r
 
 THfi 
 
 OF 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 'MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HERSELF NO UNKASINESS
 
 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 AND 
 OTHER ITALIAN STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 COXSTAXCE FEXIMORE WOOLSON 
 AUTHOR OF "ANNE" "HORACE CHASE" ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1895
 
 Copyright, 1895, by HARPEK & BROTHERS. 
 All rights reserved.
 
 NOTE 
 
 OF the stories contained in this volume, "In Venice 1 ' 
 was originally published in the Atlantic Monthly, "The 
 Street of the Hyacinth" in the Century Magazine, and the 
 other four stories in Harper's Magazine. 
 
 1711387
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FRONT YARD J 
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 50 
 
 A PINK VILLA 91 
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 137 
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 194 
 
 IN VENICE 334
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " ' MADEMOISELLE NEED GIVE HKRSELF NO UNEASI- 
 NESS ' " Frontispiece 
 
 " ' 'TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAY 
 
 WITH, THAT WOULD'" Facing p. 2 
 
 " NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR 
 
 BY, LISTENING " " 22 
 
 "STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO 
 
 THE FRONT OF THE HOUSE" " 42 
 
 '"YOU KNOW I AM YOUU SLATE*" " 58 
 
 AZUBAII ASH " 68 
 
 THE OLD WATCH-TOWER " 86 
 
 "THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, 
 
 FOR THE ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED " " 88 
 
 " ' MRS. CHURCHILL, LET ME PRESENT TO YOU MR. DAVID 
 
 ROD '" " 100 
 
 SORRENTO '. . " 102 
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE DESKRTO " 112 
 
 AT THE DESERTO " 114 
 
 " SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HER CHILD TO HER 
 
 BREAST" " 128 
 
 "FANNY PUT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY" . " 134 
 "A SMALL CHILD PERCHED ON EACH OF HIS SHOUL- 
 DERS" . " 214
 
 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 
 
 " WELL, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, 
 and Bepper settled at last as help in a good family, and 
 Parlo and Squaw ly gone to Perugia, and Soonter taken 
 by the nuns, and Jo Yanny learning the carpenter's 
 trade, and only Nounce left for me to see to (let alone 
 Granmar, of course, and Pipper and old Patro), it doos 
 seem, it really doos, as if I might get it done sometime ; 
 say next Fourth of July, now ; that's only ten months 
 off. 'Twould be something to celebrate the day with, 
 that would ; something like !" 
 
 The woman through whose mind these thoughts 
 were passing was sitting on a low stone-wall, a bun- 
 dle of herbs, a fagot of twigs, and a sickle laid care- 
 fully beside her. On her back was strapped a large 
 deep basket, almost as long as herself ; she had loos- 
 ened the straps so that she could sit down. This bas- 
 ket was heavy ; one could tell that from the relaxed 
 droop of her shoulders relieved from its weight for the 
 moment, as its end rested on a fallen block on the oth- 
 er side of the wall. Her feet were bare, her dress a 
 narrow cotton gown, covered in front to the hem by a 
 dark cotton apron ; on her head was a straw bonnet, 
 which had behind a little cape of brown ribbon three 
 inches deep, and in front broad strings of the same 
 brown, carefully tied in a bow, with the loops pulled
 
 2 THE FKONT YARD 
 
 out to their full width and pinned on each side of her 
 chin. This bonnet, very clean and decent (the ribbons 
 had evidently been washed more than once), was of 
 old-fashioned shape, projecting beyond the wearer's 
 forehead and cheeks. Within its tube her face could 
 be seen, with its deeply browned skin, its large irregu- 
 lar features, smooth, thin white hair, and blue eyes, 
 still bright, set amid a bed of wrinkles. She was sixty 
 years old, tall and broad-shouldered. She had once 
 been remarkably erect and strong. This strength had 
 been consumed more by constant toil than by the ap- 
 proach of old age ; it was not all gone yet ; the great 
 basket showed that. In addition, her eyes spoke a lan- 
 guage which told of energy that would last as long as 
 her breath. 
 
 These eyes were fixed now upon a low building that 
 stood at a little distance directly across the path. It 
 was small and ancient, built of stone, with a sloping 
 roof and black door. There were no windows ; through 
 this door entered the only light and air. Outside were 
 two large heaps of refuse, one of which had been there 
 so long that thick matted herbage was growing vigor- 
 ously over its top. Bars guarded the entrance ; it was 
 impossible to see what was within. But the woman 
 knew without seeing ; she always knew. It had been 
 a cow ; it had been goats ; it had been pigs, and then 
 goats again ; for the past two years it had been pigs 
 steadily always pigs. Her eyes were fixed upon this 
 door as if held there by a magnet ; her mouth fell open 
 a little as she gazed ; her hands lay loose in her lap. 
 There was nothing new in the picture, certainly. But 
 the intensity of her feeling made it in one way always 
 new. If love wakes freshly every morning, so does
 
 ' 'TWOULD BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THE DAT WITH, THAT 
 WOULD ' "
 
 THE FRONT YARD 3 
 
 hate, and Prudence Wilkin had hated that cow-shed 
 for years. 
 
 The bells down in the town began to ring the An- 
 gelas. She woke from her reverie, rebuckled the straps 
 of the basket, and adjusting it by a jerk of her shoul- 
 ders in its place on her back, she took the fagot in one 
 hand, the bundle of herbs in the other, and carrying 
 the sickle under her arm, toiled slowly up the ascent, 
 going round the cow-shed, as the interrupted path too 
 went round it, in an unpaved, provisional sort of way 
 (which had, however, lasted fifty years), and giving a 
 wave of her herbs towards the offending black door as 
 she passed a gesture that was almost triumphant. 
 "Jest you wait till next Fourth of July, you indecent 
 old Antiquity, you !" This is what she was thinking. 
 
 Prudence Wilkin's idea of Antiquity was everything 
 that was old and dirty; indecent Antiquity meant the 
 same qualities increased to a degree that was monstrous, 
 a degree that the most profligate imagination of Led- 
 hara (New Hampshire) would never have been able to 
 conceive. There was naturally a good deal of this sort 
 of Antiquity in Assisi, her present abode ; it was all 
 she saw when she descended to that picturesque town ; 
 the great triple church of St. Francis she never entered ; 
 the magnificent view of the valley, the serene vast Um- 
 brian plain, she never noticed ; but the steep, narrow 
 streets, with garbage here and there, the crowding 
 stone houses, centuries old, from whose court -yard 
 doors issued odors indescribable these she knew well, 
 and detested with all her soul. Her deepest degree of 
 loathing, however, was reserved for the especial An- 
 tiquity that blocked her own front path, that elbowed 
 her own front door, this noisome stable or sty for it
 
 4 THE FKONT YARD 
 
 was now one, now the other which she had hated and 
 abhorred for sixteen long years. 
 
 For it was just sixteen years ago this month since 
 she had first entered the hill town of St. Francis. She 
 had not entered it alone, but in the company of a hand- 
 some bridegroom, Antonio Guadagni by name, and so 
 happy was she that everything had seemed to her en- 
 chanting these same steep streets with their ancient 
 dwellings, the same dirt, the same yellowness, the same 
 continuous leisure and causeless beatitude. And when 
 her Tonio took her through the town and up this sec- 
 ond ascent to the squalid little house, where, staring 
 and laughing and crowding nearer to look at her, she 
 found his family assembled, innumerable children (they 
 seemed innumerable then), a bedridden grandam, a dis- 
 reputable old uncle (who began to compliment her), 
 even this did not appear a burden, though of course it 
 was a surprise. For Tonio had told her, sadly, that he 
 was " all alone in the world." It had been one of the 
 reasons why she had wished to marry him that she 
 might make a home for so desolate a man. 
 
 The home was already made, and it was somewhat 
 full. Desolate Tonio explained, with shouts of laugh- 
 ter, in which all the assemblage joined, that seven of 
 the children were his, the eighth being an orphan neph- 
 ew left to his care ; his wife had died eight months be- 
 fore, and this was her grandmother on the bed there ; 
 this her good old uncle, a very accomplished man, who 
 had written sonnets. Mrs. Guadagni number two had 
 excellent powers of vision, but she was never able to 
 discover the goodness of this accomplished uncle ; it 
 was a quality which, like the beneficence of angels, one 
 is obliged to take on trust.
 
 THE FRONT YARD 5 
 
 She was forty-five, a New England woman, with some 
 small savings, who had come to Italy as companion and 
 attendant to a distant cousin, an invalid with money. 
 The cousin had died suddenly at Perugia, and Prudence 
 had allowed the chance of returning to Ledham with 
 her effects to pass by unnoticed a remarkable lapse 
 of the quality of which her first name was the expo- 
 nent, regarding which her whole life hitherto had been 
 one sharply outlined example. This lapse was due to 
 her having already become the captive of this hand- 
 some, this irresistible, this wholly unexpected Tonio, 
 who was serving as waiter in the Perugian inn. Di- 
 vining her savings, and seeing with his own eyes her 
 wonderful strength and energy, this good-natured rep- 
 robate had made love to her a little in the facile Italian 
 way, and the poor plain simple - hearted spinster, to 
 whom no one had ever spoken a word of gallantry in 
 all her life before, had been completely swept off her 
 balance by the novelty of it, and by the thronging new 
 sensations which his few English words, his speaking 
 dark eyes, and ardent entreaties roused in her maiden 
 breast. It was her one moment of madness (who has 
 not had one ?). She married him, marvelling a little 
 inwardly when he required her to walk to Assisi, but 
 content to walk to China if that should be his pleas- 
 ure. When she reached the squalid house on the 
 height and saw its crowd of occupants, when her own 
 money was demanded to send down to Assisi to pur- 
 chase the wedding dinner, then she understood why 
 they had walked. 
 
 But she never understood anything else. She never 
 permitted herself to understand. Tonio, plump and 
 idle, enjoyed a year of paradisiacal opulence under her
 
 6 THK FRONT YARD 
 
 ministrations (and in spite of some of them) ; he was 
 eighteen years younger than she was ; it was natural 
 that he should wish to enjoy on a larger scale than 
 hers so he tcld her. At the end of twelve months a 
 fever carried him off, and his widow, who mourned for 
 him with all her heart, was left to face the world with 
 the eight children, the grandmother, the good old un- 
 cle, and whatever courage she was able to muster after 
 counting over and over the eighty -five dollars that 
 alone remained to her of the six hundred she had 
 brought him. 
 
 Of course she could have gone back to her own 
 country. But that idea never once occurred to her; 
 she had married Tonio for better or worse ; she could 
 not in honor desert the worst now that it had come. 
 It had come in force ; on the very day of the funeral 
 she had been obliged to work eight hours ; on every 
 day that had followed through all these years, the 
 hours had been on an average fourteen ; sometimes 
 more. 
 
 Bent under her basket, the widow now arrived at 
 the back door of her home. It was a small narrow 
 house, built of rough stones plastered over and painted 
 bright yellow. But though thus gay without, it was 
 dark within ; the few windows were very small, and 
 their four little panes of thick glass were covered with 
 an iron grating ; there was no elevation above the 
 ground, the brick floor inside being of the same level 
 as the flagging of the path without, so that there was 
 always a sense of groping when one entered the low 
 door. There were but four rooms, the kitchen, with a 
 bedroom opening from it, and two chambers above un- 
 der the sloping roof.
 
 THE FRONT YARD 7 
 
 Prudence unstrapped her basket and placed it in a 
 wood-shed which she had constructed with her own 
 hands. For she could not comprehend a house without 
 a wood-shed ; she called it a wood-shed, though there 
 was very little wood to put in it : in Assisi no one 
 made a fire for warmth ; for cooking they burned 
 twigs. She hung up the fagot (it was a fagot of 
 twigs), the herbs, and the sickle ; then, after giving 
 her narrow skirts a shake, she entered the kitchen. 
 
 There was a bed in this room. Granmar would not 
 allow it to be moved elsewhere ; her bed had always 
 been in the kitchen, and in the kitchen it should re- 
 main ; no one but Denza, indeed, would wish to shove 
 her off ; Annunziata had liked to have her dear old 
 granmar there, where she could see for herself that she 
 was having everything she needed ; but Annunziata had 
 been an angel of goodness, as well as of the dearest 
 beauty ; whereas Denza but any one could see what 
 Denza was ! As Gran mar's tongue was decidedly a 
 thing to be reckoned with, her bed remained where it 
 always had been ; from its comfortable cleanliness the 
 old creature could overlook and criticise to her heart's 
 content the entire household economy of Annunziata's 
 successor. Not only the kitchen, but the whole house 
 and garden, had been vigorously purified by this suc- 
 cessor ; single - handed she had attacked and carried 
 away accumulations which had been there since Colum- 
 bus discovered America. Even Granmar was rescued 
 from her squalor and coaxed to wear a clean cap and 
 neat little shawl, her withered brown hands reposing 
 meanwhile upon a sheet which, though coarse, was spot- 
 less. 
 
 Granmar was a very terrible old woman ; she had a
 
 8 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 beak-like nose, round glittering black eyes set in broad 
 circles of yellow wrinkles, no mouth to speak of, and 
 a receding chin ; her voice was now a gruff bass, now a 
 shrill yell. 
 
 " How late you are ! you do it on purpose," she said 
 as Prudence entered. "And me as haven't had a 
 thing I've wanted since you went away hours upon 
 hours ago. Nunziata there has been as stupid as a 
 stone behold her !" 
 
 She spoke in peasant Italian, a tongue which Mrs. 
 Guadagni the second (called Denza by the family, from 
 Prudenza, the Italian form of her first name) now spoke 
 readily enough, though after a fashion of her own. She 
 remained always convinced that Italian was simply lu- 
 natic English, English spoiled. One of the children, 
 named Pasquale, she called Squawly, and she always 
 believed that the title came from the strength of his 
 infant lungs ; many other words impressed her in the 
 same way. 
 
 She now made no reply to Granmar's complaints save 
 to give one business-like look towards the bed to see 
 whether the pillows were properly adjusted for the old 
 creature's comfort ; then she crossed the room towards 
 the stove, a large ancient construction of bricks, with 
 two or three small depressions over which an iron pot 
 could be set. 
 
 " Well, Nounce," she said to a girl who was sitting 
 there on a little bench. The tone of her voice was 
 kindly ; she looked to see if a fire had been made. A 
 few coals smouldered in one of the holes. " Good girl," 
 said Prudence, commendingly. 
 
 " Oh, very good !" cried Granmar from the bed 
 " very good, when I told her forty times, and fifty, to
 
 THE FRONT YARD 9 
 
 make me an omelet, a wee fat one with a drop of fig 
 in it, and I so faint, and she wouldn't, the snake ! she 
 wouldn't, the toad ! toadest of toads !" 
 
 The dark eyes of the girl turned slowly towards Pru- 
 dence. Prudence, as she busied herself with the coals, 
 gave her a little nod of approbation, which Granmar 
 could not see. The girl looked pleased for a moment ; 
 then her face sank into immobility again. She was 
 not an idiot, but wanting, as it was called ; a deli- 
 cate, pretty young creature, who, with her cousin Pippo, 
 had been only a year old when the second wife came 
 to Assisi. It was impossible for any one to be fond 
 of Pippo, who even at that age had been selfish and 
 gluttonous to an abnormal degree ; but Prudence had 
 learned to love the helpless little girl committed to her 
 care, as she had also learned to love very dearly the 
 child's brother Giovanni, who was but a year older ; 
 they had been but babies, both of them. The girl 
 was now seventeen. Her name was Annunziata, but 
 Prudence called her Nounce. " If it means 'Announce,' 
 Nounce is near enough, I guess," she said to herself, 
 aggressively. The truth was that she hated the name ; 
 it had belonged to Tonio's first wife, and of the memory 
 of that comely young mother, poor Prudence, with her 
 sixty years, her white hair, and wrinkled skin, was burn- 
 ingly jealous even now. Giovanni's name she pro- 
 nounced as though it were two words Jo Vanny ; she 
 really thought there were two. Jo she knew well, of 
 course ; it was a good New England name; Vanny was 
 probably some senseless Italian addition. The name of 
 the eldest son, Augusto, became on her lips Gooster ; 
 Paolo was Parlo, Assunta was Soonter. 
 
 The nuns had finally taken Soonter. The step-mother
 
 10 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 had been unable to conceal from herself her own pro- 
 found relief. True, the girl had gone to a " papish " 
 convent ; but she had always been a mystery in the 
 house, and the constant presence of a mystery is par- 
 ticularly trying to the New England mind. Soonter 
 spent hours in meditation ; she was very quiet ; she be- 
 lieved that she saw angels ; her face wore often a far- 
 away smile. 
 
 On this September evening she prepared a heavily 
 abundant supper for Granmar, and a simple one for 
 Nounce, who ate at any time hardly more than a bird ; 
 Granmar, on the contrary, was gifted with an appetite 
 of extraordinary capacities, the amount of food which 
 was necessary to keep her, not in good-humor (she was 
 never in good-humor), but in passable bodily tranquilli- 
 ty, through the twenty-four hours being equal to that 
 which would have been required (so Prudence often 
 thought) for three hearty New England harvesters at 
 home. Not that Granmar would touch Ne\v England 
 food ; none of the family would eat the home dishes 
 which Prudence in the earlier years had hopefully 
 tried to prepare from such materials as seemed to her 
 the least " onreasonable " ; Granmar, indeed, had de- 
 clared each and all fit only for the hogs. Prudence 
 never tried them now, and she had learned the art of 
 Italian cooking; for she felt that she could not afford 
 to make anything that was to be for herself alone ; the 
 handful of precious twigs must serve for the family as 
 a whole. But every now and then, in spite of her nat- 
 ural abstemiousness, she would be haunted by a vision 
 of a " boiled dinner," the boiled corned-beef, the boiled 
 cabbage, turnips, and potatoes, and the boiled Indian 
 pudding of her youth. She should never taste these
 
 THE FRONT YAKD 11 
 
 dainties on earth again. More than once she caught 
 herself hoping that at least the aroma of them would be 
 given to her some time in heaven. 
 
 When Granmar was gorged she became temporarily 
 more tranquil. Prudence took this time to speak of a plan 
 which she had had in her mind for several days. " Now 
 that Gooster and the other boys are doing for them- 
 selves, Granmar, and Bepper too at last, and Jo Vanny 
 only needing a trifle of help now and then (he's so 
 young yet, you know), I feel as though I might be earn- 
 ing more money," she began. 
 
 " Money's a very good thing ; we've never had half 
 enough since my sainted Annunziata joined the angels," 
 responded Granmar, with a pious air. 
 
 " Well, it seems a good time to try and earn some 
 more. Soonter's gone to the convent ; and as it's a 
 long while since Pipper's been here, I really begin to 
 think he has gone off to get work somewhere, as he al- 
 ways said was going to." 
 
 "Don't you be too sure of Pippo," said Granmar, 
 shaking her owl-like head ominously. 
 
 " 'Tany rate he hasn't been here, and I always try to 
 hope the best about him " 
 
 "And that's what you call the best?" interrupted 
 Granmar, with one of her sudden flank movements, " to 
 have him gone away off no one knows where Annun- 
 ziata's own precious little nephew taken by the pirates 
 yam! Sold as a slave yam! Killed in the war! 
 Oh, Pippo ! poor Pippo ! poor little Pipp, Pipp, Pipp !" 
 
 " And so I thought I'd try to go to the shop by the 
 day," Prudence went on, when this yell had ceased ; 
 "they want me to come and cut out. I shouldn't go 
 until after your breakfast, of course ; and I could leave
 
 12 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 cold things out, and Nounce would cook you something 
 hot at noon ; then I should be home myself every night 
 in time to get your supper." 
 
 " And so that's the plan I'm to be left alone here 
 with an idiot while you go flouncing your heels round 
 Assisi ! Flounce, cat ! It's a wonder the dead don't 
 rise in their graves to hear it. But we buried my An- 
 nunziata too deep for that yam ! otherwise she'd 'a 
 been here to tear your eyes out. An old woman left to 
 starve alone, her own precious grandmother, growing 
 weaker and weaker, and pining and pining. Blessed 
 stomach, do you hear do you hear, my holy, blessed 
 stomach, always asking for so little, and now not even 
 to get that? It's turned all a mumble of cold just 
 thinking of it yam ! I, poor sufferer, who have had 
 to stand your ugly face so long I so fond of beauty ! 
 You haven't got but twenty-four hairs now ; you know 
 you haven't yam! I've got more than you twenty 
 times over hey ! that I have." And Granmar, tearing 
 off her cap, pulled loose her coarse white hair, and 
 grasping the ends of the long locks with her crooked 
 fingers, threw them aloft with a series of shrill halloos. 
 
 " I won't go to the shop," said Prudence. " Mercy 
 on us, what a noise ! I say I won't go to the shop. 
 There ! do you hear ?" 
 
 " Will you be here every day of your life at twelve 
 o'clock to cook me something that won't poison me ?" 
 demanded Granmar, still hallooing. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I promise you." 
 
 Even Granmar believed Prudence's yes ; her yea was 
 yea and her nay nay to all the family. " You cook me 
 something this very minute," she said, sullenly, putting 
 on her cap askew.
 
 THE FKONT YARD 13 
 
 " Why, you've only just got through your supper !" 
 exclaimed Prudence, astonished, used though she was 
 to Granrnar's abdominal capacities, by this sudden de- 
 mand. 
 
 "You won't? Then I'll yell again," said Granmar. 
 And yell she did. 
 
 " Hold up do ; I believe you now," said Prudence. 
 She fanned the dying coals with a straw fan, made up 
 the fire, and prepared some griddle - cakes. Granmar 
 demanded fig syrup to eat with them ; and devoured 
 six. Filled to repletion, she then suffered Prudence to 
 change her day cap for a nightcap, falling asleep almost 
 before her head touched the pillow. 
 
 During this scene Nounce had sat quietly in her cor- 
 ner. Prudence now went to her to see if she was fright- 
 ened, for the girl was sometimes much terrified by 
 Granmar's outcries ; she stroked her soft hair. She was 
 always looking for signs of intelligence in Nounce, and 
 fancying that she discovered them. Taking the girl's 
 hand, she went with her to the next room, where were 
 their two narrow pallet beds. " You were very smart 
 to save the eggs for me to-day when Granmar wanted 
 that omerlet," she whispered, as she helped her to un- 
 dress. 
 
 Memory came back to Nounce ; she smiled compre- 
 hendingly. 
 
 Prudence waited until she was in bed ; then she kissed 
 her good-night, and put out the candle. 
 
 Her two charges asleep, Mrs. Guadagni the second 
 opened the back door softly and went out. It was not 
 yet nine o'clock, a warm dark night; though still Sep- 
 tember, the odors of autumn were already in the air, 
 coming from the September flowers, which have a pun-
 
 14 THE FROST YAKD 
 
 gency mingled with their perfume, from the rank ripe- 
 ness of the vegetables, from the aroma of the ground 
 after the first rains. 
 
 " I could have made thirty cents a week more at the 
 shop," she said to herself, regretfully (she always trans- 
 lated the Italian money into American or French). " In 
 a month that would have been a dollar and twenty cents! 
 Well, there's no use thinking about it sence I can't go." 
 She bent over her vegetables, feeling of their leaves, and 
 estimating anew how many she could afford to sell, now 
 that the family was so much reduced in size. Then she 
 paid a visit to her fig-trees. She had planted these 
 trees herself, and watched over their infancy with anx- 
 ious care ; at the present moment they were loaded with 
 fruit, and it seemed as if she knew the position of each 
 fig, so many times had she stood under the boughs look- 
 ing up at the slowly swelling bulbs. She had never be- 
 fore been able to sell the fruit. But now she should be 
 able, and the sale would add a good many cents to the 
 store of savings kept in her work-box. This work-box, 
 a possession of her youth, was lined with vivid green 
 paper, and had a colored lithograph of the Honorable 
 Mrs. Norton (taken as a Muse) on the inside of the cover ; 
 it held already three francs and a half, that is seventy 
 cents an excellent sum when one considered that only 
 three weeks had passed since the happy day when she 
 had at last beheld the way open to saving regularly, 
 laying by regularly ; many times had she begun to save, 
 but she had never been able to continue it. Now, with 
 this small household, she should be able to continue. 
 The sale of the figs would probably double the savings 
 already in the work-box ; she might even get eighty 
 cents for them ; and that would make a dollar and fifty
 
 THE FRONT YARD 15 
 
 cents in all ! A fig fell to the ground. " They're ripe," 
 she thought ; " they must be picked to-morrow." She 
 felt for the fallen fig in the darkness, and carrying it to 
 the garden wall, placed it in a dry niche where it would 
 keep its freshness until she could send it to town with 
 the rest. Then she went to the hen-house. " Smart of 
 Nounce to save the eggs for me," she thought, laugh- 
 ing delightedly to herself over this proof of the girl's 
 intelligence. " Gran mar didn't need that omerlet one 
 bit ; I left out two tremenjous lunches for her." She 
 peered in ; but could not see the hens in the darkness. 
 " If Granmar 'd only eat the things we do !" her thoughts 
 went on. " But she's always possessed after everything 
 that takes eggs. And then she wants the very best 
 coffee, and white sugar, and the best wine, and fine flour 
 and meal and oil my ! how much oil ! But I wonder 
 if / couldn't stop eating something or other, steader 
 pestering myself about her ? Let's see. I don't take 
 wine nor coffee, so I can't stop them ; but I could stop 
 soup meat, just for myself; and I will. Thus medi- 
 tating, she went slowly round to the open space before 
 the house. 
 
 To call it a space was a misnomer. The house stood 
 at the apex of the hill, and its garden by right extended 
 as far down the descent in front as it extended down 
 the opposite descent behind, where Prudence had plant- 
 ed her long rows of vegetables. But in this front space, 
 not ten feet distant from the house door, planted direct- 
 ly across the paved path which came up from below, 
 was the cow -shed, the intruding offensive neighbor 
 whose odors, gruntmgs (for it was now a pig-sty), and 
 refuse were constantly making themselves perceptible to 
 one sense and another through the open windows of the
 
 16 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 dwelling behind. For the house had no back win- 
 dows; the small apertures which passed for windows 
 were all in front ; in that climate it was impossible that 
 they should be always closed. How those odors choked 
 Prudence Wilkin ! It seemed as if she could not re- 
 spect herself while obliged to breathe them, as if she 
 had not respected herself (in the true Ledham way) 
 since the pig-sty became her neighbor. 
 
 For fifty francs the owners would take it away ; for 
 another twenty or thirty she could have " a front yard." 
 But though she had made many beginnings, she had 
 never been able to save a tenth of the sum. None of 
 the family shared her feelings in the least ; to spend 
 precious money for such a whim as that only an Amer- 
 ican could be capable of it ; but then, as everybody 
 knew, most Americans were mad. And why should 
 Denza object to pigs ? 
 
 Prudence therefore had been obliged to keep her 
 longings to herself. But this had only intensified 
 them. And now when at last, after thinking of it for 
 sixteen years, she was free to begin to save daily and 
 regularly, she saw as in a vision her front yard com- 
 pleted as she would like to have it : the cow-shed gone ; 
 " a nice straight path going down to the front gate, set 
 in a new paling fence ; along the sides currant bushes ; 
 and in the open spaces to the right and left a big flow- 
 erin' shrub snowballs, or Missouri currant ; near the 
 house a clump of matrimony, perhaps; and in the flower 
 beds on each side of the path bachelor's-buttons, 
 Chiny-asters, lady'-s-slippers, and pinks ; the edges bor- 
 dered with box." She heaved a sigh of deep satisfac- 
 tion as she finished her mental review. But it was 
 hardly mental after all ; she saw the gate, she saw the
 
 THE FRONT YARD 17 
 
 straight path, she saw the currant bushes and the box- 
 bordered flower beds as distinctly as though they had 
 really been there. 
 
 Cheered, almost joyous, she went within, locking 
 the door behind her; then, after softly placing the 
 usual store of provisions beside Granmar's bed (for 
 Granmar had a habit of waking in the night to eat), 
 she sought her own couch. It was hard, but she 
 stretched herself upon it luxuriously. " The figs '11 
 double the money," she thought, " and by this time 
 to-morrow I shall have a dollar and forty cents ; mebby 
 a dollar fifty !" She fell asleep happily. 
 
 Her contentment made her sleep soundly. Still it 
 was not long after dawn when she hurried down the 
 hill to the town to get her supply of work from the 
 shop. Hastening back with it, she found Granmar 
 clamoring for her coffee, and Nounce, neatly dressed 
 and clean (for so much Prudence had succeeded in 
 teaching her), sitting patiently in her corner. Pru- 
 dence's mind was full of a sale she had made \ but she 
 prepared the coffee and Nounce's broth with her usual 
 care ; she washed her dishes, and made Granmar tidy 
 for the day ; finally she arranged all her sewing imple- 
 ments on the table by the window beside her pile of 
 work. Now she could give herself the luxury of one 
 last look, one last estimate; for she had made a miracle 
 of a bargain for her figs. By ten o'clock the men 
 would be up to gather them. 
 
 It was a hazy morning ; butterflies danced before 
 her as she hastened towards the loaded trees. Reach- 
 ing them, she looked up. The boughs were bare. All 
 the figs had been gathered in the night, or at earliest 
 dawn.
 
 18 THE FKON'T YARD 
 
 " Pipper !" she murmured to herself. 
 
 The ground under the trees was trampled. 
 
 Seven weeks later, on the 16th of November, this 
 same Prudence was adding to her secreted store the 
 fifteen cents needed to make the sum ten francs ex- 
 actly that is, two dollars. " Ten francs, a fifth of the 
 whole ! It seems 'most too lucky that I've got on so 
 well, spite of Pipper's taking the figs. If I can keep 
 along this way, it '11 all be done by the Fourth of July ; 
 not just the cow-shed taken away, but the front yard 
 done too. My !" She sat down on a fagot to think it 
 over. The thought was rapture ; she laughed to herself 
 and at herself for being so happy. 
 
 Some one called, " Mamma." She came out, and 
 found Jo Vanny looking for her. Nounce and Jo 
 Vanny were the only ones among the children who 
 had ever called her mother. 
 
 " Oh, you're up there in the shed, are you ?" said Jo 
 Vanny. " Somehow, mamma, you look very gay." 
 
 " Yes, I'm gay," answered Prudence. " Perhaps 
 some of these days I'll tell you why." In her heart 
 she thought : " Jo Vanny, now, he'd understand ; he'd 
 feel as I do if I should explain it to him. A nice 
 front yard he has never seen in all his life, for they 
 don't have 'em here. But once he knew what it was, 
 he'd care about it as much as I do ; I know he would. 
 He's sort of American, anyhow." It was the highest 
 praise she could give. The boy had his cap off ; she 
 smoothed his hair. " ' Pears to me you must have lost 
 your comb," she said. 
 
 " I'm going to have it all cut off as short as can be," 
 announced Jo Vanny, with a resolute air. 
 
 " Oh no."
 
 THE FRONT YARD 19 
 
 " Yes, I am. Some of the other fellows have had 
 theirs cut that way, and I'm going to, too," pursued 
 the young stoic. 
 
 He was eighteen, rather undersized and slender, 
 handsome as to his face, with large dark long-lashed 
 eyes, well-cut features, white teeth, and the curly hair 
 which Prudence had smoothed. Though he had vowed 
 them to destruction, these love-locks were for the pres- 
 ent arranged in the style most approved in Assisi, one 
 thick glossy flake being brought down low over the 
 forehead, so that it showed under his cap in a senti- 
 mental wave. lie did not look much like a hard-work- 
 ing carpenter as he stood there dressed in dark clothes 
 made in that singular exaggeration of the fashions 
 which one sees only in Italy. IIis trousers, small at 
 the knee, were large and wing-like at the ankle, half 
 covering the tight shabby shoes run down at the heel 
 and absurdly short, which, however, as they were made 
 of patent - leather and sharply pointed at the toes, Jo 
 Yanny considered shoes of gala aspect. His low flaring 
 collar was surrounded by a red-satin cravat ornamented 
 by a gilt horseshoe. He wore a ring on the little finger 
 of each hand. In his own eyes his attire was splendid. 
 
 In the eyes of some one else also. To Prudence, as 
 he stood there, he looked absolutely beautiful ; she felt 
 all a mother's pride rise in her heart as she surveyed 
 him. But she must not let him see it, and she must 
 scold him for wearing his best clothes every day. 
 
 " I didn't know it was a festa," she began. 
 
 " 'Tain't. But one of the fellows has had a sister 
 married, and they've invited us all to a big supper to- 
 night," 
 
 "To-night isn't to-day, that I know of."
 
 20 THE FKONT YARD 
 
 "Do you wish me to go all covered with sawdust?" 
 said the little dandy, Avith a disdainful air. " Besides, 
 I wanted to come up here." 
 
 " It is a good while sence we've seen you," Prudence 
 admitted. In her heart she was delighted that he had 
 wished to come. " Have you had your dinner, Jo 
 Vanny ?" 
 
 " All I want. I'll take a bit of bread and some wine 
 by-and-by. But you needn't go to cooking for me, 
 mamma. I say, tell me what it was that made you look 
 so glad ?" said the boy, curiously. 
 
 " Never you mind now," said Prudence, the gleam of 
 content coming again into her eyes, and lighting up her 
 brown, wrinkled face. She was glad that she had the 
 ten francs ; she was glad to see the boy ; she was 
 .touched by his unselfishness in declining her offer of a 
 second dinner. No other member of the family would 
 have declined or waited to decline; the others would 
 have demanded some freshly cooked dish immediately 
 upon entering; Uncle Patro would have demanded 
 three or four. 
 
 " I've brought my mandolin," Jo Vanny went on. 
 " I've got to take it to the supper, of course, because 
 they always want me to sing I never can get rid of 
 'em ! And so you can hear me, if you like. I know 
 the new songs, and one of them I composed myself. 
 Well, it's rather heavenly." 
 
 All Tonio's children sang like birds. Poor Prudence, 
 who had no ear for music, had never been able to com- 
 prehend either the pleasure or the profit of the hours 
 they gave to their carollings. But when, in his turn, 
 her little Jo Vanny began his pipings, then she listened, 
 or tried to listen. " Real purty, Jo Vanny," she would
 
 THE FRONT YARD 21 
 
 say, when the silence of a moment or two had assured 
 her that his song was ended ; it was her only way of 
 knowing the silence. 
 
 So now she brought her work out to the garden, 
 and sewed busily while Jo Vanny sang and thrummed. 
 Nounce, too, came out, and sat on the wall near by, 
 listening. 
 
 At length the little singer took himself off took 
 himself off with his red-satin cravat, his horseshoe pin, 
 and his mandolin under his arm. Nounce went back 
 to the house, but Prudence sat awhile longer, using, as 
 she always did, the very last rays of the sunset light 
 for her sewing. 
 
 After a while she heard a step, and looked up. 
 " Why, Gooster ! anything the matter ?" she said, in 
 surprise. 
 
 Unlike the slender little Jo Vanny, Gooster was a 
 large, stoutly built young man, as slow in his motions 
 as Jo Vanny was quick. He was a lethargic fellow 
 with sombre eyes, eyes which sometimes had a gleam 
 in them. 
 
 " There's nothing especial the matter," he answered, 
 dully. " I think I'll go for a soldier, Denza." 
 
 " Go for a soldier ? And the per-dairy ?" 
 
 " I can't never go back to the podere. She's there, 
 and she has taken up with Matteo. I've had my heart 
 trampled upon, and so I've got a big hankering either 
 to kill somebody or get killed myself; and I'll either 
 do it here, or I'll go for a soldier and get knifed in the 
 war." 
 
 " Mercy on us I there isn't any war now," said Pru- 
 dence, dazed by these sanguinary suggestions. 
 
 " There's always a war. What else are there soldiers
 
 22 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 for ? And there's lots of soldiers. But I could get 
 knifed here easy enough ; Matte o and I already we've 
 had one tussle ; I gave him a pretty big cut, you may 
 depend." 
 
 Seventeen years earlier Prudence Wilkin would have 
 laughed at the idea of being frightened by such words 
 as these. But Mrs. Tonio Guadagni had heard of wild 
 deeds in Assisi, and wilder ones still among the peas- 
 ants of the hill country roundabout ; these singing, in- 
 dolent Umbrians dealt sometimes in revenges that were 
 very direct and primitive. 
 
 "You let Matteo alone, Gooster," she said, putting 
 her hand on his arm; "you go straight over to Perugia 
 and stay there. Perhaps you can get work where Parlo 
 and Squawly are." 
 
 " I shall have it out with Matteo here, or else go for 
 a soldier to-morrow," answered Gooster, in his lethargic 
 tone. 
 
 " Well, go for a soldier, then." 
 
 "It don't make much difference to me which I do," 
 Gooster went on, as if only half awake. " If I go for a 
 soldier, I shall have to get to Florence somehow, I sup- 
 pose-, I shall have to have ten francs for the railroad." 
 
 " Is it ten exactly ?" said Prudence. Her mind flew 
 to her work-box, which held just that sum. 
 
 "It's ten." 
 
 " Haven't you got any money at all, Gooster?" She 
 meant to help him on his way ; but she thought that 
 she should like to keep, if possible, a nest-egg to begin 
 with again say twenty cents, or ten. 
 
 Gooster felt in his pockets. " Three soldi," he re- 
 plied, producing some copper coins and counting them 
 over.
 
 ~
 
 THE FBOST YARD 23 
 
 "And there's nothing due you at the per-dairy?" 
 
 There was no necessity for answering such a foolish 
 question as this, and Gooster did not answer it. 
 
 " Well, I will give you the money," said Prudence. 
 But to-morrow Ml do, won't it ? Stay here a day or 
 two, and we'll talk it over." 
 
 While she was speaking, Gooster had turned and 
 walked towards the garden wall. The sight of his 
 back going from her as though she should never see 
 it again threw her into a sudden panic ; she ran after 
 him and seized his arm. " I'll give you the money, 
 Gooster -, I told you I would ; I've got it all ready, and 
 it won't take a minute ; promise me that you won't 
 leave this garden till I come back." 
 
 Gooster had had no thought of leaving the garden ; 
 he had espied a last bunch of grapes still hanging on 
 the vine, and was going to get it; that was all. "All 
 right," he said. 
 
 Prudence disappeared. He gathered the grapes and 
 began to eat them, turning over the bunch to see which 
 were best. Before he had finished, Prudence came 
 back, breathless with the haste she had made. " Here," 
 she said; "and now you'll go straight to Florence, 
 won't you ? There's a train to-night, very soon now * 
 you must hurry down and take that." 
 
 He let her put the money in his coat-pocket while he 
 finished the grapes. Then he threw the stem carefully 
 over the garden wall. 
 
 " And no doubt you'll be a brave soldier," Prudence 
 went on, trying to speak hopefully. " Brave soldiers 
 are thought a heap of everywhere." 
 
 "I don't know as I care what's thought," answered 
 Gooster, indifferently. He took up his cap and put it
 
 24 THE FRONT YAKD 
 
 on. " Well, good-bye, Denza. Best wishes to you. 
 Every happiness." He shook hands with her. 
 
 Prudence stood waiting where she was for five min- 
 utes ; then she followed him. It was already dark ; 
 she went down the hill rapidly, and turned into the 
 narrow main street. A few lamps were lighted. She 
 hastened onward, hoping every minute to distinguish 
 somewhere in front a tall figure with slouching gait. 
 At last, where the road turns to begin the long descent 
 to the plain, she did distinguish it. Yes, that was cer- 
 tainly Gooster ; he was going down the hill towards the 
 railway station. All was well, then ; she could dismiss 
 her anxiety. She returned through the town. Stop- 
 ping for a moment at an open space, she gazed down 
 upon the vast valley, now darkening into night; here sud- 
 denly a fear came over her he might have turned round 
 and come back ! She hurried through the town a sec- 
 ond time, and not meeting^tim, started down the hill. 
 The road went down in long zigzags. As she turned 
 each angle she expected to see him ; but she did not 
 see him, and finally she reached the plain : there were 
 the lights of the station facing her. She drew near 
 cautiously, nearer and nearer, until, herself unseen in 
 the darkness, she could peer through the window into 
 the lighted waiting-room. If he was there, she could 
 see him ; but if he was on the platform on the other 
 side No ; he was there. She drew a long breath 
 of relief, and stole away. 
 
 A short distance up the hill a wheelbarrow loaded 
 with stones had been left by the side of the road ; she 
 sat down on the stones to rest, for the first time realiz- 
 ing how tired she was. The train came rushing along ; 
 stopped ; went on again. She watched it as long as
 
 THE FRONT YARD 25 
 
 she could see its lights. Then she rose and turned 
 
 O 
 
 slowly up the hill, beginning her long walk home. 
 " My," she thought, " won't Granrnar be in a tantrum, 
 though !" 
 
 ' When she reached the house she made a circuit, 
 and came through the garden behind towards the back 
 door. "I don't want to see the front yard to-night!" 
 she thought. 
 
