italy. 
 
 There was something about Donati's face which he could 
 not understand; it was not the face one would have ex- 
 pected in a man who, at six-and-twenty, had achieved a 
 striking success, and who was said to be the finest bary- 
 tone in Europe. Sorrow had not hardened him or soured 
 him, but it had added a sort of depth to his expression, and 
 just now he bore always the look of one who has imposed 
 on himself a strong restraint. 
 
 The official was pleased when, on leaving the break- 
 fast-room, Carlo came to the bureau to buy some stamps, 
 and he adroitly seized the opportunity to prefer a re- 
 quest. 
 
 44 Will you write your name in the visitors' book, sig- 
 ner?" he said. * * Every one in the place is looking forward 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 815 
 
 to your appearance to-night ; you will see, the theater will 
 be packed from floor to ceiling ! Your full name, if you 
 will favor us, signpr; the autograph will be valuable." 
 
 Carlo smiled a little at the thought that his very com- 
 monplace handwriting should be in demand; then, hap- 
 pening to glance up the page at the names of the other 
 visitors, his heart suddenly leaped into his mouth as he 
 read, " II Conte Carossa, e Contessa Carossa." The names 
 were both apparently written in the count's writing. He 
 turned quickly to the concierge. 
 
 " Count Carossa is still in the hotel?" 
 
 "Yes, signor; that is to say, he is out just at this mo- 
 ment, but he has taken his rooms for a week. The con- 
 tessa is in the salotto. I saw her go in just now." 
 
 For a moment he hesitated. Francesca was here under 
 tho same roof with him ! Dared he seek her out? Dared 
 lie hear from her own lips the whole truth? When he had 
 landed on the previous evening he had sent off another 
 urgent letter imploring Enrico to write, or, if possible, to 
 come and see him at Genoa, where they had accepted a 
 brief engagement ; but now to be told that Francesca was 
 close to him threw him completely off his balance, and an 
 impulse scarcely resistible drove him toward the salotto. 
 Should he not enter that room ? Should he not see her at 
 least for this once? And yet every throbbing pulse within 
 him warned him not to do so, proved to him beyond dis- 
 pute that for Francesca's sake and for his o\vn, he had far 
 oetter not seek her out. 
 
 With a struggle that seemed to him bitter as death, he 
 forced himself to pass by that closed door, and to go up- 
 stairs to his room. He was not left long in peace, for Gigi 
 who had grown into a very manly little fellow of nearly 
 seven years old, and who had been greatly improved by 
 two years at a good school in New York came bounding 
 in with an eager request. 
 
 44 Zio caro, don't you remember you promised to take 
 me to Villa Pallavicini this morning? I guess we'll never 
 be likely to get a finer day, and I do so drefily want to see 
 the fountains I" 
 
 Though sick at heart, Carlo would not refuse the little 
 fellow's petition, and he dragged himself over to Pegli, 
 trying hard to enter into GigFs happiness, listening to his 
 raptures over the beautiful gardens, and smiling politely 
 when their conductor a wizen, shrewd-looking little man 
 made time-honored jokes, and tried to be facetious. 
 Neither the glorious views of sea and mountain, nor the 
 lovely groves of ilex, olive, eucalyptus, and pine-trees, nor 
 the glowing color of the aloes and rhododendrons, could 
 rouse in him that day the slightest pleasure. Gigi chat- 
 
316 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 tered merrily as they rowed in a little boat, under charge 
 of a broad-shouldered, kindly old boatman, through the 
 stalactite caves, and gave a shout of delight when, as they 
 passed on, and came in sight of the fountains, they saw 
 one of the gardeners carrying out the usual practical joke 
 of turning the watering-hose in the direction of some visit- 
 ors, who fled with good-natured laughter. 
 
 " Look, zio carol oh, do look!" cried the child, clapping 
 his hands. 
 
 And Carlo, glancing round, saw, only a stone's-throw 
 from him, on the bank, a little group of visitors, and among 
 them Count Carossa and Francesca. 
 
 She did not see him, and, after one long look, he turned 
 away with a sick, dizzy feeling, and knew that he was 
 answering the boatman's remarks at random, and vaguely 
 wondered whether, after the first shock, that sight would 
 grow more bearable to him. 
 
 How he lived through that day he never quite knew, but 
 he had learned the truth of the words which he had spoken 
 to Anita at Philadelphia that " Nothing is impossible;" and 
 when the evening came, though Sardoni had dined with 
 him, and stayed afterward talking of Domenica's perfec- 
 tions, and of his anxiety about his father's first sight of 
 her, Carlo had betrayed nothing, but seemed as ready as 
 ever to sympathize with his friend's affairs. 
 
 So engrossed was the tenor with his own happiness that 
 he was amazed when, that evening at the theater, Anita 
 drew him aside, and, with tears in her eyes, begged for his 
 advice. 
 
 " You are Carlo's friend !" she said, in low, hurried tones ; 
 " for God's sake tell me what to do ! The Contessa Carossa 
 is sitting in the stalls! Shall I tell Carlo before he goes 
 on?" 
 
 Sardoni stared. 
 
 "Who, in Heaven's name, may the Contessa Carossa 
 be?" he asked. 
 
 "Insomnia! I forgot you had not been told! He kept 
 it from you because he would not have you troubled at the 
 time of your wedding, She is Francesca Britton, the girl 
 he was to have married! He heard when we were at 
 Philadelphia that she had become the wife of Count Ca- 
 rossa." 
 
 Sardoni gave an inarticulate exclamation of rage and re- 
 gret. 
 
 "He must be told?" he said. "A sudden shock like 
 that might make him break down. I will tell him my- 
 self." 
 
 Nita thanked him. She was dressed in the coquettish 
 costume of Carmen, but for the first time Sardoni noticed 
 
KNIGhT-ERRANT. 317 
 
 a softened look about her face. He saw that she had be- 
 gun at last really to care for her brother, and that appar- 
 ently Comerio, who was also engaged at Genoa during the 
 summer season, had not regained his old influence with 
 her. This, however, was but the first night of the en- 
 gagementhe wondered greatly whether her strength 
 would hold out to the end. And then he thought wrath- 
 fully of Francesca Britton, and remembered with com- 
 punction how he had talked of nothing for the last few 
 weeks but his own happiness ; and with regret, and per- 
 plexity, and admiration for his friend all mingled, he 
 knocked at the dressing-room door, determined to speak 
 out plainly and prepare his companion for what awaited 
 him. 
 
 Carlo had just dismissed Sebastiano, and was equipped 
 in the picturesque costume of Escamillo, the toreador, with 
 its green velvet jacket and knickerbockers faced with gold, 
 broad red-and-gold sash, tan-colored gaiters, and red flag 
 thrown across the left shoulder. There was no time to be 
 lost, and Sardoni began abruptly. 
 
 " I have just been talking to your sister, Val. She 
 thought, and I think, too, that you ought to be prepared 
 beforehand. Count Carossa and his wife are in the 
 theater." 
 
 An exclamation of wonder and dismay escaped Carlo. 
 He began to pace the room in terrible agitation. 
 
 "Why did you keep your trouble from me, Val?" said 
 Sardoni, reproachfully. "And what, in Heaven's name, 
 can have made any woman forsake a man like you?" 
 
 Carlo turned upon him with a fierce gesture. 
 
 ' ' Not one word against her !" he cried. * * She was free 
 quite free! And what am I to deserve her, indeed? a 
 stage-singer with a tarnished reputation!" 
 
 14 What! You think, then, it was that slander?" ejacu- 
 lated Sardoni, understanding better why Carlo had kept 
 all from him during this month. 
 
 4 ' I don't know ! I can't tell ! For God's sake, Jack, don't 
 talk, or I think I shall go mad !" 
 
 Again he walked to and fro, struggling with the thoughts 
 which rushed in wild confusion through his brain. Why 
 did Francesca come to hear him sing? It was so alto- 
 gether unlike her to do so under the circumstances. Had 
 she come to prove her indifference? or did she still care 
 for him, and snatch at this chance of seeing him? or was 
 she too much in awe of her husband to decline to go to the 
 theater? Each thought seemed to him almost equally in- 
 tolerable. But time was passing, and he must somehow 
 manage to get himself in hand. As he walked he prayed, 
 and as he prayed he became once more willing to face what- 
 
318 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ever was sent. For he wasted no time in vain questionings 
 as to why this particular trouble should have come to him, 
 and how it could possibly work for the general good. His 
 strength lay in a habit of taking even the smaller details 
 of life as God's ordering, and in a firm conviction that 
 no man is ever set to do anything that is beyond his 
 strength. 
 
 Francesca had married Count Carossa. That being so, 
 he must and could learn to bear the thought. Nothing 
 was impossible ! 
 
 "Forgive me, dear old fellow, for speaking sharply," he 
 said, turning back to Sardoni. "After all, Jack, I shall 
 know now if she is happy or not; and if all is well with 
 her, why nothing else matters much." 
 
 Sardoni bit his lip ; when he could see clearly again he 
 found that Carlo was putting on his Spanish hat, and pre- 
 paring to go to the wings. He went with him, choosing a 
 position from which he could watch his friend's entrance 
 and reception. 
 
 The part of Escamillo, though small, suited him admir- 
 ably, nor could any scene have been better chosen for hi3 
 reappearance in Italy than the picturesque entry of the 
 bull-fighter. Sardoni wondered greatly how the Contessa 
 Carossa felt down there in the stalls, as she watched with 
 the rest the entrance of the torch-light procession, and saw 
 the crowd group itself and look expectantly toward the 
 back of the stage, till, amid a chorus of " Hurrah for brave 
 Escamillo !" the slight, graceful figure in toreador costume 
 advanced through a little lane of torches. 
 
 Carlo's fame had preceded him, and the Genoese audi- 
 ence greeted him warmly ; he took off his black velvet hat 
 and bowed with the mingled dignity and simplicity of 
 manner which made him at once revered and loved by so 
 many. Then, quickly turning from the homage of the 
 audience to the business of his part, and resuming the 
 bold, genial bearing of Escamillo, he drained the wine-cup 
 handed to him, tossed it across the stage to one of the 
 chorus, and broke forth into the well-known toreador 
 song. 
 
 Hi? beautiful voice, the vigor of his acting, the imagina- 
 tive power conveyed by each look and gesture, held the 
 audience spell-bound, and Sardoni marveled how, under 
 the circumstances, he could sing the refrain of 
 
 " Bear thpu in mind, when combat thee elates, 
 Two bright eyes fondly regard, 
 For thee a fond heart waits, Toreador." 
 
 At the close of the first verse the theater rang with 
 shouts of " Bravo 1" And then once again came tht 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 819 
 
 graphic description of the bull-fight, till, my mere gesture 
 and expression, he brought the whole scene vividly before 
 the audience. Most of them had heard " Carmen " before, 
 and had seen the barytone more or less energetically flap 
 his red flag. But Carlo actually made them feel the sus- 
 pense and excitement of the real contest. He surpassed 
 himself, and when once more the refrain had been sung 
 the whole house rose, and with frantic cheering gave the 
 new barytone an ovation. Not one of the applauders 
 guessed that the song had been to the singer a torturing 
 effort, a mockery almost intolerable ; or dreamed how hia 
 heart was aching as he stood there acknowledging their 
 thanks. Not till the end did he dare look toward the 
 place where they had told him Francesca was sitting ; but, 
 as he stood close to the footlights, bowing his acknowledg- 
 ments, he ventured one keen, searching glance ; he would, 
 at least, learn if she looked well and happy, would try to 
 gauge the count's character. 
 
 But he had expected too much of himself ; all was con- 
 fusion ; he could only see that the count was frantically 
 applauding him, and that Franoesca's eyes were shining 
 and her cheeks glowing. After that brief glance, the 
 whole house swam before him, and the only thing for him. 
 to do was to get through, as quickly as might be, his brief 
 dialogue with Carmen, and march off amid the greetings 
 of his comrades, while the orchestra once more played the 
 toreador air. The moment he was behind the scenes, his 
 brisk, blithe step changed ; there was a sort of relief in 
 being able to relax the strain he had put on himself, yet 
 never, even in the first shock of the news of Francesca's 
 marriage, had he felt such an overwhelming sense of loss 
 and loneliness as now, when he had actually seen her sit- 
 ting beside her husband in the theater. His first impulse 
 was to lock himself into his dressing-room, but something 
 made him hesitate; if he were alone, he should think, and 
 if bethought, he should be lost; the only chance of his 
 being able to keep his faculties dear for the rest of the 
 opera, lay in avoiding thought as fa- as possible. After a 
 minute, he forced himself to go to she greenroom and to 
 join in the conversation, and there he remained through 
 the interval, till the call -boy summoned him again, and 
 Sebastiano handed him a striped scarf instead of the red 
 one. Flinging it across his shoulder, he stepped on to the 
 stage, changed himself with an effort into the toreador 
 with his careless geniality, received with cool indifference 
 Don Jose's indignation, and, when challenged to fight, 
 gave a masterly representation of southern passion, spring 
 ing like a tiger on his foe, and, with drawn kntfe, hting 
 desperately. All was speedily over, and again he 
 
320 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 behind the scenes to sing the refrain of the toreador song 
 in the distance. 
 
 "You look tired, Donati," remarked Caffieri. "Con- 
 foundedly hot, isn't it?' 1 
 
 He assented, though all the time he was shivering from 
 head to foot. It was doubly hard to sing those words in 
 cold blood off the stage. But he got through them some- 
 how, and, leaning wearily against the Avail of the passage, 
 waited till the cries of "Donati!" rose to a roar, and then 
 he pulled himself together, crossed the stage, and stepped 
 out before the curtain to accept the homage which just 
 then meant to him so little. 
 
 " What must be borne can be borne," he said to himself 
 again and again ; " and at least Francesca is happy." 
 
 And now the end of the opera was drawing near, and his 
 part was almost over. Nita watched him with mingled 
 wonder and sympathy as they waited side by side for their 
 last entrance; he was grave and silent, and the chorus 
 from the stage of " Viva Escamillo!" jarred upon him she 
 fancied, yet, though the wistful look in his eyes told 
 plainly of his trouble, he was still ready as usual to think 
 of other people. 
 
 " There is a horrible draught here!" he exclaimed "you 
 will take cold, Nita." 
 
 And so saying, he wrapped his red scarf round her white 
 shoulders, snatching it off again adroitly when they ad- 
 vanced on to the stage. Somehow she had never felt so 
 near to him as at that minute. She knew so well what it 
 was that made him tremble as. with his arm round her, he 
 sang the pathetic little farewell of the toreador knew so 
 well what it cost him to utter the words, " If thou lovest 
 me, Carmen, thou shalt smile by and by ; thou shalt be 
 proud of me." 
 
 Together they were just singing their mutual avowal of 
 love, the house'was hushed to catch the exquisitely-blended 
 voices in the last soft repetition of "Yes, I lovethee!" 
 when from the gallery there rose a hoarse cry the most 
 terrible cry that can be raised in any great gatheringthe 
 cry of ''Fire!" 
 
 With a shriek Nita tore herself away and rushed from 
 the stage, and in one instant it seemed to Carlo that the 
 whole house was in an uproar. He shouted an assurance 
 that there was no danger ; he begged Marioni to go on with 
 the opera; but it was a' T in vain. Then he stood like a 
 statue in front of the ^tage, though all around him his 
 companions were fly" jg, though women were shrieking, 
 though Marioni dr >gged him by the arm, imploring him 
 to save himself w' jle yet there was time. He shook him- 
 eelf free, and reJi.aine,d gazing down at the seething mat* 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 8& 
 
 of people in the stalls, spite of all the confusion, keeping 
 his eye steadily on Count Carossa and his wife, till afc 
 length, with a pang of wrath and astonishment, he saw 
 the count force a way through the crowd for a beautiful, 
 fair haired girl beside him, who seemed to be almost 
 fainting with terror, and leave Francesca to take care of 
 herself. 
 