 But she was rather ashamed of this egotism. 
 
 " And they say they'll put me in prison oh ow ! 
 an old man, a good old man, a suffering son of human- 
 ity like me !" moaned Uncle Pietro. 
 
 "An old man, a good old man, a suffering son of hu- 
 manity like him" repeated Granmar, shrilly, proud of 
 this fine language. 
 
 Suddenly she brandished her lean arms. " You Den- 
 za there, with your stored-up money made from my star- 
 vation yam ! mine, how dare you be so silent, figure 
 of a mule ? Starvation ! yes, indeed. Wait and I'll 
 show you my arms, Pietro ; wait and I'll show you my 
 ribs yam !" 
 
 " You keep yourself covered up, Granmar," said Pru- 
 dence, tucking her in ; " you'll do yourself a mischief 
 in this cold weather." 
 
 " Ahi !" said Granmar, u and do I care? If I could 
 live to see you drowned, I'd freeze and be glad. Stored- 
 up money ! stored-up money !" 
 
 " What do you know of my money ?" said Prudence. 
 Her voice trembled a little. 
 
 " She confesses it !" announced Granmar, trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 " An old ma an," said Pietro, crouching over
 
 26 THE FKOXT YAED 
 
 Nounce's scaldino. " A good old ma an. But ac- 
 commodate yourself." 
 
 Prudence sat down and took up lier sewing. " I 
 don't believe they'll put you in jail at all, Fatro," she 
 said ; " 'twon't do 'em any good, and what they want 
 is their money. You just go to 'em and say that you'll 
 do day's work for 'em till it's made up, and they'll let 
 you off, I'll bet. Nine francs, is it? Well, at half a 
 franc a day you can make it up full in eighteen days ; 
 or call it twenty -four with the festas." 
 
 " The Americans are all mercenary," remarked old 
 Pietro, waving his hand in scorn. " Being themselves 
 always influenced by gain, they cannot understand lofty 
 motives nor the cold, glittering anger of the ruobility. 
 The Leoncinis are noble ; they are of the old Count's 
 blood. They do not want their money ; they want re- 
 venge they want to rack my bones." 
 
 Granmar gave a long howl. 
 
 "Favor me, my niece, with no more of your mis- 
 takes," concluded Pietro, with dignity. 
 
 " I don't believe they'd refuse," said Prudence, un- 
 moved. " I'll go and ask 'em myself, if you like ; 
 that '11 be the best way. I'll go right away now." She 
 began to fold up her work. 
 
 At this Pietro, after putting the scaldino safely on 
 the stove, fell down in a round heap on the floor. 
 Never were limbs so suddenly contorted and tangled; 
 he clawed the bricks so fiercely with his fingers that 
 Nounce, frightened, left her bench and ran into the 
 next room. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? I never saw such a 
 man," said Prudence, trying to raise him. 
 
 " Let be ! let be !" called out Granmar ; " it's a stroke ;
 
 THE FRONT YARD 27 
 
 and you've brought it on, talking to him about working, 
 working all day long like a horse a good old man like 
 that." 
 
 " I don't believe it's a stroke," said Prudence, still 
 trying to get him up. 
 
 "My opinion is," said Granmar, sinking into sudden 
 calm, "that he will die in ten minutes exactly ten." 
 
 His face had indeed turned very red. 
 
 " Dear me ! I suppose I shall have to run down for 
 the doctor," said Prudence, desisting. " Perhaps he'd 
 ought to be bled." 
 
 " You leave the doctor alone, and ease his mind," 
 directed Granmar; "that's what he needs, sensitive as 
 he is, and poetical too, poor fellow. You just shout in 
 his ear that you'll pay that money, and you'll be sur- 
 prised to see how it '11 loosen his joints." 
 
 Mrs. Guadagni surveyed the good old uncle for a mo- 
 ment. Then she bent over him and shouted in his ear, 
 " I'll make you a hot fig-tart right away now, Patro, if 
 you'll set up." 
 
 As she finished these words Granmar threw her scal- 
 dino suddenly into the centre of the kitchen, where it 
 broke with a crash upon the bricks. 
 
 " He's going to get up," announced Prudence, tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 " lie isn't any such thing ; 'twas the scaldino shook 
 him," responded Granmar, in a loud, admonitory tone. 
 " He'll never get up again in this world unless you shout 
 in his ear that you'll pay that money." 
 
 And in truth Pietro was now more knotted than 
 ever. 
 
 At this moment the door opened and Jo Vanny came 
 in. " Why, what's the matter with uncle ?" he said, see-
 
 28 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 ing the figure on the floor. lie bent over him and tried 
 to ease his position. 
 
 " It's a stroke," said Granmar, in a soft voice. " It '11 
 soon be over. Hush ! leave him in peace. He's dying; 
 Denza there, she did it." 
 
 " They want me to pay the nine francs he has lost," 
 said Prudence. " Perhaps you have heard, Jo Vanny, 
 that he has lost nine francs that belonged to the Le- 
 oncinis ? Nine whole francs." She looked at the lad, 
 and he understood the look ; for only the day before 
 she had confided to him at last her long-cherished dream, 
 and (as she had been sure he would) he had sympathized 
 with it warmly. 
 
 " I declare I wish I had even a franc !" he said, search- 
 ing his pockets desperately ; " but I've only got a cig- 
 arette. Will you try a cigarette, uncle ?" he shouted in 
 the heap's ear. 
 
 "Don't you mock him," ordered Granmar (but Jo 
 Vanny had been entirely in earnest). "He'll die soon, 
 and Denza will be rid of him ; that's what she wants. 
 'Twill be murder, of course ; and he'll haunt us he's 
 always said he'd haunt somebody. But /ain't long for 
 this world, so I ain't disturbed. Heaven's waiting wide 
 open for we." 
 
 Jo Vanny looked a little frightened. He hesitated a 
 moment, surveying the motionless Pietro ; then he drew 
 Prudence aside. " He's an awful wicked old man, and 
 might really do it," he whispered ; " 'specially as you 
 ain't a Catholic, mamma. I think you'd better give 
 him the money if it'll stop him off; / don't mind, but 
 it would be bad for you if he should come rapping on 
 your window's and showing corpse-lights in the garden 
 by-and-by."
 
 THE FRONT YARD 29 
 
 Prudence brought her hands together sharply a 
 gesture of exasperation. " He ain't going to die any 
 more than I am," she said. But she knew what life 
 would be in that house with such a threat hang- 
 ing over it, even though the execution were deferred 
 to some vague future time. Angrily she left the 
 room. 
 
 Jo Vanny followed her. " Come along, if you want 
 to," she said, half impatient, half glad. She felt a sud- 
 den desire that some one besides herself should see the 
 sacrifice, see the actual despoiling of the little box she 
 had labored to fill. She went to the wood-shed. It 
 was a gloomy December day, and the vegetables hang- 
 ing on the walls had a dreary, stone - like look ; she 
 climbed up on a barrel, and removed the hay which 
 filled a rough shelf ; in a niche behind was her work- 
 box ; with it in her hand she climbed down again. 
 
 She gave him the box to hold while she counted out 
 the money nine francs. " There are twelve in all," 
 she said. 
 
 " Then you'll have three left," said Jo Vanny. 
 
 " Yes, three." She could not help a sigh of retro- 
 spect, the outgoing nine represented so many long 
 hours of toil. 
 
 " Let me put the box back," said the boy. Il was 
 quickly and deftly done. " Never mind about it, mam- 
 ma," he said, as he jumped down. "7'11 help you to 
 make it up again. I want that front yard as much as 
 you do, now you've told me about it ; I think it will be 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Well," said Prudence, " when the flower-beds are 
 all fixed up, and the new front path and swing gate, it 
 will be kind of nice, I reckon."
 
 30 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 " Nice ?" said Jo Vanny. " That's not the word. 
 'Twill be an ecstasy ! a smile ! a dream !" 
 
 " Bless the boy, what nonsense he talks !" said the 
 step-mother. But she loved to hear his romantic 
 phrases all the same. 
 
 They went back to the kitchen. The sacrifice had 
 now become a cheerful one. She bent over the heap. 
 " Here's your nine francs, Patro," she shouted. " Come, 
 now, come !" 
 
 Pietro felt the money in his hand. He rose quietly. 
 " I'm nearly killed with all your yelling," he said. Then 
 he took his hat and left the house. 
 
 " We did yell," said Prudence, picking up the frag- 
 ments of the broken scaldino. " I don't quite know 
 why we did." 
 
 " Never mind why-ing, but get supper," said Gran- 
 mar. " Then go down on your knees and thank the 
 Virgin for giving us such a merciful, mild old man as 
 Pietro. You brought on his stroke ; but what did he 
 do ? He just took what you gave him, and went away 
 so forgivingly the soul of a dove, the spice-cake soul !" 
 
 In January, the short, sharp winter of Italy had pos- 
 session of Assisi. 
 
 One day towards the last of the month a bitter wind 
 was driving through the bleak, stony little street, send- 
 ing clouds of gritty, frozen dust before it. The dark, 
 fireless dwellings were colder than the outside air, and 
 the people, swathed in heavy layers of clothing, to which 
 all sorts of old cloaks and shawls and mufflers had been 
 added, were standing about near the open doors of their 
 shops and dwellings, various prominences under apron 
 or coat betraying the hidden scaldino, the earthen dish
 
 THE FRONT YARD 31 
 
 which Italians tightly hug in winter with the hope that 
 the few coals it contains will keep their benumbed fin- 
 gers warm. All faces were reddened and frost-bitten. 
 The hands of the children who were too young to hold 
 a scaldino were purple-black. 
 
 Prudence Guadagni, with her great basket strapped 
 on her back, came along, receiving but two or three 
 greetings as she passed. Few knew her; fewer still 
 liked her, for was she not a foreigner and a pagan ? 
 Besides, what could you do with a woman who drank 
 water, simple water, like a toad, and never touched wine 
 a woman who did not like oil, good, sweet, wholesome 
 oil ! Tonio's children were much commiserated for hav- 
 ing fallen into such hands. 
 
 Prudence was dressed as she had been in September, 
 save that she now wore woollen stockings and coarse 
 shoes, and tightly pinned round her spare person a large 
 shawl. This shawl (she called it " my Highland shawl") 
 had come with her from America ; it was green in hue, 
 plaided ; she thought it still very handsome. Her step 
 was not as light as it had been ; rheumatism had crip- 
 pled her sorely. 
 
 As she left the town and turned up the hill towards 
 home, some one who had been waiting there joined her. 
 " Is that you, Bepper ? Were you coming up to the 
 house ?" she said. 
 
 " Yes," answered Beppa, showing her white teeth in 
 a smile. "I'm bringing you some news, Denza." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? I hope you're not going to leave 
 your place f ' 
 
 " I'm going to leave it, and that's my news : I'm go- 
 ing to be married." 
 
 " My ! it's sudden, isn't it ?" said Prudence, stopping.
 
 32 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 "Giuseppe doesn't think it's sudden," said Beppa, 
 laughing and tossing lier head ; " he thinks I've been 
 ages making up my mind. Come on, Denza, do ; it's 
 so cold !" 
 
 " I don't know Giuseppe, do I ?" said Prudence, 
 trudging on again ; " I don't remember the name." 
 
 " No; I've never brought him up to the house. But 
 the boys know him Paolo and Pasquale ; Augusto, 
 too. He's well off, Giuseppe is ; he's got beautiful fur- 
 niture. He's a first-rate mason, and gets good wages, 
 so I sha'n't have to work any more I mean go out to 
 work as I do now." 
 
 " Bepper, do you like him ?" said Prudence, stopping 
 again. She took hold of the girl's wrist and held it 
 tightly. 
 
 " Of course I like him," said Beppa, freeing herself. 
 " How cold your hands are, Denza ugh !" 
 
 " You ain't marrying him for his furniture 1 You 
 love him for himself and better than any one 
 else in the whole world?" Prudence went on, sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 " Oh, how comical you do look, standing there talk- 
 ing about love, with your white hair and your great big 
 basket!" said Beppa, breaking into irrepressible laugh- 
 ter. The cold had not made her hideous, as it makes so 
 many Italians hideous ; her face was not empurpled, her 
 fine features were not swollen. She looked handsome. 
 What was even more attractive on such a day, she 
 looked warm. As her merriment ceased, a sudden 
 change came over her. " Sainted Maria ! she doubts 
 whether I love him ! Love him ? Why, you poor old 
 woman, I'd die for him to-morrow. I'd cut myself in 
 pieces for him this minute." Her great black eyes
 
 THE FRONT YARD 33 
 
 gleamed ; the color flamed in her oval cheeks ; she gave 
 a rich, angry laugh. 
 
 It was impossible to doubt her, and Prudence did 
 not doubt. " Well, I'm right down glad, Bepper," she 
 said, in a softened tone " right down glad, my dear." 
 She was thinking of her own love for the girl's father. 
 
 " I was coming up," continued Beppa, "because I 
 thought I'd better talk it over with you." 
 
 " Of course," said Prudence, cordially. " A girl 
 can't get married all alone ; nobody' ever heard of 
 that." 
 
 " I sha'n't be much alone, for Giuseppe's family's a 
 very big one ; too big, I tell him ten brothers and 
 sisters. But they're all well off, that's one comfort. 
 Of course I don't want to shame 'em." 
 
 " Of course not," said Prudence, assenting again. 
 Then, with the awakened memories still stirring, in her 
 heart : " It's a pity your father isn't here now," she said, 
 in a moved tone ; " he'd have graced a wedding, Bepper, 
 he was so handsome." She seldom spoke of Tonio; 
 the subject was too sacred ; but it seemed to her as if 
 she might venture a few words to this his daughter on 
 the eve of her own marriage. 
 
 " Yes, it's a pity, I suppose," answered Beppa. " Still, 
 he would have been an old man now. And 'tain't likely 
 he would have had a good coat either that is, not such 
 a one as I should call good." 
 
 "Yes, he would; I'd have made him one," responded 
 Prudence, with a spark of anger. " This whole basket's 
 full of coats now." 
 
 " I know you're wonderful clever with your needle," 
 said the girl, glancing carelessly at the basket that 
 weighed down her step-mother's shoulders. " I can't
 
 34 THE KROMT YAKD 
 
 tliink how you can sew so steadily, year in, year out ; I 
 never could." 
 
 " Well, I've had to get stronger spectacles, "Prudence 
 confessed. " And they wouldn't take my old ones in 
 exchange, neither, though they were perfectly good." 
 
 " They're robbers, all of them, at that shop," com- 
 mented Beppa, agreeingly. 
 
 " Now, about your clothes, Bepper when are you 
 going to begin ? I suppose you'll come home for a 
 while, so as to have time to do 'em ; I can help you 
 some, and Nounce too ; Nounce can sew a little." 
 
 " No, I don't think I'll come home ; 'twouldn't pay 
 me. About the clothes I'm going to buy 'em." 
 
 " They won't be half so good," Prudence began. 
 Then she stopped. " I'm very glad you've got the 
 money laid up, my dear," she said, commendingly. 
 
 " Oh, but I haven't," answered Beppa, laughing. " I 
 want to borrow it of you ; that is what I came up for 
 to-day to tell you about it." 
 
 Prudence, her heart still softened, looked at the 
 handsome girl with gentle eyes. " Why, of course 
 I'll lend it to you, Bepper," she said. " How much do 
 you want ?" 
 
 " All you've got won't be any too much, I reckon," 
 answered Beppa, with pride. " I shall have to have 
 things nice, you know I don't want to shame 'em." 
 
 " I've got twenty-live francs," said Prudence ; " I 
 mean I've got that amount saved and put away ; 'twas 
 for- 1 for a purpose something I was going to do ; but 
 'tain't important ; you can have it and welcome." Her 
 old face, as she said this, looked almost young again. 
 " You see, I'm so glad to have you happy," she went 
 on. " And I can't help thinking if your father had
 
 THE FRONT YARD 35 
 
 only lived the first wedding in his family ! How- 
 ever, I'll come just as though I was your real mother, 
 dear ; you sha'n't miss that. I've got my Sunday gown, 
 and five francs will buy me a pair of new shoes ; I can 
 earn 'em before the day comes, I guess." 
 
 " I'm afraid you can't," said Beppa, laughing. 
 
 " Why, when's the wedding ? Not for two or three 
 weeks, I suppose?" 
 
 " It's day after to-morrow," answered Beppa. " Every- 
 thing's bought, and all I want is the money to pay for 
 'em ; I knew I could get it of you." 
 
 " Dear rae ! how quick ! And these shoes are really 
 too bad; they're clear wore out, and all the cleaning in 
 the world won't make 'em decent." 
 
 "Well, Denza, why do you want' to come? You 
 don't know any of Giuseppe's family. To tell the truth, 
 I never supposed you'd care about coming, and the 
 table's all planned out for (at Giuseppe's sister's), and 
 there ain't no place for you." 
 
 " And you didn't have one saved ?" 
 
 " I never thought you'd care to come. You see 
 they're different, they're all well off, and you don't like 
 people who are well off who wear nice clothes. You 
 never wanted us to have nice clothes, and you like to go 
 barefoot." 
 
 "No, I don't!" said Prudence. 
 
 " 'Tany rate, one would think you did ; you always go 
 so in summer. But even if you had new shoes, none 
 of your clothes would be good enough; that bonnet, 
 now " 
 
 " My bonnet ? Surely my bonnefs good ?" said the 
 New England woman ; her voice faltered, she was struck 
 on a tender point.
 
 36 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 " Well, people laugh at it," answered Beppa, com- 
 posedly. 
 
 They had now reached the house. "You go in," 
 said Prudence ; " I'll come presently." 
 
 She went round to the wood-shed, unstrapped her 
 basket, and set it clown ; then she climbed up on the 
 barrel, removed the hay, and took out her work-box. 
 Emptying its contents into her handkerchief, she de- 
 scended, and, standing there, counted the sum twenty- 
 seven francs, thirty centimes. " 'Twon't be any too 
 much ; she don't want to shame 'em." She made a 
 package of the money with a piece of brown paper, 
 and, entering the kitchen, she slipped it unobserved into 
 Beppa's hand. 
 
 " Seems to me," announced Granmar from the bed, 
 "that when a girl comes to tell her own precious 
 Granmar of her wedding, she ought in decency to be 
 offered a bite of something to eat. Any one but 
 Denza would think so. Not that it's anything to 
 me." 
 
 " Very well, what will you have ?" asked Prudence, 
 wearily. Freed from her bonnet and shawl, it could be 
 seen that her once strong figure was much bent ; her 
 fingers had grown knotted, enlarged at the joints, and 
 clumsy ; years of toil had not aged her so much as 
 these recent nights such long nights ! of cruel rheu- 
 matic pain. 
 
 Granmar, in a loud voice, immediately named a suc- 
 culent dish ; Prudence began to prepare it. Before it 
 was ready, Jo Vanny came in. 
 
 " You knew I was up here, and you've come mous- 
 ing up for an invitation," said Beppa, in high good- 
 humor. " I was going to stop and invite you on my
 
 TlIE FRONT YAKD 37 
 
 way back, Giovanni ; there's a nice place saved for you 
 at the supper." 
 
 "Yes, I knew you were up here, and I've brought 
 you a wedding-present," answered the boy. "I've 
 brought one for mamma, too." And he produced two 
 silk handkerchiefs, one of bright colors, the other of 
 darker hue. 
 
 " Is the widow going to be married, too ?" said Beppa. 
 " Who under heaven's the man ?" 
 
 In spite of the jesting, Prudence's face showed that 
 she was pleased ; she passed her toil-worn hand over 
 the handkerchief softly, almost as though its silk were 
 the cheek of a little child. The improvised feast was 
 turned into a festival now, and of her own accord she 
 added a second dish ; the party, Granmar at the head, 
 devoured unknown quantities. When at last there was 
 nothing left, Beppa, carrying her money, departed. 
 
 " You know, Jo Vanny, you hadn't ought to leave 
 your work so often," said Prudence, following the boy 
 into the garden when he took leave ; she spoke in an 
 expostulating tone. 
 
 " Oh, I've got money," said Jo Vanny, loftily ; " / 
 needn't crawl." And carelessly he showed her a gold 
 piece. 
 
 But this sudden opulence only alarmed the step- 
 mother. ""Why, where did you get that?" she said, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " How frightened you look ! Your doubts offend 
 me," pursued Jo Vanny, still with his grand air. 
 " Haven't I capacities ? hasn't Heaven sent me a 
 swarming genius? Wasn't I the acclaimed, even to 
 laurel crowns, of my entire class ?" 
 
 This was true : Jo Vanny was the only one of To-
 
 38 THE FRONT YAKD 
 
 nio's children who bad profited by the new public 
 schools. 
 
 " And now what shall I get for you, mamma ?" the 
 boy went on, his tone changing to coaxing ; " I want to 
 get you something real nice; what will you have? A 
 new dress to go to Beppa's wedding in ?" 
 
 For an instant Prudence's eyes were suffused. " I 
 ain't going, Jo Vanny ; they don't want me." 
 
 " They shall want you !" declared Jo Vanny, fiercely. 
 
 "I didn't mean that; I don't want to go anyhow; 
 I've got too much rheumatism. You don't know," she 
 went on, drawn out of herself for a moment by the 
 need of sympathy " you don't know how it does grip 
 me at night sometimes, Jo Vanny ! No; you go to the 
 supper, and tell me all about it afterwards ; I like to 
 hear you tell about things just as well as to go myself." 
 
 Jo Vanny passed his hand through his curly locks 
 with an air of desperation. " There it is again my 
 gift of relating, of narrative ; it follows me wherever I 
 go. What will become of me with such talents ? I 
 shall never die in my bed ; nor have my old age in 
 peace." 
 
 " You go 'long !" said Prudence (or its Italian equiva- 
 lent). She gave him a push, laughing. 
 
 Jo Vanny drew down his cap, put his hands deep in 
 his pockets, and thus close-reefed scudded down the 
 hill in the freezing wind to the shelter of the streets 
 below. 
 
 By seven o'clock Nounce and Granmar were both 
 asleep ; it was the most comfortable condition in such 
 weather. Prudence adjusted her lamp, put on her 
 strong spectacles, and sat down to sew. The great 
 brick stove gave out no warmth ; it was not intended
 
 THE FRONT YARD 39 
 
 to heat the room ; its three yards of length and one 
 yard of breadth had apparently been constructed for 
 the purpose of holding and heating one iron pot. The 
 scaldino at her feet did not keep her warm ; she put 
 on her Highland shawl. After a while, as her head 
 (scantily covered with thin white hair) felt the cold 
 also, she went to get her bonnet. As she took it from 
 the box she remembered Beppa's speech, and the pang 
 came back ; in her own mind that bonnet had been the 
 one link that still united her with her old Ledham re- 
 spectability, the one possession that distinguished her 
 from all these " papish " peasants, with their bare 
 heads and frowzy hair. It was not new, of course, as 
 it had come with her from home. But what signified 
 an old-fashioned shape in a community where there 
 were no shapes of any kind, new or old ? At least it 
 was always a bonnet. She put it on, even now from 
 habit pulling out the strings carefully, and pinning the 
 loops on each side of her chin. Then she went back 
 and sat down to her work again. 
 
 At eleven o'clock Granmar woke. " Yam I how cold 
 my legs are! Denza, are you there? You give me 
 that green shawl of yours directly ; precisely, I am 
 dying." 
 
 Prudence came out from behind her screen, lamp in 
 hand. " I've got it on, Granmar; it's so cold setting up 
 sewing. I'll get you the blanket from my bed." 
 
 " I don't want it ; it's as hard as a brick. You give 
 me that shawl ; if you've got it on, it '11 be so much 
 the warmer." 
 
 " I'll give you my other flannel petticoat," suggested 
 Prudence. 
 
 "And I'll tear it into a thousand pieces," responded
 
 40 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 Granmar, viciously. " You give me that shawl, or the 
 next time you leave Nounce alone here, she shall pay 
 for it." 
 
 Granmar was capable of frightening poor little Nounce 
 into spasms. Prudence took off the shawl and spread 
 it over the bed, while Granmar grinned silently. 
 
 Carrying the lamp, Prudence went into the bedroom 
 to see what else she could find to put on. She first 
 tried. the blanket from her bed; but as it was a very 
 poor one, partly cotton, it was stiff (as Granmar had 
 said), and would not stay pinned ; the motion of her 
 arms in sewing would constantly loosen it. In the way 
 of wraps, except her shawl, she possessed almost 
 nothing ; so she put on another gown over the one she 
 wore, pinned her second flannel petticoat round her 
 shoulders, and over that a little cloak that belonged to 
 Nounce ; then she tied a woollen stocking round her 
 throat, and crowned with her bonnet, and carrying the 
 blanket to put over her knees, she returned to her work. 
 
 " I declare I'm clean tired out," she said to herself; 
 " my feet are like ice. I wouldn't sew any longer such 
 a bitter night if it warn't that that work-box 'ain't got 
 a thing in it. I can't bear to think of it empty. But 
 as soon as I've got a franc or two to begin with again, 
 I'll stop these extry hours." 
 
 But they lasted on this occasion until two o'clock. 
 
 " It don't seem as if I'd ever known it quite so baking 
 as it is to-night." It was Prudence who spoke ; she 
 spoke to Nounce ; she must speak to some one. 
 
 Nounce answered with one of her patient smiles. 
 She often smiled patiently, as though it were something 
 which she was expected to do.
 
 THE FRONT TAKD 41 
 
 Prudence was sitting in the wood-shed resting ; she 
 had been down to town to carry home some work. 
 Now the narrow streets there, thrown into shade by 
 the high buildings on each side, were a refuge from 
 the heat ; now the dark houses, like burrows, gave 
 relief to eyes blinded by the yellow glare. It was the 
 30th of August. From the first day of April the broad 
 valley and this brown hill had simmered in the hot 
 light, which filled the heavens and lay over the earth 
 day after day, without a change, without a cloud, re- 
 lentless, splendid ; each month the ground had grown 
 warmer and drier, the roads more white, more deep 
 in dust ; insect life, myriad legged and winged, had 
 been everywhere ; under the stones lurked the scor- 
 pions. 
 
 In former summers here this never-ending light, the 
 long days of burning sunshine, the nights with the 
 persistent moon, the importunate nightingales, and the 
 magnificent procession of the stars had sometimes 
 driven the New England woman almost mad ; she had 
 felt as if she must bury her head in the earth some- 
 where to find the blessed darkness again, to feel its 
 cool pressure against her tired eyes. But this year 
 these things had not troubled her; the possibility of 
 realizing her long-cherished hope at last had made 
 the time seem short, had made the heat nothing, the 
 light forgotten ; each day, after fifteen hours of toil, 
 she had been sorry that she could not accomplish 
 more. 
 
 But she had accomplished much ; the hope was now 
 almost a reality. " Nounce," she said, " do you know 
 I'm 'most too happy to live. I shall have to tell you : 
 I've got all the money saved up at last, and the men
 
 43 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 are coming to-morrow to take away the cow-shed. 
 Think of that !" 
 
 Nounce thought of it ; she nodded appreciatively. 
 
 Prudence took the girl's slender hand in hers and 
 went on : " Yes, to-morrow. And it '11 cost forty-eight 
 francs. But with the two francs for wine-money it 
 will come to fifty in all. By this time to-morrow night 
 it will be gone !" She drew in her breath with a satis- 
 fied sound. " I've got seventy-five francs in all, Nounce. 
 When Bepper married, of course I knew I couldn't get 
 it done for Fourth of July. And so I thought I'd try 
 for Thanksgiving that is, Thanksgiving time ; I never 
 know the exact day now. Well, here it's only the last 
 day of August, and the cow-shed will be gone to-mor- 
 row. Then will come the new fence ; and then the 
 fun, the real fun, Nounce, of laying out our front yard ! 
 It '11 have a nice straight path down to the gate, cur- 
 rant bushes in neat rows along the sides, two big flow- 
 erin' shrubs, and little flower beds bordered with box. 
 I tell you you won't know your own house when you 
 come in a decent gate and up a nice path to the front 
 door ; all these years we've been slinking in and out of 
 a back door, just as though we didn't have no front 
 one. I don't believe myself in tramping in and out of 
 a front door every day ; but on Sundays, now, when 
 we have on our best clothes, we shall come in and out 
 respectably, You'll feel like another person, Nounce ; 
 and I'm sure / shall I shall feel like Ledham again 
 my !" And Prudence actually laughed. 
 
 Still holding Nounce's hand, she went round to the 
 fron't of the house. 
 
 The cow-shed was shedding forth its usual odors ; 
 Prudence took a stone and struck a great resounding
 
 "STILL HOLDING NOUNCE'S HAND, SHE WENT ROUND TO THE FRONT OF 
 THE HOUSE "
 
 THE FRONT YARD 43 
 
 blow on its side. She struck with so much force that 
 she hurt her hand. " Never mind it done me good !" 
 she said, laughing again. 
 
 She took little Nounce by the arm and led her down 
 the descent. " I shall have to make the front walk all 
 over," she explained. "And here '11 be the gate, down 
 here a swing one. And the path will go from here 
 straight up to the door. Then the fence will go along 
 here palings, you know, painted white ; a good clean 
 American white, with none of these yellows in it, you 
 may depend. And over there and there along the 
 sides, the fence will be just plain boards, notched at 
 the top; the currant bushes will run along there. In 
 the middle, here and here will be the big flowerin' 
 shrubs. And then the little flower-beds bordered with 
 box. Oh, Nounce, I can't hardly believe it it will be 
 so beautiful ! I really can't !" 
 
 Nounce waited a mome-nt. Then she came closer to 
 her step-mother, and after looking quickly all about 
 her, whispered, " You needn't if you don't want to ; 
 there's here yet to believe." 
 
 " It's just as good as here," answered Prudence, 
 almost indignantly. " I've got the money, and the 
 bargain's all made ; nothing could be surer than 
 that." 
 
 The next morning Nounce was awakened by the touch 
 of a hand on her shoulder. It was her step-mother. 
 " I've got to go down to town," she said, in a low tone. 
 "You must try to get Granmar's breakfast yourself, 
 Nounce; do it as well as you can. And and I've 
 changed my mind about the front yard ; it '11 be done 
 some time, but not now. And we won't talk any more 
 about it for the present, Nounce ; that '11 please me
 
 44 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 most ; and you're a good girl, and al \vays want to please 
 me, I know." 
 
 She kissed her, and went out softly. 
 
 In October three Americans came to Assisi. Two 
 came to sketch the Giotto frescos in the church of St. 
 Francis; the third came for her own entertainment; 
 she read Symonds, and wandered about exploring the 
 ancient town. 
 
 One day her wanderings led her to the little Guadagni 
 house on the height. The back gate was open, and 
 through it she saw an old woman staggering, then fall- 
 ing, under the weight of a sack of potatoes which she 
 was trying to carry on her back. 
 
 The American rushed in to help her. " It's much too 
 heavy for you," she said, indignantly, after she had 
 given her assistance. " Oh dear I mean, e troppo grave" 
 she added, elevating her voice. 
 
 " Are you English ?" said the old woman. " I'm an 
 American myself ; but I ain't deef. The sack warn't 
 too heavy ; it's only that I ain't so strong as I used to 
 be it's perfectly redeculous !" 
 
 " You're not strong at all," responded the stranger, 
 still indignantly, looking at the wasted old face and 
 trembling hands. 
 
 A week later Prudence was in bed, and an American 
 nurse was in charge. 
 
 This nurse, whose name was Baily, was a calm woman 
 with long strong arms, monotonous voice, and distinct 
 Xew England pronunciation ; her Italian (which was 
 grammatically correct) was delivered in the vowels of 
 Vermont. 
 
 One day, soon after her arrival, she remarked to Gran-
 
 THE FRONT YARD 45 
 
 mar, " That yell of yours, now that yam is a very un- 
 usual thing." 
 
 " My sufferings draw it from me," answered Gran- 
 mar, flattered by the adjective used. " I'm a very pious 
 woman ; I don't want to swear." 
 
 " I think I have never heard it equalled, except pos- 
 sibly in lunatic asylums," Marilla Baily went on. " I 
 have had a great deal to do with lunatic asylums ; I air 
 what is called an expert ; that is, I find out people who 
 are troublesome, and send them there ; I never say 
 much about it, but just make my observations ; then, 
 when I've got the papers out, whiff ! off they go." 
 
 Granmar put her hand over her mouth apprehensively, 
 and surveyed her in silence. From that time the at- 
 mosphere of the kitchen was remarkably quiet. 
 
 Marilla Baily had come from Florence at the bidding 
 of the American who had helped to carry the potatoes. 
 This American was staying at the Albergo del Subasio 
 with her friends who were sketching Giotto ; but she 
 spent most of her time with Prudence Wilkin. 
 
 " You see, I minded it because it was him," Prudence 
 explained to her one day, at the close of a long conver- 
 sation. " For I'd always been so fond of the boy ; I 
 had him first when he warn't but two years old just 
 a baby and so purty and cunning ! He always called 
 me mamma the only one of the children, 'cept poor 
 Nounce there, that really seemed to care for me. And 
 I cared everything for him. I went straight down to 
 town and hunted all over. But he warn't to be found. 
 I tried it the next day, and the next, not saying what I 
 wanted, of course ; but nobody knew where he was, and 
 at last I made up my mind that he'd gone away. For 
 three weeks I waited ; I was almost dead ; I couldn'tr
 
 46 THE FKONT YARD 
 
 do nothing ; I felt as if I was broke in two, and only 
 the skin held me together. Every morning I'd say to 
 myself, ' There'll certainly come a letter to-day, and he'll 
 tell me all about it.' But the letter didn't come, and 
 didn't come. From the beginning, of course, I knew 
 it was him I couldn't help but know ; Jo Vanny was 
 the only person in the whole world that knew where it 
 was. For I'd showed it to him one day the work-box, I 
 mean and let him put it back in the hole behind the 
 hay 'twas the time I took the money out for Patro. 
 At last I did get a letter, and he said as how he'd meant 
 to put it back the very next morning, sure. But some- 
 thing had happened, so he couldn't, and so he'd gone 
 away. And now he was working just as hard as he 
 could, he said, so as to be able to pay it back soon ; he 
 hardly played on his mandolin at all now, he said, he 
 was working so hard. You see, he wasn't bad himself, 
 poor little fellow, but he was led away by bad men ; 
 gambling's an awful thing, once you get started in it, 
 and he was sort of drove to take that money, meaning 
 all the while to pay it back. Well, of course I felt ever 
 so much better just as soon as I got that letter. And I 
 began to work again. But I didn't get on as well as I'd 
 oughter ; I can't understand why. That day, now, when 
 I first saw you when you ran in to help me I hadn't 
 been feeling sick at all ; there warn't no sense in my 
 tumbling down that way all of a sudden." 
 
 One lovely afternoon in November Prudence's bed 
 was carried out to the front of the dark little house. 
 
 The cow-shed was gone. A straight path, freshly 
 paved, led down to a swing gate set in a new paling 
 fence, flower beds bordered the path, and in the centre 
 of the open spaces on each side there was a large rose
 
 THE FRONT YARD 47 
 
 bush. The fence was painted a glittering white; there 
 had been an attempt at grass ; corrant bushes in straight 
 rows bordered the two sides. 
 
 Prudence lay looking at it all in peaceful silence. 
 " It's mighty purty," she said at last, with grateful em- 
 phasis. " It's everything I planned to have, and a great 
 deal nicer than I could have done it myself, though I 
 thought about it goodness knows how many years !" 
 
 " I'm not surprised that you thought about it," the 
 American answered. " It was the view you were long- 
 ing for fancy its having been cut off so long by that 
 miserable stable ! But now you have it in perfection." 
 
 "You mean the view of the garden," said Prudence. 
 " There wasn't much to look at before ; but now it's 
 real sweet." 
 
 " No ; I mean the great landscape all about us here,' 
 responded the American, surprised. She paused. Then 
 seeing that Prudence did not lift her eyes, she began to 
 enumerate its features, to point them out with her fold- 
 ed parasol. "That broad Urabrian plain, Prudence, 
 with those tall slender trees ; the other towns shining 
 on their hills, like Perugia over there ; the gleam of the 
 river; the velvety blue of the mountains; the color of 
 it all I do believe it is the very loveliest view in the 
 whole world !" 
 
 "I don't know as I've ever noticed it much the 
 view," Prudence answered. She turned her eyes tow- 
 ards the horizon for a moment. " You see I was always 
 thinking about my front yard." 
 
 " The front yard is very nice now," said the Ameri- 
 can. " I am so glad you are pleased ; we couldn't get 
 snowballs or Missouri currant, so we had to take roses." 
 She paused ; but she could not give up the subject with-
 
 48 THE FRONT YARD 
 
 out one more attempt. " You have probably noticed 
 the view without being aware of it," she went on ; " it 
 is so beautiful that you must have noticed it. If you 
 should leave it you would find yourself missing it very 
 much, I dare say." 
 
 " Mebbe," responded Prudence. " Still, I ain't so 
 sure. The truth is, I don't care much for these Eyetal- 
 ian views ; it seems to me a poor sort of country, and 
 always did." Then, wishing to be more responsive to 
 the tastes of this new friend, if she could be so honest- 
 ly, she added, " But I like views, as a general thing ; 
 there was a very purty view from Sage's Hill, I re- 
 member." 
 
 " Sage's Hill ?" 
 
 " Yes ; the hill near Ledham. You told me you knew 
 Ledham. You could see all the fields and medders of 
 Josiah Strong's farm, and Deacon Mayberry's too; per- 
 fectly level, and not a stone in 'em. And the turnpike 
 for miles and miles, with three toll-gates in sight. Then, 
 on the other side, there were the factories to make it 
 lively. It was a sweet view." 
 
 A few days afterwards she said : " People tell us that 
 we never get what we want in this world, don't they ? 
 But I'm fortunate. I think I've always been purty fort- 
 unate. I got my front yard, after all." 
 
 A week later, when they told her that death was near, 
 " My ! I'd no idea I was so sick as that," she whispered. 
 Then, looking at them anxiously, " What '11 become of 
 Nounce ?" 
 
 They assured her that Nounce should be provided for. 
 " You know you have to be sorter patient with her," she 
 explained; "but she's growing quicker-witted everyday."
 
 THE FRONT TAED 49 
 
 Later, " I should like so much to see Jo Vanny," she 
 murmured, longingly ; " but of course I can't. You 
 must get Bepper to send him my love, my dearest, dear- 
 est love." 
 
 Last of all, as her dulled eyes turned from the little 
 window and rested upon her friend : " It seems a pity 
 But perhaps I shall find " 
 
 4
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 
 
 OLD Mrs. Preston had not been able to endure the 
 hotel at Salerno. She had therefore taken, for two 
 months, this house on the shore. 
 
 " I might as well be here as anywhere, saddled as I 
 am with the Abercrombies," she remarked to her cousin, 
 Isabella Holland. " Arthur may really do something : 
 I have hopes of Arthur. But as to Rose, Hildegarde, 
 and Dorothea, I shall plainly have to drag them about 
 with me, and drag them about with me, year after year, 
 in the hope that the constant seeing of so many straight 
 statues, to say nothing of pictures, may at last teach 
 them to have spines. Here they are now ; did you ever 
 see such shoulders, or rather such a lack of them ? Hil- 
 degarde, child, come here a moment," she added, as the 
 three girls drew near. " I have an idea. Don't you 
 think you could hold your shoulders up a little ? Try it 
 now ; put them up high, as though you were shrugging 
 them ; and expand your chest too ; you mustn't cramp 
 that. There ! that is what I mean ; don't you think, 
 my dear, that you could keep yourself so ?" 
 
 Hildegarde, with her shoulders elevated and her long 
 chin run out, began to blush painfully, until her milk- 
 white face was dyed red. " I am afraid I could not
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHOKE 51 
 
 keep myself so long, aunt," she answered, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Never mind ; let them down, then : it's of no use," 
 commented Mrs. Preston, despairingly. "Go and dance 
 for twenty-five minutes in the upper hall, all of you. 
 And dance as hard as you can." 
 
 The three girls, moving lifelessly, went down the 
 echoing vaulted corridor. They were sisters, the eldest 
 not quite sixteen, all three having the same lank figures 
 with sloping shoulders and long thin throats, and the 
 same curiously white, milk-white skin. Orphans, they 
 had been sent with their brother Arthur to their aunt, 
 Mrs. Octavia Preston, five years before, having come to 
 her from one of the West India Islands, their former 
 home. 
 
 "Those girls have done nothing but eat raw meat, 
 take sea baths, and practise calisthenics and dancing 
 ever since I first took charge of them," Mrs. Preston 
 was accustomed to remark to intimate friends ; " yet 
 look at them now ! Of course I could not send them 
 to school they would only grow lanker. So I take 
 them about with me patiently, governess and all." 
 
 But Mrs. Preston was not very patient. 
 
 The three girls having disappeared, Isabella thought 
 the occasion favorable for a few words upon another 
 subject. " Do you like to have Paulie riding so often 
 -with Mr. Ash, Cousin Octavia? I can't help being dis- 
 tressed about it." 
 
 " Don't be Mistering John Ash, I beg ; no one in the 
 world but you, Isabella, would dream of doing it a 
 great swooping creature like that the horseman in 
 ' Heliodorus.' " 
 
 " You mean Raphael's fresco ? Oh, Cousin Octavia,
 
 52 NEPTUNE'S SHOBE 
 
 how can you think so ? Raphael such a religious 
 painter, and John Ash, who looks so dissipated !" 
 
 " Did I say lie didn't look dissipated ? I said he 
 could ride. John Ash is one of the most dissipated- 
 looking youths I have ever met." pursued Mrs. Preston, 
 comfortably. " The clever sort, not the brutal." 
 
 " And you don't mind Paulie's being with him ?" 
 
 " Pauline Euphemia Graham has been married, Pau- 
 line Euphemia Graham is a widow ; it ill becomes those 
 who have not had a tithe of her experience (though 
 they may be much older) to set themselves up as judges 
 of her conduct." 
 
 Mrs. Preston had a deep rich voice, and slow enun- 
 ciation ; her simplest sentences, therefore, often took 
 on the tone of declamation, and when she held forth at 
 any length, it was like a Gregorian chant. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't mean to judge, Pm sure," said Isa- 
 bella ; " I only meant that it would be such a pity 
 such a bad match for dear Paulie in case she should 
 be thinking of marrying again. Even if one were sure 
 of John Ash and certainly the reverse is the case 
 look at his mother ! I am interested, naturally, as 
 Paulie is my first cousin, you know." 
 
 " Do you mean that your first cousin's becoming 
 Mrs. John Ash might endanger your own matrimonial 
 prospects ?" 
 
 " Oh dear no," said poor little Isabella, shrinking 
 back to her embroidery. She was fifty, small, plain, 
 extremely good. In her heart she wished that people 
 would take the tone that Isabella had " never cared to 
 marry." 
 
 " Here is Pauline now, I think," said Mrs. Preston, as 
 a figure appeared at the end of the hall.
 
 NEPTUNE S SHORE 53 
 
 Isabella was afraid to add, " And going out to ride 
 again !" But it was evident that Mrs. Graham intend- 
 ed to ride : she wore her habit. 
 
 " I wish you were going, too," she said to Mrs. Pres- 
 ton, pausing in the doorway with her skirt uplifted. 
 Her graceful figure in the closely fitting habit was a 
 pleasant sight to see. 
 
 " Thanks, my dear ; I should enjoy going very much 
 if I were a little more slender." 
 
 "You are magnificent as you are," responded Pauline, 
 admiringly. 
 
 And in truth the old lady was very handsome, with 
 her thick silver hair, fine eyes with heavy black eye- 
 brows, and well-cut aquiline profile. Her straight back, 
 noble shoulders, and beautiful hands took from her mas- 
 sive form the idea of unwieldiness. 
 
 " Isabella you who are always posing for enthusi- 
 asm when will you learn to say anything so genuine 
 as that?" chanted Cousin Octavia's deep voice. " I men- 
 tion it merely on your account, as a question of styles 
 conversational. Here is Isabella, who thinks John Ash 
 so dissipated, Pauline ; she fears that it may injure the 
 family connection if you marry him. I have told her 
 that no one here was thinking of marrying or of giving 
 in marriage ; if she has such ideas, she must have 
 brought them with her from Florence. There are a 
 great many old maids in Florence." 
 
 " I can only answer for myself : I certainly am not 
 thinking of marriage," said Pauline, laughing, as she 
 went down the stairs. 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Octavia, you have set Pauline against 
 me !" exclaimed Isabella, in distress. 
 
 " Don't be an idiot ; Pauline isn't against any one :
 
 54 NEPTUNE'S SHOKE 
 
 she doesn't care enough about it. She is a good deal 
 for herself, I acknowledge ; but she's not against any 
 one. Pauline bears no malice ; she is delightfully un- 
 certain ; she hasn't a theory in the world to live up to ; 
 in addition, to have her in the house is like going to 
 the play all the time she is such a stupendous liar !" 
 
 Isabella, who was punching round holes in a linen 
 band with an implement of ivory, stopped punching. 
 " I am sure poor Paulie " 
 
 " Am I to sit through a defence of Pauline Euphemia 
 Graham, born Preston, at your hands, Isabella? Pray 
 spare me that. I am much more Pauline's friend than 
 you ever can be. Did I say that she lied ? Nature has 
 given her a face that speaks one language and a mind 
 that speaks another ; she, of course, follows the lan- 
 guage of her mind ; but others follow that of her face, 
 and this makes the play. Eh ! what noise is that ?" 
 
 " We have come to pay you a visit, Aunt Octavia," 
 called a boyish voice ; its owner was evidently mount- 
 ing the stairs three at a time : now he was in the room. 
 " They're all down at the door Freemantle and Gates 
 and Beckett. And what do you think we've got 
 Griff !" 
 
 " Griff himself ?" said Aunt Octavia, benevolently, 
 as the lad, with a very pretty gallantry, bent to kiss 
 her hand. 
 
 " Yes, Griff himself ; you may be sure we're draw- 
 ing like mad. Griff has come down from Paris for 
 only three weeks, and he says he will go with us to 
 Psestum, and all about here to Amalfi, Ravello, and 
 everywhere. But of course Pa3stum's the stunner." 
 
 " Yes, of course Psestum's the stunner," repeated 
 Aunt Octavia, as if trying it in Shakespearian tones.
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHOEE 55 
 
 " I say, may they come up ?" Arthur went on. 
 
 They came up three boys of seventeen and eigh- 
 teen, and Griffith Carew, who was ten years older. These 
 three youths, with Arthur Abercrombie, were studying 
 architecture at the Beaux- Arts, Paris ; this spring they 
 had given to a tour in Italy for the purpose of making 
 architectural drawings. Griffith Carew was also an archi- 
 tect, but a full-fledged one. His indomitable perse- 
 verance and painstaking accuracy caused all the younger 
 men to respect him ; the American students went fur- 
 ther ; they were sure that Griff had only to " let himself 
 go," and the United States would bloom from end to 
 end with City Halls of beauty unparalleled. In the 
 mean time Griff, while waiting for the City Halls per- 
 haps, was so kind-hearted and jovial and unselfish that 
 they all adored him for that too. It was a master-treat, 
 therefore, to Arthur and his companions, to have their 
 paragon to themselves for a while on this temple-haunt- 
 ed shore. 
 
 Griff sat down placidly, and began to talk to Aunt 
 Octavia. He was of medium height, his figure heavy 
 and strong ; he had a dark complexion and thick feat- 
 ures, lighted by pleasant brown eyes, and white teeth 
 that gleamed when he smiled. 
 
 Aunt Octavia was gracious to Griff ; she had always 
 distinguished him from "Arthur's horde." This was 
 not in the least because the horde considered him the 
 architect of the future. Aunt Octavia did not care 
 much about the future ; her tests were those of the 
 past. She had known Griff's mother, and the persons 
 whose mothers Aunt Octavia had known ah, that was 
 a certificate !
 
 56 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 II 
 
 In the meanwhile Pauline Graham had left Salerno 
 behind her, and was flying over the plain with John 
 Ash. 
 
 Pauline all her life had had a passion for riding at 
 breakneck speed ; one of the explanations of her fancy 
 for Ash lay in the fact that, having the same passion 
 himself, he enabled her to gratify her own. "Whenever 
 she had felt in the mood during the past five weeks 
 there had always been a horse and a mounted escort 
 at her door. Upon this occasion, after what they called 
 an inspiring ride (to any one else a series of mad gal- 
 lops), they had dismounted at a farm-house, and leav- 
 ing their horses, had strolled down to the shore. It 
 was a lovely day, towards the last of March ; the sea, 
 of the soft misty blue of the southern Mediterranean, 
 stretched out before them without a sail ; at their feet 
 the same clear water laved the shore in long smooth 
 wavelets, hardly a foot high, whose gentle roll upon 
 the sands had an indescribably caressing sound. There 
 was no one in sight. It is a lonely coast. Pauline 
 stood, gazing absently over the blue. 
 
 " Sit down for a moment," suggested Ash. 
 
 " Not now." 
 
 " Not now ? When do you expect to be here again ?" 
 
 She came back to the present, laughing. " True ; 
 but I did not mean that ; I meant that you were not 
 the ideal companion for sea-side musing ; you never 
 meditate. I venture to say you have never quoted 
 poetry in your life." 
 
 " No ; I live my poetry," John Ash responded.
 
 NEPTUNE S SUOEE 57 
 
 " But for a ride you are perfect ; for a rush over the 
 plain, in the teeth of the wind, I have never had any 
 one approaching you. You are a cavalier of the gods." 
 
 " Have you had many ?" 
 
 " Cavaliers ? plenty. Of the gods ? no." 
 
 " Plenty ! I reckon you have," said Ash, half to 
 himself. 
 
 " Would you wish me to have had few ? You must 
 remember that I have been in many countries and have 
 seen many peoples. I shouldn't have appreciated you 
 otherwise ; I should have thought you dangerous hor- 
 rible ! There is Isabella, who has not been in many 
 countries ; Isabella is sure that you are ' so dissipated.' " 
 
 " Dissipated ! mild term !" 
 
 " Then you acknowledge it ?" 
 
 " Freely." 
 
 Pauline looked about for a rock of the right height, 
 and finding one, seated herself, and began to draw off 
 her gloves. " Some time in some other existence 
 will you come and tell me how it has paid you, please ? 
 You are so preternaturally intelligent, and you have 
 such a will of your own, that you cannot have fallen 
 into it from stupidity, as so many do." Her gloves 
 off, she began to tighten the braids of her hair, loosened 
 by the gallop. 
 
 " It pays as it goes ; it makes one forget for a mo- 
 ment the hideous tiresomeness of existence. But you 
 put your question off to some other life ; you have no 
 intention, then, of redeeming me in this ?" 
 
 " I shouldn't succeed. In the first place, I have no 
 influence " 
 
 " You know I am your slave," said Ash ; his voice 
 suddenly deepened.
 
 58 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 " And how mncli of a slave shall you be to the next 
 pretty peasant girl you meet ?" Mrs. Graham demanded, 
 turning towards him, both hands still occupied with her 
 hair. 
 
 " I don't deny that. But it has nothing to do with 
 the subject." 
 
 " In one way I know it has not," she answered, after 
 she had fastened the last braid in its place with a long 
 gold pin. 
 
 " How right I was to like you ! You understand of 
 yourself the thing that so few women can ever be 
 brought to comprehend. Well, if you acknowledge 
 that it makes no difference I mean about the peasant 
 girls we're just where we were ; I am your slave, yet 
 you have no desire to reclaim me. I believe you like 
 me better as I am," he added, abruptly. 
 
 " Do you want me to tell you that you are imperti- 
 nent?" demanded Pauline, with her lovely smile, that 
 always contradicted in its sweetness any apparent re- 
 buke expressed by her words. " Do I know what you 
 are in reality, or care to know ? I know what you 
 seem, and what you seem is admirable, perfect, for 
 these rides of ours, the most enchanting rides I have 
 ever had." 
 
 " And the rides are to be the end of it ? You 
 wouldn't care for me elsewhere ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Pauline, rising and drawing on her 
 gloves, " you wouldn't care for me. In Paris I am 
 altogether another person ; I am not at all as you see 
 me here. In Paris you would call me a doll. Come, 
 don't dissect the happy present ; enjoy it as I do. ' He 
 only is rich who owns the day,' and we own this for 
 our ride.
 
 " ' YOU KNOW I AM YOUR SLAVE ' "
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHOKE 59 
 
 " ' I hear the hoofs upon the hill ; 
 I hear them fainter, fainter still,' " 
 
 she sang in her clear voice. " The idea of that old 
 Virginia song coming to me here !" 
 
 " This talk about reclaiming and reforming is all 
 bosh," remarked Ash, leaning back against a high 
 fragment of rock, with his hands in his pockets. " I 
 am what I am because I choose to be, that's all. The 
 usual successes of American life, what are they ? I no 
 longer care a rap about them, because I've had them, or 
 at least have seen them within my reach. I came up 
 from nothing ; I got an education no matter now how 
 I got it ; I studied law. In ten years I had won such a 
 position in my profession (my branch of it I was nev- 
 er an office lawyer) that everything lay open before me. 
 It was only a question of a certain number of years. 
 Not only was this generally prophesied, but I knew it 
 myself. But by that time I had found out the unutter- 
 able stupidity of people and their pursuits ; I couldn't 
 help despising them. I had made enough to make my 
 mother comfortable, and there came over me a horror 
 of a plodding life. I said to myself, ' What is the use 
 of it ?' Of pleasure there was no question. But I could 
 go back to that plodding life to-morrow if I chose. 
 Don't you believe it, Pauline?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Yet you don't say try ?" 
 
 " Try, by all means." 
 
 "At a safe distance from you !" 
 
 " Yes, at a safe distance from me," Pauline answered. 
 " I should do you no good ; I am not enough in ear- 
 nest. I am never in earnest long about anything. I am
 
 60 NEPTUNE'S SHOBE 
 
 changeable, too you have no idea how changeable. 
 There has been no opportunity to show you." 
 
 " Is that a threat ? You know that I am deeply in 
 love with you." He did not move as he said this, but 
 his eyes were fixed passionately upon her face. 
 
 " I neither know it nor believe it ; it is with you sim- 
 ply as it is with me there is no one else here." She 
 stood there watching the wavelets break at her feet. 
 Nothing in her countenance corresponded in the least 
 with the description she had just given of herself. 
 
 " How you say that ! What am I to think of you ? 
 You have a face to worship : does it lie ?" said Ash. 
 
 " Oh, my face !" She turned, and began to cross the 
 field towards the farm. 
 
 " It shouldn't have that expression, then," he said, 
 joining her, and walking by her side. " I don't believe 
 you know what it is yourself, Pauline that expression. 
 It seems to say as you talk, coming straight from those 
 divine lips, those sweet eyes : ' I could love you. Be 
 good and I will.' Why, you have almost made me de- 
 termine to be 'good' again, almost made me begin to 
 dream of going back to that plodding life that I loathe. 
 And you don't know what I am." 
 
 Mrs. Graham did not answer; she did not look up, 
 though she knew that his head was bent beseechingly 
 towards her. 
 
 John Ash was obliged to bend ; he was very tall. His 
 figure was rather thin, and he had a slouching gait ; his 
 broad shoulders and well-knit muscles showed that he 
 had plenty of force, and his slouching step seemed to 
 come from laziness, as though he found it too much 
 trouble to plant his feet firmly, to carry his long length 
 erect. He was holding his hat in his hand, and the
 
 NEPTUNE S SHORE 61 
 
 light from the sea showed his face clearly, its good 
 points and its bad. His head was well shaped, covered 
 with thick brown hair, closely cut; but, in spite of the 
 shortness, many silver threads could be seen on the 
 brown a premature silver, as he was not yet thirty- 
 five. His face was beardless, thin, with a bold eagle- 
 like outline, and strong, warm blue eyes, the blue eyes 
 that go with a great deal of color. Ordinarily, Ash had 
 now but little color; that is, there was but little red; 
 his complexion had a dark brown hue; there were many 
 deep lines. The mouth, the worst feature, had a cynical 
 droop ; the jaw conveyed suggestions .that were not 
 agreeable. The expression of the whole countenance 
 was that of recklessness and cleverness, both of no com- 
 mon order. Of late the recklessness had often changed 
 into a more happy merriment when he was with Pauline, 
 the careless merriment of a boy ; one could see then 
 plainly how handsome he must have been before the 
 lines, and the heaviness, and, alas ! the evil, had come 
 to darken his youth, and to sadden (for so it must have 
 been) his silent, frightened-looking mother. 
 
 They reached the farm ; he led out the horses, and 
 mounted her. She gathered up the reins ; but he still 
 held the bridle. " How tired you look !" he said. 
 
 Her face was flushed slightly, high on the cheeks 
 close under the eyes ; between the fair eyebrows a per- 
 pendicular line was visible ; for the moment, she showed 
 to the full her thirty years. 
 
 " Yes, I am tired ; and it's dangerous to tire me," she 
 answered, smiling. She had recovered her light-hearted 
 carelessness. 
 
 Ash still looked at her. A sudden conviction seemed 
 to seize him. "Don't throw me over, Pauline," he plead-
 
 62 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 cd. And as he spoke, on his brown, deeply lined face 
 there was an expression which was boyishly young and 
 trusting. 
 
 "As I told you, so long as there is no one else," Pau- 
 line answered. 
 
 The next moment they were flying over the plain. 
 
 HI 
 
 The table (Thole of the Star of Italy, the Salerno inn 
 from whose mysteries (of eels and chestnuts) Mrs. 
 Preston had fled this unctuous table d'hote had been 
 unusually brilliant during this month of March ; upon 
 several occasions there had been no less than fifteen 
 travellers present, and the operatic young landlord him- 
 self, with his affectionate smile, had come in to hand the 
 peas. 
 
 The most unnoticed person was always a tall woman 
 of fifty-five, who, entering with noiseless step, slipped 
 into her chair so quickly and furtively that it seemed as 
 if she were afraid of being seen standing upon her feet. 
 Once in her place, she ate sparingly, looking neither to 
 the right nor the left, holding her knife and fork with 
 care, and laying them down cautiously, as though she 
 were trying not to waken some one who was asleep. 
 But the table d'hote of the Star of Italy was never 
 asleep ; the travellers, English and American, could 
 not help feeling that they were far from home on this 
 shore where so recently brigands had prowled. It is 
 well known that this feeling promotes conversation. 
 
 One evening a pink-cheeked woman, who wore a lit- 
 tle round lace cap perched on the top of her smooth
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 63 
 
 gray hair, addressed the silent stranger at her left hand. 
 "You have been to Paestum, I dare say?" she said, in 
 her pleasant English voice. 
 
 " No." 
 
 "But you are going, probably? Directly we came, 
 yesterday morning, we engaged horses and started at 
 once." 
 
 " I don't know as I care about going." 
 
 " Not to see the temples ?" 
 
 " I didn't know as there were temples," murmured 
 the other, shyly. 
 
 " Fancy ! But you really ought to go, you know," 
 the pleasant voice resumed, doing a little missionary 
 work (which can never come amiss). " The temples are 
 well worth seeing ; they are Greek." 
 
 " I've been ter see a good many buildings already : in 
 Paris there were a good many ; my son took me," the 
 tall woman answered, her tone becoming more assured 
 as she mentioned " my son." 
 
 " But these temples are are rather different. I was 
 saying to our neighbor here that she really ought on no 
 account to miss going down to Paestum," the fresh-faced 
 Englishwoman continued, addressing her husband, who 
 sat next to her on the right, for the moment very busy 
 with, his peas (which were good, but a little oily). "The 
 drive is not difficult. And we found it most interest- 
 ing." 
 
 " Interesting ? It may well be interesting ; finest 
 Greek remains outside of Athens," answered the hus- 
 band, a portly Warwickshire vicar. He bent forward a 
 little to glance past his wife at this ignorer of temples 
 at her other hand. "American," he said to himself, 
 and returned to his peas.
 
 66 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 to him that this nomad life abroad was causing her any 
 suffering. Her shyness, her dread of being looked at, 
 her dread of foreign servants, he did not fully see, be- 
 cause when he was present she controlled them ; when 
 he was present, also, in a great measure, they disap- 
 peared. He knew that she would not have had one 
 moment's content had he left her behind him, even if 
 lie had left her in the finest house his money could 
 purchase ; so he took her with him, and travelled 
 slowly, for her sake, making no journeys that she could 
 not make, sending forward to engage the best rooms 
 for her at the inns where he intended to stop. 
 
 That he had not taken her to Paestum was not an 
 evidence of neglect. During the first months of their 
 wanderings he had been at pains to take her every- 
 where he had thought that she would enjoy it. But 
 Mrs. Ash had enjoyed nothing save the going about 
 on her son's arm. If he left her alone amid the most 
 exquisite scenery in the world, she did not even see 
 the scenery ; she thought a dusty jaunt in a horse-car 
 " very pleasant " if John was there. So at last John 
 gave her his simple presence often, but troubled her 
 with descriptions and excursions no more. 
 
 Dumb, shy, hopelessly out of her element as she was, 
 this mother had, on the whole, enjoyed her two years 
 abroad. The reason was found in the fact that she 
 could say to herself, or rather could hope to herself, 
 that John was more " steady " over here. 
 
 The rustic term covered much the days and the 
 nights when John had not been " steady." 
 
 These six weeks at Salerno particularly had been a 
 season of blessed repose to Azubah Ash ; the days had 
 gone by so peacefully that life had become almost com-
 
 NEPTUNE S SHORE 67 
 
 fortable to her again, in spite of the ordeal of dinner. 
 She had even been beguiled into thinking a little of the 
 future of the farm she should like to have some day, 
 with fruit and cream and vegetables yes, especially 
 vegetables ; and she dreamed of an old pleasure of her 
 youth, that of hunting for little round artichokes in 
 the cool brown earth. John had been contented all the 
 time, and his mood had been very tranquil. His 
 mother liked this much better than high spirits. There 
 was an element sometimes in John's high spirits that 
 had made her tremble. 
 
 But on the day succeeding that last ride with Mrs. 
 Graham, when they had dismounted and walked down 
 to the shore, John had come back to the inn with a 
 darkened face. The dark mood had lasted now for ten 
 days. His mother began to lead her old sleepless, 
 restless life again. Her awkward crochet-needle had 
 stopped of itself ; she went no- more to her bench beside 
 the asparagus. Instead, she remained in her room 
 her four rooms every now and then peeping anxiously 
 through the blinds. Nothing happened so any one 
 would have said ; the sea continued blue and misty, 
 the sky blue and clear ; every one came and went as 
 usual in the divine weather of the Italian spring. But 
 John Ash's mother had, to use an old expression, her 
 heart in her mouth all the time. 
 
 It choked her, and she gave up going to the table 
 d'hote; she let her son suppose that the meal was 
 served in her sitting-room, but in reality she took no 
 dinner at all. When he came in she was always there, 
 always carefully dressed in the black silk whose rich 
 texture the vicar's wife had noticed, with the " very 
 good " diamonds fastening her collar and on her thin
 
 68 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 hands. She made a constant effort that her son should 
 notice no change in her. 
 
 Azubah Ash had a gaunt frame with large bones ; her 
 chest was hollow, and she stooped a little as she walked. 
 Yet, looking at her, one felt sure that she would live to 
 be an old woman. Her large features were roughly 
 moulded, her cheeks thin ; her thick dusky hair was put 
 plainly back from her face, and arranged with a high 
 comb after a fashion of her youth. Her eyes, large, 
 dark, and appealing, were sunken ; they were beautiful 
 eyes, if one could have removed from them their ex- 
 pression of apprehension, but that seemed now to have 
 grown a part of them, to have become fixed by time. 
 Observers of physiognomy who met Azubah during 
 these two years of her sojourn abroad never forgot her 
 that tall gaunt woman with the awkward step and 
 bearing, with the rich dress and diamonds, from whose 
 timid face with its rough features those beautiful eyes 
 looked appealingly out. 
 
 " Mother, I am going to Psestum to-morrow," an- 
 nounced Ash on that eleventh day. " Perhaps you 
 had better go with me." He had come in and thrown 
 himself down upon the sofa, where he sat staring at the 
 wall. 
 
 " Pa3stum yes, that's where that English lady said 
 I'd oughter go," answered Mrs. Ash. Then, after a 
 moment, " She said there were temples there." She 
 had her hands folded tightly as she looked at her son. 
 
 " They're all going old lady Preston, with her 
 ghosts of Abercrombies, little Miss Holland, Mrs. Gra- 
 ham, and all. Those boys are sketching down there ; 
 they've been there some time." 
 
 " I shall be very glad ter go, John, if you are going.
 
 AZCBAFI ASH
 
 NEPTUNE S SHORE 69 
 
 Would you like ter have me ter have me ride horse- 
 back ?" 
 
 Ash, coming out of his abstraction, broke into a 
 laugh. "I shall take you in the finest landau in Sa- 
 lerno, manner," he said, coming across to kiss her; "old 
 lady Preston will have to put up with the second best. 
 You haven't forgotten, then, that you used to ride, 
 marmer, have you ?" 
 
 The mother's eyes had filled upon hearing the old 
 name, the " marmer " of the days when he had been 
 her devoted, constantly following, tyrannical, but very 
 loving little boy. But she did not let the tears drop : 
 she never made scenes of any kind before John. 
 " Well, you've been riding horseback every day now 
 for a long while ; you haven't seemed to care at 
 all for carriages. And I did use to ride horseback a 
 good deal when I was a girl ; I used to ride to the 
 mill." 
 
 " I know you did. And carry the grist to be 
 ground." He kissed her again. "Don't be afraid of 
 anything or anybody to-morrow, marmer, I beg. You're 
 the bravest and most sensible woman I know, and I 
 want you to look what you are." 
 
 " Shall I wear my India shawl, then ?" 
 
 " Wear the best you have ; I wish it were a hundred 
 times bester. You are handsomer than any of them as 
 it is." 
 
 " Oh no, John ; I ain't good-looking ; I never was," 
 said his mother, blushing. She put her hand up for a 
 moment, nervously, over her mouth a gesture habitual 
 with her. 
 
 " Yes, you are, marmer. Look at your eyes. It's 
 only that you have got into a way of not thinking so.
 
 70 NEPTUNE ,S SHORE 
 
 But I think so, and others shall." He went back to the 
 sofa, and sank into abstraction again. 
 
 At length his mother broke the silence, which had 
 lasted very long. " I hope they are all well over there 
 to-day ?" she asked, hesitatingly. " Over there " was 
 her name for the house on the shore, the house where 
 she knew her son had for many weeks spent all his time. 
 
 "Well? They're extraordinarily well," said Ash. 
 He got up and walked restlessly about the room. 
 After a while he stopped, and now he seemed to have 
 forgotten his mother's presence, for his eyes rested 
 upon her without seeing her. "One of them is a little 
 too well," he said, menacingly ; "let him look to himself 
 that's all." And then into his face, his mother, 
 watching him, saw coming slowly something she knew. 
 The expression changed him so completely that the 
 ladies who had seen so much of him would not have 
 recognized their visitor. His mother recognized him. 
 That expression on her son's face was her life's long 
 terror. 
 
 He left the room. She listened as long as she could 
 hear his steps; then, after sitting for some time with 
 her head upon her arms on the table before her, she 
 rose, and went slowly to put on her bonnet and shawl. 
 Coming back, still slowly, she paused, and for five min- 
 utes stood there motionless. Then her hands dropped 
 desparingly by her sides, and her worn face quivered. 
 " God, O our Father, I really don't know what ter 
 do !" she murmured, breaking into helpless sobs, the 
 stifled, difficult sobs of a person unaccustomed to self- 
 expression, even the self-expression of grief. 
 
 She did not go out. Instead of that, she went back 
 to the inner room and knelt down.
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHOKE 71 
 
 IV 
 
 The next morning three carriages and two persons on 
 horseback were following the long road that stretches 
 southward from Salerno to Psostum. 
 
 In the first carriage old Mrs. Preston sat enthroned 
 amid cushions and shawls ; opposite she had placed her 
 nephew Arthur, first because he was slim, second be- 
 cause he was a man (Mrs. Preston was accustomed to 
 say, " Too much lady talk dries my brain ") ; the second 
 carriage held Isabella Holland and the Abercrombie 
 girls ; in the third, a landau drawn by two spirited 
 horses, were Mrs. Ash and her son. The two persons 
 on horseback were Pauline Graham and Griffith Carew. 
 
 In the soft spring air the mountains that rise all the 
 way on the left at no great distance from the road had 
 in perfection the vague, dreamy outlines and violet 
 hues that form so characteristic a feature of the Italian 
 landscape. Up in the sky their peaks shone whitely, 
 powdered with snow. The flat plain that stretches 
 from the base of the mountains to the sea had beauty 
 of another kind ; often a fever-swept marsh, it pos- 
 sessed at this season all a marsh's luxuriance of wav- 
 ing reeds and flowers and tasselled jungles, with water 
 birds rising from their feeding-places, and flying along, 
 low down, with a slow motion of their broad wings, 
 their feet stretched out behind. Troops of buffalo 
 could be seen here and there. At rare intervals there 
 was an oasis of cultivated ground, with a solitary farm- 
 house. On the right, all the way, the Mediterranean, 
 meeting the flat land flatly, stretched forward from 
 thence into space, going on bluely, and rising a little
 
 72 NEPTUNE'S SUOKE 
 
 on the horizon line, as though it were surmounting a 
 low hill. 
 
 Occasionally the carriages passed a little band of the 
 small, quick-stepping Italian soldiers. 
 
 " Oh, I say, did you know, aunt, that people were 
 murdered by brigands on this very bridge only ten years 
 ago ?" said Arthur, as they rolled across a stone cause- 
 way raised in the form of an arch over a sluggish 
 stream. 
 
 " I should like very much to see the brigands who 
 did it !" Mrs. Preston answered, smacking her lips 
 contemptuously. 
 
 Arthur at least was very sure that no ten brigands 
 could have vanquished his aunt. 
 
 " This, girls, is the ancient Tyrrhenian Gulf," began 
 Isabella to her companions, waving one neatly gloved 
 hand towards the sea. Isabella, owing to the singu- 
 larly incessant death of relatives, was always in mourn- 
 ing ; her neat gloves therefore were sable. " The tem- 
 ples we are about to visit are very ancient also, having 
 been built ages ago by Greeks, who came from from 
 Greece, of course, naturally ; and never ceased to regret 
 it. And all this shore, and the temples also, were sa- 
 cred to Neptune, or Poseidon, as he was called in Greek. 
 And the Greeks lamented but I will read you that 
 later at the threshold of the temples ; you cannot fail 
 to be interested." 
 
 " I shall not be interested at all," said Hildegarde. 
 
 " Nor I," said Rose. . 
 
 " They had nothing to lament about ; they had no 
 dancing to do," added Dorothea. And the three white 
 faces glared suddenly and sullenly at their astonished 
 companion.
 
 NEPTUNE B SHORE 73 
 
 " I am shocked," began Isabella. 
 
 " Shocked yourself," said Rose. 
 
 " You are a busybody," said Dorothea. 
 
 " And a gormandizer," added Hildegarde. 
 
 " And a Worm /" said Rose, with decision. " We 
 have decided not to pretend any more before you, 
 Worm ! Dance yourself till your legs drop off, and 
 see how you like it." 
 
 The three girls had weak soft voices ; they possessed 
 no other tones ; the strong words they used, therefore, 
 were all the more startling because so gently, almost 
 sighingly, spoken. 
 
 In the landau there had been silence. Mrs. Ash, 
 after respecting her son's sombre mood for more than 
 an hour, at last spoke : " I guess you don't care very 
 much about those triflin' temples, after all, do you, 
 John? And it's going to be very long. Supposing we 
 turn back ?" She wore her India shawl and a Paris 
 bonnet ; she was sitting without touching the cushions 
 of the carriage behind her. She had looked neither at 
 the mountains nor at the sea; most of the time her 
 eyes had rested on the blue cloth of the empty seat 
 opposite. Occasionally, however, they had followed the 
 two figures on horseback, and it was after these figures 
 had passed them a second time, pushing on ahead in 
 order to get a free space of road for a gallop, that she 
 had offered her suggestion. 
 
 "Go back? Not for ten thousand dollars not for 
 ten thousand devils !" said John Ash. " What a lazy girl 
 you are, marmer !" And he became gay and talkative. 
 
 His mother responded to his gayety as well as she 
 could : she laughed when he did. Her laugh was eager. 
 It was almost obsequious.
 
 74 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 By-and-by the tliree temples loomed into view, stand- 
 ing in all their beauty on the barren waste, majestic, 
 uninjured, extraordinary. Their rows of fluted col- 
 umns, their brilliant tawny hues, their perfect Doric 
 architecture, made the loneliness surrounding them even 
 more lonely, made the sound of the sea breaking near 
 by on the lifeless shore a melancholy dirge. When the 
 party reached the great colonnades there were exclama- 
 tions ; there was even declamation, Mrs. Preston having 
 been fitted by nature for that. Freemantle, Gates, and 
 Beckett had come rushing forward to meet their arriv- 
 ing friends. In reality, however, it was Griff whom 
 they had rushed to meet. Griff to their minds was the 
 only important person present, even though the unim- 
 portant included Pauline. 
 
 "Hallo, Griff, old fellow ! how are you ?" 
 "Couldn't you stay, Griff? We've got a tent for 
 you." 
 
 They laughed, and made jokes, and hovered about 
 him, longing to drag him off immediately to show him 
 their drawings, and to discuss with him a hundred dis- 
 puted points. But though they thus paid small atten- 
 tion to Pauline, they were obliged to form part of her 
 train ; for as Griff remained with her, and they re- 
 mained with Griff, naturally, as Isabella would have 
 said, they made the tour of inspection in her company. 
 In the meanwhile Isabella, who had it upon her 
 strictly kept conscience not to neglect her own duties 
 in spite of the Abercrombie revolt, had taken her stand 
 before the great temple of Neptune, with her instruc- 
 tive little book in her hand. " ' The men of Poseidonia,' 
 she began, "'having been at first true Greeks, had in 
 process of time gradually become barbarized, changing
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 75 
 
 to Romans.' Poseidonia, girls, was the ancient name 
 of Pacstum," she interpolated in explanation, glancing 
 over her glasses at her silent audience. 
 
 The Abercrombies could not retort this time, be- 
 cause Aunt Octavia was very near them, sitting at the 
 base of one of the great columns of travertine with the 
 air and manner of Neptune's only lawful wife. But 
 their backs were towards her; she could not see their 
 faces ; they were able, therefore, to make grimaces at 
 Isabella, and this they immediately proceeded to do in 
 unison, flattening their thin lips over their teeth in a 
 very ghastly way, and turning up their eyes so unnat- 
 urally far that Isabella was afraid the pupils would 
 never come down again. 
 
 "'Yet they still observed one Hellenic festival,'" 
 she read stumblingly on stumblingly because she felt 
 obliged from a sort of fascination to glance every now 
 and then at the distorted countenances before her 
 " ' one Hellenic festival, when they met together here 
 to call to remembrance the old days and the old cus- 
 toms, and to weep upon each other's necks, and to 
 lament drearily. And then, when the time of their 
 mourning was over, they departed, each man in silence 
 to his Roman home.' " 
 
 "Very fine," said Mrs. Preston, commendingly, from 
 her column. 
 
 But Isabella had closed her book, and was walking 
 away, wiping her forehead : those girls' faces were 
 really too horrible. 
 
 " Where are you going, Isabella ?" Mrs. Preston 
 called. 
 
 " I suppose I may gather some asphodel ?" Isabella 
 responded, with some asperity.
 
 76 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 
 
 But she did not gather much asphodel. Coming 
 upon Mrs. Ash wandering about over the fallen stones, 
 she stayed her steps to speak to her. She was not in- 
 terested in Mrs. Ash, but she was so " happily relieved " 
 that dear Paulie lately had given up her rides with the 
 son, that she, as Paulie's cousin (first), could afford to 
 be civil to the mother, in spite of that mother's bad 
 judgment as to English and diamonds. Isabella disap- 
 proved of Mrs. Ash; she thought that "such persons" 
 did great harm by their display of ''mere vulgar afflu- 
 ence." No vulgar affluence oppressed Isabella. She 
 had six hundred dollars a year of her own, and each 
 dollar was well bred. 
 
 " We shall soon be having lunch, I suppose," she 
 began, in a gracious tone. " It seems almost a desecra- 
 tion, doesn't it, to have it in the shrine itself, for I see 
 they are arranging it there." 
 
 " Oh, is that a shrine ?" said Mrs. Ash, vaguely. " I 
 didn't know. But then I'm not a Catholic. They seem 
 very large buildings. They seem wasted here." 
 
 Little Isabella looked up at her she was obliged to 
 look up, her companion was so tall. The anxious ex- 
 pression in Mrs. Ash's eyes had grown into anguish : 
 she was watching her son, who had now joined Pauline 
 and her train. Pauline had Carew on her right hand 
 and John Ash on her left ; the four boys walked strag- 
 glingly, now in front, now behind, but never far from 
 Carew. 
 
 " You are not well," said Isabella ; " the drive was 
 too long for you. Pray take my smelling-salts ; they 
 are sometimes refreshing." And she detached from its 
 black chain a minute funereal bottle. 
 
 " Thank you," answered Mrs. Ash, gazing down un-
 
 NEPTUNE S SHORE 77 
 
 compreliendingly at the offering; " I am very well in- 
 deed. I was jest looking at your cousin, Mrs. Graham ; 
 she's very handsome." 
 
 " Yes," responded Isabella, gladly seizing this oppor- 
 tunity to convey to the Ash household a little light, 
 " Pauline is handsome in her own way. It is not the 
 style that I myself admire. But then I know that my 
 taste is severe. By ordinary people Pauline is con- 
 sidered attractive ; it is therefore all the more to be de- 
 plored that she should be such a sad, sad flirt." 
 
 "A flirt?" said Mrs. Ash. 
 
 " Yes I am sorry to say it. No matter how far she 
 may go, it means nothing, absolutely nothing ; she has 
 not the slightest intention of allowing herself either to 
 fall in love or to marry again ; she prefers her position 
 as it is. And I don't think she realizes sufficiently that 
 what is but pastime to her may be taken more seriously 
 by others ; and naturally, I must say, after the way she 
 sometimes goes on. / could never do so, no matter 
 what the temptations were, and I must say I have never 
 been able to understand it in Pauline. At present it is 
 Mr. Carew ; she is going to Naples with him to-morrow 
 for the day. As you may imagine, it is against our 
 wish Cousin Octavia Preston's and mine. But Pau- 
 line being a widow, which she considers an advantage, 
 and no longer young (she is thirty, though you may 
 not think it; she shows her age very fully in the morn- 
 ing) Pauline, under these circumstances, has for some 
 time refused a chaperon. I don't think myself that 
 she needs a chaperon exactly, but she might take a lady 
 friend." 
 
 "Going to Naples with him to-morrow," murmured 
 Mrs. Ash. She put her gloved hand over her mouth for
 
 78 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 
 
 a moment, the large kid expanse very different from 
 Isabella's little black paw. " I might as.well go over 
 there," she said, starting off with a rapid step towards 
 Pauline. 
 
 Pauline received her smilingly ; Ash frowned a little. 
 He frowned not at his mother she was always wel- 
 come ; he frowned at her persistence in standing so 
 near Pauline, in dogging her steps. Mrs. Ash kept 
 this up ; she sat near Pauline at lunch ; she followed 
 her when she strolled down to the beach ; she gathered 
 flowers for her ; in her India shawl and Paris bonnet 
 she hovered constantly near. 
 
 Only once did John Ash find opportunity to speak to 
 Pauline alone. The boys had at last carried off Griff 
 by force to their camp ; Griff was willing enough to go, 
 the " force " applied to the intellectual effort necessary 
 on the boys' part to detach him from a lady who wished 
 to keep him by her side. They had all been strolling 
 up and down in the shade of the so-called Basilica, 
 amid the fern and acanthus. Left alone with her son 
 and Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Ash, after remaining with them 
 a few moments, turned aside, and entering the temple, 
 sat down there. She was out of hearing, but still near. 
 
 " Ride with me to-morrow, Pauline," Ash said, imme- 
 diately. " I have not had a chance to speak to you be- 
 fore. Don't refuse." 
 
 " I am afraid I must. I have an engagement." 
 
 " With Carew ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 What is it ?" 
 
 " I am very good-natured to tell you. I am going to 
 Naples with him for the day." 
 
 " You are going Damnation !"
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 79 
 
 "You forget yourself," said Pauline. Then, when 
 she saw the look on his face the face of this man with 
 whom she had played she was startled. 
 
 " Forget myself ! I wish I could. You shall not go 
 to Naples." 
 
 " And how can you prevent it ?" 
 
 " Are you daring me ?" 
 
 "By no means," answered Pauline; and this time 
 she really tried to speak gently. " I was calling to your 
 remembrance the fact that there is no tie between us, 
 Mr. Ash ; you have no shadow of authority over my 
 actions ; I am free to do as I please." 
 
 " I know you are ; that is the worst of it," he said, 
 almost with a groan. "Pauline, don't play with me 
 now. I have given up hoping for anything for myself 
 if I ever really did hope ; I am not worthy of you. 
 Whether you could make me worthy I don't know ; but 
 I don't ask you that ; I don't ask you to try ; it would 
 be too much. I only ask you to be as you have been ; 
 as you were, I mean, during all those many weeks, not 
 as you have been lately. Only a few days are left when 
 I can see you freely ; be kind to me, then, during those 
 few days, and then I will take myself off." 
 