 But indignation soon gave place to a thrill of wild exul- 
 tation. At least it was his part to shield her now her 
 husband had left her, and that time which he had thought 
 might possibly come in some dim future had arrived he 
 might serve her might, perhaps, save her from death. 
 
 He rushed to the side of the stage, leaped down into the 
 deserted orchestra, dashed aside the music-stands which 
 impeded his progress, cleared the barrier at a bound, and, 
 with the agility which was natural to him increased by the 
 fearful excitement, forced his way to Francesca. 
 
 "Carlino!" she cried joy, fear, and relief mingling in 
 her lone as she snatched his hands in hers ** I knew you 
 would come. I couldn't go with Count Carossa !" 
 
 He dropped her hands, perplexed, troubled, utterly sur- 
 prised. That Francesca under the circumstances snould 
 have spoken thus, seemed to him wholly unlike her. The 
 marriage had been a forced one, undoubtedly, but yet how 
 doubly strange of her to come and hear him that night; 
 how immensely she must have- altered to greet him now 
 with such words. Terror mwt surely have made her f or- 
 get all etee. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," he said, very gently, yet with a man- 
 ner so restrained that she mstantly noticed it ; ' l even if this 
 is not wholly a false ala^m, our best hope of escaping un- 
 hurt is just to stay here quietly. See, if you don't mind 
 my holding you like this, I think I can prevent your being 
 pushed by the crowd," 
 
 " Carlo," she said, quickly, relapsing into English, "are 
 you angry with me?" 
 
 * * I ? How can you ask such a question ? I am not angry 
 at all, not. in the least." 
 
 41 1 couldn't help it; I couldn't go with the count, and not 
 know what had happened to you. Are you thinking of 
 what people will say?" 
 
 * * No, that matters very little. But I fear you did wrong 
 to stay." 
 
 " Wrong, when I love you?" 
 
 " For God's sake be silent!" he cried, in a voice wrung 
 with pain. " I dare not let you speak such words to me. 
 Let us say no more at all. Perhaps the way will soon be 
 , and I can take you btck to the. uount. I don't un- 
 
323 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 derstand how he could possibly leave you behind ; he is very 
 much to be blamed." 
 
 Her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " You must not be vexed with him," she said, f&lter- 
 ingly ; " it was my doing. I would not ero, and it was right 
 that he should think first of his wife; she was almost faint- 
 ing." 
 
 "His wife !" gasped Carlo. " His wife ! Francesca ! speak ! 
 sppak! tell me what you mean! 1 ' 
 
 His manner terrified her. 
 
 " Why, he married Flora Britton, that pretty Scotch 
 cousin of mine ; she had been staying with us since her 
 mother's death/' 
 
 For answer, Carlo, regardless of all else, caught her 
 in his arms, and had the panic in the theater caused 
 their death he would scarcely have murmured, for in that 
 moment of exquisite relief, in that restoration to him of 
 all he thought he had lost, he lived through whole years of 
 rapture. 
 
 " My own! my darling? Can you ever forgive me?" he 
 cried. 
 
 "I don't understand," sobbed Francesca; "but nothing 
 matters since you love me still nothing matters now we 
 are together once more." 
 
 He thrust his hand impatiently into the toreador cos- 
 tume, and, drawing forth an envelope, held it toward her. 
 
 " I can't tell you," he said ; 4> but look at these, and you 
 will, perhaps, forgive me." 
 
 With blank astonishment she looked at the cutting 
 from the Times announcing her own marriage to Count 
 Carossa. 
 
 " Ah, who would have done so cruel a thing?" she ex- 
 claimed. " This never could have been in the Times at all, 
 or, of course, we should have heard of it. Who could have 
 had it printed like this on purpose?" 
 
 "I see it now!" said Carlo. "It must have been Co- 
 merio's vengeance !" 
 
 His wrath was almost swallowed up in the strange per- 
 ception that began to steal over him of how completely evil 
 had defeated its own ends. Comerio's vengeance had actu- 
 ally been the means of winning for himself Anita's sym- 
 pathy and love. 
 
 " The hymn we sang at Flora's wedding," observed Fran- 
 cesca. " and her monogram k F. B.,' just like mine how 
 horribly it must ail have fitted in ! This letter, too I who 
 wrote it?" 
 
 " It is from Mademoiselle De Caisne; she was engaged 
 at the San Carlo, but I'll never believe that she had any- 
 to do with that false notice. Comer io was singing 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 993 
 
 At the San Carlo, too. He must have induced her to write 
 the account and send the papers, and himself have inserted 
 that thing. I don't like Elise De Caisne, but she would 
 never have lent herself to a fraud like that." 
 
 " How horribly the people cry out near the doors 1" ex- 
 claimed Francesca, able now for the first time to realize a 
 little what was going on around her. "Oh, Carlo! how 
 frightened I should be if you were not here with me !" 
 
 The panic had evidently not been without some cause, 
 for clouds of smoke came from the back of the stage, and 
 a strong smell of burning filled the place. It was quite 
 apparent that whatever fire there was must be behind 
 the scenes, but Carlo, with good reason, feared for Fran- 
 cesca the dangers of the crowd far more than the danger 
 of the flames. 
 
 They were now almost alone in the stalls, and the space 
 between them and the stage was perfectly clear, for every 
 one had fled from the scource of danger and rushed to the 
 doors, where a horrible struggle was going on. 
 
 " Is Captain Britton in Genoa?" asked Carlo. 
 
 '* Yes, we are all here in the Pilgrim Uncle George, 
 and Kate, and Clare. Oh, how frightened they will be if 
 they hear of this panic before we get out !" 
 
 '* Where had they arranged to meet you?" 
 
 " Uncle George and father were to call for me at the 
 hotel where Eenato and Flora are staying. It was such a 
 chance that I came at all, for you know how little father 
 likes theater-going. But they came to the yacht this 
 morning, and begged to have me for the day, and said they 
 had taken places for 'Carmen,' and father never likes to 
 say * No, ' and so I came, not knowing till we landed that 
 Flora had planned it all on purpose that I should hear you 
 sing." 
 
 * ' They will be terribly anxious about you. Do you think 
 you could be brave enough to walk into this smoke, which 
 is driving every one else away ! I believe we should have 
 a very fair chance of escaping through the orchestra." 
 
 " Yes, yes let us come!" she cried. "I am not afraid 
 of anything with you." 
 
 He wrapped her shawl round her, cleared the way for 
 her toward the orchestra, lifted her over the barrier, and 
 quickly following himself, advanced cautiously through 
 the smoke- filled passages. Before long he stumbled up 
 against Sardoni. 
 
 "You here, Jack!" he exclaimed. "Can we get out? 
 How did it happen?" 
 
 " You can get out all right," said Sardoni. " The fire is 
 almost got under; they are working away splendidly with 
 the fire-engines. X was just coming to look for you. How 
 
824 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 it started no one knows, unless it was from one of the 
 matches flung down when they were smoking in the camp 
 scene and yet I don't see how that can have been. You'U 
 get none of the fun here; come and look at it." 
 
 "Not now; Miss Britton's people will be anxious; we 
 must get out as quickly as may be. There is no crowd at 
 Ihe stage door, I suppose?" 
 
 " A fire-engine or two blocking the way, perhaps noth 
 ing worse. But what in Heaven's name has happened, 
 Val?" 
 
 He glanced for an instant at the sweet, girlish face, 
 which, not long before, he had watched with indignant 
 wonder. 
 
 " Comedo's vengeance !" said Carlo, in a low voice ; then, 
 turning back, he said, " Francesca, this is my friend Sar* 
 doni, of whom you have often heard." 
 
 Francesca shook hands with him warmly. 
 
 "And how about Madame Merlino?" she asked. "Is 
 she quite safe?" 
 
 " I took her back to the hotel with my wife," said Sar- 
 doni; "and I believe on the way back I passed Count 
 Carossa." 
 
 " He was obliged to try and get his wife out quickly," 
 explained Francesca. "Oh, I hope Flora wasn't hurt in 
 the crowd ! Do let us get back to them 1" 
 
 "Come with us, Jack, if you don't mind," said Carlo; 
 and together they made their way through the crowded 
 streets to the hotel, which was not far off. 
 
 In the entrance-hall they found a number of people clus- 
 tered round the poor little contessa, who was lying on the 
 floor quite unconscious, while the count, who had had his 
 arm broken in the crush round the door of the theater, re- 
 ceived no sympathy at all from Captain Britton, who had 
 just come ashore from the yacht, and was beside himself 
 with anger and anxiety. 
 
 " * She would not come?' " he stormed. " Of course not ! 
 An English girl has sense enough not to make for the door 
 in a panic! And you ought to have stayed with her! 
 How dare you take my daughter out, and then forsake her 
 like a " 
 
 Mr. Britton hastily interposed. 
 
 "John, don't waste time in talking!" he said. "Let us 
 come round quickly, and see if we can't find her." 
 
 "GranDio!" cried the count, starting forward, "here 
 she is!" 
 
 Captain Britton turned, and saw that Francesca was just 
 entering the hotel, leaning on the arm of an actor gor- 
 geously attired in Spanish costume. It flashed upon him, 
 even at that moment, that it was a strange reversal ol 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 325 
 
 things which should bring him to scold a count for his 
 desertion and to thank an opera -singer for rescuing his 
 daughter. 
 
 " My dear, dear child!" he exclaimed, bending down to 
 kiss her; " we have only just heard of the fire we have 
 been terribly anxious about you! You are not hurt?" 
 
 "Not a bit! 11 said Francesca. "Carlo made me stay 
 quite still, and then helped me out through the orchestra 
 and by the stage door -" 
 
 "Carlo!" exclaimed Captain Britton, in amazement. 
 And glancing round, he saw that the toreador was shaking 
 hands with Mr, Britton, and answering as best he mi^ht 
 the torrent of questions which assailed him on all sides. 
 
 " It is Signer Donati, the new barytone of whom all the 
 world speaks!" said one of the little crowd. " Via! I bell 
 you I should know him anywhere. The shops are full of 
 his photographs." 
 
 "And he has saved the pretty signorina from the fire?" 
 exclaimed another. 
 
 Captain Britton, forgetting for once in his genuine glow 
 of emotion that many eyes were watching him, drew near 
 to the hero of the evening. 
 
 "Carlo, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, seizing his hand 
 in a hearty grip, "I can never thank you enough 
 never!" 
 
 Something in his throat choked him, and Mr. Britton, 
 having suggested that rumors might possibly have reached 
 the Pilgrim, and that Clare and Kate might be anxious, 
 he quickly availed himself of the chance of escaping from 
 so trying a scene, and, with a parting shake of the hand, 
 and a "To-morrow!" spoken sotto voce, which conveyed 
 much to Carlo, he drew his daughter's arm within his, an4 
 led her away from the hotel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 YACHTING. 
 * Let us be like the bird for a moment perched 
 
 On a frail branch while he sings, 
 Though he feeli it bend yet he sings his song, 
 For he knows he has his wings." 
 
 "You look pale, Nita; I am afraid the fright of last 
 night has done you harm," said Carlo, coming into the 
 Merlinos' private sitting-room the next morning. "It is 
 just as well that the damage done to the theater will pre- 
 vent our keeping this engagement. They say the place is 
 to be closed for a fortnight, and after the horrors that 
 went on in the crush last night it is only decent," 
 
326 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "The wonder is that more were not killed," said Nita, 
 with a shudder. " Oh. I am so glad not to have to sing 
 again to-night; I should always be hearing again that hor- 
 rible cry." 
 
 ''Do not dwell on it; think of something else; it has 
 made you look quite ill," said Carlo, debating whether lie 
 should talk to her qf his own happiness, but coming to the 
 conclusion that she seemed too sad, and that it would bo 
 better not to touch on the subject. 
 
 "It is not the fright that has made me ill," she said, at 
 length. kt l must tell you, Carlino, all about it. Comerio 
 has been here. " 
 
 ' Here this morning?" he exclaimed. 
 
 she shivered from head to foot "and I made 
 him own that Mademoiselle De Caisne knew nothing of 
 that advertisement. He got her to write the letter easily 
 enough, for you know she was vexed with you. and he 
 made her believe that it was Miss Flora Britton whom you 
 were in love with, and then he posted the letter for her, 
 and put in the cutting from the Times. Just think of his 
 boasting to me of the cleverness of the trick!" 
 
 Carlo, with a muttered ejaculation, paced hurriedly to 
 and fro. trying to keep his indignation within bounds. 
 
 "He told me how he had got it printed," she continued, 
 "and expected me to praise him for it." 
 
 "And you?" asked Carlo, with dawning hope in his 
 tone. 
 
 " I told him that I would .never speak to him again," 
 said Nita. trying in vain to repress a sob. " But, Carlino, 
 I am afraid of him so terribly afraid. He looked as if he 
 could have killed me, and just went away without another 
 word. Oh, if only I had never seen him! If only I had 
 believed, like you, that nothing is impossible, and had re- 
 sisted from the first ! But he was always so strong, and I 
 so weak and friendless." 
 
 "But you have resisted now," said Carlo, trying to 
 comfort her. "And as to fearing what he may do, I 
 would try not to trouble about it, for, depend upon it, he 
 values his own safety too much to do anything desper- 
 ate; besides, if evil is strong, good is more strong. 1 * 
 
 " It doesn't seem to be in this world, at any rate," said 
 Nita. 
 
 "Do you think not? Perhaps it doesn't always con- 
 quer here at first, but that matters little, if in the end it 
 wins." 
 
 " You will not leave me?" she pleaded. " If you leave 
 the company my last chance is gone. Ah, do you remem- 
 ber how I hoped at Birmingham that you would go, and 
 that Comer io would take your place ? If he had spent those 
 
KNIGHT- ERR ANT. 827 
 
 years in America with us I should have been in hia 
 power now." 
 
 She shuddered, for something had shown her that morn- 
 ing the true nature of the man whom she had loved. 
 
 " I will never leave you," he said, quietly. 
 
 Through those three years of lonely work he had strug- 
 gled on. bearing Nita's selfish indifference, her fits of per- 
 verse ill-nature, and not daring to look on to the future. 
 Now the change had come upon him so suddenly that he 
 was almost overpowered by it. He had reaped the re ward 
 which can only come to those who live by the day ; having 
 toiled faithfully through tho darkness, he emerged sud- 
 denly into a flood of glorious sunshine. 
 
 4 'An English gentleman to see you, signor, in the sa- 
 Zoffo," announced a waiter. 
 
 Carlo's heart beat quickly as he went down-stairs, yet he 
 was less embarrassed than Captain Britton, who met him 
 with an overpowering shake of the hand, and then relapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 44 Francesca is none the worse for the fright, I hope?" 
 asked Carlo, anxiously. 
 
 44 Indeed, I think she is all the better for it," said the 
 captain, smiling a little. 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 "The fact is, Donati," resumed Captain Britton, drag- 
 ging his chair forward with a business-like air, and plant- 
 ing both elbows on the table, "there is no use in beating 
 about the bush; I have come here to ask you a plain 
 question, and I hope you'll give me a plain answer. Do 
 you still care for my child or not? Just answer me, yes or 
 no." 
 
 The bluff speech of the old sailor nearly took away the 
 Italian's breath, but if Captain Britton really expected him 
 to answer in a monosyllable to such a question he was dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 His face glowed, his eyes shone, yet, spite of the passion- 
 ate eagerness of his tone, there was a dignity in his man- 
 ner which appealed to the Englishman. 
 
 44 1 love her, sir, with my whole heart!" he said. 44 I 
 love her, and must always love her. We belong to each 
 other, and, though we may have to go through life apart, 
 yet she is mine and I am hers, and nothing can come be- 
 tween us." 
 
 44 So it seems," said the captain, rather ruefully. u Well, 
 I frankly tell you that I would rather see my daughter 
 married to a plain working-man than to an opera-singer; 
 but I have talked the matter over with my brother and 
 Miss Claremont, and since your love has stood the test of 
 % three-years' absence, and since Franceses, will not lend 
 
338 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 an ear to any other proposals, I am bound fro considei 
 -what is most for her happiness, though J can't candidly 
 tell you that it is such a match as I should have chosen for 
 her." 
 