 " I mean to be kind ; I am kind." 
 
 "Then ride with me to-morrow; just this once 
 more." 
 
 " But I told you it was impossible ; I told you I was 
 going to Naples." 
 
 The pleading vanished from Ash's face and voice, 
 "/never asked you to do that to go off with me for 
 a whole day." 
 
 Pauline did not answer; she was arranging the flow- 
 ers which Mrs. Ash had industriously gathered.
 
 80 NEPTUNE'S SHOKE 
 
 " So much the greater fool I ! is that what yon are 
 thinking?" Ash went on, laughing discordantly. 
 
 For the moment Pauline forgot to he angry in the 
 vague feeling, something like fear, which took posses- 
 sion of her. All fear is uncomfortable, and she hated 
 discomfort; she gave herself a little inward shake as if 
 to shake it off. " I shall ask Cousin Oc to go back to 
 Paris next week," was her thought. " 1 have had enough 
 of Italy for the present Italy and madmen !" 
 
 "You won't go?" asked Ash, bending forward eager- 
 ly, as though he had gained hope from her silence. 
 
 "To Paris?" 
 
 " Are we speaking of Paris ? To Naples to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Oh, I must go to Naples," she answered, gayly. In 
 spite of her gayety she turned towards the Basilica; 
 Mrs. Ash was the nearest person. 
 
 " You are going to my mother ? She, at least, is a 
 good woman ; she would never have tarnished herself 
 with such an expedition as you are planning !" cried 
 Ash, in a fury. 
 
 Pauline turned white. " I am well paid for ever 
 having endured you, ever having liked you," she said, 
 in a low voice, as she hastened on. " I might have 
 known I might have known." 
 
 There was not much to choose now between the ex- 
 pression of the two faces, for the woman's sweet counte- 
 nance showed in its pallor an anger as vivid as that 
 which had flushed the face of the man beside her, with 
 a red so dark that his blue eyes looked unnaturally light 
 by contrast, as though they had been set in the face of 
 an Indian. 
 
 Mrs. Ash had come hurriedly out to meet them. Her
 
 NEPTUNE S SHOKE 81 
 
 son paid no attention to her ; all his powers were evi- 
 dently concentrated upon holding himself in check. " I 
 shouldn't have said it, even if it were the plain brutal 
 truth," he said. " But you madden me, Pauline. I 
 mean what I say you really do drive me into a kind 
 of madness." 
 
 " I have no desire to drive you into anything ; I 
 have no desire to talk with you further," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " No, no, dearie, don't say that ; talk ter him a little 
 longer," said Mrs. Ash, coming forward, her face set in 
 a tremulous smile. " I'm sure it's very pleasant here 
 beside these buildings. And John thinks so much of 
 you ; he means no harm." 
 
 "Poor mother !" said Ash, his voice softening. "She 
 does not dare to say to you what she longs to say ; she 
 would whisper it if she could ; and that is, ' Don't pro- 
 voke him !' She has some pretty bad memories haven't 
 you, mother? of times when I've when I've gone 
 a-hunting, as one may say. She'll tell you about them 
 if you like." 
 
 " I don't want to hear about them ; I don't want to 
 hear about anything," answered Mrs. Graham, troubled 
 out of all her composure, troubled even out of her anger 
 by the strangeness of this strange pair. She looked 
 about for some one, and, seeing Carew coming from the 
 tents of the camp, she waved her hand to attract his at- 
 tention and beckoned to him ; then she went forward 
 to meet him as he hastened towards her. 
 
 Ash disengaged himself from his mother, who, how- 
 ever, had only touched his arm entreatingly, for she had 
 learned to be very cautious where her son was concerned ; 
 he strode forward to Pauline's side.
 
 82 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 " I should rather see you dead before me than go 
 with that man to-morrow." 
 
 "Pray don't kill me, at least till the day is over," 
 Pauline answered, her courage, and her unconquerable 
 carelessness too, returning in the approach of Carew. 
 " It would be quite too great a disappointment to lose 
 my day." 
 
 " You shall lose it !" said Ash, with a loud coarse 
 oath. 
 
 " Oh !" said the woman, all her lovely delicate person 
 shrinking away from him. 
 
 Her intonation had been one of disgust. She held 
 the skirt of her habit closer, as if to avoid all contact. 
 
 At five o'clock of the same afternoon Freemantle, 
 Gates, and Beckett, with Arthur Abercrombie, came 
 running along the narrow streets of a village some miles 
 from Psestum. 
 
 The stone houses of which this village was composed 
 stood like two solid walls facing each other, rising di- 
 rectly from the stone-paved road, which was barely ten 
 feet wide ; down this conduit water was pouring like a 
 brook. The houses were about forty in number, twenty 
 on each side, and this one short street was all there was 
 of the town. 
 
 It was raining, not in drops, but in torrents, with great 
 pats of water coming over, almost like stones, and strik- 
 ing upon the heads of those who were passing below ; 
 every two or three minutes there came a glare of blind- 
 ingly white lightning, followed immediately by the crash
 
 NEPTUNE S SHORE 83 
 
 of thunder, which seemed to be rolling on the very roofs 
 of the houses themselves. The four boys must have 
 been out in the storm for some time, for they paid no 
 attention to it. Their faces we're set, excited. Every 
 thread of their clothing was wet through. 
 
 " This is the house," said Arthur. 
 
 They looked up, sheltering their eyes with their arms 
 from the blows of the rain-balls. From the closed win- 
 dows above, the faces of Isabella Holland and the three 
 Abercrombie girls looked down at them, pressed flatly 
 against the small panes, in order to see ; for the storm 
 had made the air so dark that the street lay in gloom. 
 
 The next moment the boys entered. 
 
 " No, we haven't found him," said Arthur, in answer 
 to his white sisters' look. " But we're going to." 
 
 " Yes, we're going to," said the others. And then, 
 walking on tiptoe in their soaked shoes, they went softly 
 into an. inner room. 
 
 Here on a couch lay Griffith Carew, dying. 
 
 An Italian doctor was still trying to do something for 
 the unconscious man. He had an assistant, and the two 
 were at work together. Near by, old Mrs. Preston sat 
 waiting, her hands folded upon the knob of a cane 
 which stood on the floor before her, her chin resting 
 upon her hands. In this bent position, with her disor- 
 dered white hair and great black eyes, she looked witch- 
 like. Three candles burned on a table at the head of 
 the bed, illumining Carew and the two doctors and the 
 waiting old woman. The room was long, and its far 
 end was in shadow. Was there another person present 
 sitting there silent and motionless ? Yes Pauline. 
 The boys came to the foot of the bed and gazed with 
 full hearts at Griff.
 
 84 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 Griff had been shot by John Ash two hours before. 
 The deed had been done just as they had reached the 
 shelter of this village, swept into it almost by a torna- 
 do, which, preceding the darker storm, had driven them 
 far from their rightful road. The darker storm had 
 broken upon them immediately afterwards with a terri- 
 ble sound and fury ; but the boys had barely heard the 
 crash in the sky above them as they carried Griff 
 through the stony little street. They had found a 
 doctor two of them ; they had done everything possi- 
 ble. Then they had been told that Griff must die, and 
 they had gone out to look for the murderer. 
 
 He could not be far, for the village was small, and 
 he could not have quitted the village, because the 
 half-broken young horses that had brought him from 
 Salerno, frightened by the incessant glare of the light- 
 ning, had become unmanageable, dragged their fasten- 
 ings loose, and disappeared. In any case the plain was 
 impassable; the roar of the sea, with the night coming 
 on, indicated that the floods were out ; they had covered 
 the shore, and would soon be creeping inland ; the 
 road would be drowned and lost. Ash, therefore, could 
 not be far. 
 
 Yet they had been unable to find him, though they 
 had searched every house. And they had found no 
 trace of his mother. 
 
 During these long hours four times the boys had 
 sallied forth and hunted the street up and down. The 
 Italians, crowded into their narrow dark dwellings 
 from fear of the storm, had allowed them to pass freely 
 in and out, to go from floor to floor ; some of the men 
 had even lighted their little oil lamps and gone down 
 with them to search the shallow cellars. But the
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 85 
 
 women did not look up; they were telling their beads 
 or kneeling before their little in -door shrines, the 
 frightened children clinging to their skirts and crying. 
 For both the street and the dark houses were lighted 
 every minute or two by that unearthly blinding glare. 
 
 The village version of the story was that the two 
 forestieri had sprung at each other's throats, maddened 
 by jealousy ; poniards had been drawn, and one of 
 them had fallen. One had fallen, indeed, but only one 
 had attacked. And there had been no poniards : it 
 was a well-aimed bullet from an American revolver that 
 had struck down Griffith Carew. 
 
 The four boys, brought back each time from their 
 search by a sudden hope that perhaps Griff might have 
 rallied, and forced each time to yield up their hope at 
 the sight of his death-like face, were animated in their 
 grief by one burning determination : they would bring 
 the murderer to justice. It was a foreign land and a 
 remote shore ; they were boys ; and he was a bold, bad 
 man with a wonderful brain for they had always ap- 
 preciated Ash's cleverness, though they had never liked 
 him. In spite of all this he should not escape ; they 
 would hunt him like hounds blood- hounds ; and 
 though it should take months, even years, of their 
 lives, they would bring him to justice at the last. 
 
 This hot vow kept the poor lads from crying. They 
 were very young, and their heads were throbbing with 
 their unshed tears ; there were big lumps in their 
 throats when poor Griff, opening his dull eyes for a 
 moment, knew them, and tried to smile in his cheery 
 old way. But he relapsed into unconsciousness im- 
 mediately. And the watch went on. 
 
 The gloomy day drew to its close; by the clocks,
 
 86 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 
 
 evening had come. There was more breathing-space 
 now between the lightning flashes and the following 
 thunder ; the wind was no longer violent ; the rain still 
 fell heavily ; its torrent, striking the pavement below, 
 sent up a loud hollow sound. One of the doctors left 
 the house, and came back with a fresh supply of 
 candles and various things, vaguely frightful, because 
 hidden, concealed in a sheet. Then the other doctor 
 went out to get something to eat. Finally they were 
 both on guard again. And the real night began. 
 
 Then, to the waiting group in the lighted silent room, 
 there entered a tall figure Azubah Ash; drenched, 
 without bonnet or shawl, she stood there before them. 
 Her frightened look was gone forever : she faced them 
 with unconscious majesty. " My son is dead " this 
 was her announcement. 
 
 She walked forward to the bed, and gazed at the man 
 lying there. " Perhaps he will not die," she said, turn- 
 ing her head to glance at the others. " God is kind 
 sometimes ; perhaps he will not die." She bent over 
 and stroked his hair tenderly with her large hand. 
 " Dear heart, live ! Try ter live !" she said ; " we want 
 yer to, so much !" 
 
 Then she left him, and faced them again. " I thought 
 of warning you," she began ; " you " and she looked 
 at Mrs. Preston; "and you" she turned towards the 
 figure at the end of the room. " My son was not him- 
 self "when he was in a passion I have known it ever 
 sence he was born. Even when he was a little fellow 
 of two and three I used ter try ter guard him ; but I 
 couldn't do much his will was stronger than mine. 
 And he was always very clever, my son was much 
 cleverer than me. Twice before, three times before,
 
 >"*._. 
 
 56 
 
 * 
 
 THE OLD WATCH-TOWER
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 87 
 
 I've ben afraid he'd take some one's life. You see, he 
 didn't care about life so much as some people do ; and 
 now he has taken his own." 
 
 There was an involuntary stir among the boys. 
 
 Mrs. Ash turned her eyes towards them. "Would 
 you like ter see him, so 's ter be sure ? In one mo- 
 ment." 
 
 She went towards the bed again, and clasped her 
 hands ; then she knelt down, and began to pray beside 
 the unconscious man in hushed tones. " O God, O our 
 Father, give us back this life : do, Lord O do. It's 
 so dear ter these poor boys, and it's so dear ter many ; 
 and perhaps there's a mother too. O Lord, give it 
 back to us ! And when he's well again, help him ter 
 be all that my poor son was not. For Christ's sake." 
 
 She rose and crossed to where the boys were stand- 
 ing. "Will you come now ?" she said. "I'm taking 
 him away at dawn." Then, very simply, she offered 
 her hand to Mrs. Preston. " He was a great deal at 
 your house ; he told me that. I thank you for having 
 ben so kind ter him. Good-bye." 
 
 " But I too will go with you," answered Mrs. Preston, 
 in her deep tones. She rose, leaning on her cane. Mrs. 
 Ash was already crossing the room towards the door. 
 
 The boys followed her ; then came Mrs. Preston, 
 looking bent and old. The figure of Pauline in her dark 
 corner rose as they approached. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Ash, seeing the movement. She 
 paused. " Don't come, my dear ; I really can't let you ; 
 you'd think of it all the rest of your life if you was ter 
 see him now, and 'twould make you feel so bad. I 
 know you didn't mean no harm. But you mustn't 
 come."
 
 88 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 
 
 And Pauline, shrinking back into the shadow, was 
 held there by the compassion of this mother this 
 mother whose nobler nature, and large glance quiet in 
 the majesty of sorrow, made her, made all the women 
 present, fade into nothingness beside her. In the outer 
 room Isabella and the excited, peering Abercrombies 
 were like four unimportant, unnoticed ghosts, as the 
 little procession went by them in silence, and descended 
 the stairs. Then it passed out into the storm. 
 
 Mrs. Ash walked first, leading the way, the rain fall- 
 ing on her hair ; the three boys followed ; behind them 
 came Mrs. Preston, leaning on her nephew's arm and 
 helping herself with her cane. They passed down the 
 narrow street, and the people brought their small lamps 
 to the doorways to aid them in the darkness. The 
 street ended, but the mother went on : apparently she 
 was going out on the broad waste. They all followed, 
 Mrs. Preston merely shaking her head when Arthur 
 proposed that she should turn back. 
 
 At some distance beyond the town there was a grove 
 of oaks ; they went round an angle of this grove, stum- 
 bling in the darkness, and came to a mound behind it; 
 on the summit of the mound there was something a 
 square structure of stone. Mrs. Ash went -up, and en- 
 tered a low door. Within there was but one room, 
 empty save for a small lighted lamp standing on the 
 dirt floor; a stairway, or rather a flight of stone steps, 
 ascended to a room above. Mrs. Ash took the lamp 
 and led the way up ; Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on 
 the stones as she followed. 
 
 The room above was square, like the one below ; it 
 was the whole interior of the ancient house, or rather 
 the ancient watch-tower; its roof of beams was broken;
 
 NEPTUNE'S SHORE 89 
 
 the rain came through in several places and dropped 
 upon the floor. There was a second small lamp in the 
 room besides the one which Mrs. Ash had brought; the 
 two shed a dim ray over a peasant's rude bed, where 
 something long and dark and straight was stretched out. 
 Mrs. Ash went up to the bed, and motioning away the 
 old peasant who was keeping watch there, she took both 
 lamps and held them high above the still face. The 
 others drew near. And then they saw that it was John 
 Ash dead ! 
 
 There were no signs of the horror of it ; his mother 
 had removed them all ; he lay as if asleep. 
 
 The mother held the lights up steadily for a long 
 moment. Then she placed them on a table, and coming 
 back, took her son's lifeless hand in hers. 
 
 " Now that you've seen him, seen that he's really 
 gone, will you leave me alone with him ?" she said. " I 
 think there's nothing more." 
 
 There was a dignity in her face as she stood there 
 beside her child which made the others feel suddenly 
 conscious of the wantonness of further intrusion. As 
 they looked at her, too, they perceived that she no longer 
 thought of them, no longer even saw them: her task 
 was ended. 
 
 Without a word they went out. Mrs. Preston's cane 
 sounded on the stairway again ; then there was silence. 
 
 At dawn they saw her drive away. Griff might live, 
 the doctors had said. But for the moment the gazing 
 group of Americans forgot even that. She was in a 
 cart, with a man walking beside the horse ; the cart was 
 going slowly across the fields, for the road was over- 
 flowed. The storm had ceased ; the sky was blue ; the 
 sun, rising, shed his fresh golden lighten the tall, lonely
 
 90 NEPTUNE S SHORE 
 
 figure with its dark hair uncovered, and on the long 
 rough box at its feet. 
 
 Looking the other way, one could see in the south the 
 beautiful temples of Paestum, that have gazed over that 
 plain for more than two thousand years.
 
 A PINK VILLA 
 
 " YES, of the three, I liked Pierre best," said Mrs. 
 Churchill. " Yet it was hard to choose. I have lived so 
 long in Italy that I confess it would have been a pleas- 
 ure to see Eva at court ; it's a very pretty little court 
 they have now at Rome, I assure you, with that lovely 
 Queen Margherita at the head. The old Marchese is to 
 resign his post this month, and the King has already 
 signified his intention of giving it to Gino. Eva, as 
 the Marchesa Lamberti, living in that ideal old Lam- 
 berti palace, you know Eva, I flatter myself, would 
 have shone in her small way as brightly as Queen Mar- 
 gherita in hers. You may think I am assuming a good 
 deal, Philip. But you have no idea how much pains 
 has been taken with that child ; she literally is fitted 
 for a court or for any other high position. Yet at the 
 same time she is very childlike. I have kept her so 
 purposely ; she has almost never been out of my sight. 
 The Lambertis are one of the best among the old Ro- 
 man families, and there could not be a more striking 
 proof of Gino's devotion than his having persuaded his 
 father to say (as he did to me two months ago) that he 
 should be proud to welcome Eva ' as she is,' which 
 meant that her very small dowry would not be consid- 
 ered an objection. As to Eva herself, of course the
 
 92 A PINK VILLA 
 
 Lambertis, or any other family, would be proud to re- 
 ceive her," pursued Mrs. Churchill, with the quiet pride 
 which in its unruffled serenity became her well. "But 
 not to hesitate over her mere pittance of a portion, that 
 is very remarkable ; for the marriage-portion is consid- 
 ered a sacred point by all Italians ; they are brought 
 up to respect it as we respect the Constitution." 
 
 " It's a very pretty picture," answered Philip Dallas 
 " the court and Queen Margherita, the handsome 
 Gino and the old Lamberti palace. But I'm a little be- 
 wildered, Fanny ; you speak of it all so appreciatively, 
 yet Gino was certainly not the name you mentioned ; 
 Pierre, wasn't it ?" 
 
 " Yes, Pierre," answered Mrs. Churchill, laughing 
 and sighing with the same breath. "I've strayed" far. 
 But the truth is, I did like Gino, and I wanted to tell 
 you about him. No, Eva will not be the Marchesa 
 Lamberti, and live in the old palace ; I have declined 
 that offer. Well, then, the next was Thornton Stanley." 
 
 " Thornton Stanley ? Has he turned up here ? I 
 used to know him very well." 
 
 " I thought perhaps you might." 
 
 " He is a capital fellow when he can forget his first 
 editions." 
 
 Mrs. Churchill folded her arms, placing one hand on 
 each elbow, and slightly hugging herself. " He has 
 forgotten them more than once in this house," she said, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " He is not only a capital fellow, but he has a large 
 fortune ten times as large, I venture to say, as your 
 Lambertis have." 
 
 "I know that. But" 
 
 " But you prefer an old palace. I am afraid Stan-
 
 A PINK VILLA 93 
 
 ley could not build Eva an old castle. Couldn't you 
 manage to jog on -with half a dozen new ones ?" 
 
 " The trouble with Thornton Stanley was his own 
 uncertainty," said Fanny ; " he was not in the least firm 
 about staying over here, though he pretended he was. 
 I could see that he would be always going home. More 
 than that, I should not be at all surprised if at the end of 
 five years three even he should have bought or built 
 a house in New York, and settled down there forever." 
 
 "And you don't want that for your American daugh- 
 ter, renegade ?" 
 
 Mrs. Churchill unfolded her arms. " No one can be 
 a warmer American than I am, Philip no one. Dur- 
 ing the war I nearly cried my eyes out ; have you for- 
 gotten that? I scraped lint; I wanted to go to the 
 front as nurse everything. What days they were! 
 We lived then. I sometimes think we have never lived 
 since." 
 
 Dallas felt a little bored. He was of the same" age as 
 Fanny Churchill ; but the school-girl, whose feelings 
 were already those of a woman, had had her nature 
 stirred to its depths by events which the lad had been 
 too young to take seriously to heart. His heart had 
 never caught up with them, though, of course, his rea- 
 son had. 
 
 " Yes, I know you are flamingly patriotic," he said. 
 " All the same, you don't want Eva to live in Fiftieth 
 Street." 
 
 "In Fiftieth Street?" 
 
 " I chose the name at random. In New York." 
 
 " I don't see why you should be sarcastic," said Fan- 
 ny. " Of course I expect to go back myself some time ; 
 I could not be content without that. But Eva Eva is
 
 94 A PINK VILLA 
 
 different ; she has been brought up over here entirely ; 
 she was only three when I came abroad. It seems such 
 a pity that all that should be wasted." 
 
 "And why should it be wasted in Fiftieth Street?" 
 
 " The very qualities that are admired here would be 
 a drawback to her there," replied Mrs. Churchill. " A 
 shy girl who cannot laugh and talk with everybody, 
 who has never been out alone a step in her life, where 
 would she be in New York ? I ask you that. While 
 here, as you see, before she is eighteen " 
 
 " Isn't the poor child eighteen yet ? Why in the 
 world do you want to rnarry her to any one for five 
 years more at least?" 
 
 Mrs. Churchill threw up her pretty hands. " How 
 little you have learned about some things, Philip, in 
 spite of your winters on the Nile and your Scotch 
 shooting - box ! I suppose it is because you have had 
 no daughters to consider." 
 
 " Daughters ? I should think not !" was Dallas's 
 mental exclamation. Fanny, then, with all her sense, 
 was going to make that same old mistake of supposing 
 that a bachelor of thirty -seven and a mother of thirty- 
 seven were of the same age. 
 
 " Why, it's infinitely better in every way that a nice 
 girl like Eva should be married as soon as possible after 
 her school - books are closed, Philip," Mrs. Churchill 
 went on ; " for then, don't you see, she can enter soci- 
 ety which is always so dangerous safely; well pro- 
 tected, and yet quite at liberty as well. I mean, of 
 course, in case she has a good husband. That is the 
 mother's business, the mother's responsibility, and I 
 think a mother who does not give her heart to it, her 
 whole soul and energy, and choose well I think such
 
 A PINK VILLA 95 
 
 a mother an infamous woman. In this case I am sure 
 I have chosen well ; I am sure Eva will be happy with 
 Pierre de Verneuil. They have the same ideas ; they 
 have congenial tastes, both being fond of music and 
 art. And Pierre is a very lovable fellow ; you will 
 think so yourself when you see him." 
 "And you say she likes him?" 
 
 " Very much. I should not have gone on with it, of 
 course, if there had been any dislike. They are not 
 formally betrothed as yet ; that is to come soon ; but 
 the old Count (Pierre's father) has been to see me, and 
 everything is virtually arranged a delightful man, the 
 old Count. They are to make handsome settlements ; 
 not only are they rich, but they are not in, tlie least nar- 
 row as even the best Italians are, I am sorry to say. 
 The Verneuils are cosmopolitans; they have been every- 
 where ; their estate is near Brussels, but they spend 
 most of their time in Paris. They will never tie Eva 
 down in any small way. In addition, both father and 
 son are extremely nice to me." 
 " Ah !" said Dallas, approvingly. 
 " Yes ; they have the French ideas about mothers ; 
 you know that in France the mother is and remains 
 the most important person in the family." As she 
 said this, Mrs. Churchill unconsciously lifted herself 
 and threw back her shoulders. Ordinarily the line 
 from the knot of her hair behind to her waist was long 
 and somewhat convex, while correspondingly the dis- 
 tance between her chin and her belt in front was sur- 
 prisingly short : she was a plump woman, and she had 
 fallen into the habit of leaning upon a certain beguiling 
 steel board, which leads a happy existence in wrappings 
 of white kid and perfumed lace.
 
 96 A I'lXK VILLA 
 
 " Not only will they never wish to separate me 
 from Eva," she went on, still abnormally erect, "lut 
 such a thought would never enter their minds; they 
 think it an honor and a, pleasure to have me with 
 them ; the old Count assured me of it in those very 
 words." 
 
 " And now we have the secret of the Belgian suc- 
 cess," said Dallas. 
 
 "Yes. But I have not been selfish ; I have tried to 
 consider everything; I have investigated carefully. If 
 you will stay half an hour longer you can see Pierre 
 for yourself ; and then I know that you will agree 
 with me." 
 
 In less than half an hour the Belgian appeared a 
 slender, handsome young man of twenty-two, with an 
 ease of manner and grace in movement which no Amer- 
 ican of that age ever had. With all his grace, however, 
 and his air of being a man of the world, there was 
 such a charming expression of kindliness and purity 
 in his still boyish eyes that any mother, with her 
 young daughter's happiness at heart, might have been 
 pardoned for coveting him as a son-in-law. This Dallas 
 immediately comprehended. " You have chosen well," 
 he said to Fanny, when they were left for a moment 
 alone ; " the boy's a jewel." 
 
 Before the arrival of Pierre, Eva Churchill, followed 
 by her governess, had come out to join her mother on 
 the terrace ; Eva's daily lessons were at an end, save 
 that the music went on ; Mile. Legrand was retained as 
 a useful companion. 
 
 Following Pierre, two more visitors appeared, not to- 
 gether; one was an Englishman of fifty, small, mea- 
 gre, plain iu face ; the other an American, somewhat
 
 A PINK VILLA 97 
 
 younger, a short, ruddy man, dressed like an Englishman. 
 Mrs. Churchill mentioned their names to Dallas: "Mr. 
 Gordon-Gray." " Mr. Ferguson." 
 
 It soon appeared that Mr. Gordon-Gray and Mr. Fer- 
 guson were in the habit of looking in every afternoon, 
 at about that hour, for a cup of tea. Dallas, who hated 
 tea, leaned back in his chair and watched the scene, 
 watched Fanny especially, with the amused eyes of a 
 contemporary who remembers a different past. Fanny 
 was looking dimpled and young; her tea was excellent, 
 her tea - service elaborate (there was a samovar) ; her 
 daughter was docile, her future son-in-law a Count and 
 6. pearl ; in addition, her terrace was an enchanting 
 place for lounging, attached as it was to a pink-faced 
 villa that overlooked the sea. 
 
 Nor were there wanting other soft pleasures. " Dear 
 Mrs. Murray -Churchill, how delicious is this nest of 
 yours !" said the Englishman, with quiet ardor ; " I 
 never come here without admiring it." 
 
 Fanny answered him in a steady voice, though there 
 was a certain flatness in its tone : " Yes, it's very pretty 
 indeed." Her face was red ; she knew that Dallas was 
 laughing; she would not look in his direction. Dallas, 
 however, had taken himself off to the parapet, where 
 he could have his laugh out at ease: to be called Mrs. 
 Murray -Churchill as a matter of course in that way 
 what joy for Fanny ! 
 
 Eva was listening to the busy Mark Ferguson; he 
 was showing her a little silver statuette which he had 
 unearthed that morning in Naples, "in a dusty out- 
 of-the-way shop, if you will believe it, where there was 
 nothing else but rubbish literally nothing. From the 
 chasing I am inclined to think it's fifteenth century. 
 
 7
 
 98 A PINK VILLA 
 
 But you will need glasses to see it well ; I can lend 
 you a pair of mine." 
 
 " I can see it perfectly thanks," said Eva. " It is 
 very pretty, I suppose." 
 
 " Pretty, Miss Churchill ? Surely it's a miracle !" 
 Ferguson protested. 
 
 Pierre, who was sitting near the mother, glanced 
 across and smiled. Eva did not smile in reply ; she 
 was looking vaguely at the blackened silver ; but when 
 he came over to see for himself the miracle, then she 
 smiled very pleasantly. 
 
 Pierre was evidently deeply in love ; he took no 
 pains to conceal it ; but during the two hours he spent 
 there he made no effort to lure the young girl into the 
 drawing-room, or even as far as the parapet. He was 
 very well bred. At present he stood beside her and 
 beside Mark Ferguson, and talked about the statuette. 
 "It seems to me old Vienna," he said. 
 
 " Signer Bartalama," announced Angelo, Mrs. Church- 
 ill's man-servant, appearing at the long window of the 
 drawing-room which served as one of the terrace doors; 
 he held the lace curtains apart eagerly, with the smiling 
 Italian welcome. 
 
 Fanny had looked up, puzzled. But when her eyes 
 fell upon the figure emerging from the lace she recog- 
 nized it instantly. "Horace Bartholomew! Now 
 from what quarter of the heavens do you drop this 
 time " 
 
 " So glad you call it heaven," said the new-comer, as 
 she gave him her hand. " But from heaven indeed this 
 time, Mrs. Churchill I say so emphatically ; from our 
 own great, grand country with the permission of the 
 present company be it spoken." And he bowed slightly
 
 A PINK VILLA 99 
 
 to the Englishman and Pierre, his discriminating glance 
 including even the little French governess, who smiled 
 (though non-comprehendingly) in reply. " May I pre- 
 sent to you a compatriot, Mrs. Churchill ?" he went on. 
 " I have taken the liberty of bringing him without 
 waiting for formal permission ; he is, in fact, in your 
 drawing-room now. His credentials, however, are 
 small and puny ; they consist entirely of the one item 
 that I like him." 
 
 " That will do perfectly," said Fanny, smiling. 
 
 Bartholomew went back to the window and parted 
 the curtains. " Come," he said. A tall man appeared. 
 " Mrs. Churchill, let me present to you Mr. David 
 Rod." 
 
 Mrs. Churchill was gracious to the stranger ; she 
 offered him a chair near hers, which he accepted ; a 
 cup of tea, which he declined ; and the usual small 
 questions of a first meeting, which only very original 
 minds are bold enough to jump over. The stranger 
 answered the questions promptly ; he was evidently not 
 original. He had arrived two days before ; this was 
 his first visit to Italy ; the Bay of Naples was beauti- 
 ful ; he had not been up Vesuvius; he had not visited 
 Pompeii ; he was not afraid of fever ; and he had met 
 Horace Bartholomew in Florida the year before. 
 
 " I am told they are beginning to go a great deal to 
 Florida," remarked Fanny. 
 
 " I don't go there ; I live there," Rod answered. 
 
 " Indeed ! in what part ?" (She brought forward 
 the only names she knew.) "St. Augustine, perhaps? 
 Or Tallahassee ?" 
 
 " No ; I live on the southern coast ; at Punta Pal- 
 mas ?"
 
 100 A PINK VILLA. 
 
 "How Spanish that is! Perhaps you have one of 
 those old Spanish plantations ?" She had now ex- 
 hausted all her knowledge of the State save a vague 
 memory of her school geography : " Where are the 
 Everglades?" "They are in the southern part of Flor- 
 ida. They are shallow lakes filled with trees." But 
 the stranger could hardly live in such a place as that. 
 
 " No," answered Rod ; " my plantation isn't old and 
 it isn't Spanish ; it's a farm, and quite new. I am 
 over here now to get hands for it." 
 
 " Hands ?" 
 
 "Yes, laborers Italians. They work very well in 
 Florida." 
 
 Eva and Mademoiselle Legrand had turned with 
 Pierre to look at the magnificent sunset. " Did you 
 receive the flowers I sent this morning?" said Pierre, 
 bending his head so that if Eva should glance up when 
 she answered, he should be able to look into her eyes. 
 
 " Yes ; they were beautiful," said Eva, giving the 
 hoped-for glance. 
 
 " Yet they are not in the drawing-room." 
 
 "You noticed that?" she said, smiling. "They are 
 in the music-room ; Mademoiselle put them there." 
 
 "They are the flowers for Mozart, are they not?" 
 said Mademoiselle " heliotrope and white lilies ; and 
 we have been studying Mozart this morning. The 
 drawing-room, as you know, Monsieur le Comte, is al- 
 ways full of roses." 
 
 " And how do you come on with Mozart ?" asked 
 Pierre. 
 
 " As usual," answered Eva. " Not very well, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 Mademoiselle twisted her handkerchief round her
 
 A PINK VILLA 101 
 
 fingers. She was passionately fond of music ; it 
 seemed to her that her pupil, who played accurately, 
 was not. Pierre also was fond of music, and played 
 with taste. He had not perceived Eva's coldness in 
 this respect simply because he saw no fault in her. 
 
 " I want to make up a party for the Deserto," he 
 went on, " to lunch there. Do you think Madame 
 Churchill will consent I" 
 
 " Probably," said Eva. 
 
 " I hope she will. For when we are abroad together, 
 under the open sky, then it sometimes happens I can 
 stay longer by your side." 
 
 "Yes; we never have very long talks, do we?" re- 
 marked Eva, reflectively. 
 
 " Do you desire them ?" said Pierre, with ardor. 
 "Ah, if you could know how I do ! With me it is one 
 long thirst. Say that you share the feeling, even if 
 only a little ; give me that pleasure." 
 
 " No," said Eva laughing, " I don't share it at all. 
 Because, if we should have longer talks, you would find 
 out too clearly that I am not clever." 
 
 " Not clever !" said Pierre, with all his heart in his 
 eyes. Then, with his unfailing politeness, he included 
 Mademoiselle. " She is clever, Mademoiselle ?" 
 
 " She is good," answered Mademoiselle, gravely. 
 " Her heart has a depth but a depth !" 
 
 " I shall fill it all," murmured Pierre to Eva. " It is 
 not that I myself am anything, but my love is so great, 
 so vast ; it holds you as the sea holds Capri. Some 
 time some time, you must let me try to tell you !" 
 
 Eva glanced at him. Her eyes had for the moment 
 a vague expression of curiosity. 
 
 This little conversation had been carried on in French;
 
 102 A PINK VILLA 
 
 Mademoiselle spoke no English, and Pierre would have 
 been incapable of the rudeness of excluding her by 
 means of a foreign tongue. 
 
 The pink villa was indeed a delicious nest, to use the 
 Englishman's phrase. It crowned one of the perpen- 
 dicular cliffs of Sorrento, its rosy facade overlooking 
 what is perhaps the most beautiful expanse of water in 
 the world the Bay of Naples. The broad terrace 
 stretched from the drawing room windows to the verge 
 of the precipice ; leaning against its strong stone para- 
 pet, with one's elbows comfortably supported on the 
 flat top (which supported also several battered god- 
 desses of marble), enjoying the shade of a lemon-tree set 
 in a great vase of tawny terra-cotta leaning thus, one 
 could let one's idle gaze drop straight down into the 
 deep blue water below, or turn it to the white line of 
 Naples opposite, shining under castled heights, to Ve- 
 suvius with its plume of smoke, or to beautiful dark 
 Ischia rising from the waves in the west, guarding the 
 entrance to the sea. On each side, close at hand, the 
 cliffs of Sorrento stretched away, tipped with their vil- 
 las, with their crowded orange and lemon groves. Each 
 villa had its private stairway leading to the beach below ; 
 strange dark passages, for the most part cut in the solid 
 rock, winding down close to the face of the cliff, so that 
 every now and then a little rock-window can let in a 
 gleam of light to keep up the spirits of those who are 
 descending. For every one does descend : to sit and 
 read among the rocks; to bathe from the bathing-house
 
 A PINK VILLA 103 
 
 on the fringe of beach ; to embark for a row to the 
 grottos or a sail to .Capri. 
 
 The afternoon which followed the first visit of Philip 
 Dallas to the pink villa found him there a second time; 
 again he was on the terrace with Fanny. The plunging 
 sea - birds of the terrace's mosaic floor were partially 
 covered by a large Persian rug, and it was upon this 
 rich surface that the easy-chairs were assembled, and 
 also the low tea-table, which was of a construction so 
 solid that no one could possibly knock it over. A keen 
 observer had once said that that table was in itself a suf- 
 ficient indication that Fanny's house was furnished to 
 attract masculine, not feminine, visitors (a remark which 
 was perfectly true). 
 
 " You are the sun of a system of masculine planets, 
 Fanny," said Dallas. "After long years, that is how I 
 find you." 
 
 " Oh, Philip we who live so quietly !" 
 
 " So is the sun quiet, I suppose ; I have never heard 
 that he howled. Mr. Gordon -Gray, Mark Ferguson, 
 Pierre de Vernueil, Horace Bartholomew, unknown 
 Americans. Do they come to see Eva or you ?" 
 
 " They come to see the view as you do ; to sit in 
 the shade and talk. I give very good dinners too," 
 Fanny added, with simplicity. 
 
 " O romance ! good dinners on the Bay of Naples !" 
 
 " Well, you may laugh ; but nothing draws men of a 
 certain age of a certain kind, I mean ; the most satis- 
 factory men, in short nothing draws them so surely as 
 a good dinner delicately served," announced Fanny, 
 with decision. " Please go and ring for the tea." 
 
 " I don't wonder that they all hang about you," re- 
 marked Dallas as he came back, his eyes turning from
 
 104 A PINK VILLA 
 
 
 
 the view to his hostess in her easy-chair. "Your villa 
 is admirable, and you yourself, as you sit there, are the 
 person ification of comfort, the personification, too, of 
 gentle, sweet, undemonstrative affectionateness. Do 
 you know that, Fanny . ; " 
 
 Fanny, with a very pink blush, busied herself in ar- 
 ranging the table for the coming cups. 
 
 Dallas smiled inwardly. " She thinks I am in love 
 with her because I said that about affectionateness," he 
 thought. " Oh, the fatuity of women !" 
 
 At this moment Eva came out, and presently ap- 
 peared Mr. Gordon-Gray and Mark Ferguson. A little 
 later came Horace Bartholomew. The tea had been 
 brought; Eva handed the cups. Dallas, looking at her, 
 was again struck by something in the manner and bear- 
 ing of Fanny's daughter. Or rather he was not struck 
 by it ; it was an impression that made itself felt by de- 
 grees, as it had done the day before a slow discovery 
 that the girl was unusual. 
 
 She was tall, dressed very simply in white. Her 
 thick smooth flaxen hair was braided in two long flat 
 tresses behind, which were doubled and gathered up 
 with a ribbon, so that they only reached her shoulders. 
 This school -girl coiffure became her young face well. 
 Yes, it was a very young face. Yet it was a serious 
 face too. " Our American girls are often serious, and 
 when they are brought up under the foreign system it 
 really makes them too quiet," thought Dallas. Eva had 
 a pair of large gray eyes under dark lashes : these eyes 
 were thoughtful ; sometimes they were dull. Her 
 smooth complexion was rather brown. The oval of 
 her face was perfect. Though her dress was so child- 
 like, her figure was womanly ; the poise of her head
 
 A PINK VILLA 105 
 
 was noble, her step light and free. Nothing could be 
 more unlike the dimpled, smiling mother than was this 
 tall, serious daughter who followed in her train. Dal- 
 las tried to recall Edward Churchill (Edward Murray 
 Churchill), but could not ; he had only seen him once. 
 "He must have been an obstinate sort of fellow," he 
 said to himself. The idea had come to him suddenly 
 from something in Eva's expression. Yet it was a sweet 
 expression ; the curve of the lips was sweet, 
 
 " She isn't such a very pretty girl, after all," he re- 
 flected, summing her up finally before he dismissed 
 her. " Fanny is a clever woman to have made it ap- 
 pear that she is." 
 
 At this moment Eva, having finished her duties as 
 cup-bearer, walked across the terrace and stood by the 
 parapet, outlined against the light. 
 
 " By Jove she's beautiful !" thought Dallas. 
 
 Fanny's father had not liked Edward Churchill ; he 
 had therefore left his money tied up in such a way that 
 neither Churchill nor any children whom he might 
 have should be much benefited by it; Fanny herself, 
 though she had a comfortable income for life, could 
 not dispose of it. This accounted for the very small 
 sum belonging to Eva : she had only the few hundreds 
 that came to her from her father. 
 
 But she had been brought up as though she had 
 many thousands ; studiedly quiet as her life had been, 
 studiedly simple as her attire always was, in every oth- 
 er respect her existence had been arranged as though a 
 large fortune certainly awaited her. This had been the 
 mother's idea; she had been sure from the beginning 
 that a large fortune did await her daughter. It now 
 appeared that she had been right.
 
 106 A PINK VILLA 
 
 " I don't know what you thought of me for bringing 
 a fellow-countryman down upon you yesterday in that 
 unceremonious way, Mrs. Churchill," Bartholomew was 
 saying. "But I wanted to do something for him I 
 met him at the top of your lane by accident ; it was an 
 impulse." 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure any friend of yours " said Fanny, 
 looking into the teapot. 
 
 Bartholomew glanced round the little circle on the 
 rug, with an expression of dry humor in his brown 
 eyes. " You didn't any of you like him I see that," 
 he said. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 "Well, be is rather a commonplace individual, isn't 
 he ?" said Dallas, unconsciously assuming the leadership 
 of this purely feminine household. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by commonplace ; but 
 yes, I do, coming from you, Dallas. Rod has never 
 been abroad in his life until now ; and he's a man with 
 convictions." 
 