 "Indeed," exclaimed Carlo, with a lover's genuine hu- 
 mility, " I know I can never deserve her, but " 
 
 " Nonsense," interrupted the captain; " I meant nothing 
 personal of that sort! You know well enough, Carlo, that 
 I am very fond of you, that I can never forget that you 
 
 saved her life " He began to feel choked, and broke 
 
 off abruptly. 
 
 'As to that," said Carlo, smiling, " it was nothing at 
 all. We only sat still when others were running away, 
 and I really think we forgot fire and danger altogether at 
 first. 1 ' 
 
 "Let us speak out plainly once for all," said Captain 
 Britton. clearing his throat, "and then have done with it 
 altogether. I dislike your profession, but I understand that 
 you have a great future before you in the musical world, 
 and I suppose nature meant you for an opera-singer, and 
 that there is no use in running one's head any longer 
 against a stone wall. After all, a man need not be affected 
 by his work, and perhaps dramatic talent was meant to be 
 used. I don't deny that there's something in that argu- 
 ment. And the great thing is that the stage doesn't seem 
 to have spoiled you, and that I know you'll make my child 
 a good husband." 
 
 Between his rapture of happiness, his anxiety not to irri- 
 tate the Englishman by allowing his feelings to appear too 
 plainly, and his dazzling visions of the future, Carlo found 
 his powers taxed to the utmost. But with an effort he 
 forced himself to enter into a sober discussion of the case, 
 recalled to Captain Britton's memory the fact that Uncle 
 Guide's inheritance had gladdened the hearts of the Little 
 Sisters of the Poor, and then told him plainly just how 
 matters stood with regard to Anita. 
 
 The captain was touched by his simple yet very graphic 
 way of telling a story. He began faintly to perceive the 
 rare beauty of his character. 
 
 "You are going to Naples now, at once, did I under- 
 stand ?" he asked, when at length Carlo paused. 
 
 ' We thought of going there now, since the theater will 
 be closed after this panic, and our engagement at the San 
 Carlo will soon be beginning. My brother-in law is going 
 to take a fortnight at the baths at LUCCR, for he has not 
 been well lately. I shall go home to Naples with Nita and 
 ber little boy." 
 
 ** Then coine with us in the Pilgrim/' said tte captain 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 329 
 
 " My brother begged that you would do so, and Sibyl will 
 be enchanted to have the little boy as a playmate." 
 
 After Nita had been consulted, and the matter had been a 
 little more discussed, the invitation was accepted, and by 
 the evening a general dispersion had taken place. Merlino 
 had gone off to his course of baths ; Sardoni and Domenica 
 had started joyfully on what they called their second wed- 
 ding-tour to the Italian lakes ; Carlo, Nita, and Gigi were 
 welcomed on board the Pilgrim ; and, in advance of all, 
 Comerio, with hatred in his heart, was making the best o 
 his way to Corsica. 
 
 Although, as Carlo had observed when he first set foot 
 on the yacht years ago, the Pilgrim was not at all a place 
 for talking secrets, yet the lovers were somehow well con- 
 tent, and enjoyed to the full those happy days of reunion. 
 The rest of the party had a kind way of playing whist in 
 the saloon when it grew dark ; and as to the man at the 
 wheel, they were quite untroubled by his presence, nor dis- 
 turbed themselves at all about the watch, who discreetly 
 kept to the forcastle end, and no doubt found plenty to say 
 among themselves as to the betrothal, which was now an 
 acknowledged fact. 
 
 "It is too good to seem true," said Carlo one evening, at 
 they sat together under the square-sail which was spread 
 to caf^h the light summer wind. On one side they could 
 see the dark, Italian coast, on the other the beautiful out- 
 line of the mountains in Elba, while the moon made an 
 ever-shifting track of light on the sea as they glided gently 
 on, and the red light from the port side cast a ruddy glow- 
 on the white sail towering above them. "How little I 
 thought," he added, " of having such a home-coming!" 
 
 "Yes," said Francesca; "and that it should have been 
 in the dear old Pilgrim ! How strange that is ! I used to 
 be so miserable here three years ago, and now it does 
 seem, as you say, almost too good to be true." 
 
 And the same happy faculty for living in the present, 
 which had stood Carlo in good stead through his years of 
 trouble, helped now to make his happiness perfect. No 
 lurking fear of Comerio spoiled those cloudless days, no 
 anxieties as to Nita's future, no troubles as to money mat- 
 ters. Marriage seemed still a far-away prospect, but they 
 were betrothed, and there could never again be between 
 them that wearing separation, that maddening dependence 
 on outsiders for the least news of each other. 
 
 "I had heard nothing of you for two months," said 
 Francesca, as again, to make their present brighter by 
 contrast, they talked over the troubles of the past; " but 
 that was better than having false news, You have 
 
330 
 
 the hardest part, darling, and yer you'll never kno* ho* 
 bitter it was to me in one way." 
 " What way?" he asked, tenderly. 
 
 " I couldn't tell you at Merlebank, but it was k&owing 
 that you were so poor, and having money myself, and not 
 being able to help you. Ah ! you'll never know how hard 
 it was to be able to give to any one in the world except to 
 the one you loved best. There is a little matter-of-fact bit 
 in * Aurora Leigh ' which I used to say fo? comfort." 
 * ' What was that ? Say it to me now. " 
 " * Let us be content in work, 
 
 To do the thing we can, and net presume 
 To fret because it's little.' >- 
 
 " I did fret, though, for, after all, we are most of us 
 like 'Alice in Wonderland 'very fond of giving ourselves 
 good advice, but seldom taking it !" 
 
 They laughed a little, and now it was the trouble that 
 seemed like a dream, and the happiness that had become 
 true, and real, and indisputable. And together they 
 paced the quiet deck, while below Nita's sweet, clear voice 
 sang the familiar air of 4I Oh, dolce Napoli," which Fran- 
 cesca loved because ol its happy associations. 
 
 "See Naples and die!" said Carlo, smiling, "I often 
 thought, over in America, that I would gladly have done 
 eo ; but now I think not, carina, much as I love it, Let us 
 ?;v x& #eople in real life don't die of joy." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A FINAL, CHOICE. 
 * So oft the doing of God's will 
 Our foolish ways undoethl 
 And yet what idle dream breaks fll 
 Which Morning Light subdueth? 
 And who would murmur and misdoubt 
 When God's great Sunrise finds him out?" 
 
 E. JB. Brvuwlng. 
 
 " AND so, after all, you have overcome the British prej- 
 udice and have only managed to lose your fortune!" ex- 
 claimed Enrico Hitter, looking his friend in the face with 
 a critical air. " It seems that you have got back your 
 health again, too. Upon my word, I think knight-errantry 
 is a profitable calling, always sup posing you haven't a can- 
 tankerous relative to cut you off with a shilling. I shall 
 think of taking it to myself soon." 
 
 Carlo had landed at Naples late on the previous evening, 
 and now, after the mid day breakfast with the Hitter 
 household and a long talk with his old friend, was making 
 his way back to the Palazzo Forti in the cool of the after- 
 noon, Be was in the best of spirits and had just been 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 831 
 
 giving Enrico the ^account of all that had passed during 
 the last few weeks. 
 
 " You still set up for being an egoist, I see," he replied, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 ' ' Well, every man must have his theory of the universe, " 
 said Enrico, with a mischievous side glance at his friend. 
 " Ah ! by the bye, you should shake your fist at that house 
 over there on the right ; it belongs to the Little Sisters of the 
 Poor, and ate up all your money." 
 
 "I should have been glad enough of some of it in 
 America," said Carlo, with a smile. " However, no 
 doubt our poor Neapolitans wanted it quite as badly. 
 Oh, wait! how fast you walk! Let us stop and see the 
 view from this terrace just for half a minute dear old 
 Capri again, how natural it looks ! You would laugh if 
 you knew how home -sick I have been over in the New 
 World." 
 
 "I must make a note of that," said Enrico. "In my 
 future knight-errantry I'll take good care to keep in 
 Italy." 
 
 And so, with laughter and friendly teasing, they walked 
 through the busy streets until they came in sight of the 
 dingy old palazzo, at the door of which a hostler was hold- 
 ing a beautiful, cream-colored horse. 
 
 " Come in and see Anita," said Carlo ; " she will have had 
 her siesta by this time." 
 
 And Enrico, though he detested Madame Merlino, con- 
 sented to go in to please his friend, and made himself very 
 amiable to her while Carlo opened a telegram which had 
 arrived for him during his absence. 
 
 The message was sent from Pozzuoli by Captain Britton, 
 and was to this effect: 
 
 "We hope you will dine with us to-night. I have or- 
 dered a horse to be sent round for you. Do not fail us." 
 
 "Nita, should you mind if I went to Casa Bella?" he 
 asked. " The captain seems to want me over there, for he 
 has even taken the trouble to send a horse for me. I will 
 be back, of course, to-night." 
 
 " If that was the horse we saw waiting outside you will 
 get there in no time," said Enrico; "it beats your old 
 Arab." 
 
 But this Carlo would not allow, and amid much lively 
 discussion as to his old favorite, he nodded a farewell to 
 Nita and Gigi, and ran down-stairs, his heart beating fast 
 at the prospect of seeing Francesca again so soon. 
 
 "Aw/ iviedersehnT said Enrico, as he watched his friend 
 ride away. And the bright look and gesture in response 
 kept recurring to him as he walked bock to his office. 
 
332 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 *' What in the world is that fellow made of?'' ho said to 
 himself. "He is forever upsetting all my calculations and 
 disturbing my pet theories. He even seems to have roused 
 up that heartless, insipid Anita; for the first time I 
 actually saw a kind of likeness between them. One could 
 at least tell that they were brother and sister." 
 
 To be once again on the familiar road to Pozzuoli made 
 : ' Brio's heart glow within him. Every tree, every house, 
 <-?emed like an old friend; his eyes noted each slight 
 ; hange wrought during the three years of absence, while 
 his mind recalled the past with little but a tender remem- 
 brance of the by- gone happiness. As he drew near to the 
 grotto of Posrilipo he instinctively slackened his pace a lit- 
 tle, glancing up with eyes full of glad recognition at the 
 lovely hillside, with its tangled growth of birch and pine 
 and cactus, clustering about the place which is supposed 
 to be the tomb of Virgil. 
 
 It was at this moment that a close carriage drove quickly- 
 past him; he would have taken no particular notice of ifc 
 had he not, with his keen and practiced observation, noted 
 even in the brief moment of passing the remarkably fine 
 eyes of one of the occupants. Where had he seen them 
 before? Both the eyes and the searching glance seemed 
 familiar to him, and, racking his memory, he at length 
 brought back a mental picture of a water-seller's stall, 
 and of a young man of strong and sinewy frame, who had 
 arrested his attention last night by a certain picturesque- 
 ness of attitude as he stood watching the crowd, glass in 
 hand ; for an instant they had looked full at each other, 
 and the piercing glance of the stranger had lingered in his 
 memory, and he had thought to himself as he passed on 
 that even in Italy one did not often encounter such splen- 
 did eves. 
 
 Entering the lofty archway of the grotto, he passed on 
 into the dark tunnel, which seemed to him more than ever 
 like the long nave of some vast cathedral, the lights gleam- 
 ing at intervals, making the surrounding gloom only more 
 apparent. He smiled a little to himself at the recollection 
 of sundry boyish terrors never confessed to any living 
 creature, and never given way to; he remembered how 
 now and then on his way home from Naples, there had 
 been times when the horrible feeling of an unknown 
 "something" waiting to spring out upon him from the 
 darkness had set bis heart beating fast, and had made him 
 resort in desperation to a Paternoster; and he acknowl- 
 edged to himself that there was, perhaps, some slight ex- 
 cuse for those past terrors, since, after all, the grotto was 
 an eerie place, and the road, even at this hour in the after- 
 noon, lonely enough. 
 
KNIGHT- ERR ANT. S36 
 
 But recollections of old times began to give place to the 
 absorbing consciousness that he was on his way to Fran- 
 cesca, and as he left the dimly-lighted tunnel behind him 
 and emerged into the dust and the afternoon sunshine, he 
 fell into a happy reverie. He was to see her again, and she 
 was his, and the trouble was all over, and the separation 
 ended, and life was so bright that already those weary years 
 seemed to him like a dream, and the glad anticipation like 
 a return to real waking existence. 
 
 She would be waiting for him at the gate of Casa Bella, 
 and they would go once more to the old belvedere where 
 he had first told her of his love ; he would make her stand 
 once more under the datura-tree where she had stood 
 long ago when the trouble was just beginning to darken 
 on the horizon, and he should see her now again, as he had 
 seen her so often in his dreams, with the creamy flowers 
 drooping down over her dusky hair and 'her eyes shining 
 into his. 
 
 He smiled to himself with the rapture of the thought, 
 and touched up his horse, grudging every moment that 
 kept him from his love. 
 
 He had ridden about two miles beyond the grotto, and 
 had nearly reached the cross-road which leads toward 
 Agnano, when he was roused from his dream of happiness 
 by his horse shying violently at the sudden apparition of 
 a man rushing across the road. All his attention was 
 needed to quiet the animal, and it was only when he found 
 himself surrounded by four formidable-looking ruffians 
 that he realized another danger. There was just time for 
 him to give his horse a smart stroke over the shoulder 
 which made it bound forward ; but the effort was useless, 
 
 might 
 
 it was only for a minute or two that he could even keep 
 his footing; a hand held his throat so tightly that to cry 
 out for help was impossible, to breathe at all difficult ; 
 and, though be fought gallantly, and by adroitness and 
 agility rather than strength, managed to*gi ve h* 3 captors 
 some trouble, it was inevitable that he should succumb. 
 Bruised, shaken, half choked by the relentless gripe on his 
 throat, heat length felt his strength overborne, and, strug- 
 gling to the end, was forced down on to the dusty road. 
 Then came a moment's breathing-space, for the hand at 
 his throat relaxed its hold, and another and a coarser hand 
 was subs*it:^>3d for ft. Cue of the men broke the silence, 
 speaking in a low, hurried voice. 
 
 " Now then, Lionbruno, the blow- quick P 1 
 
 '.to move was impossible. Three powerful men held him 
 
834 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 down in the dust; a fourth was apparently told off to 
 murder him. He had time for only two thoughts Co- 
 merio's vengeance and Francesca's grief; and the pang of 
 this last thought was so terrible that the prompt blow on 
 the head which put an end to consciousness was, perhaps, 
 more merciful than preparation or delay. 
 
 When he came to himself he remembered nothing that 
 had passed, but awoke to a consciousness of intense physical 
 misery. He gasped for breath and became aware that his 
 mouth was tightly bandaged ; there was, moreover, a cover- 
 ing over his face perhaps a shroud ! and in the horror of that 
 thought he instinctively tried to raise his hand and make 
 feeling supply the place of sight, but he found that his 
 arms were tightly strapped to his sides. Restored still 
 further to life by the mere astonishment and dismay, he 
 perceived that he was in a carriage which was being driven 
 rapidly along a rather rough road, his head ached terribly, 
 and felt heavy and confused, and he was sinking back into 
 a sort of stupor and vaguely wondering how long he 
 should have to bear the pain of t he jolting vehicle, when 
 the silence was broken by a voice near him. 
 
 '* Per Dio! who would have thought such a small-made 
 man would have given us so much trouble !" 
 
 "He fought so well that our courteous Lionbrunp was 
 in fifty minds about knocking him on the head," said an- 
 other speaker, sarcastically. 
 
 '* Accidente /" broke in a much younger voice ; " nothing 
 of the sort, I tell you. Comerio has had to pay a good 
 price for his pretty prima donna, but he has not given us 
 a lira too much for this business it was a risky thing in 
 full daylight. Sacramento ! the fellow is coming to him- 
 self!" 
 
 The mention of Comerio's name had brought back every- 
 thing to Carlo's remembrance, and the intolerable words 
 which followed filled him with an anguish which, for the 
 time, made the physical pain non-existent. He started for- 
 ward, found his feet unfettered, and began to writhe and 
 struggle in a vain effort to free his arms. Instantly strong 
 hands forced him down again, and heavy boots kicked his 
 shins into unwilling stillness. 
 
 " Be so good as to use your common sense, signor!" said 
 the young voice at his elbow. " You are our prisoner, and 
 wholly at our mercy. Your life is in no danger at pres- 
 ent, but if you resist we shall put an end to you to sav* 
 ourselves trouble." 
 
 "Bravo! bravo 1" cried another voice, stifling a laugh. 
 " Lionbruno is such an orator that we shall soon have him 
 as a deputy, and then he can travel free of cost!" 
 
 There wag a little more stifled laughter, then silence 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. "88ft 
 
 again, broken only by the sound of the horses' noofs and 
 the rumbling of the wheels. 
 
 Terrible thoughts rushed through Carlo's mind. He saw 
 Anita at the mercy of Comerio, her husband away, Sar- 
 doni out of reach, himself altogether powerless. The in- 
 tolerable realization of his own helplessness almost mad- 
 dened him, and his brain, still confused by the stunning 
 blow, refused to be controlled. If he could have seen 
 with his eyes if he could have asked one question 
 if he could have freed his arms from the cords whicli 
 bound them the horrible suspense and anxiety would 
 have been more bearable; but he was, as his captor 
 had said, wholly at the mercy of others, and the percep- 
 tion of this made him beside himself. It was the same 
 struggle magnified a thousand-fold which he had passed 
 through at the time of his illness for a man the hardest 
 struggle possible to endure an unnatural and undeserved 
 restraint, to be altogether helpless while conscious of 
 strength, and knowing that for that strength there is a ter- 
 rible demand. Such burning wrath consumed him, such 
 uncontrollable resentment, that it was, perhaps, well for 
 him that action was impossible, or, with the blind impulse 
 of a confused brain and a despairing heart, be might have 
 done some rash deed which in a cooler moment he would 
 bitterly repent. 
 
 At length the carriage stopped, and Carlo was dragged 
 out. The rough handling made him tingle from head to 
 foot, and with all his might he resisted, for he knew that 
 at present he stood on a road where there was at least a 
 possibility of meeting with help, and to what these brigands 
 were hurrying him he had no idea. 
 
 " No, use, signer!" said the voice at his side. " We are 
 four to one, and you only make matters worse for your- 
 self." 
 
 Something in the tone of the speaker appealed to Carlo. 
 His blood cooled a little, and he allowed himself to be led 
 through what he felt sure must be a thick wood, for he 
 could hear the rustle of the leaves as they forced their way 
 on, and could feel boughs brushing against him. As to 
 the distance they walked he could not form the slightest 
 idea. It seemed to him as if the journey would never end, 
 and his assailants were evidently in a hurry, for, spite of 
 the rough, uneven ground, they went at a sharp pace, and 
 when exhaustion made him hang back a little, he found 
 himself impatiently urged on by Lionbruno. who, through- 
 out the walk, grasped his arm, while the men who brought 
 up the rear pushed, kicked, and hustled him at every op- 
 portunity. 
 
 At last he was so worn out that it was all he could da to 
 
638 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 drag one foot after the other, the craving for air and light 
 became more and more keen, and, had it not been for the 
 iron grasp in which he was held, he would have fallen to 
 the ground. A sort of dull comfort in the thought that it 
 must sooner or later end was his only relief and presently 
 the way became clearer, he heard other voices, and felt other 
 men approaching him. Some one tore off the bandages 
 which had kept him blind and dumb for so Ipng, and then, 
 dazzled and confused, he looked around. 
 
 He found himself in a domed building, which seemed to 
 him a smaller edition of thp old Roman bath at Baja, 
 known as the Temple of Mercury. It was lighted only by 
 two torches, which, however, shed a pretty strong light on 
 the strange group beneath. Half a dozen rough, ill- clad 
 men were clustered together close to a stone bench, on 
 which was seated the leader of the gang, a powerful-look- 
 ing man, whose rugged face and uncompromising mouth 
 instantly checked all the hope that rose in Carlo's heart 
 when he found himself capable once more of seeing and 
 speaking. 
 
 Brancnleone was not at all the ferocious and cruel-look- 
 ing brigand chief of his boyish fancies ; he was much more 
 like an officer of the martinet type, but his face was as 
 hard as a rock, and he was evidently a person from whom 
 no quarter was to be expected. 
 
 " Successful, you see, in my first enterprise, padre mio!" 
 said the young fellow who had been addressed as Lion- 
 bruno. 
 
 Carlo looked at him, and saw that he could not have 
 been more than eighteen at the outside. Undoubtedly he 
 was the same picturesque figure whom he had noticed yes- 
 terday by the water- seller's stall ; and now, as he st9od be- 
 side the chief, bowing respectfully yet speaking with the 
 freedom of a son, the likeness between the two faces was 
 quite noticeable. In twenty years' time, if he lived the 
 same lawless life, the young face would be probably an 
 exact reproduction of the old. 
 
 Brancaleone turned his haughty gaze upon the prisoner. 
 
 " Your name, signer?" he inquired. 
 
 "I am Carlo Poerio Donati," he replied. "For what 
 purpose have you brought me here? If money is your ob- 
 ject, I am as poor as any man in Naples." 
 
 The chief did not answer, but ordered one of the banditti 
 to search the prisoner. The man ooeyed, and handed the 
 contents of Carlo's pockets to the leader, who at once sin- 
 gled out the watch and chain and handed them to Lion- 
 bruno. 
 
 lt This is your share, my son; you have done well," ha 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 991 
 
 The rest of the things he pushed collectively toward the 
 three men who had helped in the capture ; they snatched 
 eagerly at the purse, and grumbled much to find so little 
 in it. 
 
 Meanwhile Carlo stood motionless. Sometimes it seemed 
 to him that the whole scene must be some wild imagina- 
 tion of his own brain. Had he. perhaps, been so over- 
 wrought by the hurrying griefs and joys of the past few 
 weeks that his mind had become deranged? Or was he 
 asleep, and was it all a dream arising out of some con- 
 fused recollections of the struggling he had witnessed in 
 the panic, and fantastically blended with the gypsy camp 
 ecene in * ' Carmen?" A horrible giddiness seized him the 
 result, probably, of the blow he had received and the ex- 
 hausting walk which had followed. He staggered a little, 
 but recovered himself, and once more turned to the chief 
 with the same question : 
 
 ** For what purpose have you brought me here?" 
 
 "You bear a name, signor, that I once revered," s*dd 
 the chief, coldly ; " and for the sake of that I will answer 
 you, though I am not usually questioned by my prisoners. 
 You come here to replenish my purse. There are those 
 who were willing to pay well for my son's little escapade, 
 and your stay here will be quite free of cost to your- 
 self." 
 
 " I will double the sum if you will release me at oncel" 
 exclaimed Carlo. 
 
 But the chief shook his head. 
 
 " In the words of the proverb, signor, 'E meglio aver 
 oggi un uovo che dimani una gallina^ nor do I ever turn 
 from my word. Rocco, make haste with the irons 1" 
 
 Again that horrible, giddy confusion rose in Carlo's 
 brain ; he was very dimly aware of what happened during 
 the next few minutes; but the paroxysm passed, and he 
 found that they were leading him through a catacomb, and 
 that Lionbruno, torch in hand, headed the procession. 
 The passage ended in a sort of rude cell which showed 
 signs of habitation, and here his guards left him, with 
 Lionbruno only as sentinel. He noticed that his arms had 
 been unstrapped, but that there was a chain round hi8 
 waist to whicri one foot and one hand were attached, and 
 the weight of iron was so great that he could only mova 
 with difficulty. He remembered that Poerio himself had 
 worn such fetters for years, and again the dream- like feel- 
 ing crept over him. He could hardly persuade himself 
 that he was actually Carlo Donati, the singer, living in the 
 peaceful days of King Humbert. 
 
 Meanwhile, the son of the chief was regarding the firsl 
 prisoner for whose capture he was responsible! with some* 
 
336 
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 thing like embarrassment. He had expected on the part 
 of his victim an abject terror, a piteous appeal for mercy, 
 which would effectually have steeled his heart against 
 him, which would have genuinely pleased his pride, and 
 made opportunities for cruelty delightful. But now that 
 he had got his wish, and with exceptional coolness and 
 daring had kidnapped his man in broad daylight and 
 within a few miles of Naples, he found, much to his dis- 
 gust, that, far from feeling himself a hero, he had a vague 
 sense of discomfort and shame, for which he could not in 
 the least account. 
 
 ''You still feel the effects of the blow, signer?" he in- 
 quired, pushing together with his foot the shavings which 
 nad accumulated about a carpenter's bench thac stood in a 
 corner of the cell. 4 * You had better lie down and rest." 
 He made a gesture toward the pile of shavings, wondering 
 greatly at himself as he did so. 
 
 Carlo, however, took no heed of the suggestion ; instead, 
 he drew nearer to his jailer. 
 
 " I am your prisoner," he said gravely, " and wholly at 
 your mercy, as you reminded me just now; but we are 
 fellow-men. Do not keep me any longer in the dark ! Tell 
 me what Comer io means to do P 
 
 "What is that to us?" replied Lionbruno. "For the 
 present our share of the work is done, and for the rest who 
 cares? In any case, Brancaleone will get his money. As 
 for your fate, I don't care a fig about it one way or the 
 other !" 
 
 " You are more of a man and less of a brute than you 
 would have me think," replied Carlo; " but it is not of my 
 fate I ask. Tell me what Comerio means to do! I know 
 that he is at the bottom of this plot ; I should have known 
 it even had I not heard your words in the carriage !" 
 
 4i So you did hear them? And that was what made you 
 fight again for your freedom? Take my advice, signer, 
 and do not ask too many questions. Corpo di Bacco! 
 Must you, then, hear all? well, in two days' time you 
 will have your limbs freed from those irons, or, if not, 
 why, your soul will be freed from your body, which comes 
 to the same thing in the end !" 
 
 ''Can you not speak plainly? Do you mean that my 
 life depends on Comerio's whim?" 
 
 kk Not on Comerio at all, but on your sister. Look here, 
 it is all as orderly as a ceremony on zfesta ! Comerio goes 
 to her to-night, wins her consent to leave the country with 
 him, and exchanges a white handkerchief with our Nea- 
 politan agent, who on Wednesday night will pass it on to 
 us, and from that moment you are a free man once more. 
 Or, on the other hand, Madame Merlino refuses her lover'e 
 
RNIGKT-ERKANT. 339 
 
 suggestion definitely, Comerio disappears from the scene, 
 having dropped a red handkerchief with our agent, and 
 on Thursday you look your last on this world. That is the 
 matter w a nutshell, signor." 
 
 Carlo's heart gave a bound, then a cold chill ran through 
 him ; he had indeed grown pretty well accustomed to the 
 idea of possible violence at the hands of Comerio; he knew 
 the Corsican's nature too well to expect him to behave, for 
 instance, like an Englishman or an American; but, al- 
 though he had never been lacking in courage, it appalled 
 him to think that for two days and two nights he must 
 wait in this dismal cell, and at the end of the time be mur- 
 dered in cold blood. Yet what was the other alternative? 
 Either Anita must live in sin, or he must die there was 
 no escape from the dilemma ! To desire his own life meant 
 that he desired her moral death ; to pray for his own safe- 
 keeping meant that he prayed for her ruin. And yet he 
 clung to life with the strong natural instinct of a healthy 
 man. Only a few weeks ago all had been hard and dreary 
 for him ; but now, with Francesca his own once more, with 
 the prospect of fame sweetened by her loving sympathy, 
 with health and vigor, and all the ardent desires of youth, 
 how was it possible for him to be willing to be done to 
 death in this dismal catacomb? 
 
 After all, under the circumstances, would it be such a 
 sin on Anita's part? Was not Merlino ill-tempered enough 
 to excuse such a step? Were not his own notions about 
 marriage old-fashioned, as Sardoni had always declared? 
 Thoughts such as these just glanced through his mind, yefc 
 gave him but a momentary struggle, because the life he 
 had lived for the last three years made him on this point 
 practically invulnerable. The real anguish lay in the 
 temptation to put Francesca above everything above his 
 conscience, above his sense of honor and duty. How 
 could he desire that which must condemn her to grief and 
 loneliness, which must cause her the most cruel of shocks, 
 and blight her whole life? It was the old, old story of 
 the innocent suffering for the guilty, of the strong bearing 
 the burden of the weak, and his mind revolted from the 
 thought of sorrow visiting the woman he loved best ; lie 
 turned in horror from the apparent injustice of the law of 
 life. 
 
 But while he lay there face downward on the heap of 
 shavings in dumb, hopeless anguish, there came to him all 
 at once the strangest consciousness that, although he was 
 chained, fettered, and guarded a most helpless prisoner, 
 not even knowing where his underground cell could be, 
 yet that in his keeping lay Anita's fate. He knew, as he 
 knew the fact of ids own existence, that if he could not 
 
S40 
 
 bring his will to accept this thought of being murdered, 
 neither would she allow herself to be saved from wrong- 
 doing at the expense of his life. At this very moment, 
 she, too, was probably wrestling with deadly temptation. 
 Her love for him, so lately awakened, would impel her to 
 save him at all costs, while Comerio's power over her would 
 be increased tenfold by this devilish scheme w r hich had 
 been so cunningly laid. Clearly the Corsican was deter- 
 mined to win her, while, for the time, Carlo had staggered 
 under the blow dealt him by his enemy, and was pausing, 
 as men must, to look the evil in the face, to count the cost 
 as they are distinctly told to do, that so they may be ready 
 for the worst. 
 
 Anita was even now making her final choice. Whatever 
 the scientific or spiritual explanation of the matter might 
 be, he knew that there was between them some direct 
 power of influence, some will-force, which made her de- 
 cision depend on his actual readiness for sacrifice. It was 
 clearly impossible that she should be saved by a figment 
 of the imagination a mere belief in his readiness. He 
 must definitely desire that she might be saved from Co- 
 merio, cost him what it would, before she could be so in- 
 fluenced by his devotion as to choose what was really 
 right. It must be a living fact, not a hazy illusion, which 
 would save his sister. 
 
 And yet how could he desire that which would bring 
 bitter grief to Francesca, disappointment to all his hopes 
 of work in the world, a sudden end to his career? It would 
 not even be a beautiful and glorious death like his father's 
 or his grandfather's, but a miserable end like some animal 
 in a slaughter-house, a horrible, degrading death in a den 
 of robbers without a single friend to comfort him, without 
 one farewell to those he loved ! And with that the tears 
 started to his eyes, for he saw once more the carriage just 
 outside the arsenal gates, he remembered how Francesca 
 had smiled at him for the last time when he parted from 
 her on leaving the yacht, and recalled the bright hope 
 which had thrilled in her voice as she spoke that A ri- 
 vederci I 
 
 " My God!" he cried, "how can 1 be willing to diel It 
 is more than man can bear !" 
 
 Choking with emotion, and with a craving for air, he 
 raised himself a little, turning his face instinctively to- 
 ward the light. 
 
 Apparently Lionbrnno added to his character of brigand 
 the more peaceful callings of carpenter and carver, and by 
 some curious irony of fate, his carvings were almost all of 
 them ecclesiastical ; in this secret retreat of banditti were 
 to be found delicately-carved alms-boxes, destined for 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 41 
 
 some rich cathedral or church; beautifully designed 
 rosaries, which might some day find a home in the private 
 oratory of a wealthy noble, and crosses by the dozen, be- 
 cause for them the market was always good. Carlo was 
 so much accustomed to observing things carefully, that he 
 instinctively took in all these little details, spite of his 
 grievous trouble. Lionbruno had set up a couple of torches 
 in a carved sconce, had lighted a small lamp with a tin 
 reflector, and, seated on a stool beneath it, was working 
 with apparent laziness, but with wonderful effect, on a 
 crucifix. 
 