 " Oh, come, don't take that tone," said Mark Fergu- 
 son ; " I've got convictions too ; I'm as obstinate about 
 them as an Englishman." 
 
 " What did your convictions tell you about Rod, 
 then, may I ask ?" pursued Bartholomew. 
 
 " I didn't have much conversation with him, you may 
 remember; I thought he had plenty of intelligence. 
 His clothes were were a little peculiar, weren't they ?" 
 
 "Made in Tampa, probably. And I've no doubt but 
 that he took pains with them wanted to have them 
 appropriate." 
 
 " That is where he disappointed me," said Gordon- 
 Gray "that very appearance of having taken pains.
 
 A PINK VILLA 107 
 
 When I learned that he came from that that place in 
 the States you have just named a wild part of the 
 country, is it not ? I thought he would be more more 
 interesting. But he might as well have come from 
 Clerkenwell." 
 
 " You thought he would be more wild, you mean ; 
 trousers in his boots ; long hair ; knives." 
 
 All the Americans laughed. 
 
 " Yes. I dare say you cannot at all comprehend our 
 penchant for that sort of thing," said the Englishman, 
 composedly. "And er I am afraid there would be 
 little use in attempting to explain it to you. But this 
 Mr. Rod seemed to me painfully unconscious of his op- 
 portunities ; he told me (when I asked) that there was 
 plenty of game there deer, and even bears and pan- 
 thers royal game ; yet he never hunts." 
 
 " He never hunts, because he has something better to 
 do," retorted Bartholomew. 
 
 "Ah, better?" murmured the Englishman, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 Bartholomew got up and took a chair which was nearer 
 Fanny. " No no tea," he said, as she made a motion 
 towards a cup ; then, without further explaining his 
 change of position, he gave her a little smile. Dallas, 
 who caught this smile on the wing, learned from it un- 
 expectedly that there was a closer intimacy between his 
 hostess and Bartholomew than he had suspected. " Bar- 
 tholomew !" he thought, contemptuously. " Gray 
 spectacles stout." Then suddenly recollecting the 
 increasing plumpness of his own person, he drew in his 
 out-stretched legs, and determined, from that instant, to 
 walk fifteen miles a day. 
 
 " Rod knows how to shoot, even though he doesn't
 
 108 A PINK VILLA 
 
 hunt," said Bartholomew, addressing the Englishman. 
 " I saw him once bring down a mad bull, who was 
 charging directly upon an old man the neatest sort of 
 a hit." 
 
 " He himself being in a safe place meanwhile," said 
 Dallas. 
 
 " On the contrary, he had to rush forward into an 
 open field. If he had missed his aim by an eighth of 
 an inch, the beast a terrible creature would have 
 made an end of him." 
 
 " And the poor old man ?" said Eva. 
 
 " He was saved, of course ; he was a rather disrep- 
 utable old darky. Another time Rod went out in a 
 howling gale the kind they have down there to 
 rescue two men whose boat had capsized in the bay. 
 They were clinging to the bottom ; no one else would 
 stir ; they said it was certain death ; but Rod went out 
 he's a capital sailor and got them in. I didn't see 
 that myself, as I saw the bull episode ; I was told about 
 it." 
 
 "By Rod?" said Dallas. 
 
 " By one of the men he saved. As you've never been 
 saved yourself, Dallas, you probably don't know how it 
 feels." 
 
 " He seems to be a modern Chevalier Bayard, doesn't 
 he ?" said good-natured Mark Ferguson. 
 
 " He's modern, but no Bayard. He's a modern and 
 a model pioneer " 
 
 " Pioneers ! oh, pioneers !" murmured Gordon-Gray, 
 half chanting it. 
 
 None of the Americans recognized his quotation. 
 
 " He's the son of a Methodist minister," Bartholomew 
 went on, " His father, a missionary, wandered down
 
 A PINK VILLA 109 
 
 to Florida in the early days, and died there, leaving a 
 sickly wife and seven children. You know the sort of 
 man a linen duster for a coat, prunella shoes, always 
 smiling and hopeful a great deal about ' Brethren.' 
 Fortunately they could at least be warm in that climate, 
 and fish were to be had for the catching ; but I suspect 
 it was a struggle for existence while the boys were small. 
 David was the youngest; his five brothers, who had 
 come up almost laborers, were determined to give this 
 lad a chance if they could ; together they managed to 
 send him to school, and later to a forlorn little Metho- 
 dist college somewhere in Georgia. David doesn't call 
 it forlorn, mind you ; he still thinks it an important in- 
 stitution. For nine years now he is thirty he has 
 taken care of himself ; he and a partner have cleared 
 this large farm, and have already done well with it. 
 Their hope is to put it all into sugar in time, and a 
 Northern man with capital has advanced them the 
 money for this Italian colonization scheme : it has been 
 tried before in Florida, and has worked well. They 
 have been very enterprising, David and his partner; 
 they have a saw-mill running, and two school-houses 
 already one for whites, one for blacks. You ought 
 to see the little darkies, with their wool twisted into 
 twenty tails, going proudly in when the bell rings," he 
 added, turning to Fanny. 
 
 "And the white children, do they go too?" said 
 Eva. 
 
 "Yes, to their own school-house lank girls, in im- 
 mense sun-bonnets, stalking on long bare feet. He has 
 got a brisk little Yankee school-mistress for them. In 
 ten years more I declare he will have civilized that en- 
 tire neighborhood."
 
 110 A PINK VILLA 
 
 " You are evidently the Northern man with capital," 
 said Dallas. 
 
 " I don't care in the least for your sneers, Dallas ; 
 I'm not the Northern man, but I should like to be. If 
 I admire Rod, with his constant driving action, his in- 
 domitable pluck, his simple but tremendous belief in 
 the importance of what he has undertaken to do, that's 
 my own affair. I do admire him just as he stands, 
 clothes and all ; I admire his creaking saw-mill ; I ad- 
 mire his groaning dredge ; I even admire his two hide- 
 ously ugly new school-houses, set staring among the 
 stumps." 
 
 " Tell me one thing, does he preach in the school- 
 houses on Sundays and Friday evenings, say ?" asked 
 Ferguson. " Because if he does he will make no 
 money, whatever else he may make. They never do if 
 they preach." 
 
 " It's his father who was the minister, not he," said 
 Bartholomew. " David never preached in his life ; he 
 wouldn't in the least know how. In fact, he's no talker 
 at all ; he says very little at any time ; he's a doer 
 David is; he does things. I declare it used to make me 
 sick of myself to see how much that fellow accomplished 
 every day of his life down there, and thought nothing 
 of it at all." 
 
 "And what were you doing 'down there,' besides 
 making yourself sick, if I may ask?" said Fergu- 
 son. 
 
 " Oh, I went down for the hunting, of course. What 
 else does one go to such a place for ?" 
 
 " Tell me a little about that, if you don't mind," said 
 the Englishman, interested for the first time. 
 
 " M. de Verneuil wants us all to go to the Deserto
 
 A PINK VILLA 111 
 
 some day soon," said Fanny ; " a lunch party. We 
 shall be sure to enjoy it; M. de Verneuil's parties are 
 always delightful." 
 
 Hi 
 
 The end of the week had been appointed for Pierre's 
 excursion. 
 
 The morning opened fair and warm, with the veiled 
 blue that belongs to the Bay of Naples, the soft hazy 
 blue which is so different from the dry glittering clear- 
 ness of the Riviera. 
 
 Fanny was mounted on a donkey ; Eva preferred to 
 walk, and Mademoiselle accompanied her. Pierre had 
 included in his invitation the usual afternoon assem- 
 blage at the villa Dallas, Mark Ferguson, Bartholomew, 
 Gordon-Gray, and David Rod. 
 
 For Fanny had, as Dallas expressed it, " taken up " 
 Rod ; she had invited him twice to dinner. The super- 
 fluous courtesy had annoyed Dallas, for of course, as 
 Rod himself was nothing, less than nothing, the ex- 
 planation must lie in the fact that Horace Bartholomew 
 had suggested it. "Bartholomew was always wrong- 
 headed; always picking up some perfectly impossible 
 creature, and ramming him down people's throats," he 
 thought, with vexation. 
 
 Bartholomew was walking now beside Fanny's 
 donkey. 
 
 Mark Ferguson led the party, as it moved slowly 
 along the narrow paved road that winds in zigzags up 
 the mountain ; Eva, Mademoiselle, Pierre, Dallas, and 
 Rod came next. Fannv aad Bartholomew were behind;
 
 112 A PUCK VILLA 
 
 and behind still, walking alone and meditatively, came 
 Gordon-Gray, who looked at life (save for the hunting) 
 from the standpoint of the Italian Renaissance. Gordon- 
 Gray knew a great deal about the Malatesta family ; he 
 had made a collection of Renaissance cloak clasps; he 
 had written an essay on the colors of the long hose 
 worn in the battling, leg-displaying days which had 
 aroused his admiration, aroused it rather singularly, 
 since he himself was as far as possible from having 
 been qualified by nature to shine in such vigorous so- 
 ciety. 
 
 Pierre went back to give some directions to one of 
 the men in the rear of their small procession. 
 
 When he returned, " So the bears sometimes get 
 among the canes ?" Eva was saying. 
 
 " But then, how very convenient," said Pierre ; " for 
 they can take the canes and chastise them punctually." 
 He spoke in his careful English. 
 
 " They're sugar-canes," said Rod. 
 
 " It's his plantation we are talking about," said Eva. 
 " Once it was a military post, he says. Perhaps like 
 Ehrenbreitstein." 
 
 " Exactly," said Dallas, from behind; "the same mas- 
 sive frowning stone walls." 
 
 " There were four one-story wooden barracks once," 
 said Rod; "whitewashed; flag -pole in the centre. 
 There's nothing now but a chimney ; we've taken the 
 boards for our mill." 
 
 " See the cyclamen, good folk," called out Gordon- 
 Gray. 
 
 On a small plateau near by a thousand cyclamen, 
 white and pink, had lifted their wings as if to fly away. 
 Off went Pierre to get them for Eva.
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE DESEKTO
 
 A PINK VILLA 113 
 
 " Have you ever seen the bears in the canes your- 
 self ?" pursued Eva. 
 
 " I've seen them in many places besides canes," an- 
 swered Rod, grimly. 
 
 " I too have seen bears," Eva went on. " At Berne, 
 you know." 
 
 " The Punta Palmas bears are quite the same," com- 
 mented Dallas. " When they see Mr. Rod coming they 
 sit up on their hind legs politely. And he throws them 
 apples." 
 
 " No apples ; they won't grow there," said Rod, re- 
 gretfully. " Only oranges." 
 
 "'Do you make the saw-mill go yourself with your 
 own hands ?" pursued Eva. 
 
 " Not now. I did once." 
 
 " Wasn't it very hard work ?" 
 
 "That? Nothing at all. You should have seen us 
 grubbing up the stumps Tipp and I !" 
 
 " Mr. Tipp is perhaps your partner ?" said Dallas. 
 
 " Yes ; Jim Tipp. Tipp and Rod is the name of the 
 firm." 
 
 "Tipp and Rod," repeated Dallas, slowly. Then 
 with quick utterance, as if trying it, " Tippandrod." 
 
 Pierre was now returning with his flowers. As he 
 joined them, round the corner of their zigzag, from a 
 pasture above came a troop of ponies that had escaped 
 from their driver, and were galloping down to Sorren- 
 to ; two and two they came rushing on, too rapidly to 
 stop, and everybody pressed to one side to give them 
 room to pass on the narrow causeway. 
 
 Pierre jumped up on the low stone wall and extended 
 his hand to Eva. " Come !" he said, hastily. 
 
 Rod put out his arm and pushed each outside pony,
 
 114 A PINK VILLA 
 
 as he passed Eva, forcibly against his mate who had the 
 inside place ; a broad space was thus left beside her, 
 and she had no need to leave the causeway. She had 
 given one hand to Pierre as a beginning ; he held it 
 tightly. Mademoiselle meanwhile had climbed the wall 
 like a cat. There were twenty of the galloping little 
 nags ; they took a minute or two to pass. Rod's out- 
 stretched hands, as he warded them off, were seen to be 
 large and brown. 
 
 Eva imagined them " grubbing up " the stumps. 
 " What is grubbing ?" she said. 
 
 " It is writing for the newspapers in a street in Lon- 
 don," said Pierre, jumping down. " And you must 
 wear a torn coat, I believe." Pierre was proud of his 
 English. 
 
 He presented his flowers. 
 
 Mademoiselle admired them volubly. " They are like 
 souls just ready to wing their way to another world," 
 she said, sentimentally, with her head on one side. She 
 put her well-gloved hand in Eva's arm, summoned Pierre 
 with an amiable gesture to the vacant place at Eva's left 
 hand, and the three walked on together. 
 
 The Deserto, though disestablished and dismantled, 
 like many another monastery, by the rising young king- 
 dom, held still a few monks ; their brown-robed breth- 
 ren had aided Pierre's servant in arranging the table in 
 the high room which commands the wonderful view of 
 the sea both to the north and the south of the Sorrento 
 peninsula, with Capri lying at its point too fair to be real 
 like an island in a dream. 
 
 " la douce folie 
 Aimable Capri 1"
 
 AT THE DKSERTO
 
 A PIXK VILLA 115 
 
 said Mark Ferguson. No one knew what he meant ; he 
 did not know himself. It was a poetical inspiration 
 so he said. 
 
 The lunch was delicate, exquisite ; everything save 
 the coffee (which the monks wished to provide : coffee, 
 black-bread, and grapes which were half raisins was the 
 monks' idea of a lunch) had been sent np from Sorren- 
 to. Dallas, who was seated beside Fanny, gave her a 
 congratulatory nod. 
 
 " Yes, all Pierre does is well done," she answered, in 
 a low tone, unable to deny herself this expression of ma- 
 ternal content. 
 
 Pierre was certainly a charming host. He gave them 
 a toast; he gave them two; he gave them a song: he 
 had a tenor voice which had been admirably cultivated, 
 and his song was gay and sweet. He looked very hand- 
 some ; he wore one of the cyclamen in his button-hole ; 
 Eva wore the rest, arranged by the deft fingers of Mad- 
 emoiselle in a knot at her belt. But at the little feast 
 Fanny was much more prominent than her daughter : 
 this was Pierre's idea of what was proper; he asked her 
 opinion, he referred everything to her with a smile which 
 was homage in itself. Dallas, after a while, was seized 
 with a malicious desire to take down for a moment this 
 too prosperous companion of his boyhood. It was after 
 Pierre had finished his little song. " Do you ever sing 
 now, Fanny ?" he asked, during a silence. " I remem- 
 ber how you used to sing Trancadillo." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know what you refer to," an- 
 swered Fanny, coldly. 
 
 Another week passed. They sailed to Capri ; they 
 sailed to Ischia; they visited Pompeii. Bartholomew 
 suggested these excursions. Eva too showed an almost
 
 116 A PINK VILLA 
 
 passionate desire for constant movement, constant action. 
 " Where shall we go to-day, mamma ?" she asked every 
 morning. 
 
 One afternoon they were strolling through an orange 
 grove on the outskirts of Sorrento. Under the trees 
 the ground was ploughed and rough ; low stone cop- 
 ings, from whose interstices innumerable violets swung, 
 ran hither and thither, and the paths followed the cop- 
 ings. The fruit hung thickly on the trees. Above the 
 high wall which surrounded the place loomed the cam- 
 panile of an old church. While they were strolling the 
 bells rang the Angelas, swinging far out against the 
 blue. 
 
 Rod, who was of the party, was absent-minded ; he 
 looked a little at the trees, but said nothing, and after 
 a while he became absent-bodied as well, for he fell be- 
 hind the others, and pursued his meditations, whatever 
 they were, in solitude. 
 
 " He is bothered about his Italians," said Bartholo- 
 mew ; " he has only secured twenty so far." 
 
 Pierre joined Fanny; he had not talked with her that 
 afternoon, and he now came to fulfil the pleasant duty. 
 Eva, who had been left with Mademoiselle, turned round, 
 and walking rapidly across the ploughed ground, joined 
 Rod, who was sitting on one of the low stone walls at 
 some distance from the party. Mademoiselle followed 
 her, putting on her glasses as she went, in order to see 
 her way over the heaped ridges. She held up her skirts, 
 and gave ineffectual little leaps, always landing in the 
 wrong spot, and tumbling up hill, as Dallas called it. 
 " Blue," he remarked, meditatively. Every one glanced 
 in that direction, and it was perceived that the adjec- 
 tive described the hue of Mademoiselle's birdlike ankles.
 
 A PINK VILLA. H7 
 
 " For shame !" said Fanny. 
 
 But Dallas continued bis observations. " Do look 
 across," he said, after a while ; " it's too funny. The 
 French woman evidently thinks that Rod should rise, or 
 else that Eva should be seated also. But her panto- 
 mime passes unheeded ; neither Eva nor the backwoods- 
 man is conscious of her existence." 
 
 " Eva is so fond of standing," explained Fanny. " I 
 often say to her, ' Do sit down, child ; it tires me to see 
 you.' But Eva is never tired." 
 
 Pierre, who had a spray of orange buds in his hand, 
 pressed it to his lips, and waved it imperceptibly tow- 
 ards his betrothed. " In everything she is perfect per- 
 fect," he murmured to the pretty mother. 
 
 " Rod doesn't in the least mean to be rude," began 
 Bartholomew. 
 
 " Oh, don't explain that importation of yours at this 
 late day," interposed Dallas ; " it isn't necessary. He 
 is accustomed to sitting on fences probably ; he belongs 
 to the era of the singing-school." 
 
 This made Fanny angry. For as to singing-schools, 
 there had been a time a remote time long ago and 
 Dallas knew it. She had smiled in answer to Pierre's 
 murmured rapture ; she now took his arm. To punish 
 Dallas she turned her steps on her plump little feet in 
 their delicate kid boots towards the still seated Rod, 
 with the intention of asking him (for the fifth time) to din- 
 ner. This would not only exasperate Dallas, but it would 
 please Bartholomew at the same stroke. Two birds, etc. 
 
 When they came up to the distant three, Mademoi- 
 selle glanced at Mrs. Churchill anxiously. But in the 
 presence of the mistress of the villa, Rod did at last lift 
 his long length from the wall.
 
 118 A PINK VILLA 
 
 This seemed, however, to be because he supposed 
 they were about to leave the grove. "Is the walk over?" 
 he said. 
 
 Pierre looked at Eva adoringly. He gave her the 
 spray of orange buds. 
 
 IV 
 
 A week later Fanny's daughter entered the bedroom 
 which she shared with her mother. 
 
 From the girl's babyhood the mother had had her 
 small white - curtained couch placed close beside her 
 own. She could not have slept unless able at any mo- 
 ment to stretch out her hand and touch her sleeping 
 child. 
 
 Fanny was in the dressing-room ; hearing Eva's step, 
 she spoke. " Do you want me, Eva ?" 
 
 " Yes, please." 
 
 Fanny appeared, a vision of white arms, lace, and 
 embroidery. 
 
 " I thought that Rosine would not be here yet," said 
 Eva. Rosine was their maid ; her principal occupation 
 was the elaborate arrangement of Fanny's brown hair. 
 
 " No, she isn't there if you mean in the dressing- 
 room," answered Fanny, nodding her head towards the 
 open door. 
 
 " I wanted to see you alone, mamma, for a moment. 
 I wanted to tell you that I shall not marry Pierre." 
 
 Fanny, who had sunk into an easy - chair, at these 
 words sprang up. " What is the matter ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 " Not in the least, mamma ; I am only telling you 
 that I cannot marrv Pierre."
 
 A PINK VILLA 119 
 
 
 
 " You must be ill," pursued Fanny. " You have 
 fever. Don't deny it." And anxiously she took the 
 girl's hands. But Eva's hands were cooler than her 
 own. 
 
 " I don't think I have any fever," replied Eva. She 
 had been taught to answer all her mother's questions in 
 fullest detail. " I sleep and eat as usual ; I have no 
 headache." 
 
 Fanny still looked at her anxiously. " Then if you 
 are not ill, what can be the matter with you ?" 
 
 " I have only told you, mamma, that I could not 
 marry Pierre ; it seems to me very simple." 
 
 She was so quiet that Fanny began at last to realize 
 that she was in earnest. " My dearest, you know you 
 like Pierre. You have told me so yourself." 
 
 "I don't like him now." 
 
 " What has he done poor Pierre ? He will explain, 
 apologize ; you may be sure of that." 
 
 " He has done nothing ; I don't want him to apolo- 
 gize. He is as he always is. It is I who have changed." 
 
 "Oh, it is you who have changed," repeated Fanny, 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Yes," answered Eva. 
 
 " Come and sit down and tell mamma all about it. 
 You are tired of poor Pierre is that it ? It is very 
 natural, he has been here so often, and stayed so long. 
 But I will tell him that he must go away leave Sor- 
 rento. And he shall stay away as long as you like, 
 Eva ; just as long as you like." 
 
 " Then he will stay away forever," the girl answered, 
 calmly. 
 
 Fanny waited a moment. " Did you like Gino bet- 
 ter ? Is that it? 1 ' she said, softly, watching Eva's face.
 
 120 A PLXK VILLA. 
 
 No." 
 
 " Thornton Stanley T 
 
 "Oh no!" 
 
 "Dear child, explain this a little to your mother 
 Yon know I think only of your happiness," said Fanny, 
 with tender solicitude. 
 
 Era evidently tried to obey. " It was this morning. 
 It came over me suddenly that I could not possibly 
 marry him. Now or a year from now. Never." She 
 spoke tranquilly; she even seemed indifferent. Bat 
 this one decision was made. 
 
 " Yon know that I have given my word to the old 
 Count," began Fanny, in perplexity. 
 
 Eva was silent 
 
 * And everything was arranged.** 
 
 Eva still said nothing. She looked about the room 
 with wandering attention, as though this did not con- 
 cern her. 
 
 u Of course I would never force yon into anything," 
 Fanny went on. " But I thought Pierre would be so 
 congenial." In her heart she was asking herself what 
 the young Belgian could have done. " Well, dear," 
 she continued, with a little sigh, "you must always tell 
 mamma everything." And she kissed her. 
 
 " Of course," Eva answered. And then she went away. 
 
 Fanny immediately rang the bell, and asked for 
 Mademoiselle. But Mademoiselle knew nothing about 
 it. She was overwhelmed with surprise and dismay. 
 She greatly admired Pierre ; even more she admired 
 the old Count, whom she thought the most distinguished 
 of men. Fanny dismissed the afflicted little woman, 
 and sat pondering. While she was thinking, Eva re- 
 entered.
 
 A P1XK VILLA 121 
 
 " Mamma, I forgot to say that I should like to hare 
 you tell Pierre immediately. To-day." 
 
 Fanny was almost irritated. " You hare never taken 
 that tone before, my daughter. Hare yon. no longer 
 confidence in my judgment !" 
 
 " If you do not want to tell him this afternoon, it 
 can be easily arranged, mamma ; I will not come to the 
 dinner-table ; that is alL I do not wish to see him un- 
 til he knows." 
 
 Pierre was to dine at the villa that evening. 
 
 What can he have done T* thought Fanny again. 
 
 She rang for Rosine ; half an hour later she was in 
 the drawing-room. " Excuse me to every one but M. 
 de Yerneuil," she said to Angelo. She was very ner- 
 vous, but she had decided upon her course : Pierre must 
 leave Sorrento, and remain away until she herself should 
 call him back. 
 
 " At the end of a month, perhaps even at the end of 
 a week, she will miss yon so much that I shall have to 
 issue the summons," she said, speaking as gayly as she 
 could, as if to make it a sort of joke. It was very hard 
 for her, at best, to send away the frank, handsome boy. 
 
 Poor Pierre could not understand it at all. He de- 
 clared over and over again that nothing he had said, 
 nothing he had done, could possibly have offended his 
 betrothed. " But surely you know yourself that it is 
 impossible !" he added, clasping his hands beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 " It is a girlish freak," explained the mother. ** She 
 is so young, you know." 
 
 " But that is the very reason. I thought it was only 
 older women who say what they wish to do in that de- 
 cided way ; who have freaks, as you call it/" said the
 
 122 A PINK VILLA 
 
 Belgian, his voice for a moment much older, more like 
 the voice of a man who has spent half his life in Paris. 
 
 This was so true that Fanny was driven to a defence 
 that scarcely anything else would have made her use. 
 " Eva is different from the young girls here," she said. 
 " You must not forget that she is an American." 
 
 At last Pierre went away ; he had tried to bear him- 
 self as a gentleman should ; but the whole affair was a 
 mystery to him, and he was very unhappy. He went 
 as far as Rome, and there he waited, writing to Fanny 
 an anxious letter almost every day. 
 
 In the meanwhile life at the villa went on ; there were 
 many excursions. Fanny's thought was that Eva 
 would miss Pierre more during these expeditions than 
 at other times, for Pierre had always arranged them, 
 and he had enjoyed them so much himself that his gay 
 spirits and his gay wit had made all the party gay. 
 Eva, however, seemed very happy, and at length the 
 mother could not help being touched to see how light- 
 hearted her serious child had become, now that she was 
 entirely free. And yet how slight the yoke had been, 
 and how pleasant ! thought Fanny. At the end of two 
 weeks there were still no signs of the " missing " upon 
 which she had counted. She thought that she would 
 try the effect of briefly mentioning the banished man. 
 " I hear from Pierre almost every day, poor fellow. He 
 is in Rome." 
 
 "Why does he stay in Rome?" said Eva. "Why 
 doesn't he return home?" 
 
 " I suppose he doesn't want to go so far away," an- 
 swered Fanny, vaguely. 
 
 " Far away from what ? Home should always be the 
 first place," responded the young moralist. " Of course
 
 A PINK VILLA 123 
 
 you have told him, mamma, that I shall never be his 
 wife ? That it is forever ?" And she turned her gray 
 eyes towards her mother, for the first time with a shade 
 of suspicion in them. 
 
 " Never is a long word, Eva." 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" The girl rose. " I shall write to 
 him myself, then." 
 
 "How you speak ! Do you wish to disobey me, my 
 own little girl?" 
 
 " No ; but it is so dishonest ; it is like a lie." 
 
 " My dear, trust your mother. You have changed 
 once ; you may change again." 
 
 " Not about this, mamma. Will you please write this 
 very hour, and make an end of it ?" 
 
 "You are hard, Eva. You do not think of poor 
 Pierre at all." 
 
 " No, I do not think of Pierre." 
 
 " And is there any one else you think of ? I must 
 ask you that once more," said Fanny, drawing her 
 daughter down beside her caressingly. Her thoughts 
 could not help turning again towards Gino, and in her 
 supreme love for her child she now accomplished the 
 mental somerset of believing that on the whole she pre- 
 ferred the young Italian to all the liberty, all the per- 
 sonal consideration for herself, which had been em- 
 bodied in the name of Verneuil. 
 
 " Yes, there is some one else I think of," Eva replied, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " In Rome ?" said Fanny. 
 
 Eva made a gesture of denial that was fairly con- 
 temptuous. 
 
 Fanny's mind flew wildly from Bartholomew to 
 Dallas, from Ferguson to Gordon-Gray : Eva had no
 
 124 A PINK VILLA 
 
 acquaintances save those which were her mother's 
 also. 
 
 " It is David Rod," Eva went on, in the same low 
 tone. Then, with sudden exaltation, her eyes gleaming, 
 " I have never seen any one like him." 
 
 It was a shock so unexpected that Mrs. Churchill drew 
 her breath under it audibly, as one does under an actual 
 blow. But instantly she rallied. She said to herself 
 that she had got a romantic idealist for a daughter 
 that was all. She had not suspected it; she had thought 
 of Eva as a lovely child who would develop into what 
 she herself had been. Fanny, though far-seeing and 
 intelligent, had not been endowed with imagination. 
 But now that she did realize it, she should know how 
 to deal with it. A disposition like that, full of vision- 
 ary fancies, was not so uncommon as some people sup- 
 posed. Horace Bartholomew should take the Floridian 
 away out of Eva's sight forever, and the girl would soon 
 forget him ; in the meanwhile not one word that was 
 harsh should be spoken on the subject, for that would 
 be the worst policy of all. 
 
 This train of thought had passed through her mind 
 like a flash. " My dear," she began, as soon as she had 
 got her breath back, " you are right to be so honest with 
 me. Mr. Rod has not has not said anything to you 
 on the subject, has he ?" 
 
 " No. Didn't I tell you that he cares nothing for me ? 
 I think he despises me I am so useless !" And then 
 suddenly the girl began to sob ; a passion of tears. 
 
 Fanny was at her wits' end ; Eva had not wept since 
 the day of her baby ills, for life had been happy to her, 
 loved, caressed, and protected as she had been always, 
 like a hot-house flower.
 
 A PINK VILLA 125 
 
 " My darling," said the mother, taking her in her 
 arms. 
 
 But Eva wept on and on, as if her heart would break. 
 It ended in Fanny's crying too. 
 
 Early the next morning her letter to Bartholomew 
 was sent. Bartholomew had gone to Munich for a 
 week. The letter begged, commanded, that he should 
 make some pretext that would call David Rod from Sor- 
 rento at the earliest possible moment. She counted 
 upon her fingers ; four days for the letter to go and the 
 answer to return. Those four days she would spend at 
 Capri. 
 
 Eva went with her quietly. There had been no more 
 conversation between mother and daughter about Rod ; 
 Fanny thought that this was best. 
 
 On the fourth day there came a letter from Bartholo- 
 mew. Fanny returned to Sorrento almost gayly : the 
 man would be gone. 
 
 But he was not gone. Tranquillized, glad to be at 
 home again, Mrs. Churchill was enjoying her terrace 
 and her view, when Angelo appeared at the window : 
 " Signor Ra." 
 
 Angelo's mistress made him a peremptory sign. 
 " Ask the gentleman to wait in the drawing-room," she 
 said. Then crossing to Eva, who had risen, " Go round 
 by the other door to our own room, Eva," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 The girl did not move ; her face had an excited look. 
 " But why"
 
 126 A PIXK VILLA 
 
 "Go, child; go." 
 
 Still Eva stood there, her eyes fixed upon the long 
 window veiled in lace ; she scarcely seemed to breathe. 
 
 Her mother was driven to stronger measures. " You 
 told me yourself that he cared nothing for you." 
 
 A deep red rose in Eva's cheeks ; she turned and left 
 the terrace by the distant door. 
 
 The mother crossed slowly to the long window and 
 parted the curtains. " Mr. Rod, are you there ? Won't 
 you come out ? Or stay I will join you." She en- 
 tered the drawing-room and took a seat. 
 
 Rod explained that he was about to leave Sorrento ; 
 Bartholomew had summoned him so urgently that he 
 did not like to refuse, though it was very inconvenient 
 to go at such short notice. 
 
 " Then you leave to-morrow ?" said Fanny ; " perhaps 
 to-night?" 
 
 " No ; on Monday. I could not arrange my business 
 before." 
 
 " Three days more," Fanny thought. 
 
 She talked of various matters ; she hoped that some 
 one else would come in ; but, by a chance, no one ap- 
 peared that day, neither Dallas, nor Ferguson, nor Gor- 
 don-Gray. " What can have become of them ?" she 
 thought, with irritation. After a while she gave an in- 
 ward start; she had become conscious of a foot-fall 
 passing to and fro behind the half-open door near her 
 a door which led into the dining-room. It was a very 
 soft foot-fall upon a thick carpet, but she recognized it: 
 it was Eva. She was there why ? The mother could 
 think of no good reason. Her heart began to beat 
 more quickly ; for the first time in her life she did not 
 know her child. This person walking up and down be-
 
 A PINK VILLA 127 
 
 hind that door so insistently, this was not Eva. Eva 
 was docile ; this person was not docile. What would 
 be done next? She felt strangely frightened. It was 
 a proof of her terror that she did not dare to close the 
 door lest it should be instantly reopened. She began 
 to watch every word she said to Rod, who had not per- 
 ceived the foot-fall. She began to be extraordinarily 
 polite to him ; she stumbled through the most irrele- 
 vant complimentary sentences. Her dread was, every 
 minute, lest Eva should appear. 
 
 But Eva did not appear ; and at last, after long lin- 
 gering, Rod went away. Fanny, who had hoped to 
 bid him a final farewell, had not dared to go through 
 that- ceremony. He said that he should come again. 
 
 When at last he was gone the mother pushed open 
 the half-closed door. " Eva," she began. She had in- 
 tended to be severe, as severe as she possibly could be ; 
 but the sight of Eva stopped her. The girl had flung 
 herself down upon the floor, her bowed head resting 
 upon her arms on a chair. Her attitude expressed a 
 hopeless desolation. 
 
 " What is it ?" said Fanny, rushing to her. 
 
 Eva raised her head. " He never once spoke of me 
 asked for me," she murmured, looking at her mother 
 with eyes so dreary with grief that any one must have 
 pitied her. 
 
 Her mother pitied her, though it was an angry pity, 
 too a non-comprehending, jealous, exasperated feeling. 
 She sat down and gathered her child to her breast with 
 a gesture that was almost fierce. That Eva should suf- 
 fer so cruelly when she, Fanny, would have made any 
 sacrifice to save her from it, would have died for her 
 gladly, were it not that she was the girl's only pro-
 
 128 A PINK VILLA 
 
 lector oh, what fate had come over their happy life 
 together ! She had not the heart to be stern. All she 
 
 O 
 
 said was, " We will go away, dear ; we will go away." 
 
 " No," said Eva, rising ; " let me stay here. You 
 need not be afraid." 
 
 " Of course I am not afraid," answered Fanny, 
 gravely. " My daughter will never do anything un- 
 seemly ; she has too much pride." 
 
 " I am afraid I have no pride that is, not as you 
 have it, mamma. Pride doesn't seem to me at all im- 
 portant compared with But of course I know that 
 there is nothing I can do. He is perfectly indifferent. 
 Only do not take me away again do not." 
 
 " Why do you wish to stay ?" 
 
 " Because then I can think for three days more 
 that he is at least as near me as that." She trembled 
 as she said this ; there was a spot of sombre red in each 
 cheek; her fair face looked strange amid her disordered 
 hair. 
 
 Her mother watched her helplessly. All her beliefs, 
 all her creed, all her precedents, the experience of her 
 own life and her own nature even, failed to explain such 
 a phenomenon as this. And it was her own child who 
 was saying these things. 
 
 The next day Eva was passive. She wandered about 
 the terrace, or sat for hours motionless staring blankly 
 at the sea. Her mother left her to herself. She had 
 comprehended that words were useless. She pretend- 
 ed to be embroidering, but in reality as she drew her 
 stitches she was counting the hours as they passed : 
 seventy-two hours ; forty-eight hours. Would he ever 
 be gone ? 
 
 On the second day, in the afternoon, she discovered
 
 "SHE SAT DOWN AND GATHERED HKR CHILD TO HER BREAST 1 '
 
 A PINK VILLA 129 
 
 that Eva had disappeared. The girl had been on the 
 terrace with Mademoiselle ; Mademoiselle had gone to 
 her room for a moment, and when she returned her 
 pupil could not be found. She had not passed through 
 the drawing-room, where Fanny was sitting with her 
 pretended industry ; nor through the other door, for 
 Rosine was at work there, and had seen nothing of 
 her. There remained only the rock stairway to the 
 beach. Mademoiselle ran down it swiftly : no one. 
 But there was a small boat not far off, she said. Fan- 
 ny, who was near-sighted, got the glass. In a little 
 boat with a broad sail there were two figures ; one was 
 certainly David Rod, and the other yes, the other was 
 Eva. There was a breeze, the boat was rapidly going 
 westward round the cliffs ; in two minutes more it was 
 out of sight. 
 
 Fanny wrung her hands. The French woman, to 
 whom the event wore a much darker hue than it did 
 to the American mother, turned yellowly pale. 
 
 At this moment Horace Bartholomew came out on 
 the terrace ; uneasy, for Fanny's missive had explained 
 nothing, he had followed his letter himself. " What 
 is it?" he said, as he saw the agitation of the two 
 women. 
 
 " Your friend yours the man you brought here, 
 has Eva with him at this moment out on the bay !" 
 said Fanny, vehemently. 
 
 "Well, what of that? You must look at it with 
 Punta Palmas eyes, Fanny ; at Punta Palmas it would 
 be an ordinary event." 
 
 " But my Eva is not a Punta Palmas girl, Horace 
 Bartholomew !" 
 
 " She is as innocent as one, and I'll answer for Rod. 
 
 9
 
 130 A. PIXK VILLA 
 
 Come, be sensible, Fanny. They will be back before 
 sunset, and no one in Sorrento if that is what is 
 troubling you so need be any the wiser." 
 
 " You do not know all," said Fanny. " Oh, Horace 
 I must tell somebody she fancies she cares for that 
 man !" She wrung her hands again. " Couldn't we 
 follow them ? Get a boat." 
 
 " It would take an hour. And it would be a very 
 conspicuous thing to do. Leave them alone it's much 
 better ; I tell you I'll answer for Rod. Fancies she 
 cares for him, does she ? Well, he is a fine fellow ; 
 on the whole, the finest I know." 
 
 The mother's eyes flashed through her tears. " This 
 from you ?" 
 
 " I can't help it ; he is. Of course you do not think 
 so. He has got no money ; he has never been any- 
 where that you call anywhere ; he doesn't know any- 
 thing about the only life you care for nor the things 
 you think important. All the same, he is a man in a 
 million. He is a man not a puppet." 
 
 Gentle Mrs. Churchill appeared for the moment 
 transformed. She looked as though she could strike 
 him. " Xever mind your Quixotic ideas. Tell me 
 whether he is in love with Eva ; it all depends upon 
 that." 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure," answered Bartholomew. 
 He began to think. " I can't say at all ; he would 
 conceal it from me." 
 
 " Because he felt his inferiority. I am glad he has 
 that grace." 
 
 " He wouldn't be conscious of any inferiority save 
 that he is poor. It would be that, probably, if any- 
 thing ; of course he supposes that Eva is rich."
 
 A TIXK VILLA 131 
 
 " Would to Heaven she were !" said the mother. 
 " Added to every other horror of it, poverty, miserable 
 poverty, for my poor child !" She sat down and hid 
 her face. 
 
 " It may not be as bad as you fear, nor anything like 
 it. Do cheer up a little, Fanny. When Eva comes 
 back, ten to one you will find that nothing at all has 
 happened that it has been a mere ordinary excursion. 
 And I promise you I will take Bod away with me to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Churchill rose and began to pace to and fro, 
 biting her lips, and watching the water. Mademoi- 
 selle, who was still hovering near, she waved impa- 
 tiently away. " Let no one in," she called to her. 
 
 There seemed, indeed, to be nothing else to do, as 
 Bartholomew had said, save to wait. He sat down and 
 discussed the matter a little. 
 
 Fanny paid no attention to what he was saying. 
 Every now and then broken phrases of her own burst 
 from her : " How much good will her perfect French 
 and Italian, her German, Spanish, and even Russian, 
 do her down in that barbarous wilderness ?" " In her 
 life she has never even buttoned her boots. Do they 
 think she can make bread ?" " And there was Gino. 
 And poor Pierre." Then, suddenly, " But it shall not 
 be!" 
 
 " I have been wondering why you did not take that 
 tone from the first," said Bartholomew. " She is very 
 young. She has been brought up to obey you implic- 
 itly. It would be easy enough, I should fancy, if you 
 could once make up your mind to it." 
 
 " Make up my mind to save her, you mean," said 
 the mother, bitterly. She did not tell him that she
 
 132 A PINK VILLA 
 
 was afraid of her daughter. " Should you expect me 
 to live at Punta Palmas?" she demanded, contempt- 
 uously, of her companion. 
 
 " That would depend upon Rod, wouldn't it ?" an- 
 swered Bartholomew, rather unamiably. He was tired 
 he had been there an hour of being treated like a 
 door-mat. 
 
 At this Fanny broke down again, and completely. 
 For it was only too true ; it would depend upon that 
 stranger, that farmer, that unknown David Rod, whether 
 she,' the mother, should or should not be with her own 
 child. 
 
 A little before sunset the boat came into sight again 
 round the western cliffs. Fanny dried her eyes. She 
 was very pale. Little Mademoiselle, rigid with anx- 
 iety, watched from an upper window. Bartholomew 
 rose to go down to the beach to receive the returning 
 fugitives. " No," said Fanny, catching his arm, " don't 
 go ; no one must know before I do no one." So they 
 waited in silence. 
 
 Down below, the little boat had rapidly approached. 
 Eva had jumped out, and was now running up the 
 rock stairway ; she was always light-footed, but to her 
 mother it seemed that the ascent took an endless time. 
 At length there was the vision of a young, happy, rush- 
 ing figure rushing straight to Fanny's arms. " Oh, 
 mamma, mamma," the girl whispered, seeing that there 
 was no one there but Bartholomew, " he loves me ! 
 He has told me so ! he has told me so !" 
 