 For some minutes Carlo watched in silence the carving 
 of one of the pierced hands, then a flood of light suddenly 
 overpowered his darkness. Was it more than a man could 
 bear, this that had come to him? 
 
 He could not submit, no healthy human nature could 
 submit, to objectless pain or needless sacrifice ; but could 
 not he, too, seek only to do God's will and quietly take 
 the consequences, facing world, and flesh, and devil, as 
 the Divine Man had done in the strength of dauntless 
 faith? 
 
 Yes, he felt that it was possible. There was in the very 
 depths of his being something upon which he could at will 
 fall back, a strength infinitely greater than this craving 
 for the joys of life and love and freedom; stronger, too, 
 than that side of his love for FrangKsca, which made him 
 tremble at the thought of her grief and loneliness. 
 
 Carlo was no theologian, probably he could not have put 
 into many-syllabled, terms his own firm belief, but he had 
 the insight of a pure heart and the vigor of one who has 
 always tried to conquer his own weaknesses. In a very 
 simple and literal way he believed that God was his 
 Father, not in name only, but in very truth. He knew 
 that he, in common with every human being, had it in his 
 power to live as a son or as an alien ; and he knew, by that 
 most sure proof, the experience of daily life, that he could 
 only overcome the cravings of selfishness by a constant ef- 
 fort to come into closer union with that life-giving Spirit 
 to whom he was truly akin, that so his spirit might not 
 starve, but grow and develop. 
 
 The confusion, caused by physical weakness, and the 
 shock of finding himself at the mercy of the merciless, 
 began to fade, as he realized the strength of thai wisdom 
 and love and peace which reigns above all the sin of the 
 world, and which is, in truth, "taking it away'- by the 
 eternal power of love and sacrifice. He felt a sort of sur- 
 
 Erise that only a few minutes ago the struggle witMn him 
 ad been so desperate, the revolt against his fate so vehe- 
 ment. After all, what did it mutter if, for a time, evil 
 
342 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 seemed to triumph and might seemed to conquer right? 
 Had it not always seemed to be so since the beginning of 
 the world? And yet had not good steadily advanced, 
 triumphant through apparent defeat? Above all the an- 
 guish of his grief and pain and loss there came to him, as 
 there had often come during those three years, a wonder- 
 ful happiness, the pure delight of realizing the perfect will 
 of God, and with his whole heart trying to do it. 
 
 Looked at through this other atmosphere, the future 
 seemed less formidable to meet, though not one whit lesa 
 important. A wave of horror passed over him as he real- 
 ized what might be happening at that very moment, and all 
 thought of self died within him, as, in terrible reaction, he 
 passed from the vision of perfect purity and love to the 
 thought of impurity and sin. In an agony he prayed, will- 
 ing now to die a thousand deaths rather than that Anita 
 should sink into this black abyss, this hellish contradiction 
 to all love and light. 
 
 It mattered nothing to him that many would consider 
 his adhesion to Christ's law as to marriage mere old-fash- 
 ioned prejudice; it mattered nothing to him that the 
 worldly-wise would say he was throwing away his 
 life for the sake of keeping his sister from the infringe- 
 ment of a conventional law. He knew that it was not 
 so. For since it is the pure in heart who see God, it is 
 also the pure in heart who intuitively shrink from evil, 
 and realize without analyzing the hatefulness of impur- 
 ity. 
 
 So the night hours passed by, and he prayed unceasingly 
 for Xita's safety. 
 
 It was not till morning that the thought of his own posi- 
 tion returned to him. 
 
 " This must be Tuesday," he reflected, as he rose from 
 his rough bed. " To-morrow I shall die." 
 
 But the thought had lost its bitterness, for, after all, death 
 would mean victory. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 4i 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " ALL GOETH BUT GOD'S 
 
 * Whatso it be, howso it be, Amen. 
 
 Blessed it is, believing, not to see. 
 Now God knows all that is: and we shall then, 
 
 Whatso it be. 
 God's Will is best for man whose will is free. 
 
 God's Will is better to us, yea, than ten 
 Desires whereof he holds and weighs the key. 
 
 ****** 
 
 He knows all wants, allots each where and when. 
 Whatso it be." 
 
 Christina fiossettt, 
 
 " You have passed a bad night, signer, "remarked Lion- 
 bruno, glancing up from his work at the prisoner. 
 
 Carlo, who to the last retained his sense of fun, saw 
 the double meaning which the remark might bear, and 
 smiled. 
 
 * k I have not slept," he replied. " And you?" 
 
 "I?" said Lionbruno, shrugging his shoulders, "hare 
 had to wake also, that I might keep guard." 
 
 *' Do you think, then, that escape would be possible in 
 such irons as these? ' 
 
 "No, it would be impossible, even if the approach to the 
 upper air were not well guarded. But it is one of Branca- 
 leone's laws that a prisoner should be watched night and 
 day. It would have been irksome enough had I not turned 
 you to account as a model " 
 
 The crucifix was now quite finished, and the carver, 
 struck by the face he had had to watch through those long 
 hours, had reproduced it in the wood with marvelous ac- 
 curacy, catching precisely the expression of pain, with 
 steadfast hope underlying'it, which the prisoner's face had 
 borne through the night. 
 
 The features, too, had been reproduced so accurately 
 that Carlo could not but recognize himself. He looked 
 shocked, then pained, finally a faint smile dawned in his 
 eyes, and he fell into deep thought. 
 
 Lionbruno left him for a few minutes, returning pres- 
 ently with a long loaf of bread tucked under his arm, a 
 flask of chianti swinging from his wris-t, and a huge basin 
 of macaroni in his hands. 
 
 "Come," he said, with rough good -nature, "let us eat. 
 I am hungry if you are not." 
 
 In silence they shared the food. The cell was now only 
 lighted by one torch, which cast an orange glow over the 
 carved crosses and crucifixes, and shone upon the faces of 
 the $wo strangely- contrasted men. Carlo, worn out with 
 
344 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 aa ne had gone through, looked pale and exhausted; but 
 Lionbruno was in nowise fatigued by his want of sleep, 
 and ate with the voracious appetite of a schoolboy. Carlo 
 watched him with a good deal of curiosity, wondering 
 greatly what his history could be. 
 
 'Where did you learn to carve like that?" he said at 
 length, glancing once more at the crucifix. 
 
 "It was the one useful thing taught me at school, the one 
 thing I ever took the pains to learn," said Lionbruno, with 
 a laugh. " And when I had mastered all they could teach 
 me, why, I ran away." 
 
 " Was it at Naples?" 
 
 " No, at Rome," continued Lionbruno, throwing himself 
 lazily on the heap of shavings, and yielding to the fascina- 
 tion of Carlo's manner, as most people did. "Diavolo! 
 what did I not suffer in those years ! Cooped up in a great 
 stone building, watched every moment, guarded as though 
 I had been a girl, and nothing to hope for in the future but 
 the wretched lii'e of a priest." 
 
 "A priest?'' echoed Carlo, in astonishment. 
 
 " Ay, a preposterous notion, was it not? A mere whiw 
 of my mother's peace to her soul." He crossed himsei/-' 
 with indescribable rapidity. It was the last almostuncon- 
 sciotis tribute he still paid to the faith which his mother 
 had held, but in which he himself had ceased to believe. 
 * My father, willing to please her on her death-bed, prom- 
 ised that they should make a priest of me, and he did his 
 best; but what would you have? It is not possible to turn 
 a wolf into a sheep-dog, or an eagle into a canary. I bore 
 it till I was seventeen, then, one night " he rubbed his 
 hands with glee at the mere recollection "one delightful, 
 moonless ^ight, the happiest in all my life, I broke loose 
 from the fold, got a disguise, was within an ace of being 
 caught, and at last got home to Corsica, half starved, but 
 free, and as happy as a king." 
 
 " Then Corsica is your home?" 
 
 '* Insomma! I have run on, forgetting that possibly you 
 will be free again to-morrow, and may betray us." 
 
 Ho looked annoyed, and half inclined to be angry. 
 
 " Do not be uneasy," said Carlo. *' This is my last day 
 in the world, and even did I wish to do so I could not pos- 
 sibly betray your haunts." 
 
 44 You seem to look death in the face calmly enough; but 
 it is far more likely that you will be set free." 
 
 Carlo shook his head. 
 
 " If I were set free it would mean that my whole life 
 had failed. Something tells mo that is not so. Therefore, 
 you see, I must face the thought of death. And, while wo 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 345 
 
 are speaking of it, just tell me how it will be. Am I to be 
 shot?" 
 
 Lionbruno's great black eyes were full of wonder ; they 
 were very much like the eyes of some animal. He was 
 completely puzzled by his companion, and somehow awed 
 by him. 
 
 " No," he said ; " that could not be, here." 
 
 " What, then stabbed?" 
 
 Lionbruno shook his head. 
 
 "Poisoned, or perhaps hung?" 
 
 Again the young brigand made a gesture of dissent; 
 then, with unmistakable meaning, he drew out his knife, 
 and passed it lightly across his own throat, glancing sig- 
 nificantly at the prisoner. 
 
 Carlo had too vivid an imagination not to shrink a lit- 
 tle from the picture which presented itself to his mind ; he 
 grew suddenly cold, and felt a strange stirring in his heart, 
 and a tightening about the muscles of his throat. But he 
 quickly recovered himself, and, with no perceptible effort, 
 returned to the interrupted story. 
 
 ' ' And so you escaped from your school-life, and from all 
 espionage. At first it must have been delightful." 
 
 " Dio! I should think it was," exclaimed the boy. " To 
 be out in the woods night and day, to have done with the 
 hateful old routine, and for work to have nothing but ad- 
 venture and excitement why, it was paradise !" 
 
 " I fancied all the banditti had been captured at the time 
 of the great extermination," said Carlo. 
 
 Lionbruno's face grew dark. 
 
 " That time gave us a blow from which we shall never 
 recover," he said. "But my father somehow baffled all 
 detection, and he will always baffle it, for he is more than 
 a match for the Italian police in a body. Nothing but 
 treachery could possibly beat him, and among the whole 
 band there is not one man who would betray him, though 
 they offered him his weight in diamonds." 
 
 " I can imagine that he would always meet with obedi- 
 ence and loyalty," said Carlo, recalling the powerful face 
 of the chief. 
 
 " Anywhere he would be king of men," said Lionbruno, 
 proudly. "And since the world gave him the cold shoul- 
 der, he must be king of banditti. Did you hear but a 
 month or two back of the highway robberies in Corsica? 
 They were planned and carried put by Brancaleone. Do 
 you remember how Count Feroni was carried off in Sicily, 
 and kept up in the mountains till the ransom was paid? 
 That again was due to Brancaleone. And the great jewel 
 robbery in Naples, that, too, was the work of our band. 
 We a-re like the lightning, here, there, and every where j 
 
our work is done in a flash, and then presto ! all is dark- 
 ness once more, and no one can lay hold of us." 
 
 " I remember now hearing of the disappearance of Count 
 Feroni, " said Carlo, ' ' though the details were never pub- 
 lished, perhaps for the sake of our country's honor. Do 
 you know what that work of yours did? It killed the 
 count's mother; she died of the shock before his return." 
 
 "Ebbene! we must all die sooner or later," said Lion 
 bruno, coolly. 
 
 There was an indignant light in Carlo's eyes which made 
 the young Corsican shift his position uneasily. 
 
 " And this work of yours yesterday," continued Carlo ; 
 " it will not only end in murder, it will break hearts and 
 blight lives. Will you be proud of doing such devil's work 
 as that?" 
 
 " A man must live," said Lionbruno, gloomily ; *' I only 
 do what I was brought up to do. As to cruelty, Branca- 
 leone would not have the hold which he has on the hearts 
 of the people were he a cruel chief. No prisoner has ever 
 been ill-used by him, and if a man must be put out of the 
 way, why, it is done promptly and without barbarity. 
 The day for such things is past; we, too, are civilized, our 
 plots are more refined, as well as more successful, now 
 that we have the telegraph always at our command." 
 
 Carlo started. 
 
 " Do you mean, then, that the telegram I had yesterday 
 was your doing? Was it a mere trick 2" 
 
 Lionbruno laughed, and rubbed his hands together. 
 
 " Was it not clever? The first idea was a note of invita- 
 tion from the English captain ; but then there would have 
 been the danger of the handwriting not being right. The 
 telegram was my notion, and the sending it in English 
 made it doubly safe ; it was only because I had thought of 
 it that I was given the charge of the whole affair, for, after 
 all, I am young for such work. Dio! what sport it was! 
 The watching for the yacht, and dogging your steps every- 
 where, while all the time you were so happily ignorant; 
 then the breathless race to Pozzuoli to send the telegram, 
 and the anxiety of the afternoon when we did not know 
 whether, perhaps, you might not, after all, refuse to go. 
 How happy 1 was when I saw you by the Grotto of Posil- 
 ipo ! And you, too, looked happy. Ah, I shall never again 
 have a better bit of sport!" 
 
 Carlo shuddered ; the unblushing avowal made him re- 
 coil as from some hellish thing. He did not say a word, 
 but Lionbruno noted his expression, and never forgot it. 
 
 " Come!" he said, his tone suddenly changing, "I can't 
 stay all day in this dull hole. We will see what the others 
 are up tot" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 847 
 
 "Can I not stay here in quiet?" pleaded Carlo. 
 
 But Lionbruno was inexorable. A prisoner must be 
 watched day and night, and Carlo had to endure as best 
 he could the long hours of that weary day, while his young 
 guard whiled away the time with cards, raora, and idle 
 jesting with the elder men of the band. 
 
 At length night came, and once more prisoner and jailer 
 made their way through the winding catacomb to the inner 
 cell. Lionbruno, who had slept at intervals through the 
 day, took up his carving once more, and Carlo, wearied 
 with the noise arid confusion which for so many hours he 
 had had to bear, and still suffering from the effects of the 
 blow he had received, stretched himself again on the heap 
 of shavings. 
 
 "My last night," he reflected ; then, turning to the young 
 Corsican, asked what time the messenger would arrive the 
 next day. 
 
 "Possibly not till midnight," replied Lionbruno, paus- 
 ing in his work to look at tho prisoner : ' ' but you will be 
 placed in readiness at eleven. After all, I would as soon 
 not see you murdered, though I know you think me a sort 
 of devil." 
 
 "I think you nothing of the kind," said Carlo, with a 
 vigor of denial which startled his companion. " The pity 
 of it is that you are a man, meant for something very dif- 
 ferent, and yet willing to do the devil's work." 
 
 "I am only taking by force the share of property that 
 the world won't give to me fairly," said Lionbruno, dog- 
 
 gedly. "If all things were equally divided there would 
 be no need of banditti. As for your devil, I don't believe 
 in him, nor in your God either; and that, too," he pointed 
 to the crucifix "it is all a fable! If it were true, why, 
 instead of paying a hundred lire for a carving like this, 
 to put in a private oratory, men would be dying on crosses 
 themselves!" 
 
 Lionbruno, with his school recollections, and his angry 
 bias against everything connected with the church, would 
 certainly have had the best of it in an argument, but Carlo 
 was too well accustomed to living with people who de- 
 spised all that he most revered, to feel moved to speak ; ho 
 had learned long ago that, as a rule, words do but stir up 
 strife, and that he at any rate must keep to deeds. He was 
 quite silent now, and through the long, quiet hours tho 
 vehement words that had last sounded in the cell kept 
 ringing in his ears. Partly from the strain of physical and 
 mental suffering, partly from a growing sense of nearness 
 to the unseen world, he had all along found it very hard 
 to realize his surroundings ; the old Koman building, hid. 
 ten away below the earth's surface, the winding 
 
348 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 comb, the gloomy little cell with the carvings 
 against the rocky wall, all seemed to him more like scenes 
 that he had read about than actual places where he \vaa 
 now living. Brancaleone, too, and his followers, seemed 
 to him like people in a dream that is over, though he had 
 listened all day to their foul talk, and wearied of their 
 noisy quarrels. But something in the words which his 
 companion had last spoken roused him to a greater feeling 
 of reality; he made an effort to realize to himself the sort 
 of life that this mere boy of eighteen was living, and the 
 more he realized it the more he pitied him, and the more 
 he felt drawn to him. Again and again his eyes turned to 
 the dark, resolute, handsome face of the young Corsican ; it 
 had not yet acquired the cold wickedness of Brancaleone's 
 face, it was too young and boyish for that, too full of mere 
 animal delight in existence; but another year or two of 
 this wild life would make him merely a younger and more 
 headstrong edition of his father. 
 
 " You do not sleep, signor," observed Lionbruno, look- 
 ing up from his work as the pris9ner moved restlessly, and 
 the dismal sound of clanking irons echoed through the 
 quiet cell. 
 
 ' They say a condemned prisoner always sleeps well on 
 his last night," said Carlo; ** but I never felt more wake- 
 ful in my life." 
 
 ''Then tell me your story," said Lionbruno, "for it 19 
 dull enough with nothing to do but keep guard. I told 
 you of my life yesterday, now tell me of yours." 
 
 Willing to please his companion, and with a feeling 
 that on this his last night it would comfort him to go 
 once more over his memories of the past, Carlo told in 
 his spontaneous, graphic fashion the story of his life, 
 and Lionbruno listened with rapt attention, partly be- 
 cause the prisoner was a good raconteur, but chiefly be- 
 cause he was conscious of something which was a most 
 novel contrast to anything he had yet come across in 
 the world. It was nothing but a summary of facts which 
 Carlo gave him, but Lionbruno was artist enough to have 
 a quick eye for beauty, and a capability of reading be- 
 tween the lines, as it were, while the mingled openness 
 and reserve of the story, the lack of self -consciousness, 
 yet the innate modesty of the speaker, forced him to per- 
 ceive a new idea. 
 
 His own words returned to him " If it were true, men 
 would be dying on crosses themselves!" Then he looked 
 from the carved crucifix to the face of the prisoner, and 
 again back to the crucifix. After all, was it something 
 more than a fable? Deep down in his heart there wak- 
 ened a new, uncomfortable, unwelcome conviction, which 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 34$ 
 
 he did his Dest to smother, because he saw that it would 
 work havoc in his life, and Lionbruno in this respect was 
 as lazy and conservative as most people ; a revolution in 
 society was what he longed for, but a revolution in his 
 own heart and life could not bo tolerated; the bare idea 
 made him feel as uncomfortable and perturbed as a 
 wealthy land-owner who thinks with dread of a possible 
 reform of the land laws. 
 
 All the next day he was markedly civil to his prisoner. 
 He even sacrificed himself so far as to remain in the dreary 
 little cell, instead of insisting, as before, on spending the 
 time with the rest of the gang. Carlo spolse little, for 
 grief and suspense and the long-continued sleeplessness 
 had brought him almost to the last stage of exhaustion, 
 but what few words he did say were courteous and pleas- 
 ant, and in tone not otherwise than cheerful. Lionbruno 
 began to think more and more distastefully of the scene 
 that would be enacted that evening, and, as the time drew 
 near, he could bear it no longer, but summoning one of 
 the elder men to keep guard in his place, sought out the 
 chief and begged to speak alone with him. 
 
 Brancaleone led the way from the gloomy underground 
 retreat to the open air. Already it was dark, but here and 
 there through the thick foliage were little spaces through 
 which stars gleamed down coldly. Lionbruno gave a gasp 
 of relief as he found himself once more above ground, for 
 the atmosphere down below was not a little trying to one 
 accustomed to an out-door life. 
 
 "Padre mio" he said, boldly, "should the red flag be 
 cent to-night? Why should you not keep the prisoner 
 longer and make money out of him? He has rich friends, 
 he is a popular singer, thousands would be interested in 
 his fate, we could extort an enormous ransom." 
 
 "Is that all you have to say?" said Brancaleone, with 
 scorn. " Did you ever know me go back from my word? 
 If Comerio is true to his bargain, do you think I shall play 
 him false?" 
 
 " At least I have gome right to speak for the prisoner, 
 since I was the one who took him," said Lionbruno, with 
 deep resentment in his voice. 
 
 "No right whatever," said the chief, coldly; "you are 
 merely one of my hands ; your duty is to obey orders, not 
 to think." 
 
 "I tell you," said Lionbruno, with an angry gesture, 
 " if you kill him you will regret it some day. A man like 
 that can't be murdered lightly." 
 
 " What do you know about him?" said the chief, taunt- 
 
 * k I kaow that he is the only true man, I have ever seea, 
 
350 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 while we are brutes worse than brutes!" said Lionbruno, 
 with passionate vehemence. 
 
 Brancaleone suddenly turned upon him and grasped him 
 by the shoulder. "Say another word and you yourself 
 shall be the one to cut his throat!" he said, in a voice that 
 was none the less furious because low and restrained. 
 
 With a heavy heart Lionbruno followed the chief back 
 into the secret retreat, returning an impatient oath to the 
 teasing inquiries of the other men, while he lighted his 
 torch at the fire before making his way through the cata- 
 comb. 
 
 "Bring the prisoner in at once," said the chief , eying 
 his son distrustfully. 
 
 Releasing Nicolo from his post in the cell, Lionbruno, 
 still bearing the torch, came close to the pile of shavings 
 and bent down over the prisoner. 
 
 " I have tried to save you," he murmured, "but it was 
 all in vain. When I took you prisoner I did not know 
 what I know now. Give me your pardon, signor. I would 
 gladly undo the past were that possible." 
 
 Carlo grasped his hand. 
 
 " Undo it by breaking with it and starting afresh." he 
 said. "And look will you do one thing for me?" 
 
 Lionbruno made a gesture of assent. 
 
 "See, to-day while you slept I wrote this letter; if neces- 
 sary you can read it, there is not a line in it that can be- 
 tray you. Promise me when I am dead to send it. I have 
 no stamp, but there is the address.'' 
 
 Lionbruno glanced at the note, saw that it was directed 
 to " Miss Britton," and without further comment thrust it 
 into his pocket. 
 
 " Brancaleone orders you to be brought in," he said, 
 huskily. " Are you prepared, signor?" 
 
 "Quite," replied Carlo, standing up, and speaking as 
 calmly as though no terrible ordeal awaited him. 
 
 And yet it was not that he shrank from it less than other 
 men would have done; he looked regretfully round the lit- 
 tle gloomy cell, and slowly followed his guide through the 
 winding catacomb and out into the larger building, per- 
 ceiving even then the picturesqueness of the scene, with 
 its deep shadows and glowing torchlight. Brancaleone sat 
 smoking as composedly as though no murder were con- 
 templated that night; close by, Nicolo stirred the contents 
 of a caldron which hung over a charcoal brazier, while 
 the rest of the men were playing cards and quarreling 
 among themselves. The chief turned his cold eyes on the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " My messenger may arrive any time within the next 
 hour," he said. "You will therefore be ready for your 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 851 
 
 fate, whatever it may be. Should we have been betrayed, 
 and should a rescuing party be sent with him, you will in- 
 stantly be shot. Should you see him wave a white hand- 
 kerchief, it will mean that you are free ; should he wave a 
 red one, you will feel the sharpness of this knife." 
 
 Carlo replied only by a slight gesture. His dignity ap- 
 pealed to Brancaleone, who eyed him curiously, knowing 
 that never before had he met with such a prisoner. 
 
 "Rocco! Maso! take your places!" he called, peremp- 
 torily. 
 
 Two of the men instantly threw down their cards, and 
 Carlo found himself taken to that end of the building 
 which was furthest from a dark archway, presumably 
 leading to another catacomb, and thence to the upper air. 
 On either side of him stood a ruffianly-looking Neapolitan, 
 with a loaded pistol held within a few inches of his tem- 
 ples ; and to the right hand, and a little in advance of tht 
 others, sat the chief, ostentatiously sharpening his knife. 
 It was an ordeal that would have tried the strongest 
 nerves; the horrible, grim suspense of it was a torture 
 such as Carlo had never conceived ; and nothing but long 
 practice in self-control could have enabled him to keep up 
 under the sickening anticipations of the butchery that was 
 goon to take place. With a strong effort he turned from 
 such thoughts, not even allowing himself to watch the 
 dark archway opposite, where his imagination kept pict- 
 uring a confusion of red tokens and white tokens, until he 
 was as much dazzled as Gigi used to be over the Pears' 
 soap puzzle in England. With a pang he remembered that 
 he had never said good-bye to the little fellow, and a hun- 
 dred trifling recollections of unfinished work rushed 
 through his brain, till a flash of Brancaleone's knife in the 
 torchlight recalled him to the terrible present. Then he 
 fixed his eyes steadily on the cross which Lionbruno was 
 carving, and again the thought of his visible surroundings 
 faded. 
 
 By and by came visions of what lay beyond this hour of 
 torture. He thought of the evil defeated, of Anita saved 
 forever from Comerio's influence. He pictured to himself 
 how she would pass unscathed through her hard life, with 
 Gigi to shield her, with Francesca to comfort her and cling 
 to her for his sake, with a love for him which should be 
 an actual safeguard, not a vague regret. But with the 
 thought of Francesca there came once more the wild cling- 
 ing to life. She would be his, indeed, in another world ; 
 but he craved for her now, he shrank back from the part- 
 ingthe unknown change. 
 
 For, reason about it as we may, all endings are hfvrd. 
 We endul our schooldays regretfully, and shrank a little 
 
B52 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 from stepping out alone into the fuller and freer life, for 
 which all along we had been preparing. It was not that 
 home was less dear ; it was not that we were less eager to 
 begin life; it was only that human nature cannot say the 
 irrevocable "never again" without a pang. 
 
 And, after all, the past had been happy, spite of all the 
 troubles. Standing there, face to face with death, he 
 seemed to live it all through once more. He thought of 
 his quiet childhood, of his mother's devotion, of his happy 
 betrothal. Onco more he lived through the story of his 
 love for Francesca, with its brief gleams of rapture and its 
 long years of wearing separation ; once more he lived his 
 art-life triumphed in this character, failed in that, faced 
 abuse on and off the stage, felt the glow of genuine suc- 
 cess. And again he lived through the pain and bliss of 
 that night at Genoa, with its violent reaction, its rapture 
 of faithful love ; again he felt Francesca clinging to him, 
 heard her words of perfect trust, knew that the anguish of 
 the past had been a mere device of Satan. 
 
 But Brancaleone moved, and the torch-light fell again 
 on the cold steel blade. In a few minutes there must come 
 that awful helplessness, that violence and anguish and 
 slaughter. His heart throbbed wildly ; and once more, to 
 calm himself, he turned his eyes to Lionbruno's cross. 
 The boy's words Returned to him: 
 
 "As to that, it's a mere fable. If it were true, men 
 would be dying on crosses themselves. " 
 
 " How little I have done to prove that it is truest truth 
 and no fable," he thought, sadly. 
 
 " Yet for these last three years you have honestly tried 
 to follow me," said a voice in his heart. And the words 
 of comfort brought him a great gladness, for he knew that 
 slowly and stumblingly, and with an amount of effort that 
 proved his own weakness and the strength of the Divine 
 help that had been his, he really had tried to live the life 
 of the Crucified, with its whole-hearted seeking of the 
 Divine will. After all, was any happiness to be compared 
 to the happiness that came to him even in this last ex- 
 tremity? Was there not a deep truth in the poet's idea 
 that the Divine will is sweetest to us, " when it triumphs 
 at our cost." 
 
 lk If ever a man were ready to die it is that man," re- 
 flected Lionbruno. "But, Corpo di Bacco I how shall I sit 
 patiently by and see him murdered !" 
 
 He shuddered, and yet something in the beautiful, manly 
 face raised him above the thought of the scene of blood- 
 shed. How was it that this man, in the first flush of youth 
 and strength, could willingly give up everything even life 
 itself to save another from sin ? How was it that he could 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 353 
 
 etand for an hour face to face with a most horrible death, 
 yet show neither fear, nor resentment, nor bravadoonly 
 a noble, intrepid calm? 
 
 Into the brigand's semi-cuHivated mind the sight flashed 
 something more than the unwelcome conviction of the 
 previous night. All his shallow unbelief died in the light 
 of that revelation. It was not that he now believed there 
 was a God, he Tcnew it ; he knew that the Son of God must 
 indeed have taught men how to live and die; he saw that 
 he had before him, on the one hand, a proof of the heights 
 to which men could rise who followed at all costs the 
 guidance of the Holy Spirit; on the other, of the depths to 
 which men could sink who sought at all costs their own 
 pleasures. 
 
 The place had been strangely still for some minutes. 
 Nicolo had left his caldron, and now lay on the floor smok- 
 ing ; the card-players had finished their game, and seemed 
 to think it was not worth while to begin another before the 
 event of the evening came off ; one swarthy, black-bearded 
 fellow shuffled the cards, the others lounged at ease, watch- 
 ing the prisoner indifferently. 
 
 When at length a voice in the distance spoke the pass- 
 word, every one present started slightly. Carlo drew him- 
 self up to his full height, and looked steadily toward the 
 dark archway ; Brancaleone rose, and, with one hand on 
 his victim and the knife in the other, glanced over his 
 shoulder, ready either to strike or to forbear; Lionbruno 
 dropped his cross, and glanced in great agitation from the 
 archway to the prisoner, and back again to the archway. 
 The footsteps drew nearer; the messenger suddenly turned 
 the corner and emerged into sight; the torch-light fell 
 on the token in his hand was it white or red? With a 
 gasp of relief, Lionbruno sprung forward and seized the 
 handkerchief, waving it joyfully in the air; while the 
 messenger advanced and handed a sealed packet to the 
 chief, who at once sheathed his knife and turned to the 
 prisoner. 
 
 "You are free, signor," he said, gravely. 
 
 " Nita is ruined 1 I have failed 1" thought Carlo. 
 
 The sharpest pang he had ever had to bear shot through 
 him; and, without a word, he fell to the ground. 
 
 "Diavolo /" exclaimed the chief. " I have often seen a 
 prisoner overcome on hearing his death-sentence, but 
 never yet on getting a reprieve !" 
 
 Lionbruno looked with many conflicting feelings at the 
 face which had grown so familiar to him. Per quanta e 
 vero Dior he remarked, with an expressive gesture, "he 
 really did then care mo f * hia sister's liooor than for hifi 
 own lifcl" 
 
964 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 AT PALAZZO FORTL 
 
 Lore Is enough: ho, ye who seek saving 
 
 Go no further; come hither: there have been who have found it. 
 And these know the House of Fulfillment of Craving; 
 
 These know the cup with the roses around it; 
 These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it| 
 
 Cry out, the World heedeth not, 4 Love, lead us homel' 
 
 ** He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to youward; 
 
 Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble 
 Bound his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward; 
 
 Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremblel 
 Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! 
 Cry out, for he heedeth, 4 O Love, lead us home!' " 
 
 William Morris. 
 
 ON that Monday evening, after Carlo had started for 
 Oasa Bella, Nita dined alone, Gigi hovering round, and al- 
 ways ready to accept promiscuous mouthfuls off her plate 
 like a pet dog. When the child had gone to bed, she eafc 
 down to the piano, her fingers roaming over the keys, 
 and playing a sort of subdued accompaniment to her 
 reverie. 
 
 " I am g9ing to turn over a new leaf," she thought to 
 herself; " it is, after all, rather pleasant to be good, and 
 not so hard as I thought. I have enjoyed these days on 
 the yacht with the Brittons; it was not half so dull as I 
 expected. There was something so peaceful and quiet 
 about it. I think I'm tired of being naughty. Now I'll 
 be like Carlo; that will be a novelty." 
 