 For an instant the mother drew herself away. Eva, 
 left alone, and mindful of nothing but her own bliss, 
 looked so radiant with happiness that Bartholomew 
 (being a man) could not help sympathizing with her.
 
 A PINK VILLA 133 
 
 " You will have to give it up," he said to Fanny, sig- 
 nificantly. Then he took his hat and went away. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later his place was filled by David 
 Rod. 
 
 " Ah ! you have come. I must have a few words of 
 conversation with you, Mr. Rod," said Fanny, in an 
 icy tone. " Eva, leave us now." 
 
 " Oh no, mamma, not now ; never again, I hope," 
 answered the girl. She spoke with secure confidence ; 
 her eyes were fixed upon her lover's face. 
 
 " Do you call this honorable behavior, Mr. Rod ?" 
 Fanny began. She saw that Eva would not go. 
 
 " Why, I hope so," answered Rod, surprised. " I 
 have come at once, as soon as I possibly could, Mrs. 
 Churchill (I had to take the boat back first, you know), 
 to tell you that we are engaged , it isn't an hour old 
 yet is it, Eva ?" He looked at Eva smilingly, his 
 eyes as happy as her own. 
 
 " It is the custom to ask permission," said Fanny, 
 stiffly. 
 
 " I have never heard of the custom, then ; that is all 
 I can say," answered Rod, with good-natured tranquil- 
 lity, still looking at the girl's face, with its rapt expres- 
 sion, its enchanting joy. 
 
 " Please to pay attention ; I decline to consent, Mr. 
 Rod ; you cannot have my daughter." 
 
 " Mamma " said Eva, coming up to her. 
 
 " No, Eva ; if you will remain here which is most 
 improper you will have to hear it all. You are so 
 much my daughter's inferior, Mr. Rod, that I cannot, 
 and I shall not, consent." 
 
 At the word " inferior," a slight shock passed over 
 Eva from head to foot. She went swiftly to her lover,
 
 134 A PINK VILLA 
 
 knelt down and pressed her lips to bis brown hand, bid- 
 ing her face upon it. 
 
 He raised her tenderly in his arms, and thus em- 
 braced, they stood there together, confronting the 
 mother confronting the world. 
 
 Fanny put out her hands with a bitter cry. " Eva !" 
 
 The girl ran to her, clung to her. " Oh, mamma, 
 I love you dearly. But you must not try to sepa- 
 rate me from David. I could not leave him I never 
 will." 
 
 " Let us go in, to our own room," said the mother, in 
 a broken voice. 
 
 "Yes; but speak to David first, mamma." 
 
 Rod came forward and offered his arm. He was sor- 
 ry for the mother's grief, which, however, in such in- 
 tensity as this, he could not at all understand. But 
 though he was sorry, he was resolute, he was even 
 stern j in his dark beauty, his height and strength, 
 he looked indeed, as Bartholomew had said, a man. 
 
 At the sight of his offered arm Mrs. Churchill re- 
 coiled -, she glanced all round the terrace as though to 
 get away from it -, she even glanced at the water ; it al- 
 most seemed as if she would have liked to take her 
 child and plunge with her to the depths below. But 
 one miserable look at Eva's happy, trustful eyes still 
 watching her lover's face cowed her ; she took the of- 
 fered arm. And then Rod went with her, supporting 
 her gently into the house, and through it to her own 
 room, where he left her with her daughter. That night 
 the mother rose from her sleepless couch, lit a shaded 
 taper, and leaving it on a distant table, stole softly to 
 Eva's side. The girl was in a deep slumber, her head 
 pillowed on her arm. Fanny, swallowing her tears,
 
 "FANNY PCT OUT HER HANDS WITH A BITTER CRY"
 
 A PINK VILLA 135 
 
 gazed at her sleeping child. She still saw in the face 
 the baby outlines of years before, her mother's eye 
 could still distinguish in the motionless hand the dim- 
 pled fingers of the child. The fair hair, lying on the 
 pillow, recalled to her the short flossy curls of the little 
 girl who had clung to her skirts, who had had but one 
 thought " mamma." 
 
 " What will her life be now ? What must she go 
 through, perhaps what pain, privation my darling, 
 my own little child !" 
 
 The wedding was to take place within the month ; 
 Rod said that he could not be absent longer from his 
 farm. Fanny, breaking her silence, suggested to Bar- 
 tholomew that the farm might be given up ; there were 
 other occupations. 
 
 " I advise you not to say a word of that sort to Rod," 
 Bartholomew answered. " His whole heart is in that 
 farm, that colony he has built up down there. You 
 must remember that he was brought up there himself, 
 or rather came up. It's all he knows, and he thinks it 
 the most important thing in life ; I was going to say 
 it's all he cares for, but of course now he has added 
 Eva." 
 
 Pierre came once. He saw only the mother. 
 
 When he left her he went round by way of the 
 main street of Sorrento in order to pass a certain ^small 
 inn. His carriage was waiting to take him back to Cas- 
 tellamare, but there was some one he wished to look at 
 first. It was after dark ; he could see into the lighted 
 house through the low uncurtained windows, and he 
 soon came upon the tall outline of the young farmer 
 seated at a table, his eyes bent upon a column of fig- 
 ures. The Belgian surveyed him from head to foot
 
 136 . A PINK VILLA 
 
 slowly. He stood there gazing for five minutes. Then 
 he turned away. " That, for Americans !" he mur- 
 mured in French, snapping his fingers in the dark- 
 ness. But there was a mist in his boyish eyes all the 
 same. 
 
 The pink villa witnessed the wedding. Fanny never 
 knew how she got through that day. She was calm ; 
 she did not once lose her self-control. 
 
 They were to sail directly for New York from Naples, 
 and thence to Florida ; the Italian colonists were to go 
 at the same time. 
 
 " Mamma comes next year," Eva said to everybody. 
 She looked indescribably beautiful ; it was the radiance 
 of a complete happiness, like a halo. 
 
 By three o'clock they were gone, they were crossing 
 the bay in the little Naples steamer. No one was left 
 at the villa with Fanny it was her own arrangement 
 save Horace Bartholomew. 
 
 " She won't mind being poor," he said, consolingly, 
 "she won't mind anything with him. It is one of those 
 sudden, overwhelming loves that one sometimes sees ; 
 and after all, Fanny, it is the sweetest thing life of- 
 fers." 
 
 " And the mother ?" said Fanny.
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 IT was a street in Rome narrow, winding, not over- 
 clean. Two vehicles meeting there could pass only by 
 grazing the doors and windows on either side, after the 
 usual excited whip-cracking and shouts which make the 
 new-comer imagine, for his first day or two, that he is 
 proceeding at a perilous speed through the sacred city 
 of* the soul. 
 
 But two vehicles did not often meet in the street of 
 the Hyacinth. It was not a thoroughfare, not even a 
 convenient connecting link ; it skirted the back of the 
 Pantheon, the old buildings on either side rising so 
 high against the blue that the sun never came down 
 lower than the fifth line of windows, and looking up 
 from the pavement was like looking up fr'om the bottom 
 of a well. There was no foot-walk, of course ; even if 
 there had been one no one would have used it, owing 
 to the easy custom of throwing from the windows a 
 few ashes and other light trifles for the city refuse- 
 carts, instead of carrying them down the long stairs to 
 the door below. They must be in the street at an ap- 
 pointed hour, must they not? Very well, then there 
 they were ; no one but an unreasonable foreigner would 
 dream of objecting.
 
 138 THE STKEET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 But unreasonable foreigners seldom entered the street 
 of the Hyacinth. There were, however, two who lived 
 there one winter not long ago, and upon a certain 
 morning in the January of that winter a third came to 
 see these two. At least he asked for them, and gave 
 two cards to the Italian maid who answered his ring ; 
 but when, before he had time to even seat himself, the 
 little curtain over the parlor door was raised again, and 
 Miss Macks entered, she came alone. Her mother did 
 not appear. The visitor w r as not disturbed by being 
 obliged to begin conversation immediately ; he was an 
 old Roman sojourner, and had stopped fully three 
 minutes at the end of the fourth flight of stairs to re- 
 gain his breath before he mounted the fifth and last to 
 ring Miss Macks's bell. Her card was tacked upon the 
 door : " Miss Ettie F. Macks." He surveyed it with 
 disfavor, while the little, loose-hung bell rang a small 
 but exceedingly shrill and ill-tempered peal, like the 
 barking of a small cur. " Why in the world doesn't 
 she put her mother's card here instead of her own ?" 
 he said to himself. " Or, if her own, why not simply 
 ' Miss Macks,' without that nickname ?" 
 
 But Miss Macks's mother had never possessed a visit- 
 ing-card in her life. Miss Macks was the visiting mem- 
 ber of the family ; and this was so well understood at 
 home, that she had forgotten that it might not be the 
 same abroad. As to the "Ettie," having been called so 
 always, it had not occurred to her to make a change. 
 Her name was Ethelinda Faith, Mrs. Macks having thus 
 combined euphony and filial respect the first title 
 being her tribute to aesthetics, the second her tribute 
 to the memory of her mother. 
 
 " I am so very glad to see you, Mr. Noel," said Miss
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 139 
 
 Macks, greeting her visitor with much cordial direct- 
 ness of voice and eyes. " I liave been expecting you. 
 But you have waited so long three days !" 
 
 Raymond Noel, who thought that under the circum- 
 stances he had been unusually courteous and prompt, 
 was rather surprised to find himself thus put at once 
 upon the defensive. 
 
 " We are not always able to carry out our wishes 
 immediately, Miss Macks," he replied, smiling a little. 
 " I was hampered by several previously made engage- 
 ments." 
 
 "Yes ; but this was a little different, wasn't it? This 
 was something important not like an invitation to 
 lunch or dinner, or the usual idle society talk." 
 
 He looked at her ; she was quite in earnest. 
 
 " I suppose it to be different," he answered. " You 
 must remember how little you have told me." 
 
 " I thought I told you a good deal ! However, the 
 atmosphere of a reception is no place for such subjects, 
 and I can understand that you did not take it in. That 
 is the reason I asked you to come and see me here. 
 Shall I begin at once ? It seems rather abrupt." 
 
 "I enjoy abruptness; I have not heard any for a 
 long time." 
 
 " That I can understand, too ; I suppose the society 
 here is all finished -off there are no rough ends." 
 
 " There are ends. If not rough, they arc often 
 sharp." 
 
 But Miss Macks did not stop to analyze this ; she 
 was too much occupied with her own subject. 
 
 " I will begin immediately, then," she said. " It will 
 be rather long ; but if you are to understand me you 
 ought, of course, to know the whole."
 
 140 THE STKEET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 " My chair is very comfortable," replied Noel, plac- 
 ing his hat and gloves on the sofa near him, and tak- 
 ing an easy position with his head back. 
 
 Miss Macks thought that he onght to have said, " The 
 longer it is, the more interesting," or something of that 
 sort. She had already described him to her mother as 
 " not over-polite. Not rude in the least, you know as 
 far as possible from that; wonderfully smooth-spoken; 
 but yet, somehow awfully indifferent." However, he 
 was Raymond Noel ; and that, not his politeness or im- 
 politeness, was her point. 
 
 " To begin with, then, Mr. Noel, a year ago I had nev- 
 er read one word you have written ; I had never even 
 heard of you. I suppose you think it strange that I 
 should tell you this so frankly ; but, in the first place, 
 it will give you a better idea of my point of view ; and, 
 in the second, I feel a friendly interest in your taking 
 measures to introduce your writings into the communi- 
 ty where I lived. It is a very intelligent community. 
 Naturally, a writer wants his articles read. AY hat else 
 does he write them for ?" 
 
 "Perhaps a little for his own entertainment," sug- 
 gested her listener. 
 
 " Oh no ! He would never take so much trouble just 
 for that." 
 
 " On the contrary, many would take any amount just 
 for that. Successfully to entertain one's self that is 
 one of the great successes of life." 
 
 Miss Macks gazed at him ; she had a very direct 
 gaze. 
 
 " This is just mere talk," she said, not impatiently, 
 but in a business-like tone. " We shall never get any- 
 where if you take me up so. It is not that your re-
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 141 
 
 marks are not very cultivated and interesting, and all 
 that, but simply that I have so much to tell you." 
 
 " Perhaps I can be cultivated and interesting dumbly. 
 I will try." 
 
 " You are afraid I am going to be diffuse ; I see that. 
 So many women are diffuse ! But I shall not be, be- 
 cause,! have been thinking for six months just what I 
 should say to you. It was very lucky that I went with 
 Mrs. Lawrence to that reception where I met you. 
 But if it had not happened as it did I should have 
 found you out all the same. I should have looked for 
 your address at all the bankers', and if it was not there 
 I should have inquired at all the hotels. But it was 
 delightful luck getting hold of you in this way almost 
 the very minute I enter Rome !" 
 
 She spoke so simply and earnestly that Noel did not 
 say that he was immensely honored, and so forth, but 
 merely bowed his acknowledgments. 
 
 " To go back. I shall give you simply heads," 
 pursued Miss Macks. " If you want details, ask, and 
 I will fill them in. I come from the West. Tuscolee 
 Falls is the name of our town. We had a farm there, 
 but we did not do well with it after Mr. Spurr's death, 
 so we rented it out. That is how I come to have so 
 much leisure. I have always had a great deal of ambition; 
 by that I mean that I did not see why things that had 
 once been done could not be done again. It seemed to 
 me that the point was just determination. And then, 
 of course, I always had the talent. I made pictures 
 when I was a very little girl. Mother has them still, 
 and I can show them to you. It is just like all the 
 biographies, you know. They always begin in child- 
 hood, and astonish the family. Well, I had my first
 
 142 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 lessons from a drawing-teacher who spent a summer 
 in Tuscolee. I can show you what I did while with 
 him. Then I attended, for four years, the Young 
 Ladies' Seminary in the county-town, and took lessons 
 while there. I may as well be perfectly frank and tell 
 the whole, which is that everybody was astonished at 
 my progress, and that I was myself. All sorts of things 
 are prophesied out there about my future. You see, 
 the neighborhood is a very generous-spirited one, and 
 they like to think they have discovered a genius at 
 their own doors. My telling you all this sounds, I 
 know, rather conceited, Mr. Noel. But if you could 
 see my motive, and how entirely without conceit my 
 idea of myself really is, you would hold me free from 
 that charge. It is only that I want you to know abso- 
 lutely the whole." 
 
 " I quite understand," answered her visitor. 
 
 " "Well, I hope you do. I went on at home after 
 that by myself, and I did a good deal. I work pretty 
 rapidly, you see. Then came my last lessens, from a 
 third teacher. He was a young man from New York. 
 He had consumption, poor fellow ! and cannot last 
 long. He wasn't of much use to me in actual work. 
 His ideas were completely different from those of my 
 other teachers, and, indeed, from my own. He was 
 unreliable, too, and his temper was uneven. How- 
 ever, I had a good deal of respect for his opinion, and 
 he told me to get your art-articles and read them. It 
 wasn't easy. Some of them are scattered about in the 
 magazines and papers, you know. However, I am 
 pretty determined, and I kept at it until I got them all. 
 Well, they made a great impression upon me. You 
 see, they were new." She paused. "But I doubt,
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 143 
 
 Mr. Noel, whether we should ever entirely agree," she 
 added, looking at him reflectively. 
 
 " That is very probable, Miss Macks." 
 
 Miss Macks thought this an odd reply. "He is 
 so queer, with all his smoothness !" she said to her 
 mother afterwards. " He never says what you think 
 he will say. Now, any one would suppose that he 
 would have answered that he would try to make me 
 agree, or something like that. Instead, he just gave it 
 right up without trying ! J3ut I expect he sees how 
 independent I am, and that I don't intend to reflect 
 any one. 
 
 " Well, they made a great impression," she resumed. 
 " And as you seemed to think, Mr. Noel, that no one 
 could do well in painting who had not seen and studied 
 the old pictures over here, I made up iny mind to come 
 over at any cost, if it was a possible thing to bring it 
 about. It wasn't easy, but here we are. In the lives of 
 all almost all artists, I have noticed haven't you? 
 that there comes a time when they have to live on hope 
 and their own pluck more than upon anything tangible 
 that the present has to offer. They have to take that 
 risk. Well, I have taken it ; I took it when we left 
 America. And now I will tell you what it is I want 
 from you. I haven't any hesitation in asking, because 
 I am sure you will feel interested in a case like mine, 
 and because it was your writings really that brought 
 me here, you know. And so, then, first : I would like 
 your opinion of all that I have done so far. I have 
 brought everything with me to show you. Second: 
 I want your advice as to the best teacher ; I suppose 
 there is a great choice in Rome. Third : I should be 
 glad if you would give a general oversight to all I do
 
 144 THE STREET OP THE HYACINTH 
 
 for the next year. And last, if you would be so kind, 
 I should much enjoy making visits with you to all the 
 galleries and hearing your opinions again by word of 
 mouth, because that is always so much more vivid, you 
 know, than the printed page." 
 
 " My dear Miss Macks ! you altogether over-estimate 
 my powers," said Noel, astounded by these far-reach- 
 ing demands, so calmly and confidently made. 
 
 " Yes, I know. Of course it strikes you so strikes 
 you as a great compliment that I should wish to put my- 
 self so entirely in your hands," answered Miss Macks, 
 smiling. " But you must give up thinking of me as 
 the usual young lady ; you must not think of me in 
 that way any more than I shall think of you as the 
 usual young gentleman. You will never meet me at 
 a reception again ; now that I have found you, I shall 
 devote myself entirely to my work." 
 
 " An alarming girl !" said Noel to himself. But, 
 even as he said it, he knew that, in the ordinary ac- 
 ceptation of the term at least, Miss Macks was not alarm- 
 ing. 
 
 She was twenty-two; in some respects she looked 
 older, in others much younger, than most girls of that 
 age. She was tall, slender, erect, but not especially 
 graceful. Her hands were small and finely shaped, 
 but thin. Her features were well cut ; her face oval. 
 Her gray eyes had a clear directness in their glance, 
 which, combined with the other expressions of her face, 
 told the experienced observer at once that she knew 
 little of what is called " the world." For, although 
 calm, it was a deeply confident glance ; it showed that 
 the girl was sure that she could take care of herself, 
 and even several others also, through any contingencies
 
 TIJE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 145 
 
 that might arise. She had little color ; but her smooth 
 complexion was not pale it was slightly brown. Her 
 mouth was small, her teeth small and very white. 
 Iler light-brown hair was drawn back smoothly from 
 her forehead, and drawn up smoothly beliind, its thick- 
 ness braided in a close knot on the top of her head. 
 This compact coiffure, at a time when most feminine 
 foreheads in Rome and elsewhere were shaded almost 
 to the eyebrows by curling locks, and when the arched 
 outline of the head was left unbroken, the hair being 
 coiled in a low knot behind, made Miss Macks look 
 somewhat peculiar. But she was not observant of 
 fashion's changes. That had been the mode in Tusco- 
 lee ; she had grown accustomed to it ; and, as her mind 
 was full of other things, she had not considered this 
 one. One or two persons, who noticed her on the 
 voyage over, said to themselves, " If that girl had 
 more color, and if she was graceful, and if she was a 
 little more womanly that is, if she would not look at 
 everything in such a direct, calm, impartial, impersonal 
 sort of way she would be almost pretty." 
 
 But Miss Macks continued without color and without 
 grace, and went on looking at things as impersonally 
 and impartially as ever. 
 
 ' I shall be most happy, of course, to do anything 
 that I can," Noel had answered. Then to make a di- 
 version, " Shall I not have the pleasure of seeing Mrs. 
 Macks ?" he asked. 
 
 " Mrs. Macks ? Oh, you mean mother. My mother's 
 name is Spurr Mrs. Spurr. My father died when I 
 was a baby, and some years afterwards she married 
 Mr. Spurr. She is now again a widow. Her health is 
 
 not good, and she sees almost no one, thank you." 
 10
 
 146 THE STREET OP THE HYACINTH 
 
 " I suppose you are much pleased with the pictu- 
 resqueness of Roman life, and ah your apartment?" 
 he went on. 
 
 " Pleased ?" said Miss Macks, looking at him in 
 wonder. " With our apartment ? We get along with 
 it because we must; there seems to be no other way to 
 live in Rome. The idea of having only a story of a 
 house, and not a whole house to ourselves, is dreadful 
 to mother; she cannot get used to it. And with so 
 many families below us we have a clock-mender, a 
 dress-maker, an engraver, a print-seller, and a cobbler 
 and only one pair of stairs, it does seem to me dread- 
 fully public." 
 
 " You must look upon the .stairway as a street," said 
 Noel. "You have established yourselves in a very- 
 short time." 
 
 " Oh yes. I got an agent, and looked at thirty 
 places the very first day. I speak Italian a little, so I 
 can manage the house-keeping ; I began to study it as 
 soon as we thought of coming, and I studied hard. But 
 all this is of secondary importance ; the real thing is to 
 get to work. Will you look at my paintings now ?" 
 she said, rising as if to go for them. 
 
 " Thanks ; I fear I have hardly time to-day," said 
 Noel. He was thinking whether it would be better to 
 decline clearly and in so many words the office she had 
 thrust upon him, or trust to time to effect the same 
 without an open refusal. He decided upon the latter 
 course ; it seemed the easier, and also the kinder to 
 her. 
 
 " Well, another day, then," said Miss Macks, cheer- 
 fully, taking her seat again. " But about a teacher ?" 
 
 " I hardly know "
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 147 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Noel ! you must know." 
 
 And, in truth, he did know. It came into his mind 
 to give her the name of a good teacher, and then put 
 all further responsibilities upon him. 
 
 Miss Macks wrote down the name in a clear, orna- 
 mental handwriting. 
 
 " I am glad it isn't a foreigner," she said. " I don't 
 believe I should get on with a foreigner." 
 
 " But it is a foreigner." 
 
 " Why, it's an English name, isn't it ? Jackson." 
 
 " Yes, he is an Englishman. But isn't an English- 
 man a foreigner in Rome ?" 
 
 " Oh, you take that view ? Now, to me, America 
 and well, yes, perhaps England, too, are the nations. 
 Everything else is foreign." 
 
 " The English would be very much obliged to you," 
 said Noel, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, I know I am more liberal than most Ameri- 
 cans; I really like the English," said Miss Macks, 
 calmly. " But we keep getting off the track. Let me 
 see Oh yes. As I shall go to see this Mr. Jackson 
 this afternoon, and as it is not likely that he will be 
 ready to begin to-morrow, will you come then and look 
 at my pictures ? Or would you rather commence with 
 a visit to one of the galleries ?" 
 
 Raymond Noel was beginning to be amused. If she 
 had shown the faintest indication of knowing how much 
 she was asking, if she had betrayed the smallest sign 
 of a desire to secure his attention as Raymond Noel 
 personally, and not simply the art authority upon whom 
 she had pinned her faith, his disrelish for various 
 other things about her would have been heightened 
 into utter dislike, and it is probable that he would
 
 148 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 never have entered the street of the Hyacinth again. 
 But she was so unaware of any intrusion, or any exor- 
 bitance in her demands, probably so ignorant of cer- 
 tainly so indifferent to the degree of perfection (per- 
 fection of the most quiet kind, however) visible in the 
 general appearance and manner of the gentleman before 
 her, that (he said to himself) he might as well have 
 been one of her own Tuscolee farmers, for all she knew 
 to the contrary. The whole affair was unusual; and 
 Noel rather liked the unusual, if it was not loud and 
 Miss Macks was, at least, not loud; she was dressed 
 plainly in black, and she had the gift of a sweet voice, 
 which, although very clear, was low-toned. Noel was 
 an observer of voices, and he had noticed hers the first 
 time he heard her speak. While these thoughts were 
 passing through his mind, he was answering that he 
 feared his engagements for the next day would, unfort- 
 unately, keep him from putting himself at her service. 
 
 Her face fell ; she looked much disappointed. 
 
 " Is it going to be like this all the time ?" she asked, 
 anxiously. " Are you always engaged ?" 
 
 " In Rome, in the winter, one generally has small 
 leisure. It will be the same with you, Miss Macks, 
 when you have been here a while longer; you will see. 
 As to the galleries, Mr. Jackson has a class, I think, 
 and probably the pupils will visit them all under his 
 charge ; you will find that very satisfactory." 
 
 " But I don't want Mr. Jackson for the galleries ; I 
 want you" said Miss Macks. " I have studied your 
 art criticisms until I know them by heart, and I have a 
 thousand questions to ask about every picture you have 
 mentioned. Why, Mr. Noel, I came to Europe to see 
 you !"
 
 THE STREET OP THE HYACINTH 149 
 
 Raymond Noel was rather at a loss what to answer 
 to this statement, made by a girl who looked at him so 
 soberly and earnestly with clear gray eyes. It would 
 be of no avail again to assure her that his opinions 
 would be of small use to her ; as she had said herself, 
 she was very determined, and she had made up her 
 mind that they would be of great use instead of small. 
 Her idea must wear itself out by degrees. He would 
 try to make the degrees easy. He decided that he 
 would have a little private talk with Jackson, who was 
 a very honest fellow ; and, for the present, he would 
 simply take leave. 
 
 " You are very kind," he said, rising. "I appreciate 
 it, I assure you. It has made me stay an unconscion- 
 able time. I hope you will find Rome all you expected, 
 and I am sure you will ; all people of imagination like 
 Rome. As to the galleries, yes, certainly ; a ah 
 little later. You must not forget the various small 
 precautions necessary here as regards the fever, you 
 know." 
 
 " Rome will not be at all what I expected if you de- 
 sert me," answered Miss Macks, paying no attention to 
 his other phrases. She had risen, also, and was now 
 confronting him at a distance of less than two feet; as 
 she was tall, her eyes were not much below the level of 
 his own. 
 
 " How can a man desert when he has never enlisted ?" 
 thought Noel, humorously. But he kept his thought 
 to himself, and merely replied, as he took his hat: 
 " Probably you will desert me ; you will find out how 
 useless I am. You must not be too hard upon us, Miss 
 Macks ; we Americans lose much of our native energy 
 if we stay long over here."
 
 150 
 
 " Hard ?" she answered " hard ? Why, Mr. Noel, 
 I am absolutely at your feet !" 
 
 He looked at her, slightly startled, although his face 
 showed nothing of it; was she, after all, going to 
 But no ; her sentence had been as impersonal as those 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 "All I said about having contrary opinions, and all 
 that, amounts to nothing," she went on, thereby reliev- 
 ing him from the necessity of making reply. " I desire 
 but one thing, and that is to have you guide me. And 
 I don't believe you are really going to refuse. You 
 haven't an unkind face, although you have got such a 
 cold way ! Why, think of it : here I have come all 
 this long distance, bringing mother, too, just to study, 
 and to see you. I shall study hard ; I have a good deal 
 of perseverance. It took a good deal to get here in the 
 first place, for we are poor. But I don't mind that at 
 all ; the only thing I should mind, the only thing that 
 would take my courage away, would be to have you 
 desert me. In all the troubles that I thought might 
 happen, I assure you, I never once thought of that, Mr. 
 Noel. I thought, of course, you would be interested. 
 Why, in your books you are all interest. Are you dif- 
 ferent from your books ?" 
 
 "I fear, Miss Macks, that writers are seldom good 
 illustrations of their own doctrines," replied Noel. 
 
 " That would make them hypocrites. I don't believe 
 you are a hypocrite. I expect you have a habit of run- 
 ning yourself down. Many gentlemen do that, and 
 then they think they will be cried up. I don't believe 
 you are going to be unkind ; you will look at the pict- 
 ures I have brought with me, won't you ?" 
 
 " Mr. Jackson's opinion is worth a hundred of mine,
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 151 
 
 Miss Macks ; my knowledge is not technical. But, of 
 course, if you wish it, I shall take pleasure in obeying." 
 He added several conventional remarks as filling-up, 
 and then, leaving his compliments for "your mother" 
 he could not recall the name she had given he went 
 towards the little curtained door. 
 
 She had brightened over his promise. 
 
 "You will come Monday, then, to see them, won't 
 you ? as you cannot come to-morrow," she said, smil- 
 ing happily. 
 
 When she smiled (and she did not smile often), show- 
 ing her little white, child-like teeth, she looked very 
 young. He was fairly caught, and answered, " Yes." 
 But he immediately qualified it with a " That is, if it is 
 possible." 
 
 " Oh, make it possible," she answered, still smiling 
 and going with him herself to the outer door instead 
 of summoning the maid. The last he saw of her she 
 was standing in the open doorway, her face bright and 
 contented, watching him as he went down. He did 
 not go to see her pictures on the following Monday ; he 
 sent a note of excuse. 
 
 Some days later he met her. 
 
 " Ah, you are taking one of the delightful walks ?" 
 he said. " I envy you your first impressions of Rome." 
 
 " I am not taking a walk that is, for pleasure," she 
 answered. " I am trying to find some vegetables that 
 mother can eat ; the vegetables here are so foreign ! 
 You don't know how disappointed I was, Mr. Noel, 
 when I got your note. It was such a setback ! Why 
 couldn't you come right home with me now that is, 
 after I have got the vegetables and see the pictures ? 
 It wouldn't take you fifteen minutes."
 
 152 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 It was only nine o'clock, and a beautiful morning. 
 He thought her such a novelty, with her urgent invita- 
 tions, her earnest eyes, and her basket on her arm, that 
 he felt the impulse to walk beside her a while through 
 the old streets of Rome ; he was very fond of the old 
 streets, and was curious to see whether she would notice 
 the colors and outlines that made their picturesqueness. 
 She noticed nothing but the vegetable-stalls, and talked 
 of nothing but her pictures. 
 
 He still went on with her, however, amused by the 
 questions she put to the vegetable-dealers (questions 
 compiled from the phrase - books), and the calm con- 
 tempt with which she surveyed the Roman artichokes 
 they offered. At last she secured some beans, but of 
 sadly Italian aspect, and Xoel took the basket. He was 
 much entertained by the prospect of carrying it home. 
 He remarked to himself that of all the various things 
 he had done in Rome this was the freshest. They 
 reached the street of the Hyacinth and walked down its 
 dark centre. 
 
 " I see you have the sun," he said, looking up. 
 
 " Yes ; that is the reason we took the top floor. We 
 will go right up. Everything is ready." 
 
 He excused himself. 
 
 " Some other time." 
 
 They had entered the dusky hallway. She looked at 
 him without replying ; then held out her hand for the 
 basket. He gave it to her. 
 
 " I suppose you have seen Mr. Jackson ?" he said, be- 
 fore taking leave. 
 
 She nodded, but did not speak. Then he saw two 
 tears rise in her eyes. 
 
 " My dear young lady, you have been doing too
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 153 
 
 much ! You are tired. Don't you know that that is 
 very dangerous in Rome ?" 
 
 " It is nothing. Mother has been sick, and I have 
 been up with her two nights. Then, as she did not 
 like our servant, I dismissed her, and as we have not 
 got any one else yet, I have had a good deal to do. 
 But I don't mind that at all, beyond being a lit- 
 tle tired ; it was only your refusing to come up, 
 when it seemed so easy. But never mind ; you will 
 come another day." And, repressing the tears, she 
 smiled faintly, and held out her hand for good- 
 bye. 
 
 " I will come now," said Noel. He took the basket 
 again, and went up the stairs. He was touched by 
 the two tears, but, at the same time, vexed with him- 
 self for being there at all. There was not one chance 
 in five hundred that her work was worth anything ; 
 and, in the four hundred and ninety-nine, pray what 
 was he to say ? 
 
 She brought him everything. They were all in the 
 four hundred and ninety -nine. In his opinion they 
 were all extremely and essentially bad. 
 
 It was one of Raymond Noel's beliefs that, where 
 women were concerned, a certain amount of falsity was 
 sometimes indispensable. There were occasions when 
 a man could no more tell the bare truth to a woman 
 than he could strike her ; the effect would be the same 
 as a blow. He was an excellent evader when he chose 
 to exert himself, and he finally got away from the little 
 high-up apartment without disheartening or offending 
 its young mistress, and without any very black record 
 of direct untruth what is more, without any positive 
 promise as to the exact date of his next visit. But all
 
 154 THE STREET OP THE HYACINTH 
 
 this was a good deal of trouble to take for a girl he did 
 not know or care for. 
 
 Soon afterwards lie met, at a small party, Mrs. Law- 
 rence. 
 
 " Tell me a little, please, about the young lady to 
 whom you presented me at Mrs. Dudley's reception 
 Miss Macks," he said, after some conversation. 
 
 " A little is all I can tell," replied Mrs. Lawrence. 
 "She brought a letter of introduction to me from a far- 
 away cousin of mine, who lives out West somewhere, 
 and whom I have not seen for twenty years ; my home, 
 you know, is in New Jersey. How they learned I was 
 in Home I cannot imagine ; but, knowing it, I suppose 
 they thought that Miss Macks and I would meet, as 
 necessarily as we should if together in their own vil- 
 lage. The letter assures me that the girl is a great 
 genius ; that all she needs is an opportunity. They 
 even take the ground that it will be a privilege for me 
 to know her ! But I am mortally tired of young gen- 
 iuses ; we have so many here in Rome ! So I told her 
 at once that I knew nothing of modern art in fact, de- 
 tested it but that in any other way I should be de- 
 lighted to be of use. And I took her to Mrs. Dudley's 
 omnium gatherum.' 1 ' 1 
 
 "Then you have not been to see her?" 
 
 " No ; she came to see me. I sent cards, of course ; 
 I seldom call. What did you think of her?" 
 
 " I thought her charming," replied Noel, remember- 
 ing the night-vigils, the vegetables, the dismissed ser- 
 vant, and the two tears of the young stranger remem- 
 bering, also, her extremely bad pictures. 
 
 " I am glad she has found a friend in you," replied 
 Mrs. Lawrence. " She was very anxious to meet you ;
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 155 
 
 she looks upon you as a great authority. If she really 
 has talent of course you would know you tnust tell 
 me. It is not talent I am so tired of, but the pretence 
 of it. She struck me, although wofully unformed and 
 awkward, of course, as rather intelligent." 
 
 " She is intelligence personified," replied Noel, quali- 
 fying it mentally with " intelligence without cultiva- 
 tion." He perceived that the young stranger would 
 have no help from Mrs. Lawrence, and he added to 
 himself: "And totally inexperienced purity alone in 
 Rome." To be sure, there was the mother ; but he 
 had a presentiment that this lady, as guardian, would 
 not be of much avail. 
 
 The next day he went down to Naples for a week 
 with some friends. Upon his return he stopped at Hor- 
 ace Jackson's studio one afternoon as he happened to 
 be passing. His time was really much occupied ; he 
 was a favorite in Home. To his surprise, Jackson 
 seemed to think that Miss Macks had talent. Her 
 work was very crude, of course ; she had been brutally 
 taught ; teachers of that sort should simply be put out 
 of existence with the bowstring. He had turned her 
 back to the alphabet; and, in time, in time, they would 
 see what she could do. 
 
 Horace Jackson was English by birth, but he had 
 lived in Italy almost all his life. He was a man of for- 
 ty-five short, muscular, his thick, rather shaggy, beard 
 and hair mixed with gray ; there was a permanent frown 
 over his keen eyes, and his rugged face had marked 
 lines. lie was a man of strong individuality. He had 
 the reputation of being the most incorruptibly honest 
 teacher in Home. Noel had known him a long time, 
 and liked him, ill-tempered though he was. Jackson,
 
 156 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 however, had not shown any especial signs of a liking 
 for Noel in return. Perhaps he thought that, in the 
 nature of things, there could not be much in common 
 between a middle-aged, morose teacher, who worked 
 hard, who knew nothing of society, and did not want 
 to know, and a man like Raymond Noel. True, Noel 
 was also an artist that is, a literary one. But he had 
 been highly successful in his own field, and it was un- 
 derstood, also, that he had an income of his own by inher- 
 itance, which, if not opulence, was yet sufficiently large 
 to lift him quite above the usual res anguata of his breth- 
 ren in the craft. In addition, Jackson considered Noel 
 a fashionable man ; and that would have been a barrier, 
 even if there had been no other. 
 
 As the Englishman seemed to have some belief in 
 Miss Macks, Noel did not say all he had intended to 
 say ; he did, however, mention that the young lady had 
 a mistaken idea regarding any use he could be to her; 
 he should be glad if she could be undeceived. 
 
 " I think she will be," said Jackson, with a grim 
 smile, giving his guest a glance of general survey that 
 took him in from head to foot ; " she isn't dull." 
 
 Noel understood the glance, and smiled at Jackson's 
 idea of him. 
 
 " She is not dull, certainly," he answered. "But she 
 is rather inexperienced." He dismissed the subject, 
 went home, dressed, and went out to dinner. 
 
 One morning, a week later, he was strolling through 
 the Doria gallery. He was in a bad humor. There 
 were many people in the gallery that day, but he was 
 not noticing them ; he detested a crowd. After a while 
 some one touched his coat -sleeve from behind. He 
 turned, with his calmest expression upon his face; when
 
 THE STREET OF T11E HYACINTH 157 
 
 he was in an ill-humor he was impassively calm. It was 
 Miss Macks, her eyes eager, her face flushed with pleas- 
 ure. 
 
 " Oh, what good luck !" she said. " And to think 
 that I almost went to the Borghese, and might have 
 missed you ! I am so delighted that I don't know 
 what to do. I am actually trembling." And she was. 
 " I have so longed to see these pictures with you," she 
 went on. " I have had a real aching disappointment 
 about it, Mr. Noel." 
 
 Again Noel felt himself slightly touched by her ear- 
 nestness. She looked prettier than usual, too, on ac- 
 count of the color. 
 
 " I always feel a self-reproach when with you, Miss 
 Macks," he answered " you so entirely over-estimate 
 me." 
 
 " Well, if I do, live up to it," she said, brightly. 
 
 " Only an archangel could do that." 
 
 " An archangel who knows about Art ! I have been 
 looking at the Caraccis ; what do you think of them ?" 
 
 " Never mind the Caraccis ; there are better things 
 to look at here." And then he made the circuit of the 
 gallery with her slowly, pointing out the best pictures. 
 During this circuit he talked to her as he would have 
 talked to an intelligent child who had been put in his 
 charge in order to learn something of the paintings ; he 
 used the simplest terms, mentioned the marked charac- 
 teristics, and those only of the different schools, and 
 spoke a few words of unshaded condemnation here and 
 there. All he said was in broad, plain outlines. His 
 companion listened earnestly. She gave him a close 
 attention, almost always a comprehension, but seldom 
 agreement. Her disagreement she did not express in
 
 158 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 words, but he could read it in her eyes. When they 
 had seen everything and it took some time 
 
 " Now," he said, " I want you to tell me frankly, and 
 without reference to anything I have said, your real 
 opinion of several pictures I shall name that is, if 
 you can remember?" 
 
 " I remember everything. I always remember." 
 
 " Very well. What do you think, then, of the Raph- 
 ael double portrait?" 
 
 " I think it very ugly." 
 
 " And the portrait of Andrea Doria, by Sebastian del 
 Piombo ?" 
 
 " Uglier still." 
 
 " And the Velasquez ?" 
 
 " Ugliest of all." 
 
 " And the two large Claude Lorraines ?" 
 
 " Rather pretty ; but insipid. There isn't any reality 
 or meaning in them." 
 
 " The Memling ?" 
 
 " Oh, that is absolutely hideous, Mr. Noel ; it hasn't 
 a redeeming point." 
 
 Raymond Noel laughed with real amusement, and 
 almost forgot his ill-humor. 
 
 " When you have found anything you really admire 
 in the galleries here, Miss Macks, will you tell me ?" 
 
 " Of course I will. I should wish to do so in any 
 case, because, if you are to help me, you ought 'to 
 thoroughly understand me. There is one thing more 
 I should like to ask," she added, as they turned tow- 
 ards the door, " and that is that you would not call me 
 Miss Macks. I am not used to it, and it sounds strange- 
 ly ; no one ever called me that in Tuscolee." 
 
 " What did they call you in Tuscolee ?"
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 159 
 
 " They called me Miss Ettie ; my name is Ethelinda 
 Faith. But my friends and olcfer people called me just 
 ' Ettie ' ; I wish you would, too." 
 
 " I am certainly older," replied Noel, gravely (he was 
 thirty - three) ; "but I do not like Ettie. With your 
 permission, I will call you Faith." 
 
 " Do you like it ? It's so old-fashioned! It was my 
 grandmother's name." 
 
 " I like it immensely," he answered, leading the way 
 down-stairs. 
 
 " You can't think how I've enjoyed it," she said, 
 warmly, at the door. 
 
 " Yet you do not agree with my opinions ?" 
 
 " Not yet. But all the same it was perfectly delight- 
 ful. Good-bye." 
 
 He had signalled for a carriage, as he had, as usual, 
 an engagement. She preferred to walk. He drove off, 
 and did not see her for ten days. 
 