 She was interrupted by the entrance of the servant with 
 a visitor's card. Holding out her hand for it carelessly, 
 she glanced down at the name and saw that it was Come- 
 rio's. A terrible fear seized on her. 
 
 ' * Say I do not receive to-night. I am engaged not 
 well 1" she exclaimed breathlessly. 
 
 The servant retired, but in another minute came back 
 still bearing the card, on which Comerio had penciled a 
 few words: 
 
 " You must see me on a matter of life and death 1" 
 
 Nita's color came and went, but to refuse now seemed 
 to her impossible, and the next minute she was alone with 
 her lover. Yet, after all, did she love him or hate him? 
 Of one thing only she was conscious that with all her 
 heart she feared him, and that over her he had some 
 Strange, deadly influence. 
 
 44 How can you dare to come here?" she cried passion- 
 
KN1GHT-ERRAKT. 865 
 
 ately. "Did I not tell you I would never speak to you 
 again?" 
 
 Comerio smiled. 
 
 " I come because I love you," he replied; "because I 
 knew you would not keep to your threat ; because, happen 
 what may, I will never give you up. I have waited for 
 you all these years, Nita, but now you will be mine." 
 
 "Never!" she cried vehemently ; and, with a glowing 
 sense of terror, she tried to pass him and reach the door. 
 
 "Do not speak too hastily," he said, intercepting her; 
 "you are altogether in my j)ower. Your brother has 
 thwarted me for long; now it is my turn. If you wish 
 him to die, to be murdered for your sake, you will refuse 
 to come with me. If you wish to save him you will leave 
 Naples with me to-night; we will fly to Australia and be- 
 gin our new life there !" 
 
 "Oh, it isn't true!" sobbed Nita; "it can't be true! 
 Carlo could never be in your power !" 
 
 " Not true?" said Comerio, with a mocking laugh. " It 
 is as true as the gospel. Do you think the Ppzzuoli road 
 is so much frequented that I couldn't have him waylaid ? 
 I tell you his fate rests in your hands. Now choose !" 
 
 "You must be a fiend!" sobbed Nita. "Only a fiend 
 could make such a plan !" 
 
 " A. fiend or a lover," said Comerio. " All is fair in love 
 and war, Nita, and I love you I love you and I will have 
 you. You shall not deny me I" 
 
 Again the old subtle influence crept over poor Nita'3 
 tempest-tossed heart ; it needed only half an hour of Com- 
 erio's impassioned pleading to break down all her resolu- 
 tions. After all, her life was hard and weary, and her 
 husband rough and overbearing, and goodness was dull, 
 and this scheme was exciting; besides, it would save Carlo 
 Carlo, whom she really loved. Yes, she would save him 
 at all costs; she, too, would be self-sacrificingshe would 
 give up everything to save him from death. | 
 
 It was all over very quickly the dispute, the struggle/ 
 the promise then once more she was alone, with but a 
 few hours in which to make all her arrangements for her 
 flight, for Comerio had promised that a carriage should be 
 in waiting for her at twelve o'clock, and had hastened off 
 to see that all his plans were in working order. He had 
 absolute confidence in his own power over her, which was 
 indeed great ; but there was another Power which he had 
 forgotten to take into account a Power which could no 
 more be laid hold of, and shut up with Carlo in the brig- 
 ands' retreat, than the wind. 
 
 " He shall not die for my sake!" sobbed Nita to herself; 
 " I will save him by yielding. And yet yet it is what he 
 
856 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 would say was wrong; he would call it doing evil that 
 good might come. Oh ! what am I to do? Why did I ever 
 see Comerio?" 
 
 She was like a poor, terrified bird in a cage, flying now 
 to this side, now to that, but meeting always with hard, 
 impassable bars. The temptation to escape from her dis- 
 tasteful life into a life that was new and untried, was ter- 
 rible. And yet, as in sick recoil she looked at her past, 
 there shone out in it always one bright light. A hundred 
 little details of Carlo's care for her flashed back into her 
 mind; scenes rose up before her in the greenroom, at re- 
 hearsals, in desolate lodgings, on tedious journeys; and 
 always he was there as her helper, the one perfectly reliable 
 man in her world. 
 
 He had given up all to save her from shi. Should she 
 now yield to the temptation? Dared she delude herself 
 into thinking that she sinned to save him from death? 
 Had not his whole life proved to her that he would rather 
 die than that she should so fall? Sobbing and trembling, 
 she threw herself on her knees, crushed beneath that awful 
 realization of a decisive choice which must be made, mad- 
 dened by the consciousness that time was passing, tossed 
 to and fro in the storm of deadly temptation. It was not 
 the breaking of a conventional" law which she was com- 
 templating; it was not a mere offence against society with 
 which she had been dallying all these years ; it was a sin. 
 And the full meaning of that word broke on her as she 
 knelt there. Sin was not a vague "something" to be 
 comfortably confessed and disposed of; it was a contradic- 
 tion of good, which must work its deadly course, inevit- 
 ably bringing grief and pain and hardship on the innocent 
 and loving. To save her from this sin. Carlo had sacri- 
 ficed his whole life; could she let that sacrifice be in vain? 
 
 And, after all, was it love which Comerio offered her? 
 Could she name it in the same breath with the love which 
 had shielded and guarded her through those three years? 
 No; is was a hateful, vile counterfeit of love, a ghastly 
 parody of the truth, a veiled selfishness, which could only 
 drag her down to hell on earth. Carlo would die a thou- 
 sand deaths rather than let her sink to this ! And was it 
 even now too late to save him? 
 
 In wild excitement she sprung to her feet. Comerio, in 
 the heat of the moment, had let something fall about the 
 Pozzuoli road? Why should she not rush to Casa Bella 
 and prevent her brother's return, and save him from the 
 attack that had been planned? What gave her strength 
 for this desperate resolution she hardly knew, but the 
 thought itself seemed to lend her wings. She rushed to 
 her bedroom, snatched up a cloak and bonnt*- d* *w a veil 
 
KNIGHT-ARRANT. 357 
 
 over her face, and, without even pausing to close the door 
 of the house behind her, crept down the long stone stair- 
 case. The concierge was reading La Campana as she 
 glided past his little office; he was so mucu aosorbed that 
 he never even saw her. 
 
 And now she was actually in the street, and, for the 
 first time since her resolution had been made, a feeling of 
 fear and perplexity overwhelmed her, her brain seemed t<? 
 reel. " Holy Virgin protect me!" she sobbed, and walked 
 on blindly, too much terrified to form any clear plan of 
 action. All at once she caught sight of a disengaged car- 
 riage, and signed to the driver to stop. He looked at her 
 suspiciously, but she was far too miserable to resent 
 that. 
 
 44 Drive to Pozzuoli," she said; " to Casa Bella." 
 
 The man, however, grumbled. It was late, a long 
 drive, his horse was tired. Nita thrust two gold coins into 
 his hand. 
 
 ''Go! go!" she cried. "Another, if you will drive 
 fast !" 
 
 Then she leaned back in the carriage and covered her 
 face with her hands, trembling in every limb, expecting 
 each minute that Comerio would find out all and pursue 
 her. The drive seemed endless, but at last Casa Bella was 
 reached; she sprung out and asked eagerly for Signer 
 Donati. 
 
 " He is not here, signora," said old Dino, looking at her 
 curiously. " He has not been here at all." 
 
 Nita gave a cry that brought all the household flocking 
 into the hall. They took her into the Rose-room, and there 
 gradually drew from her the whole piteous story. Fran- 
 cesca. as she listened, turned pale as death, but to endure 
 a moment's discussion or delay was to her impossible. Be- 
 fore the captain or Mr. Brit-ton could even recover enough 
 from the shock to frame a clear idea, she had left the 
 room, had run bareheaded out into the summer night, and 
 was flying to the telegraph office. Panting, breathless, 
 with a weight of torturing fear at her heart, she yet ran 
 like the wind. Carlo was in terrible danger, but she might 
 yet save him. The office was still open; she wrote with- 
 out a moment's delay the following words to the chief of 
 the police: "Signor Carlo Donati was waylaid on the road 
 to Pozzuoli this afternoon, and has not been heard of 
 since. The plot was arranged by the singer Giovauni Co 
 merio. Arrest him immediately." 
 
 In the meantime, Comerio, little thinking of the turn 
 affairs had taken, was making his arrangements with the 
 utmost calmness and deliberation. First of all, he went 
 to Brancaleone's agent, who lived iu cue of & worst quar* 
 
858 RNIQHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ters of Naples. Here he ' deposited the white handker- 
 chief, which had been the token decided on, and the little 
 packet of notes for the payment of the brigand chief. 
 Then hs gave his final orders about the carriage which waa 
 to take them out of Naples; and afterward, finding that he 
 had yet some time to spare on his hands, he went into a 
 cafe, where, to fortify himself for the excitement of the 
 evening, he called for a bottle of champagne. 
 
 As he sat there at his little marble table, he thought, 
 with a smile, of the great success of his plans, and a funny 
 recollection came back to him of the old days when he had 
 lived at his father's country farm. He remembered how 
 he had once looked out on a moonlight night, and had be- 
 come so absorbed in watching the tactics of a fox that he 
 had not given the alarm to the household. The animal 
 had set his heart on a fine hen which had gone to roost in 
 an olive-tree, and which, roused from her slumbers, waa 
 watching the fox in deadly terror. He could not reach 
 her, but, with deep cunning, walked slowly round and 
 round the tree, the hen following him with her eyes in a. 
 sort of deadly fascination till, at last, from shee'r giddi- 
 ness, she dropped, and was carried off in triumph. The 
 idea of punishing Donati, and altogether outwitting him, 
 was delightful, even more delightful than the idea of win- 
 ning Anita. But, after all, he reflected, it was always 
 so in this world. Right could make a sort of feeble 
 resistance, but in the end Might always triumphed. 
 And, really, luck had been with him of late. His Lon- 
 don engagement had been extremely succcessful, while, 
 to crown all, he had won enormously at Monaco, and could 
 well afford to gratify both his love and his hate. 
 
 Sauntering out of the cafe, and still musing over his good- 
 fortune, he was a little startled when a passer-by thrust a 
 note into his hand and walked rapidly on. He paused to 
 read it under a street-lamp. It ran as follows: 
 
 " Signor Comerio, be warned by a friend, and fly from 
 Naples at once. You are in danger of being arrested." 
 
 Though capable, in order to gratify himself, of a certain 
 amount of rash daring, Comerio was at heart a coward. 
 He had a friend connected with the P9lice force, and did 
 not doubt for a moment that the warning came from him. 
 He knew that he had not a moment to lose. Still, the 
 mere hatred of being baffled in his plans induced him to 
 risk a call at Palazzo Forti. There was yet a chance that 
 they might be able to fly together ; and now that all was 
 kno"wn, he risked little more by making this final attempt. 
 Breathlessly he made his way through the dusky court- 
 jrard aDd up the long stone staircase. To his surprise, the 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 389 
 
 door at the top was open. He stole in and opened the door 
 of the ante-room, calling Anita in a low voice. He went 
 into the sala, but that, too, was empty and deserted. He 
 knocked at the door of the bedroom ; that, also, was ten- 
 antless. Then, with a faint suspicion dawning in his mind 
 that Nita had played him false, he ground his teeth to- 
 gether, and flung open the two remaining doors in the 
 suit. Possibly she was with the child. Snatching up a 
 lamp from a table in the passage, he went into the room 
 to make quite sure that she was not there looked with a 
 sort of dumb rage at Donati's various possessions which 
 were strewn about then walked up to the bed where Gigi 
 lay sleeping, with both arms flung up on the pillow above 
 his head, and his ruddy-brown little face the picture of 
 sturdy peacefulness. Comerio shook him by the shoulder. 
 
 44 Where is your mother, child?" he said, in a voice that 
 terrified Gigi. " Can't you speak?" he reiterated. '* Where 
 is your mother?" 
 
 "I don't know!" sobbed the child. 
 
 " Accidente! she has played me false!" cried Comerio. 
 
 Then, suddenly holding his breath, he paused to listen. 
 Undoubtedly men's voices and footsteps were approaching. 
 Darting to the door he drew the bolt, then rushed across 
 to the window, flung it open, leaped out on the balcony, 
 and disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 Gigi's first impulse was to draw the bed-clothes over his 
 head and sob for very terror, but some recollection of Carlo 
 checked him, and summoning up all his courage, he scram- 
 bled out of bed, unbolted the door, and ran out into the 
 passage, calling now for Carlo, now for his mother. 
 
 Strange men whom he had never seen before were march- 
 ing in and out of the rooms ; whether to run to them or 
 from them he hardly knew. 
 
 44 Here is a child !" exclaimed one of the detectives, pick- 
 ing him up in his arms. 44 Tell us, little one, who is in the 
 house?" 
 
 "Signor Comerio!" sobbed Gigi. 
 
 " Santo diavolo! where?" exclaimed the man. 
 
 Gigi pointed in the direction of his room. 
 
 44 Through the window," he said, with a rush of tears. 
 
 For all answer, the man tossed him on to the bed a3 
 though he had been an India-rubber ball, and leaped out 
 on to the balcony, while the rest rushed down-stairs to cut 
 off the retreat below. 
 
 But their efforts were useless ; Comerio had got the start 
 of them, and, with darkness to favor him, found little dif- 
 ficulty in making his escape from Naples. 
 
 While the Neapolitan police were still searching high 
 and low for him, he was steaming down the Mediter- 
 
860 ENIGHT-1SKRANT. 
 
 ranean, knowing that never again could he dare to set foot 
 in Italy, and baffled both in his love and in his revenge. 
 
 4 'If only I had had time to go again to Brancaleone's 
 agent, and change the white token for the red, I could bear 
 all else !" he reflected. 
 
 But the white handkerchief remained just as he had left 
 it with the sealed packet of notes, and the true love had 
 triumphed over the false. 
 
 At Casa Bella all was confusion, and, afterward, those 
 fearful hours seemed to Francesca like a long, hideous 
 nightmare. She had vague recollections of returning from 
 the telegraph office, and seeing Clare and Kate bending 
 over Nita's prostrate figure; of a discussion with her 
 father and Uncle George as to whether she should drive in 
 to Naples with them or not; of reaching Palazzo Forti in 
 the dead of night, and finding poor little Gigi sobbing and 
 shivering ; of driving home with him on her knee, and feel- 
 ing a sort of comfort in folding her arms round him and 
 Jetting him talk on in his happy ignorance; then, of two 
 fearful nights and days, while all Naples was searched, and 
 not the slightest clew as to Carlo's whereabouts could be 
 discovered. In the meantime Nita lay in the guest-cham- 
 ber, and many times each day both priest and doctor 
 passed in and out. 
 
 " Why do those men come so dreffly often?" asked Gigi, 
 one day, turning to his friend and playfellow, Sibyl, and 
 forgetting for a minute the sham-fight which was going on 
 between his two boxes of tin soldiers. 
 
 "Why, Dinosays your mother is dying," said Sibyl, 
 her eyes dilating. "But, oh, Gigi, perhaps I oughtn't to 
 have said anything ! Don't tell the others I told you !" 
 
 "But she can't," said Gigi, emphatically, "not until 
 Uncle Carlo comes back!" 
 
 And so, while the elders of the household lived through 
 their terrible agony of suspense, the two children, who 
 were much thrown together, and left to their own devices 
 in those days, kept their own counsel as children do, and 
 waited gravely for Carlo's return. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYIIL 
 
 AT CASA BELLA. 
 44 Too divine to be mistook." Milton. 
 
 EARLY on the Thursday morning Captain Britton was 
 roused from a short and uneasy sleep on the sofa in his 
 study by the sound of voices on the staircase. He rose 
 quickly, remembering that Francesca had taken Miss 
 Claremont's place in the sick-room, and that he had prom- 
 ised to be at band in case anything was needed. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 861 
 
 " How is Madame Merlino?" he asked, going out into the 
 hall v where Franzoni, the doctor, was just taking up his 
 hat and cloak. 
 