 Then he came upon her again and again in the 
 Doria gallery. He was fond of the Doria, and often 
 went there, but he had no expectation of meeting Miss 
 Macks this time ; he fancied that she followed a sys- 
 tem, going through her list of galleries in regular or- 
 der, one by one, and in that case she would hardly 
 have reached the Doria on a second round. Her list 
 was a liberal one ; it included twenty. Noel had sup- 
 posed that there were but nine in Rome. 
 
 This time she did not see him ; she had some sheets 
 of manuscript in her hand, and was alternately reading 
 from them and looking at one of the pictures. She 
 was much absorbed. After a while he went up. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Macks." 
 
 She started; her face changed, and the color rose.
 
 160 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 She was as delighted as before. She immediately 
 showed him her manuscript. There he beheld, writ- 
 ten out in her clear handwriting, all he had said of the 
 Doria pictures, page after page of it ; she had actually 
 reproduced from memory his entire discourse of an 
 hour. 
 
 There were two blank spaces left. 
 
 " There, I could not exactly remember," said Miss 
 Macks, apologetically. " If you would tell me, I should 
 be so glad ; then it would be quite complete." 
 
 " I shall never speak again. I am frightened," said 
 Noel. He had taken the manuscript, and was looking 
 it over with inward wonder. 
 
 " Oh, please do." 
 
 " Why do you care for my opinions, Miss Macks, 
 when you do not agree with them?" he asked, his eyes 
 still on the pages. 
 
 "You said you would call me Faith. Why do I 
 care ? Because they are yours, of course." 
 
 " Then you think I know ?" 
 
 " I am sure you do." 
 
 " But it follows, then, that you do not." 
 
 " Yes ; and there is where my work comes in ; I 
 have got to study up to you. I am afraid it will take 
 a long time, won't it ?" 
 
 " That depends upon you. It would take very little 
 if you would simply accept noncorabatively." 
 
 " Without being convinced ? That I could never do." 
 
 " You want to be convinced against your will ?" 
 
 " Xo ; my will itself must be convinced to its lowest 
 depths." 
 
 " This manuscript won't help you." 
 
 " Indeed, it has helped me greatly already. I have
 
 THE STREET OF-TIIE HYACINTH 161 
 
 been here twice with it. I wrote it out the evening 
 after I saw you. I only wish I had one for each of 
 the galleries ! But I feel differently now about asking 
 you to go." 
 
 " I told you you would desert inc." 
 
 " No, it is not that. But Mr. Jackson says you are 
 much taken up with the fashionable society here, and 
 that I must not expect you to give me so much of your 
 time as I had hoped for. He says, too, that your art 
 articles will do me quite as much good as you yourself, 
 and more ; because you have a way, he says, like all 
 society men. of talking as if you had no real convic- 
 tions at all, and that would unsettle me." 
 
 "Jackson is an excellent fellow," replied Noel; "I 
 like him extremely. And when would you like to go 
 to the Borghese ?" 
 
 " Oh, will you take me?" she said, joyfully. "Any 
 time. To-morrow." 
 
 " Perhaps Mrs. your mother, will go, also,", he sug- 
 gested, still unable to recall the name ; he could think 
 of nothing but " stirrup," and of course it was not that. 
 
 " I don't believe she would care about it," answered 
 the daughter. 
 
 " She might. You know we make more of mothers 
 here than we do in America," he ventured to remark. 
 
 " That is impossible," said Miss Macks, calmly. Evi- 
 dently she thought his remark frivolous. 
 
 He abandoned the subject, and did not take it up 
 again. It was not his duty to instruct Miss Macks in 
 foreign customs. In addition, she was not only not " in 
 society," but she was an art student, and art students 
 had, or took, privileges of their own in Rome. 
 
 " At what hour shall I come for you ?" he said. 
 11
 
 162 THE STREET OF THE HYACIXTH 
 
 " It will be oflt of your way to come for me ; I will 
 meet you at the gallery," she answered, radiant at the 
 prospect. 
 
 lie hesitated, then accepted her arrangement of 
 things. He would take her way, not his own. The 
 next morning he went to the Borghese Palace ten 
 minutes before the appointed time. But she was al- 
 ready there. 
 
 " Mother thought she would not come out the gal- 
 leries tire her so," she said ; " but she was pleased to 
 be remembered." 
 
 They spent an hour and a half among the pictures. 
 She listened to all he said with the same earnest atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Within the next five weeks Raymond Noel met Miss 
 Macks at other galleries. It was always very business- 
 like they talked of nothing but the pictures; in truth, 
 her systematic industry kept him strictly down to the 
 subject in hand. He learned that she made the same 
 manuscript copies of all he said, and, when he was not 
 with her, she went alone, armed with these documents, 
 and worked hard. Her memory was remarkable ; she 
 soon knew the names and the order of all the pictures 
 in all the galleries, and had made herself acquainted 
 with an outline, at least, of the lives of all the artists 
 who had painted them. During this time she was, of 
 course, going on with her lessons ; but as he had not 
 been again to see Jackson, or to the street of the 
 Hyacinth, he knew nothing of her progress. He did 
 not want to know ; she was in Jackson's hands, and 
 Jackson was quite competent to attend to her. 
 
 In these five weeks he gave to Miss Macks only the 
 odd hours of his leisure. He made her no promises ;
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 163 
 
 but when he found that he should have a morning or 
 half-morning unoccupied, he sent a note to the street 
 of the Hyacinth, naming a gallery and an hour. She 
 was always promptly there, and so pleased, that there 
 was a sort of fresh aroma floating through the time he 
 spent with her, after all but a mild one. 
 
 To give the proper position to the place the young 
 art student's light figure occupied on the canvas of 
 Raymond Noel's winter, it should be mentioned that 
 he was much interested in a French lady who was 
 spending some months in Rome. He had known her 
 and admired her for a long time ; but this winter he 
 was seeing more of her, some barriers which had here- 
 tofore stood in the way being down. Madame B 
 
 was a charming product of the effects of finished culti- 
 vation and fashionable life upon a natural foundation 
 of grace, wit, and beauty of the French kind. She was 
 not artificial, because she was art itself. Real art is as 
 real as real nature is natural. Raymond Noel had a 
 highly artistic nature. He admired art. This did not 
 prevent him from taking up occasionally, as a contrast 
 to this lady, the society of the young girl he called 
 " Faith." Most men of imagination, artistic or not, do 
 the same thing once in a while; it seems a necessity. 
 With Noel it was not the contrast alone. The French 
 lady led him an uneasy life, and now and then he took 
 an hour of Faith, as a gentle soothing draught of safe 
 quality. She believed in him so perfectly ! Now 
 Madame appeared to believe in him not at all. 
 
 It must be added that, in his conversations with Miss 
 Macks, he had dropped entirely even the very small 
 amount of conventional gallantry that he had bestowed 
 upon her in the beginning. He talked to her not as
 
 164 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 though she was a boy exactly, or an old woman, but as 
 though he himself was a relative of mature age say 
 an uncle of benevolent disposition and a taste for art. 
 
 February gave way to March. And now, owing to 
 a new position of his own affairs, Noel saw no more of 
 Faith Macks. She had been a contrast, and he did not 
 now wish for a contrast or a soothing draught, and a 
 soothing draught was not at present required. He 
 simply forgot all about her. 
 
 In April he decided rather suddenly to leave Rome. 
 
 This was because Madame B had gone to Paris, 
 
 and had not forbidden her American suitor to follow 
 her a few days later. He made his preparations for 
 departure, and these, of course, included farewell calls. 
 Then he remembered Faith Macks; he had not seen 
 her for six weeks. He drove to the street of the 
 Hyacinth, and went up the dark stairs. Miss Macks 
 was at home, and came in without delay ; apparently, 
 in her trim neatness, she was always ready for visitors. 
 
 She was very glad to see him ; but did not, as he ex- 
 pected, ask why he had not come before. This he 
 thought a great advance ; evidently she was learning, 
 When she heard that he had come to say good-bye 
 her face fell. 
 
 " I am so very sorry ; please sit as long as you can, 
 then," she said, simply. "I suppose it will be six 
 months before I see you again 1 , you will hardly return 
 to Rome before October." That he would come at that 
 time she did not question. 
 
 " My plans are uncertain," replied Noel. " But prob- 
 ably I shall come back. One always comes back to 
 Rome. And you where do you go? To Switzer- 
 land ?"
 
 THE STKEET OF THE HYACINTH 165 
 
 " Why we go nowhere, of course ; we stay here. 
 That is what we came for, and we are all settled." 
 
 He made some allusion to the heat and unhealthi- 
 ness. 
 
 " I am not afraid," replied Miss Macks. " Plenty of 
 people stay ; Mr. Jackson says so. It is only the rich 
 who go away, and we are not rich. We have been 
 through hot summers in Tuscolee, I can tell yon !" 
 Then, without asking leave this time, as if she was de- 
 termined to have an opinion from him before he de- 
 parted, she took from a portfolio some of the work 
 she had done under Mr. Jackson's instruction. 
 
 Noel saw at once that the Englishman had not kept 
 his word. He had not put her back upon the alpha- 
 bet, or, if he had done so, he had soon released her, 
 and allowed her to pursue her own way again. The 
 original faults were as marked as ever. In his opinion 
 all was essentially bad. 
 
 He looked in silence. But she talked on hopefully, 
 explaining, comparing, pointing out. 
 
 " What does Mr. Jackson think of this ?" he said, 
 selecting the one he thought the worst. 
 
 "He admires the idea greatly, he thinks it very 
 original. He says that my strongest point is original- 
 ity," she answered, with her confident frankness. 
 
 " He means ah originality of subject ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; my execution is not much yet. But that 
 will come in time. Of course, the subject, the idea, is 
 the important thing ; the execution, is secondary." 
 Here she paused ; something seemed to come into her 
 mind. " I know you do not think so," she added, 
 thoughtfully, " because, you know, you said " and 
 here she quoted a page from one of his art articles
 
 166 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 with her clear accuracy. " I have never understood 
 what you meant by that, Mr. Noel ; or why you 
 wrote it." 
 
 She looked at him questioningly. He did not reply ; 
 his eyes were upon one of the sketches. 
 
 " It would be dreadful for me if you were right !" 
 she added, with slow conviction. 
 
 " I thought you believed that I was always right," he 
 said, smiling, as he placed the sketches on the table. 
 
 But she remained very serious. 
 
 "You are in everything but that." 
 
 He made some unimportant reply, and turned the 
 conversation. But she came back to it. 
 
 " It would be dreadful," she repeated, earnestly, with 
 the utmost gravity in her gray eyes. 
 
 " I hope the long summer will not tire you," he an- 
 swered, irrelevantly. " Shall I not have the pleasure 
 of saying good-bye although that, of course, is not a 
 pleasure to Mrs. to your mother ?" 
 
 He should have made the speech in any case, as it 
 was the proper one to make ; but as he sat there he 
 had thought that he really would like to have a look at 
 the one guardian this young girl was to have during 
 her long, lonely summer in Rome. 
 
 " I will tell her. Perhaps when she hears that you 
 are going away she will feel like coming in," said Miss 
 Macks. 
 
 She came back after some delay, and with her ap- 
 peared a matron of noticeable aspect. 
 
 " My mother," she said, introducing her (evidently 
 Noel was never to get the name) ; " this is Mr. Noel, 
 mother." 
 
 "And very glad I am to see you, sir, I'm sure," said
 
 THE, STREET OF THE HYACINTH 167 
 
 Mrs. Spurr, extending her band with much cordiality. 
 " I said to Ettie that I'd come in, seeing as 'twas you, 
 though I don't often see strangers nowadays on ac- 
 count of poor health for a long time past ; rheumatism 
 and asthma. But I feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul, 
 because you've been so good to Ettie. You've been 
 real kind." 
 
 Ettie's mother was a very portly matron of fifty-five, 
 with a broad face, indistinct features, very high color, 
 and a breathless, panting voice. Her high color it 
 really was her most noticeable feature was surmounted 
 by an imposing cap, adorned with large bows of scarlet 
 ribbon ; a worsted shawl, of the hue known as " sol- 
 ferino," decked her shoulders; under her low-necked 
 collar reposed a bright blue necktie, its ends embroid- 
 ered in red and yellow ; and her gown was of a vivid 
 dark green. But although her colors swore at each 
 other, she seemed amiable. She was also voluble. 
 
 Noel, while shaking hands, was considering, men- 
 tally, with some retrospective amusement, his condition 
 of mind if this lady had accepted his invitations to 
 visit the galleries. 
 
 "You must sit down, mother," said Miss Macks, 
 bringing forward an easy-chair. " She has not been so 
 well as usual, lately," she said, explanatorily, to Noel, 
 as she stood for a moment beside her mother's chair. 
 
 " It's this queer Eye-talian air," said Mrs. Spurr. 
 " You see I ain't used to it. Not but what I ain't glad 
 to be here on Ettie's account real glad. It's just 
 what she needs and oughter have." 
 
 The girl put her hand on her mother's shoulder with 
 a little caressing touch. Then she left the room. 
 
 "Yes, I do feel beholden to you, Mr. No-ul. But,
 
 168 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 then, she'll be a credit to you, to whatever you've done 
 for her," said Mrs. Spurr, when they were left alone. 
 " Her talunts are very remarkable. She was the head 
 scholar of the Young Ladies' Seminary through four 
 whole years, and all the teachers took a lot of pride in 
 her. And then her paintings, too ! I'm sorry you're 
 going off so soon. You see, she sorter depends upon 
 your opinion." 
 
 Noel felt a little stir at the edges of his conscience ; 
 he knew perfectly tliat his opinion was that Miss Macks, 
 as an artist, would never do anything worth the mate- 
 rials she used. 
 
 " I leave her in good hands," he said. 
 
 After all, it was Jackson's responsibility, not his. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Jackson thinks a deal of her. I can see 
 that plain !" answered Mrs. Spurr, proudly. 
 
 Here the daughter returned, bringing a little note- 
 book and pencil. 
 
 " Do you know what these are for ?" she said. " I 
 want you to write down a list of the best books for me 
 to read this summer, while you are gone. I am going 
 to work hard ; but if I have books, too, the time won't 
 seem so long." 
 
 Noel considered a moment. In one way her affairs 
 were certainly none of his business ; in another way 
 they were, because she had thrust them upon him. 
 
 " I will not give you a list, Miss Macks ; probably 
 you would not be able to find the books here. But 
 I will send you, from Paris or London, some things 
 that are rather good, if you will permit me to do 
 so." 
 
 She said he was very kind. Her face brightened. 
 
 " If she has appreciation enough to comprehend what
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 169 
 
 I send her," he thought, " perhaps in the end she will 
 have a different opinion about my 'kindness'!" 
 
 Soon afterwards he took leave. The next day he 
 went to Paris. 
 
 The events of Raymond Noel's life, after lie left 
 Rome that spring, were various. Some were pleasant, 
 some unpleasant; several were quite unexpected. Their 
 combinations and results kept him from returning to 
 Italy the following winter, and the winter after that he 
 spent in Egypt. When he again beheld the dome of 
 St. Peter's he remembered that it lacked but a month 
 of two full years since he had said good - bye to it ; it 
 was then April, and now it was March. He established 
 himself in some pleasant rooms, looked about him, and 
 then began to take up, one by one, the old threads of 
 his Roman life such, at least, as remained unbroken. 
 He found a good many. Threads do not break in 
 Rome. He had once said himself that the air was so 
 soft and historic that nothing broke there not even 
 hearts. But this was only one of his little, speeches. 
 In reality he did not believe much in the breaking of 
 hearts ; he had seen them stretch so 1 
 
 It may be said with truth that Noel had not thought 
 of Miss Macks for months. This was because he had 
 had other things to think of. He had sent her the 
 books from Paris, with an accompanying note, a charm- 
 ing little note which gave no address for reply. Since 
 then his mind had been otherwise occupied. But as 
 he never entirely forgot anything that had once inter- 
 ested him, even although but slightly (this was in real-
 
 170 THE STBEET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 ity a system of LIs; it gave him many holds on life, 
 and kept stored up a large supply of resources ready 
 for use when wanted), he came, after a while, on the 
 canvas of his Roman impressions, to the figure of Miss 
 Macks. When he came to it he went to see her ; that 
 is, he went to the street of the Hyacinth. 
 
 Of course, she might not be there; a hundred things 
 might have happened to her. He could have hunted 
 up Horace Jackson ; but, on the whole, he rather pre- 
 ferred to see the girl herself first that is, if she was 
 there. Mrs. Lawrence, the only person among his ac- 
 quaintances who had known her, was not in Rome. 
 Reaching the street of the Hyacinth, he interrogated 
 the old woman who acted as portress at the lower door, 
 keeping up at the same time a small commerce in frit- 
 ters ; yes, the Americans were still on the fourth floor. 
 He ascended the dark stairway. The confiding little 
 " Ettie " card was no longer upon the door. In its 
 place was a small framed sign : " Miss Macks' School." 
 
 This told a story ! 
 
 However, he rang. It was the same shrill, ill-tem- 
 pered little bell, and when the door opened it was Miss 
 Macks herself who opened it. She was much changed. 
 
 The parlor had been turned into a school-room at 
 present empty of pupils. But even as a school-room 
 it was more attractive than it had been before. He 
 took a seat, and spoke the usual phrases of a renewal of 
 acquaintance with his accustomed ease and courtesy ; 
 Miss Macks responded briefly. She said that her moth- 
 er was not very well ; she herself quite well. No, they 
 had not left Italy, nor indeed the neighborhood of 
 Rome ; they had been a while at Albano. 
 
 The expression of her face had greatly altered. The
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 171 
 
 old direct, wide glance was gone ; gone also what lie bad 
 called her over-confidence ; she looked much older. On 
 the other hand, there was more grace in her bearing, more 
 comprehension of life in her voice and eyes. She was 
 dressed as plainly as before ; but everything, including 
 the arrangement of her hair, was in the prevalent style. 
 
 She did not speak of her school, and therefore he did 
 not. But after a while he asked how the painting 
 came on. Her face changed a little ; but it was more 
 in the direction of a greater calm than hesitation or 
 emotion. 
 
 " I am not painting now," she answered. 
 
 " You have given it up temporarily 2" 
 
 " Permanently." 
 
 "Ah isn't that rather a pity ?" 
 
 She looked at him, and a gleam of scorn filtered into 
 the glance. 
 
 " You know it is not a pity," she said. 
 
 He was a little disgusted at the scorn. Of course, 
 the only ground for him to take was the ground upon 
 which she stood when he last saw her ; at that time she 
 proposed to pass her life in painting, and it was but 
 good manners for him to accept her intentions as she 
 had presented them. 
 
 " I never assumed to be a judge, you know," he an- 
 swered. " When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, 
 painting was, you remember, your cherished occupa- 
 tion !" 
 
 " When you last had the pleasure of seeing me, Mr. 
 Noel," said Miss Macks, still with unmoved calm, " I 
 was a fool." 
 
 Did she wish to go into the subject at length? Or 
 was that merely an exclamation ?
 
 172 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 " When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, you 
 were taking lessons of Mr. Jackson," he said, to give a 
 practical turn to the conversation. " Is he still here ? 
 How is he ?" 
 
 " He is very well, now. He is dead." 
 
 (She was going to be dramatic then, in any case.) 
 
 He expressed his regret, and it was a sincere one ; 
 he had always liked and respected the honest, morose 
 Englishman. He asked a question or two. Miss Macks 
 replied that he had died here in the street of the Hya- 
 cinth in the next room. He had fallen ill during the 
 autumn following Noel's departure, and when his ill- 
 ness grew serious, they her mother and herself had 
 persuaded him to come to them. He had lived a month 
 longer, and died peacefully on Christmas Eve. 
 
 " He was one of the most honest men I ever knew," 
 said Noel. Then, as she did not reply, he ventured 
 this : " That was the reason I recommended him when 
 you asked me to select a teacher for you." 
 
 " Your plan was made useless by an unfortunate cir- 
 cumstance," she answered, with an evident effort. 
 
 "A circumstance?" 
 
 "Yes; he fell in love with me. If I did not con- 
 sider his pure, deep, and devoted affection the greatest 
 honor of my life I would not mention it. I tell you 
 because it will explain to you his course." 
 
 " Yes, it explains," said Noel. As he spoke there 
 came across him a realization of the whole of the 
 strength of the love such a man as Horace Jackson 
 would feel, and the way in which it would influence 
 him. Of course, he saw to the full the imperfection of 
 her work, the utter lack of the artist's conception, the 
 artist's eye and touch ; but probably he had loved her
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 173 
 
 from the beginning, and had gone on hoping to win her 
 love in return. She was not removed from him by any 
 distance; she was young, but she was also poor, friend- 
 less, and alone. When she was his wife he would tell 
 her the truth, and in the greatness of his love the rev- 
 elation would be naught. " He was a good man," he 
 said. "He was always lonely. I am glad that at last 
 he was with your mother and you." 
 
 " His goodness was simply unbounded. If he had 
 lived he would have remained always a faithful, kind, 
 and respectful son to my dear mother. That, of 
 course, would have been everything to me." She 
 said this quietly, yet her tone seemed to hold inten- 
 tion. 
 
 For a moment he thought that perhaps she had mar- 
 ried the Englishman, and was now his widow. The 
 sign on the door bore her maiden name, but that might 
 have been an earlier venture. 
 
 " Had you opened your school at that time ?" he 
 asked. " I may speak of it, since, of course, I saw the 
 sign upon the door." 
 
 "Not until two months later; I had the sign made 
 then. But it was of little use ; day-schools do not 
 prosper in Rome ; they are not the custom. I have a 
 small class twice a week, but 1 live by going out as 
 day-governess. I have a number of pupils of that kind ; 
 I have been very successful. The old Roman families 
 have a fancy for English-speaking governesses, you 
 
 know. Last summer I was with the Princess C , at 
 
 Albano ; her children are my pupils." 
 
 " Her villa is a delightful one," said Xoel ; " you 
 must have enjoyed that." 
 
 " I don't know that I enjoyed, but I learned. I
 
 174 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 have learned a great deal in many ways since I saw you 
 last, Mr. Noel. I have grown very old." 
 
 "As you were especially young when you saw me 
 last it does not matter much," he answered, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, I was especially young." She looked at him 
 soberly. " I do not feel bitterly towards you," she con- 
 tinued. " Strange ! I thought I should. But now that 
 I see you in person it comes over me that, probably, 
 you .did not intend to deceive me ; that not only you 
 tried to set me right by selecting Mr. Jackson as my 
 teacher, but again you tried when you sent me those 
 books. It was not much to do ! But knowing the 
 world as I now know it, I see that it was all that could 
 have been expected. At first, however, I did not see 
 this. After I went to Mr. Bellot, and, later, to Mr. 
 Salviati, there were months when I felt very bitterly 
 towards you. My hopes were false ones, and had been 
 so from the beginning ; you knew that they were, yet 
 you did not set me right." 
 
 " I might have done more than I did," answered Noel. 
 " I have a habit of not assuming responsibility ; I sup- 
 pose I have grown selfish. But if you went to Bellot, 
 then it was not Jackson who told you ?" 
 
 "He intimated something when he asked me to 
 marry him ; after that his illness came on, and we did 
 not speak of it again. But I did not believe him. I 
 was very obstinate. I went to Mr. Bellot the 1st of 
 January ; I wished him to take me as pupil. In answer 
 he told me that I had not a particle of talent ; that all 
 my work was insufferably bad; that I better throw 
 away my brushes and take in sewing." 
 
 " Bellot is always a brute !" said Noel. 
 
 " If he told the truth brutally, it was still the truth ;
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 175 
 
 and it was the truth I needed. But even then I was 
 not convinced, and I went to Mr. Salviati. He was more 
 gentle ; lie explained to me my lacks ; but his judg- 
 ment was the same. I came home; it was the 10th of 
 January, a beautiful Roman winter day. I left my pict- 
 ures, went over to St. Peter's, and walked there under its 
 bright mosaics all the afternoon. The next day I had 
 advertisements of a day-school placed at the bankers' 
 and in the newspapers. I thought that I could teach 
 better than I could sew." All this she said with per- 
 fect calm. 
 
 " I greatly admire your bravery, Miss Macks. Per- 
 mit me to add that I admire, even more, the clear, 
 strong, good sense which has carried you through." 
 
 " I had my mother to think of ; my good sense 
 might not have been so faithful otherwise." 
 
 "You do not think of returning to America?" 
 
 " Probably not ; I doubt if my mother could bear the 
 voyage now. AVe have no one to call us back but my 
 brother, and he has not been with us for years, and 
 would not be if we should return ; he lives in California. 
 We sold the farm, too, before we came. No ; for the 
 present, at least, it is better for us to remain here." 
 
 " There is one more question I should like to ask," 
 said Noel, later. " But I have no possible right to do 
 so." 
 
 " I will give you the right. "When I remember the 
 things I asked you to do for me, the demands I made 
 upon your time, I can well answer a few questions in 
 return. I was a miracle of ignorance." 
 
 " I always did you justice in those respects, Miss 
 Macks ; all that I understood at once. My question 
 refers to Horace Jackson : I see you appreciated his
 
 176 THE STREET OP TUB HYACINTH 
 
 worth which was rare yet you would not marry 
 him." 
 
 " I did not love him." 
 
 " Did any of his relatives come out from England ?" 
 he said, after a moment of silence. 
 
 " After his death a cousin came." 
 
 " As heir to what was left ?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " He should have left it to you." 
 
 " He wished to do so. Of course, I would not ac- 
 cept it." 
 
 " I thank you for answering. My curiosity was not 
 an idle one." He paused. " If you will permit me to 
 express it, your course has been very brave and true. I 
 greatly admire it." 
 
 " You are kind," said Miss Macks. 
 
 There was not in her voice any indication of sarcasm. 
 Yet the fact that he immediately thought of it made 
 him suspect that it was there. He took leave soon after- 
 wards. He was smarting a little under the sarcasm he 
 had divined, and, as he was, it was like him to request 
 permission to come again. 
 
 For Raymond Noel lived up with a good deal of de- 
 termination to his own standard of what was manly ; 
 if his standard was not set on any very fine elevation 
 of self-sacrifice or heroism, it was at least firmly estab- 
 lished where it did stand, and he kept himself fairly 
 near it. If Miss Macks was sarcastic, he had been at 
 fault somewhere ; he would try to atone. 
 
 He saw her four times during the five weeks of his 
 stay in Rome ; upon three other occasions when he 
 went to the street of the Hyacinth she was not at 
 home. The third week in April he decided to go to
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 177 
 
 Venice. Before going lie asked if there was not some- 
 thing he could do for her ; but she said there was 
 nothing, and he himself could think of nothing. She 
 was well established in her new life and occupations, 
 and needed nothing at least, nothing that he could 
 bestow. 
 
 The next winter he came back to Rome early in the 
 season, before Christmas. By chance one of the first 
 persons he encountered was Mrs. Lawrence. She be- 
 gan immediately to tell him a piece of American news, 
 in which he, as an American, would of course be in- 
 terested ; the news was that " the brother of the Prin- 
 cess C that is Count L , you know is de- 
 termined to marry Ettie Macks. You remember her, 
 don't you? I introduced you to her at the Dudley 
 reception, three years ago." 
 
 Noel thought that probably he remembered her bet- 
 ter than Mrs. Lawrence did, seeing that that lady had 
 never troubled herself to enter the street of the Hya- 
 cinth. But he did her injustice. Mrs. Lawrence had 
 troubled herself lately. 
 
 " It seems that she has been out at Albano for two 
 summers, as governess to his sister's children ; it was 
 there that he saw her. He has announced his determi- 
 nation to the family, and they are immensely disturbed 
 and frightened ; they had it all arranged for him to 
 marry a second cousin down at Naples, who is rich 
 these Italians are so worldly, you know ! But he is 
 very determined, they say, and will do as he pleases in 
 spite of them. lie hasn't much money, but of course 
 it's a great match for Ettie Macks. She will be a 
 countess, and now, I suppose, more American girls will 
 
 couie over than ever before ! Of course, as soon as I 
 12
 
 178 THE STREET OF TUB IIYACINTH 
 
 heard of it, I went to see her. I felt that she would 
 need advice about a hundred things. In the beginning 
 she brought a letter of introduction to me from a dear 
 cousin of mine, and, naturally, she would rely upon me 
 as her chief friend now. She is very much improved. 
 She was rather silent ; but, of course, I shall go again. 
 The count is willing to take the mother, too, and that, 
 under the circumstances, is not a small matter; she is a 
 good deal to take. Until the other day I had not seen 
 Mrs. Spurr ! However, I suppose that her deficiencies 
 are not apparent in a language she cannot speak. If 
 her daughter would only insist upon her dressing in 
 black ! But the old lady told me herself, in the most 
 cheerful way, that she liked < a sprinkling of color.' 
 And at the moment, I assure you, she had on five 
 different shades of red !" 
 
 Noel had intended to present himself immediately at 
 the street of the Hyacinth ; but a little attack of illness 
 kept him in for a while, and ten days had passed before 
 he went up the dark stairway. The maid said that 
 Miss Macks was at home ; presently she came in. They 
 had ten minutes of conversation upon ordinary topics, 
 and then he took up the especial one. 
 
 " I am told that you are soon to be a countess," he 
 said, " and I have come to give you my best good 
 
 wishes. My congratulations I reserve for Count L , 
 
 with whom I have a slight acquaintance ; he is, in my 
 opinion, a very fortunate man." 
 
 " Yes, I think he is fortunate ; fortunate in my re- 
 fusal. I shall not marry Count L ." 
 
 " He is not a bad fellow." 
 
 " Isn't your praise somewhat faint ?" This time the 
 sarcasm was visible.
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 179 
 
 " Oh, I am by no means his advocate ! All I meant 
 was that, as these modern Romans go, he was not 
 among the worst. Of course I should have expressed 
 myself very differently if you had said you were to 
 marry him." 
 
 " Yes ; you would then have honored me with your 
 finest compliments." 
 
 He did not deny this. 
 
 " Shall you continue to live in Rome ?" he asked. 
 
 " Certainly. I shall have more pupils and patronage 
 now than I know what to do with ; the whole family 
 connection is deeply obliged to me." 
 
 They talked awhile longer. 
 
 " We have always been unusually frank with each 
 other, Miss Macks," he said, towards the end of his 
 visit. " We have never stopped at conventionalities. I 
 wonder if you will tell me why you refused him ?" 
 
 " You are too curious. As to frankness, I have been 
 frank with you ; not you with me. And there was no 
 conventionality, simply because I did not know what it 
 was." 
 
 " I believe you are in love with some one in America," 
 he said, laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps I am," answered Miss Macks. She had 
 certainly gained greatly in self-possession during the 
 past year. 
 
 He saw her quite frequently after this. Her life was 
 no longer solitary. As she had said, she was over- 
 whelmed with pupils and patronage from the friends of 
 
 the Princess C -; in addition, the American girl 
 
 who had refused a fairly-indorsed and well-appearing 
 count was now something of a celebrity among the 
 American visitors in Rome. That they knew of her re-
 
 180 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 fusal was not her fault ; the relatives of Count L 
 
 had announced their objections as loud and widely as 
 the count had announced his determination. Appar- 
 ently neither side had thought of a non-acceptance. 
 Cards, not a few, were sent to the street of the Hyacinth ; 
 some persons even climbed the five flights of stairs. Mrs. 
 Spurr saw a good deal of company and enjoyed it. 
 
 Noel was very fond of riding; when in Rome he 
 always rode on the Campagna. He had acted as escort 
 to various ladies, and one day he invited Miss Macks 
 to accompany him that is, if she were fond of riding 
 She had ridden in America, and enjoyed it; she would 
 like to go once, if he would not be troubled by an im- 
 provised habit. They went once. Then a second time, 
 an interval of three weeks between. Then, after a 
 while, a third time. 
 
 Upon this occasion an accident happened, the first of 
 Noel's life; his horse became frightened, and, skilled 
 rider though he was, he was thrown. He was dragged, 
 too, for a short distance. His head came against some 
 stones, and he lost consciousness. When it came back 
 it did not come wholly. He seemed to himself to be 
 far away, and the girl who was weeping and calling his 
 name to be upon the other side of a wide space like 
 an ocean, over which, without volition of his own, he 
 was being slowly wafted. As he came nearer, still 
 slowly, he perceived that in some mysterious way she 
 was holding in her arms something that seemed to be 
 himself, although he had not yet reached her. Then, 
 gradually, spirit and body were reunited, he heard 
 what she was saying, and felt her touch. Even then 
 it was only after several minutes that he was able to 
 move and unclose his heavy eyes.
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 181 
 
 When she saw that he was not dead, her wild grief 
 was at once merged in the thought of saving him. She 
 had jumped from her horse, she knew not how ; but he 
 had not strayed far; a shepherd had seen him, and was 
 now coming towards them. He signalled to another, 
 and the two carried Noel to a house which was not far 
 distant. A messenger was sent to the city ; aid came, 
 and before night Noel was in his own rooms at the 
 head of the Via Sistina, near the Spanish steps. 
 
 His injuries proved to be not serious; he had lost 
 consciousness from the shock, and this, with his pallor 
 and the blood from the cuts made by the stones, had 
 given him the look of death. The cuts, however, were 
 not deep ; the effect of the shock passed away. He 
 kept his bed for a week under his physician's ad- 
 vice ; he had a good deal of time to think during that 
 week. Later his friends were admitted. As has been 
 said before, Noel was a favorite in Rome, and he had 
 friends not a few. Those who could not come in person 
 sent little notes and baskets of flowers. Among these 
 Miss Macks was not numbered. But then she was not 
 fashionable. 
 
 At the end of two weeks the patient was allowed to 
 go out. He took a short walk to try his strength, and, 
 finding that it held out well, he went to the street of 
 the Hyacinth. 
 
 Miss Macks was at home. She was " so glad " to 
 see him out again ; and was he " really strong enough ;" 
 and he " should be very prudent for a while ;" and so 
 forth and so forth. She talked more than usual, and, 
 for her, quite rapidly. 
 
 He let her go on for a time. Then he took the con- 
 versation into his own hands. With few preliminaries,
 
 182 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 and with much feeling in his voice and eyes, he asked 
 her to be his wife. 
 
 She was overwhelmed with astonishment ; she turned 
 very white, and did not answer. He thought she was 
 going to burst into tears. But she did not ; she only sat 
 gazing at him, while her lips trembled. He urged his 
 point ; he spoke strongly. 
 
 "You are worth a hundred of me," he said. "You 
 are true and sincere ; I am a dilettante in everything. 
 But, dilettante as I am, in one way I have always ap- 
 preciated you, and, lately, all other ways have become 
 merged in that one. I am much in earnest ; I know 
 what I am doing ; I have thought of it searchingly and 
 seriously, and I beg you to say yes." 
 
 He paused. Still she did not speak. 
 
 " Of course I do not ask you to separate yourself 
 from your mother," he went on, his eyes dropping for 
 the moment to the brim of his hat, which he held in 
 his hand; " I shall be glad if she will always make her 
 home with us." 
 
 Then she did speak. And as her words came forth, 
 the red rose in her face until it was deeply colored. 
 
 " With what an effort you said that ! But you will 
 not be tried. One gray hair in my mother's head is 
 worth more to me, Mr. Noel, than anything you can 
 offer." 
 
 " I knew before I began that this would be the point 
 of trouble between us, Faith," he answered. " I can 
 only assure you that she will find in me always a most 
 respectful son." 
 
 " And when you were thinking so searchingly and 
 seriously, it was this that you thought of whether 
 you could endure her ! Do you suppose that I do not
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 183 
 
 see the effort? Do you suppose I would ever place 
 my mother in such a position ? Do you suppose that 
 you are of any consequence beside her, or that anything 
 in this world weighs in my mind for one moment com- 
 pared with her happiness ?" 
 
 " We can make her happy ; I suppose that. And I 
 suppose another thing, and that is that we could be 
 very happy ourselves if we were married." 
 
 " The Western girl, the girl from Tuscolee ! The 
 girl who thought she could paint, and could not ! The 
 girl who knew so little of social rules that she made 
 a fool of herself every time she saw you !" 
 
 " All this is of no consequence, since it is the girl I 
 love," answered Noel. 
 
 " You do not. It is a lie. Oh, of course, a very 
 unselfish and noble one ; but a lie, all the same. You 
 have thought of it seriously and searchingly ? Yes, 
 but only for the last fourteen days ! I understand 
 it all now. At first I did not, I was confused ; but 
 now I see the whole. You were not unconscious out 
 there on the Campagna ; you heard what I said when I 
 thought you were dying, or dead. And so you come 
 come very generously and self-sacrificingly, I acknowl- 
 edge that and ask me to be your wife." She rose ; 
 her eyes were brilliant as she faced him. "I might 
 tell you that it was only the excitement, that I did not 
 know or mean what I was saying ; I might tell you that 
 I did not know that I had said anything. But I am not 
 afraid. I will not, like you, tell a lie, even for a good 
 purpose. I did love you ; there, you have it ! I have 
 loved you for a long time, to my sorrow and shame. 
 For I do not respect you or admire you ; you have been 
 completely spoiled, and will always remain so. I shall
 
 184 THE STREET OP THE HYACINTH 
 
 make it the one purpose of my life from this moment 
 to overcome the feeling I have had for you ; and I 
 shall succeed. Nothing could make me marry you, 
 though you should ask me a thousand times." 
 
 " I shall ask but once," said Noel. He had risen 
 also; and, as he did, he remembered the time when 
 they had stood in the same place and position, facing 
 each other, and she had told him that she was at his 
 feet. " I did hear what you said. And it is of that I 
 have been seriously thinking during the days of my 
 confinement to the house. It is also true that it is 
 what you said which has brought me here to-day. 
 But the reason is that it has become precious to me 
 this knowledge that you love me. As I said before, in 
 cue way I have always done you justice, and it is that 
 way which makes me realize to the full now what 
 such a love as yours would be to me. If it is true that 
 I am spoiled, as you say I am, a love like yours would 
 make be better, if anything can." He paused. " I 
 have not said much about my own feelings," he added ; 
 " I know you will not credit me with having any. But 
 I think I have. I think that I love you." 
 
 " It is of little moment to me whether you do or 
 not." 
 
 "You are making a mistake," he said, after a pause, 
 during which their eyes had met in silence. 
 
 " The mistake would be to consent." 
 
 She had now recovered her self-possession. She 
 even smiled a little. 
 
 "Imagine Mr. Raymond Noel in the street of the 
 Hyacinth !" she said. 
 
 " Ah, I should hardly wish to live here ; and my 
 wife would naturally be with me."
 
 THE STREET OP THE HYACINTH 185 
 
 " I hope so. And I hope she will be very charming 
 and obedient and sweet." Then she dropped her 
 sarcasms, and held out her hand in farewell. " There 
 is no use in prolonging this, Mr. Noel. Do not think, 
 however, that I do not appreciate your action ; I do 
 appreciate it. I said that I did not respect you, and I 
 have not until now ; but now I do. You will under- 
 stand, of course, that I would rather not see you again, 
 and refrain from seeking rne. Go your Avay, and for- 
 get me ; you can do so now with a clear conscience, 
 for you have behaved well." 
 
 " It is not very likely that I shall forget you," an- 
 swered Noel, " although I go my way. I see you are 
 firmly resolved. For the present, therefore, all I can 
 do is to go." 
 
 They shook hands, and he left her. As he passed 
 through the small hall on his way to the outer door 
 he met Mrs. Spurr ; she was attired as opulently, in re- 
 spect to colors, as ever, and she returned his greeting 
 with much cordiality. He glanced back ; Miss Macks 
 had witnessed the meeting through the parlor door. 
 Her color had faded ; she looked sad and pale. 
 
 She kept her word ; she did not see him again. If 
 he went to the street of the Hyacinth, as he did two 
 or three times, the little maid presented him with the 
 Italian equivalent of " begs to be excused," which was 
 evidently a standing order. If he wrote to her, as he 
 did more than two or three times, she returned what 
 he wrote, not unread, but without answer. He thought 
 perhaps he should meet her, and was at some pains to 
 find out her various engagements. But all was in vain ; 
 the days passed, and she remained invisible. Towards 
 the last of May he left Rome. After leaving, he con-
 
 186 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 tinued to write to her, but he gave no address for reply ; 
 she would now be obliged either to burn his letters 
 or keep them, since she could no longer send them 
 back. They could not have been called -love-letters ; 
 they were friendly epistles, not long pleasant, easy, 
 sometimes amusing, like his own conversation. They 
 came once a week. In addition he sent new books, 
 and occasionally some other small remembrance. 
 