 "Better for the time," replied the doctor, " but I doubt 
 if ehe will last much longer; the shock has been too 
 much for her, and this suspense is the very worst thing. 
 She has inherited her mother's constitution, you see, 
 and when the heart is in question such a strain is killing 
 work." 
 
 Francesca moved away from the speakers that she might 
 hide her tears. A lamp which had burned for many hours 
 stood on the table, gleaming faintly in the early morning 
 light. She turned it out, glad to have some little trivial 
 household matter to attend to, and finding it, as most 
 women do, a relief in trouble. 
 
 Captain Britton went out with the doctor, not sorry to 
 escape for a few minutes from the burdened atmosphere of 
 his own house ; and Francesca, knowing that Father Cristo- 
 foro was with Nita, lingered beside the open door, glad for 
 a few minutes to be alone with her grief. The sun had not 
 yet risen, but rosy clouds floated in the soft, sheeny sky, 
 and a delicious fragrance came from the garden, which 
 was all wet with dew. Everything was still and peaceful, 
 with the restful calmness of dawn; perhaps it uncon- 
 sciously influenced Francesca, or perhaps it was mere ex- 
 haustion which quieted her throbbing pulses. Certainly 
 the sound of footsteps on the road from Naples, which yes- 
 terday would have made her heart leap into her mouth, 
 scarcely roused her now. She just looked up wearily, too 
 heavy-hearted to hope any longer. But suddenly the blood 
 surged through her veins, and, with a Jow cry, she rushed 
 forward. 
 
 44 Carlo! Carlo!" she sobbed; you have come at last!" 
 
 44 Clinging to him, in that first minute of rapture she for- 
 got all else ; but a second glance at his face reminded her 
 of Nita, for he bore the look of a man who has passed 
 through terrible suffering, and how much he knew of 
 Comerio's plot she could not tell. 
 
 ** Carlino," she said, tenderly, " try and prepare yourself 
 for what I have to tell you.'" 
 
 " I am prepared," he said, in the voice of one whose work 
 is over one who knows that he has failed. 
 
 " Who can have met you so early? Oh, Carlo, we have 
 tried to take care of her, but she is dying. She has been 
 ill ever since that Monday night." 
 
 44 Do you mean that Nita is here with you? that, she ia 
 cafe?" he cried, eager hope dawning in his eyes. Then, aa 
 she told him all, a light, such as she had never before seen, 
 ghon in his f acQo 
 
# KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 " God has been very good to us," he said simply. 
 
 In a very few words he told her what had happened te 
 him; and then, whO she went to prepare Nita for his com- 
 ing, he stayed below, receiving the warm-hearted greetings 
 of the captain, giving him a brief account of his imprison- 
 ment and release, and thanking him with tears in his ey< s 
 for having sheltered his sister. Somehow the old patroniz- 
 ing tone disappeared altogether from the captain's voice 
 as he struggled to reply. 
 
 "Do you thank us for what we have done?" he ex- 
 claimed, with a choking sensation in his throat, and for- 
 getting altogether to fear what people would say, forget- 
 ting even to regret the connection with the stage. " I wish 
 it could have been more. I wish I had stood by you in the 
 past, Carlo." 
 
 As he thought of the insults he had heaped on the Italian 
 years ago, the color mounted to his temples, and he would 
 have given all in his power to have had over again the op- 
 portunity which he had wasted. 
 
 But before anything had passed between them Franceses 
 came to summon Carlo to the sick-room, and not sorry to 
 be free from the captain's questions and congratulations, 
 he followed her up-stairs into a bedroom which he knew 
 must be her own. It touched him to think that Nita 
 should be in this place of all others with its indescribable 
 air of purity and peace and safety, with its English com- 
 forts, with its girlish ornaments and pictures. The bed 
 stood facing the window, with its white mosquito-curtains 
 drawn back, but he could not see Anita, for Father Cristo- 
 foro was bending over her. 
 
 "My daughter," the old man was saying, in his gentle, 
 doothing voice, '"be comforted. Our prayers are heard. 
 Try to take this joy calmly, and as a pledge of your for- 
 giveness." 
 
 Then he quietly drew back, and looking with loving rev- 
 erence at his old pupil, signed to him to take his place. 
 
 One glance at Anita's worn, weary face show'ed Carlo 
 that she was dying. He took both her outstretched hands 
 in his, and bending down, kissed her again and again. 
 She was dying, but yet it was the sense that she was safe 
 which outweighed all else. 
 
 For a long time perfect silence reigned in the room, then 
 Nita spoke faintly. 
 
 "Why Hiked the yacht," she said, half-dreamily, "was 
 because you were all so good there was no temptation. I 
 wanted to be good only it was always too hard." 
 
 Worn out, exhausted, and fearful, she had none of 
 that natural clinging to life which Carlo had so lately 
 felt. 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 363 
 
 "I never understood that till now," she said, glancing 
 at the crucifix which Father Cristoforo held on the other 
 side of the bed. " But now I see it all ; it is you that have 
 made me pee, Carlino." 
 
 His eyes filled with glad tears, and again he kissed her 
 reverently. 
 
 "You will keep to the stage still," she said, after a time. 
 "Let me at least feel that I have done that much for the 
 profession. I've been no credit to it myself, but you, Carv 
 lino, you went into it for my sake, and they will respect 
 you. You will not leave the stage?" 
 
 " No," he said, turning his thoughts to the future with 
 an effort; "I shall not leave it." 
 
 "I should have liked to sing with you once more," she 
 murmured, dreamily. "When you hold me like that, it 
 makes me feel like Gilda. I tried to put you out the last 
 time we sang that scene it was at New York, don't you 
 remember ; the night of Sardoni's benefit, and I was cross 
 because my white satin had gob some paint on it." 
 
 "My daughter," said Father Cristoforo, gently, "you 
 will wear yourself out with talking." 
 
 " No matter!" she said, with a little impatient motion of 
 the hand. "I am dying I shall die as I please. Where 
 is Gigi? Let me say good-bye to Gigi." 
 
 Francesca slipped out of the room and went to find the 
 child, bringing him in just as he was, in his little night- 
 shirt, and with his hair all rough and disordered. She 
 had told him that his mother was very ill, and that he 
 must be quiet ; but in the glad surprise of seeing Carlo he 
 forgot all else, and with a rapturous shout of "zio caro!" 
 sprung toward the bed. Carlo took him in his arms, try- 
 ing to quiet him with kisses, and Nita watched them 
 sadly. 
 
 " Well, it is natural enough he should care for you and 
 not forme," she said, wistfully. "I never liked to be 
 troubled with him." 
 
 " No, no," said Carlo, quickly; " he loves you, it is only 
 that he does not understand illness. " 
 
 And putting the child on the bed, he laid the little, fat, 
 brown hands in between the cold, white ones. Gigi looked 
 at his mother with wandering eyes. 
 
 '* Do you think he will have a voice?" she asked. " He 
 surely will eing I hope he will. But don't let Merlino be 
 unkind to him, promise to care for him always." 
 
 " Always," said Carlo. '' For your sake." 
 
 And Francesca bent down and kissed her, while the 
 child, aware now that something was wrong, listened 
 wistfully. 
 
 " I have been a bad wife," moaned Nita, " and a bad 
 
364 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 sister, and a bad mother. Oh, Gigi my Gigi you mutt 
 not grow like me! Be good, carino be good I' 7 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said Gigi, simply. 
 
 With a sob she raised herself and caught him in her 
 arms, but once more deadly faintness crept over her, and 
 she fell back unconscious. 
 
 Francesca took Gigi away to Sibyl, and by the time she 
 was able to return Anita had revived. Father Cristoforo 
 had thrown the window wide open; Francesca stole quietly 
 across the room and stood beside it, listening now to the 
 old priest's hushed voice, now to the birds in the garden 
 below; the sun had risen, and sea, and trees, and houses 
 glowed in the roseate light, contrasting strangely with the 
 scene within. When the last offices were ended there waa 
 a long pause, broken at length by Anita's faint voice. 
 
 " Why are the foot-lights out?'' she asked, impatiently. 
 
 " Because the sun has risen," replied Carlo, smoothing 
 back the fringe of dark hair from her cold forehead. 
 
 ''I can't see," she said, with a little shudder. 
 
 Then after a minute, losing consciousness of the present, 
 she sang just above her breath a little snatch from, 
 "Faust:" 
 
 " Oh del ciel angeli immortal! 
 Deh mi guidate con voi lassu." 
 
 There was something inexpressibly touching in the faint 
 yet still beautiful voice ; Carlo's breast heaved and his eyes 
 grew dim. Evidently she was wandering fancying her- 
 self back once more in the old life. 
 
 " Well! it is over," she murmured, "and I'm tired its 
 a long opera! How cold it is lying on this draughty stage ! 
 But Carlo will be waiting with my cloak, he always thinks 
 of me, though I am so cross to him." Then, her voice ris- 
 ing to a cry, "Carlino! Carlino! come back! O God! I 
 have killed him my sin has killed him !" 
 
 "I am here, Nita, close to you," he replied, bending 
 over her, while Father Cristoforo held the crucifix to her 
 lips. 
 
 She came back to the present, and grew calmer. 
 
 " You see I never understood till you showed me," she 
 whispered. "Oh, Carlo, how much you have borne for 
 me!" 
 
 He held her more closely. " Don't you understand that 
 I love you?" he said. 
 
 "Yet I wish that I too had loved!" she gasped, in a 
 voice so sad that Francesca's heart ached for her. 
 
 After that she never spoke clearly again, only, as Carlo 
 listened intently to the last long-drawn sighs, he caught 
 one more faint "whisper. 
 
 "Gem!" 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 365 
 
 Then he laid her down tenderly on the pillow, and closed 
 her eyes, and folded her hands over the crucifix on her 
 breast. The sun had fully risen, and golden rays played 
 about him as he moved. Francesca noticed it, and would 
 not draw down the blind. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 AFTERWARD. 
 
 " Man seeks pleasure and self great unforeseen results follow. Man 
 seeks God and others and there follows pleasure." Arnold Toynbee. 
 
 FOR the next two or three weeks the story of Carlo and 
 Anita was in every one's mouth ; the account of Comerio's 
 Vengeance, and the alarming news of brigandage in the 
 very environs of Naples, created something like a panic, 
 while, as to Donati's *hare in the matter, opinions were 
 divided. Some called him a hero, some a fool, others re- 
 marked cynically that in any case the affair would be a 
 good advertisement for him, and that now, at any rate, he 
 might be expected to draw large houses. 
 
 Merlino, when he learned all, made scarcely any com- 
 ment on what had happened. He merely wound up the 
 affairs of his company, and announced his retirement from 
 the position of impresario. Only in regard to Gigi did he 
 show any sign of feeling. 
 
 " You'll be kind to the child, Val?" he said, as he bade 
 his brother-in-law good-bye. "I shall stay in America 
 for a few years till this scandal has had time to fade in 
 people's minds. But you'll go to the school and see that 
 Gigi is all right, now and then; won't you?" 
 
 " He shall be like my own child!" said Carlo, warmly. 
 His holidays shall always be spent with us." 
 
 People were surprised that the new barytone fulfilled his 
 engagement at the San Carlo that summer. Some called 
 him cold-blooded, others called him brave and honorable, 
 and both those who praised and those who blamed flocked 
 to hear him. He went his way, as ever, with straightfor- 
 ward simplicity, thinking of the past with thankfulness 
 and of the future with eager hope. 
 
 " Carwa," he said, one afternoon, as he sat beside Fran- 
 cesca in the familiar old belvedere which had sweet mem- 
 ories for them both "Carma, here is work enough for 
 me for months to come offers of engagements all over 
 Europe. Piale wishes to know which of them we are 
 pleased to accept." 
 
 " We?" she said, smiling and blushing. 
 
 " You do not think I could go without you?" he fZ* 
 Claimed. " You will not send ma away alone!" 
 
ft* KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 "No, "she said, with deepening color; " I don't think 
 you would take enough care of yourself." 
 
 "Darling!" he said, drawing her toward him, "why 
 should we wait any longer? Let us be married quietly 
 while Mr. Britton and Clare are still here." 
 
 " But they are only here for another week," said Fran- 
 cesca. 
 
 " Ebbene?" said Carlo, with a world of expression in his 
 tone. 
 
 "How could I be ready?" she faltered. "A wedding 
 takes a great deal of preparation certainly Flora's did. 
 I must at least have a dress that is fit for your eyes to 
 look on." 
 
 " If you want to dress to please me, I will tell you what 
 to wear," he said, smiling. " Wear that white dress like 
 a baby's the one you wore on the night of our betrothal." 
 
 "That old nainsook!" she cried. " \Yhy, Carlo, it is 
 more fit for the rag-bag than for a wedding!" 
 
 He made one of his expressive Neapolitan gestures. 
 
 " I should like nothing else so well, and you will see it 
 will wash and get up .in two days' time, and look as good 
 as new. Oh, I am very learned in such matters now, I as- 
 sure you." 
 
 She smiled and nestled close to him. 
 
 "I will wear anything to please you, mio carol And, 
 after all, we don't want to be thinking of new dresses 
 just now. All I want is to go away from everything 
 else for a little while away with you. Let us go 
 somewhere among the mountains, where there are no peo- 
 ple and no newspapers nothing but just we two by our- 
 selves!" 
 
 He kissed her white forehead. 
 
 " Carma," he said, thoughtfully; " if one did not believe 
 success to be a sort of sacrament it would frighten one. " 
 
 " She mused over the old definition in the Prayer-book, 
 and caught his meaning. 
 
 ' * They said at Merlebank it was useless knight-er- 
 rantry," she replied; "but I think they changed their 
 minds when they saw the smile on Nita's face after all was 
 over. Do you remember what she said about those days 
 on the yacht? It made me cry, for I never saw till then 
 how fearful temptation must be." 
 
 "She conquered and is at rest!" said Carlo, steadying 
 his voice with an effort. "Father Cristoforo told me he 
 never knew one so young who had so little clinging to life. 
 It is as she would have wished . 
 
 For some time he was grave and silent; his mind was 
 full of Nita's sad story. 
 
 41 Does it not seem to you more than three years," to 
 
KNIGHT-ERRANT. 867 
 
 aid, at length, " since we last sat here together like this? 
 To me it seems like a lifetime." 
 
 " And, oh, Carlo," said Francesca, clinging to him. " I 
 don't know how it is but. though so many sad things 
 have come between, I can't nelp feeling happier even than 
 long ago ! I thought I couldn't be happier than I was when 
 you first told me you loved me, here in this summer- 
 house but now, Carlo 1 now " 
 
 ******* 
 
 So, one day in the following week, Francesca put on the 
 old white dress and her confirmation veil, and Kate twined 
 orange-blossom and myrtle into a wreath, and Sibyl and 
 Gigi gathered the prettiest white flowers they could find 
 in the garden, and with infinite pains made them up into 
 a very original bridal bouquet. Then every one at Casa 
 Bella drove into Naples, where Carlo awaited them with 
 Enrico Hitter at his side ; and presently, with Piale, Mar- 
 ioni, old Florestano, and Sardoni and his wife for specta- 
 tors, the two lovers were quietly married. 
 
 44 After all," said Captain Britton, when the bride and 
 bridegroom had driven away, ' ' though I suppose a voice 
 like that must be used, yet I shall always think that Carlo 
 deserved to be something better than a singer." 
 
 " My dear sir," exclaimed Piale, vehemently, " the life 
 of a good singer is one perpetual course of self denial I 
 And, I assure you, we, too, have had our heroes. Must a 
 whole profession be despised because some of those en- 
 gaged in it are not all they should be? When a man like 
 Donati is sent to us, for Heaven's sake let us keep him, 
 and say, as in duty bound, ' DEO GRATIAS!' " 
 
 fTHE END*} , 
 
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