 In early September of that year there came to the 
 street of the Hyacinth a letter from America. It was 
 from one of Mrs. Spurr's old neighbors at Tuscolee, 
 and she wrote to say that John Macks had come home 
 had come home broken in health and spirits, and, as 
 he himself said, to die. He did not wish his mother to 
 know ; she could not come to him, and it would only 
 distress her. He had money enough for the short time 
 that was left him, and when she heard it would be only 
 that he had passed away ; he had passed from her life 
 in reality years before. In this John Macks was sin- 
 cere. He had been a ne'er-do-well, a rolling stone ; he 
 had not been a dutiful son. The only good that could 
 be said of him, as far as his mother was concerned, was 
 contained in the fact that he had not made demands 
 upon her small purse since the sura he took from her 
 when he first went away. He had written to her at in- 
 tervals, briefly. His last letter had come eight months 
 before. 
 
 But the Tuscolee neighbor was a mother herself, and, 
 doing as she would be done by, she wrote to Rome. 
 AVhen her letter came Mrs. Spurr was overwhelmed 
 with grief ; but she was also stirred to an energy and 
 determination which she had never shown before. For 
 the first time in years she took the leadership, put her
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 187 
 
 daughter decisively back into a subordinate place, and 
 assumed the control. She would go to America. She 
 must see her boy (the dearest child of the two, as the 
 prodigal always is) again. But even while she was 
 planning her journey illness seized her her old rheu- 
 matic troubles, only more serious than before ; it was 
 plain that she could not go. She then required that 
 her daughter should go in her place go and bring 
 her boy to Rome ; this soft Italian air would give new 
 life to his lungs. Oh, she should not die ! Ettie 
 need not be afraid of that. She would live for years 
 just to get one look at him ! And so it ended in the 
 daughter's departure, an efficient nurse being left in 
 charge; the physician said that although Mrs. Spurr 
 would probably be crippled, she was in no danger other- 
 wise. 
 
 Miss Macks left Rome on the 15th of September. 
 On the 2d of December she again beheld the dome of 
 St. Peter's rising in the blue sky. She saw it alone. 
 John Macks had lived three weeks after her arrival at 
 Tuscolee, and those three weeks were the calmest and 
 the happiest of his unsuccessful unworthy it may be 
 but also bitterly unhappy life. His sister did not 
 judge him. She kissed him good-bye as he lost con- 
 sciousness, and soon afterwards closed his eyes tenderly, 
 with tears in her own. Although he was her brother, 
 she had never known him ; he went away when she 
 was a child. She sat beside him a long time after he 
 was dead, watching the strange, youthful peace come 
 back to his worn face. 
 
 When she reached the street of the Hyacinth a 
 carriage was before the door ; carriages of that sort were 
 not often required by the dwellers on the floors below
 
 188 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 their own, and she was rather surprised. She had 
 heard from her mother in London, the nurse acting as 
 amanuensis ; at that time Mrs. Spurr was comfortable, 
 although still confined to her bed most of the day. As 
 she was paying her driver she heard steps on the stair- 
 way within. Then she beheld this: The nurse, carry- 
 ing a pillow and shawls; next, her mother, in an invalid- 
 chair, borne by two men ; and last, Raymond Noel. 
 
 When Mrs. Spurr saw her daughter she began to 
 cry. She had not expected her until the next day. 
 Her emotion was so great that the drive was given up, 
 and she was carried back to her room. Noel did not 
 follow her; he shook hands with the new-comer, said 
 that he would not detain her, and then, lifting his hat, 
 he stepped into the carriage which was waiting and was 
 driven away. 
 
 For two days Mrs. Spurr wished for nothing but to 
 hear, over and over again, every detail of her boy's last 
 hours. Then the excitement and renewed grief made 
 her dangerously ill. After ten days she began to im- 
 prove ; but two weeks passed before she came back to 
 the present sufficiently to describe to her daughter all 
 " Mr. No-ul's kind attentions." He had returned to 
 Eome the first of October, and had come at once to the- 
 street of the Hyacinth. Learning what had happened, 
 he had devoted himself to her " most as if he was my 
 real son, Ettie, I do declare ! Of course, he couldn't 
 never be like my own darling boy," continued the poor 
 mother, overlooking entirely, with a mother's sublime 
 forgetfulness, the small amount of devotion her boy had 
 ever bestowed ; " but he's just done everything he 
 could, and there's no denying that." 
 
 " He has not been mentioned in your letters, mother."
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 189 
 
 " Well, child, I just told Mrs. Bowler not to. For 
 he said himself, frankly, that you might not like it; but 
 that he'd make his peace with you when vou come 
 back. I let him have his way about it, and I have en- 
 joyed seeing him. He's the only person I've seen but 
 Mrs. Bowler and the doctor, and I'm mortal tired of 
 both." 
 
 During Mrs. Spurr's second illness Noel had not 
 come in person to the street of the Hyacinth ; he had 
 sent to inquire, and fruits and flowers came in his 
 name. Miss Macks learned that these had come from 
 the beginning. 
 
 When three weeks had passed Mrs. Spurr was back 
 in her former place as regarded health. One of her 
 first requests \vas to be taken out to drive ; during 
 her daughter's absence Mr. Noel had taken her five 
 times, and she had greatly enjoyed the change. It was 
 not so simple a matter for the daughter as it had been 
 for Mr. Noel; her purse was almost empty; the long 
 journeys and her mother's illness had exhausted her 
 store. Still she did it. Mrs. Spurr wished to go to 
 the Pincio. Her daughter thought the crowd there 
 would be an objection. 
 
 " It didn't tire me one bit when Mr. No-ul took me," 
 said Mrs. Spurr, in an aggrieved tone ; " and we went 
 there every single time just as soon as he found out 
 that I liked it. What a lot of folks he does know, to 
 be sure ! They kept him a-bowing every minute." 
 
 The day after this drive Mr. Noel came to the street 
 of the Hyacinth. He saw Miss Macks. Her manner 
 was quiet, a little distant ; but she thanked him, with 
 careful acknowledgment of every item, for his kind at- 
 tentions to her mother. He said little. After learn-
 
 190 THE STKEET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 ing that Mrs. Spurr was much better he spoke of her 
 own health. 
 
 " You have had two long, fatiguing journeys, and you 
 have been acting as nurse ; it would be well for you to 
 give yourself entire rest for several weeks at least." 
 
 She replied, coldly, that she was perfectly well, and 
 turned the conversation to subjects less personal. He 
 did not stay long. As he rose to take leave, he said : 
 
 " You will let me come again, I hope ? You will not 
 repeat the ' not at home ' of last spring ?" 
 
 " I would really much rather not see you, Mr. Noel," 
 she answered, after hesitating. 
 
 " I am sorry. But of course I must submit." Then 
 he went away. 
 
 Miss Macks now resumed her burdens. She was 
 obliged to take more pupils than she had ever accepted 
 before, and to work harder. She had not only to sup- 
 port their little household, but there were now debts to 
 pay. She was out almost the whole of every day. 
 
 After she had entered upon her winter's work Ray- 
 mond Noel began to come again to the street of the 
 Hyacinth. But he did not come to sec her; his visits 
 were to her mother. He came two or three times a 
 week, and always during the hours when the daughter 
 was absent. He sat and talked to Mrs. Spurr, or 
 rather listened to her, in a way that greatly cheered 
 that lady's monotonous days. She told him her whole 
 history; she minutely described Tuscolee and its so- 
 ciety ; and, finally, he heard the whole story of " John." 
 In addition, he sent her various little delicacies, taking 
 pains to find something she had not had. 
 
 Miss Macks would have put an end to this if she had 
 known how. But certainly Mr. Noel was not troub-
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 191 
 
 ling Aer, and Mrs. Spnrr resented any attempt at inter- 
 ference. 
 
 " I don't see why you should object, Ettie. He 
 seems to like to come, and there's but few pleasures 
 left to me, I'm sure ! You oughtn't to grudge them !" 
 
 In this way two months passed, Noel continuing his 
 visits, and Miss Macks continuing her lessons. She 
 was working very hard. She now looked not only pale, 
 
 but much worn. Count L , who had been long 
 
 absent, returned to Rome about this time. He saw her 
 one day, although she did not see him. The result of 
 this vision of her was that he went down to Naples, 
 and, before long, the desirable second cousin with the 
 fortune was the sister of the Princess C . 
 
 One afternoon in March Miss Macks was coming 
 home from the broad, new, tiresome piazza Indipen- 
 denza; the distance was long, and she walked with 
 weariness. As she drew near the dome of the Pan- 
 theon she met Raymond Noel. He stopped, turned, 
 and accompanied her homeward. She had three books. 
 
 " Give them to me," he said, briefly, taking them 
 from her. 
 
 "Do you know what I have heard to-day?" he went 
 on. " They are going to tear down your street of the 
 Hyacinth. The Government has at last awakened to 
 the shame of allowing all those modern accretions to 
 disfigure longer the magnificent old Pagan temple. All 
 the streets in the rear, up to a certain point, are to be 
 destroyed. And the street of the Hyacinth goes first. 
 You will be driven out." 
 
 " I presume we can find another like it." 
 
 He went on talking about the Pantheon until they 
 entered the doomed street; it was as obstinately nar-
 
 192 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 
 
 row and dark as ever. Then lie dropped his Pagan 
 temple. 
 
 " How much longer are you going to treat me in this 
 way, Faith ?" he said. " You make me very unhappy. 
 You are wearing yourself out, and it troubles me greatly. 
 If you should fall ill I think that would be the end. I 
 should then take matters into my own hands, and I 
 don't believe you would be able to keep me off. But 
 why should we wait for illness ? It is too great a risk." 
 
 They were approaching her door. She said nothing, 
 only hastened her steps. 
 
 " I have been doing my best to convince you, with- 
 out annoying you, that you were mistaken about me. 
 And the reason I have been doing it is that I am con- 
 vinced myself. If I was not entirely sure last spring 
 that I loved you, I certainly am sure now. I spent the 
 summer thinking of it. I know now, beyond the possi- 
 bility of a doubt, that I love you above all and every- 
 thing. There is no ' duty ' or ' generosity ' in this, but 
 simply my own feelings. I could perfectly well have 
 let the matter drop ; you gave me every opportunity to 
 do so. That I have not done it should show you a 
 good deal. For I am not of the stuff of which heroes 
 are made. I should not be here unless I wanted to ; 
 my motive is the selfish one of my own happiness." 
 
 They had entered the dark hallway. 
 
 " Do you remember the morning when you stood 
 here, with two tears in your eyes, saying ' Never mind ; 
 you will come another time ' ?" (Here the cobbler came 
 down the stairs.) " Why not let the demolition of the 
 street of the Hyacinth be the crisis of our fate ?" he 
 went on, returning the cobbler's bow. (Here the cob- 
 bler departed.) " If you refuse, I shall not give you
 
 THE STREET OF THE HYACINTH 193 
 
 up ; I shall go on in the same way. But haven't I 
 been tried long enough ?" 
 
 " You have not," she answered. " But, unless you 
 will leave Rome, and me, I cannot bear it longer." 
 
 It was a great downfall, of course ; Noel always 
 maintained that it was. 
 
 " But the heights upon which you had placed your- 
 self, my dear, were too superhuman," he said, excus- 
 
 The street of the Hyacinth experienced a great down- 
 fall, also. During the summer it was demolished. 
 
 Before its demolition Mrs. Lawrence, after three long 
 breaths of astonishment, had come to offer her con- 
 gratulations in a new direction this time. 
 
 " It is the most fortunate thing in the world," she 
 said to everybody, "that Mrs. Spurr is now confined to 
 her bed for life, and is obliged to wear mourning." 
 
 But Mrs. Spurr is not confined to her bed ; she drives 
 out with her daughter whenever the weather is favor- 
 able. She wears black, but is now beginning to vary 
 it with purple and lavender.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 IN 188- the American Consul at Venice was occu- 
 pying the second story of an old palace on the Grand 
 Canal. It was the story which is called by Italians the 
 piano nobile, or noble floor. Beneath this piano nobile 
 there is a large low ground, or rather water, floor, whose 
 stone pavement, only slightly above the level of the 
 canal outside, is always damp and often wet. At the 
 time of the Consul's residence this water-floor was held 
 by another tenant, a dealer in antiquities, who had par- 
 titioned off a shallow space across its broad front for a 
 show-room. As this dealer had the ground-floor, he 
 possessed, of course, the principal entrance of the pal- 
 ace, with its broad marble steps descending into the 
 rippling wavelets of the splendid azure street outside, 
 and with the tall, slender poles, irregularly placed in 
 the water, which bore testimony to the aristocracy of 
 the venerable pile they guarded. One could say that 
 these blue wands, ornamented with heraldic devices, 
 were like the spears of knights ; this is what Miss 
 Senter said. Or one could notice their strong resem- 
 blance to barbers' poles ; and this was what Peter Sen- 
 ter always mentioned. 
 
 Peter Senter was the American Consul, and his sister 
 Barbara was the Consuless ; for she kept house for her 
 brother, who was a bachelor. And she not only kept
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 195 
 
 house for liirn, but she assisted him in other ways, 
 owing to her knowledge of Italian. The Consul, a man 
 of fifty-seven, spoke only the language of his native 
 place Rochester, New York. That he could not under- 
 stand the speech (gibberish, he called it) of the people 
 with whom he was supposed to hold official relations 
 did not disturb him ; he thought it patriotic not to un- 
 derstand. There was a vice - consul, an Italian, who 
 could attend to the business matters ; and as for the 
 rest, wasn't Barbara there Barbara, who could chat- 
 ter not only in Italian, but in French and German also, 
 with true feminine glibness ? (For Peter, in his heart, 
 thought it uumasculine to have a polyglot tongue.) He 
 knew how well his sister could speak, because he had 
 paid her bills during the six years of her education 
 abroad. These bills had been large ; of course, there- 
 fore, the knowledge must be large as well. 
 
 Miss Senter was always chronically annoyed that she 
 and her brother did not possess the state entrance. As 
 the palace was at present divided, the tenants of the no- 
 ble floor descended by an outside stairway to a large 
 inner court, and from this court opened the second wa- 
 ter-door. Their staircase was a graceful construction 
 of white marble, and the court, with the blue sky above, 
 one or two fretted balconies, and a sculptured marble 
 well-curb in the centre, was highly picturesque. But 
 this did not reconcile the American lady to the fact 
 that their door was at the side of the palace ; she 
 thought that by right the gondola of the Consul should 
 lie among the heraldic poles on the Grand Canal. But, 
 in spite of right, nothing could be done ; the antiquity- 
 dealer held his premises on a long lease. Miss Seuter, 
 therefore, disliked the dealer.
 
 196 A CHRISTMAS PAKTY 
 
 Her dislike, however, had not prevented her from 
 paying a visit to his establishment soon after she had 
 taken possession of the high-ceilinged rooms above. 
 For she was curious about the old palace, and wished to 
 see every inch of it ; if there had been cellars, she would 
 have gone down to inspect them, and she was fully de- 
 termined to walk "all over the roof." The dealer's 
 name was Pelham " Z. Pelham " was inscribed on his 
 sign. How he came by this English title no one but 
 himself could have told. He was supposed to be either 
 a Pole or an Armenian, and he spoke many languages 
 with equal fluency and incorrectness. He appeared to 
 have feeble health, and he always wore large arctic over- 
 shoes ; he was short and thin, and the most noticeable 
 expression of his plain, small face was resignation. 
 Z. Pelham conducted the Consuless through the dusky 
 space behind his show-room, a vast, low, open hall with 
 massive squat columns and arches, and the skeletons of 
 two old gondolas decaying in a corner. At the back he 
 opened a small door, and pointed out a flight of stone 
 steps going up steeply in a spiral, enclosed in a circular 
 shaft like a round tower. " It leads to the attic floor. 
 Her Excellency wishes to mount ?" he inquired, patient- 
 ly. For, owing to the wares in which he dealt, he had 
 had a large acquaintance with eccentric characters of 
 all nations. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Miss Senter. "Carmela, you 
 can stay belo.w, if you like," she said to the servant 
 who accompanied her. 
 
 But no ; Carmela also wished to mount. Z. Pelham 
 preceded them, therefore, carrying his small oil -lamp. 
 They went slowly, for the steps were narrow, the spiral 
 sharp. The attic, when they reached it, was a queer,
 
 A CHRISTMAS PAKTY 197 
 
 ghostly place ; but there was a skylight with a ladder, 
 and the Consuless carried out her intention of traversino- 
 
 O 
 
 the roof, while Mr. Pelham waited calmly, seated on the 
 open scuttle door. Carraela followed her mistress. She 
 gave little cries of admiration ; there never were such 
 wonderful ladies anywhere as those of America, she de- 
 clared. On the way down, the stairs were so much like 
 a corkscrew that Miss Senter, feeling dizzy, was obliged 
 to pause for a moment where there was a landing. 
 "Isn't there a secret chamber?" she demanded of the 
 dealer. 
 
 Z. Pelham shook his head. " I have not one found." 
 
 " Try again," said Miss Senter, laughing. " I'll make 
 it worth your while, Mr. Pelham." 
 
 Z. Pelham surveyed the walls, as if to see where he 
 could have one built. His eye passed over a crack, and, 
 raising his lamp, he showed it to the Consuless. " One 
 time was there a door, opening into the rooms of her 
 Excellency. But it opens not ever now ; it is covered 
 on inside." 
 
 " Oh, that isn't a secret chamber," answered Miss 
 Senter ; " we have doors that have been shut up at 
 home. What I want is something mysterious behind 
 a picture, or a sliding panel." 
 
 Partly in return for this expedition to the roof, and 
 partly because she had a liking for wood-carvings, Miss 
 Senter purchased from Mr. Pelham, shortly afterwards, 
 his best antique cabinet. It was eight feet high, and 
 its whole surface was beautifully sculptured in odd de- 
 signs, no two alike. Within were many ingenious re- 
 ceptacles, and, better than these, a concealed drawer. 
 " You see I have my secret chamber, after all," said the 
 Consuless, making a joke. And there was a best even
 
 198 A CHRISTMAS TARTY 
 
 to this better ; for after the cabinet had been placed in 
 her own room, Miss Senter discovered within it a sec- 
 ond hiding-place, even more perfectly concealed than 
 the first. This was delightful, and she confided to its 
 care all her loose money. She thought with disgust of 
 the ugly green safe, built into the wall of Peter's Roch- 
 ester house, where she was obliged to keep her gold 
 and silver when at home. Not only was Miss Senter's 
 own room in the old palace handsomely furnished, but 
 all the others belonging to the apartment were rich in 
 beautiful things. The Consuless had used her own 
 taste, which was great, and her brother's fortune, which 
 was greater, deferring to him only on one point name- 
 ly, warmth. In Peter's mind the temperature of his 
 Rochester house remained a fixed standard, and his 
 sister therefore provided in every room a place for a 
 generous open fire, while in the great drawing-room, in 
 addition to this fire, two large white Vienna stoves, like 
 monuments, were set up, hidden behind screens. As 
 this salon was eighty feet long and thirty feet high, it 
 required all this if it was to be used used by Peter, at 
 least in December, January, and February; for the 
 Venetian winter, though short, is often sharp and raw. 
 On Christmas Eve of their third year in Venice this 
 drawing - room was lighted for a party. At one end, 
 concealed by a curtain, stood a Christmas - tree ; for 
 there were thirty children among their invited guests, 
 who would number in all over fifty. After the tree had 
 bestowed its fruit the children were to have a dance, 
 and an odd little projection like a very narrow balcony 
 high on the wall was to be occupied by five musicians. 
 These musicians would have been much more comfort- 
 able below. But Miss Senter was sure that this shelf
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 199 
 
 was intended for musicians ; her musicians, therefore, 
 were to sit there, though their knees would be well 
 squeezed between the wall and the balustrade. Fifteen 
 minutes before the appointed hour, which was an early 
 one on account of the children, the Consulcss appeared. 
 She found her brother standing before the fire, survey- 
 ing the room, with his hands behind him. 
 
 " Doesn't it look pretty ?" said the sister, with pride ; 
 for she had a great faith in all her pots and pans, carv- 
 ings and tapestries. Any one, however, could have had 
 faith in the chandeliers of Venetian glass, from which 
 came the soft radiance of hundreds of wax candles, 
 lighting up the ancient gilding of the ceiling. 
 
 " Well, Early, you know that personally I don't care 
 much for all these second-hand articles you have col- 
 lected," replied Peter. "And you haven't got the room 
 very warm, after all only 60. However, I can stand 
 it if the supper is all right plenty of it, and the hot 
 things really hot ; not lukewarm, you know." 
 
 " We can trust Giorgio. But I'll go and have a final 
 word with him, if you like," answered Miss Senter, 
 crossing the beautiful salon, her train sweeping over 
 the floor behind her. The Consuless was no longer 
 young (the days when Peter had paid those school bills 
 were now far distant), and she had never been hand- 
 some. But she was tall and slender, with pretty hands 
 and feet, a pleasant expression in her blue eyes, and 
 soft brown hair, now heavily tinged with silver. Her 
 brother's use of "Barly" was a grief to her. She had 
 tried to lead him towards the habit of calling her Barbe, 
 the French form of Barbara, if nickname he must have. 
 But he pronounced this Bob, and that was worse than 
 the other.
 
 200 A, CHRISTMAS TARTY 
 
 On her way towards the kitchen the Consuless came 
 upon Carmela. Carmela was the servant who had the 
 general oversight of everything excepting the cooking. 
 For Giorgio, the cook, allowed no interference in his 
 department ; in the kitchen he must be Caesar or noth- 
 ing. Carmela was not the house-keeper, for Miss Senter 
 herself was the house-keeper. But the American would 
 have found her task twenty times, fifty times more dif- 
 ficult if she had not had this skilful little deputy to car- 
 ry out all her orders. Carmela was said to be middle- 
 aged. But her short, slender figure was so erect, her 
 little face so alert, her movements were so brisk, and 
 her small black eyes so bright, that she seemed full of 
 youthful fire ; in fact, if one saw only her back, she 
 looked younger than Assunta and Beppa, who were Ve- 
 netian girls of twenty. Carmela was always attired in 
 the French fashion, with tight corsets, a plain black 
 dress fitting like a glove round her little waist, and short 
 enough to show the neat shoes on her small feet ; over 
 this black dress there was a jaunty white apron with 
 pockets, and upon her beautifully braided shining dark 
 hair was perched a small spotless muslin cap. The 
 younger servants asserted that the slight pink tint on 
 the tidy little woman's cheeks was artificial. However 
 that may have been, Carmela, as she stood, was the per- 
 sonification of trimness and activity. Untiring and en- 
 ergetic, she was a wonderful worker ; Miss Senter, who 
 had been much in Italy, appreciated her good-fortune 
 in having secured for her Venetian house-keeping such 
 a coadjutor as this. Carmela was scrupulously neat, 
 and she was even more scrupulously honest, never ab- 
 stracting so much as a pin ; she economized for her 
 mistress with her whole soul, and kept watch over cv-
 
 A CHRISTMAS PAKTY 201 
 
 ery detail ; she told the truth, she swept the corners, 
 she dusted under everything ; she worked conscien- 
 tiously, in one way and another, all day long. Even 
 Peter, who did not like foreign servants, liked Car- 
 mela ; he said she was " so spry !" 
 
 " Is everything ready ?" inquired Miss Senter, as she 
 met her deputy. 
 
 " Yes, signorina, everything," answered Carmela, 
 briskly. She was looking her very best and tightest, 
 all black and white, with black silk stockings showing 
 above her little high-heeled shoes. As she spoke she 
 put her hands in their black lace mitts in the pockets of 
 her apron, and, middle-aged though she was said to be, 
 she looked at that moment like a smart French soubrette 
 of the stage. 
 
 " I am going to the kitchen to have a word with 
 Giorgio," said the Consuless, passing on. 
 
 " If the signorina permits, I carry the train," an- 
 swered Carmela, lifting the satin folds from the floor. 
 Thus they went on together, mistress and maid, through 
 various rooms and corridors, until finally the kitchen was 
 reached. It was a large, lofty place, brilliantly lighted, 
 for Giorgio was old and needed all the radiance that 
 could be obtained to aid his failing sight. He was a 
 small man with a melancholy countenance. But this 
 melancholy was an accident of expression ; in reality, 
 old Giorgio was cheerful and amiable, with a good deal 
 of mild wit. He was the most skilful cook in Venice. 
 But his health had failed some years before, and he had 
 now very little strength ; the Consul, who liked good 
 dinners, paid him high wages, and gave him a young 
 assistant. 
 
 " Well, Giorgio, all promises well, I trust ?" said Miss
 
 202 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 Senter as she entered, her steps somewhat impeded by 
 the tightness with which Carmela held back her train. 
 "The Consul is particular about having the hot things 
 really hot, and constantly renewed, as it is such a cold 
 night. The three men from Florian's will have charge 
 of the ices and the other cold things, and will do all that 
 is necessary in the supper-room. But for the hot dishes 
 we depend upon you." 
 
 Giorgio, who was dressed entirely in white, bowed 
 and waved his hand. " Mademoiselle need give herself 
 no uneasiness," he said in French. For Giorgio had 
 learned his art in Paris, and whenever Carmela was pres- 
 ent he invariably answered his mistress in the language 
 of that Northern capital, even though her question had 
 been couched in Italian ; it was one of his ways and 
 he had but few of standing up, as it were, against the 
 indefatigable little deputy. For, clever though Carmela 
 was, she had never been out of her native land, and 
 could speak no tongue but her own. 
 
 " Are you feeling well, Giorgio?" continued Miss Sen- 
 ter. " I see that you look pale. I am afraid you have 
 been doing too much. Where is Luigi ?" (Luigi was 
 the cook's assistant.) 
 
 " He has gone home ; ten minutes ago. I let him 
 go, as it is a festival. He is young, and we can be 
 young but once. Che vuole ! In addition, all was 
 done." 
 
 " No," said Miss Senter, who was now speakirtg 
 French also ; " there is still much to do, and it was 
 not wise to let Luigi go. You are certainly very tired, 
 Giorgio." 
 
 " Let not mademoiselle think of it," said the old man, 
 straightening himself a little.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 203 
 
 " But I shall think of it," said Miss Senter, kindly. 
 " Carmela," she continued, speaking now in Italian, " go 
 to my room and get my case of cordials." 
 
 Carmela divined that the cordial was for the cook. 
 " And the signorina's train ?" she said. " Surely I can- 
 not leave it on this dirty floor ! Will not the signoriua 
 return to the drawing-room to take her cordial ? Eh 
 it is not for her ? It is for Giorgio ? A man ? A 
 man to be faint like a girl? Ha, ha ! it makes me laugh !" 
 
 " Go and get it," repeated Miss Senter, taking the 
 train over her own arm. She knew that Carmela did 
 not like the cook. Jealousy was the one fault the hard- 
 working little creature possessed. " She has tried to 
 make me dismiss Giorgio more than once," she said 
 to her brother, in confidence ; " but I always pretend 
 not to see the feeling that influences her. It is only 
 Giorgio she is jealous of ; she gets on perfectly well 
 with Luigi, and with Assunta and Beppa ; while for 
 Ercole she can never do enough. She is devoted to 
 Ercole !" 
 
 Giorgio had not taken up the slur cast upon his im- 
 maculate floor. All he said was, " Comme elle est me- 
 chante /" with a shrug. 
 
 "Where is Ercole?" said Miss Senter, while she waited. 
 
 " He is dressing," answered Giorgio. " He makes 
 himself beautiful for the occasion." 
 
 Ercole was the chief gondolier a tall, athletic young 
 man of thirty, handsome and clever. Miss Senter had 
 chosen Ercole to assist her with the Christmas-tree. 
 The second gondolier, Andrea, was to be stationed at 
 the end of the little quay or riva down below, outside 
 of their own water-door ; for here on the small canal 
 were the steps used by arriving and departing gondo-
 
 204 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 las, and here also floated the handsome gondola of the 
 Consul, with its American flag. The two gondoliers 
 also had picturesque costumes of white (woollen in 
 winter, linen in summer), with blue collars, blue stock- 
 ings, blue caps, and long fringed red sashes, the com- 
 bination representing the American national colors. 
 To - night Ercole, having to appear in the drawing- 
 room, was making a longer stay than usual before his 
 little mirror. 
 
 Carmela returned with the cordial-case. " Ah, yes, our 
 cook is pale pale as a young virgin !" she commented, 
 as Miss Senter, unlocking the box, poured into one of 
 the little glasses it contained a generous portion of a 
 restorative whose every drop was costly. 
 
 Giorgio, taking off the white linen cap which covered 
 his gray hair, made a bow, and then drank the draught 
 with much appreciation. " It is true that I am pale," 
 he remarked, slyly, in Italian. " I might, perhaps, try 
 some rouge ?" 
 
 And then the Consuless, to avert war, hastily bore her 
 deputy away. 
 
 Half an hour later the guests had arrived ; they in- 
 cluded all the Americans in Venice, with a sprinkling 
 of English, Italians, and Russians. The grown people 
 assembled in the drawing-room. And presently they 
 heard singing. Through the anterooms came the chil- 
 dren, entering with measured step, two and two, led by 
 three little boys in Oriental costumes. These three boys 
 were singing as follows : 
 
 " We three Kings of Orient are, 
 Bearing gifts we've travelled from far, 
 Field and fountain, moor and mountain, 
 Following yonder star."
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 205 
 
 Here, from the high top branch of the Christmas-tree 
 which rose above the concealing curtain, blazed out a 
 splendid star. And then all the procession took up the 
 chorus, as they marched onward : 
 
 " Oh, star of wonder, 
 
 Star of might, 
 Star with royal 
 Beauty bright !" 
 
 Ercole, who was behind the curtain, now drew it 
 aside, and there stood the tree, blazing with fairy- 
 lamps and glittering ornaments, while beneath it was 
 a mound composed entirely of toys. The children be- 
 haved well ; they kept their ranks and repeated their 
 carol, as they had been told to do, ranging themselves 
 meanwhile in a half-circle before the tree. 
 
 "We three Kings of Orient are," 
 
 chanted the three little kings a second time, though 
 their eyes were fixed upon a magnificent box of sol- 
 diers, with tents and flags and cannon. The carol fin- 
 ished, Miss Senter, with the aid of her gondolier, dis- 
 tributed the toys and bonbons, and the room was filled 
 with happy glee. When Ercole had detached the last 
 package of sweets from the sparkling branches he dis- 
 appeared. His next duty was to conduct the musicians 
 up to their cage. 
 
 Miss Senter had allowed an hour for the inspection 
 and trial of the toys before the dancing should begin. 
 It was none too much, and the clamor was still great as 
 this hour drew towards its close, so great that she her- 
 self was glad that the end was near. Looking up to see 
 whether her musicians had assembled on their shelf, she
 
 206 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 perceived some one at the drawing-room door ; it was 
 Carmela, hiding herself modestly behind the portiere, 
 but at the same time unmistakably beckoning to her 
 mistress as soon as she saw that she had caught her 
 eye. Miss Senter went to the doorway. 
 
 " Will the signorina permit ? A surprise of Er- 
 cole's," whispered Carmela, eagerly, standing on tiptoe 
 to reach her mistress's ear. " He has dressed himself 
 as a clown, and he is of a perfection ! He has bells on 
 his cap and his elbows, and if the signorina graciously 
 allows, he will come in to amuse the children." 
 
 " A clown !" answered Miss Senter, hesitating. " I 
 don't know ; he ought to have told me." 
 
 " He has been dancing to show me. And oh ! so 
 beautifully, with bounds and leaps. He makes of him- 
 self also a statue," pursued Carmela. 
 
 " But I cannot have any buffoonery here, you know," 
 said Miss Senter. " It would not do." 
 
 " Buffoonery ! Surely the signorina knows that Er- 
 cole has the soul of a gentleman," whispered Carmela, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 And it was true that Miss Senter had always thought 
 that her chief gondolier possessed a great deal of nat- 
 ural refinement. 
 
 " Will the signorina step out for a moment and look 
 at him ?" pursued the deputy, her whisper now a little 
 dejected. " If he is to be disappointed, poor fellow, 
 may he at least have that pleasure ?" 
 
 The idea of the gondolier's disappointment touched 
 the amiable American. She turned her head and 
 glanced into the drawing-room ; all was going on gayly ; 
 no one had missed her. She slipped out under the por- 
 tiere, and followed Carmela to a room at the side.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 207 
 
 Here stood the gondolier. He wore the usual white 
 dress and white mask of a clown, and, as the Consuless 
 entered, he cut a splendid caper, ringing all his bells. 
 
 " I had no idea that you were such a skilful acrobat, 
 Ercole," said his mistress. 
 
 Ercole turned a light somerset, gave a high jump, and 
 came down in the attitude of the Mercury of John of 
 Bologna. 
 
 " Why, you are really wonderful !" said Miss Senter, 
 admiringly. 
 
 And now he was dancing with butterfly grace. 
 
 Miss Senter was won. " But if I let you come in, 
 Ercole, I hope you will remember where you are ?" she 
 said, warningly. " Can you breathe quite at ease in 
 that mask ?" 
 
 The gondolier opened his grotesque painted lips a 
 little to show that he could part them. 
 
 " Yes, I see. Now listen ; in the drawing-room you 
 must keep your eye on me, and if at any time you see 
 me raise my hand so you must dance out of the 
 room, Ercole. For the sign will mean that that is 
 enough. But, dear me ! there's one thing we haven't 
 thought of ; who is to see to the musicians up-stairs, and 
 to go back and forth, telling them what to play ?" 
 
 " I can do that," said Carmela, who was now all 
 smiles. " Does the signorina wish me to take them 
 up ? They are all ready. They are waiting in the 
 wood-room." 
 
 The wood-room was a remote store-room for fuel ; it 
 was detached from the rest of the apartment. " Why 
 did you put them there?' 1 '' inquired Miss Senter, aston- 
 ished. 
 
 " They are musicians yes ; but who knows what
 
 208 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 else they may be? Thieves, perhaps !" said the deputy, 
 shrewdly. 
 
 "Get them out immediately and take them up to the 
 gallery," said Miss Senter. " And tell them to play 
 something lively as a beginning." 
 
 Carmela, quick as usual, was gone before the words 
 were ended. 
 
 " Now, Ercole, wait until you hear the music. Then 
 come in," said the Consuless. 
 
 She returned to the drawing-room, making a motion 
 with her hands as she advanced, which indicated that 
 her guests were to move a little more towards the walls 
 on each side, leaving the centre of the room free. And 
 then, as the music burst out above, Ercole came bound- 
 ing in. His dress was ordinary ; Miss Senter was 
 vexed anew that he had not told her of his plan, for if 
 he had she could have provided a perfectly fresh cos- 
 tume. But no one noticed the costume ; all eyes were 
 fixed upon the gambols ; for, keeping time to the music, 
 he was advancing up the room, dancing, bounding, leap- 
 ing, turning somersets, and every now and then striking 
 an attitude with extraordinary skill. He was so light 
 that his white linen feet made no sound, and so grace- 
 ful that the fixed grin of his mask became annoying, 
 clashing as it did with the beauty of his poses. This 
 thought, however, came to the elders only ; for to the 
 children, fascinated, shouting with delight, the broad 
 red smile was an important part. 
 
 " It's our gondolier," explained Miss Senter. " It's 
 Ercole," she had whispered to her brother. 
 
 " You are always so fortunate in servants," said Lady 
 Kay. " That little woman you have, too, Carmela she 
 is a miracle for an Italian."
 
 A CHEISTMAS PARTY 209 
 
 Four times the clown made bis pyrotechnic progress 
 up and then down the long salon, never twice repeating 
 the same pose, but always something new ; then, after a 
 final tremendous pigeon-wing, he let his white arms fall 
 and his white head droop on his breast, as if saying 
 that he was taking a moment for repose. 
 
 "Yes, yes ; give him time to breathe, children," cried 
 Peter. " I'll tell you what," he added to Sir William 
 Kay ; " I've never seen a better performance on any 
 stage." And he slapped his leg in confirmation. The 
 Consul was a man whose sole claim to beauty lay in the 
 fact that he always looked extremely clean. He was 
 meagre and small, with very short legs, but he was with- 
 out consciousness of these deficiencies ; in the presence 
 of the Apollo Belvedere, for instance, it had never 
 occurred to him to draw comparisons. Nature, how- 
 ever, will out in some way, and from childhood Peter 
 Senter had had a profound admiration for feats of 
 strength, vaulting, tumbling, and the like. " I'll tell 
 you what," he repeated to Sir William ; " I'll have the 
 fellow exhibited ; I'll start him at my own cost. Here 
 all this time two whole years he has been our gon- 
 dolier, Ercoly has, and nothing more ; for I hadn't a 
 suspicion that he had the least talent in this line. But, 
 sir, he's a regular high-flier ! And A Number One !" 
 
 Meanwhile the children were crowding closely round 
 their clown, and peering up in order still to see his grin, 
 which was now partly hidden, owing to his drooped 
 head ; the three Kings of Orient, especially, were very 
 pressing in their attentions, pinching his legs to see if 
 they were real. 
 
 " Come, children, this will be a good time for our 
 second song," said Miss Senter, making a diversion. 
 
 14
 
 210 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 " Take hands, now, in a circle ; yes round the clown, if 
 you wish. There that's right." She signalled to the 
 music to stop, and then, beginning, led the little singers 
 herself : 
 
 " Though we're here on foreign shores, 
 
 We are all devotion 
 To our land of Stars and Stripes, 
 
 Far across the ocean. 
 Yankee doodle doodle doo, 
 
 Yankee doodle dandy, 
 Buckwheat cakes are very good, 
 
 And so's molasses candy." 
 
 Singing this gayly to the well-known fife-like tune, 
 round and round danced the children in a circle, hold- 
 ing each other's hands, the English and Italians gener- 
 ously joining with the little Americans in praise of the 
 matutinal cakes which they had never seen ; the Consul- 
 ess had drilled her choir beforehand, and they sang 
 merrily and well. The first four lines of this ditty had 
 been composed by Peter himself for the occasion. 
 
 " I hear you haf written this vurra fine piece !" said 
 a Russian princess, addressing him. 
 
 " Oh no," answered the Consul ; " I only wrote the 
 first four lines ; the chorus is one of our national songs, 
 you know." 
 
 " But those first four lines their sentiment ees so 
 fine, so speerited !" said the princess. 
 
 " Well, they're neat," Peter admitted, modestly. 
 
 The clown, having recovered his breath, cut a caper. 
 Instantly " Yankee Doodle " came to an end, and the 
 children all stopped to watch him. 
 
 " Tell them to play a waltz," said Miss Senter to 
 Carmela, who was in waiting at the door. The deputy
 
 A CHKISTMAS PARTY 211 
 
 must have flown up the little stairway leading to the 
 gallery, for the waltz began in less than a minute. 
 Then Ercole, selecting a pretty American child from 
 among the group, began to dance with her in the most 
 charming way, followed by all the little ones, two and 
 two. Those who could waltz, did so ; those who could 
 not, held each other's hands and hopped about. 
 
 Supper followed. The hot things were smoking and 
 delicious, and the supplies constantly renewed ; old 
 Giorgio was evidently on his mettle. It was the gon- 
 dolier, still in his clown's dress, who brought in these 
 supplies and handed them to the waiters from Flo- 
 rian's. 
 
 "Yo,u need not do that, Ercole," said Miss Senter, in 
 an undertone ; " these men can go to the kitchen for 
 them." 
 
 Ercole bowed ; it would not have been respectful 
 to reply with his grinning linen lips. But he continued 
 to fill the same office. 
 
 "Perhaps Giorgio won't have Florian's people in the 
 kitchen !" the Consuless reflected. 
 
 As soon as supper was over, the children clamored 
 for their clown, and he came bounding in a second 
 time, and, after several astonishing capers, selected 
 a beautiful English child with long golden curls and 
 led a galop, followed again by all the others, two and 
 two. Peter, his mind still occupied with his project of 
 taking the young Italian to America as a star performer, 
 moved from point to point, in order to get different 
 views of him. One of these stations was in the door- 
 way, and here Carmela spoke to him in a low tone, and 
 asked him to come to the outer hall. He did not under- 
 stand her words ; but he comprehended her gesture
 
 212 A CHRISTMAS PAB^Y 
 
 and followed her. She was talking angrily, almost 
 spluttering, as she led the way. But her talk was lost 
 on her master, who, however, opened his eyes when he 
 saw four policemen standing at his outer door. 
 
 " What do you want here ?" he said. " This is a 
 private residence, and you are disturbing a Christmas 
 party." 
 
 The chief officer told his tale. But Peter did not 
 comprehend him. 
 
 " You should have gone to the Consulate," he went 
 on. " The Consulate, you know Riva Skevony. The 
 vice-consul won't be there so late as this ; but you'll find 
 him early to-morrow morning, sure." 
 
 The policemen, however, remained where they were. 
 
 " There's no making them understand a word," said 
 Peter to himself, in irritation. " Here, you go and call 
 my sister," he said to Carmela, who, in her wrath over 
 this intrusion, stood at a distance swallowing nothing 
 in a series of gulps that made her throat twitch. "Let's 
 see ; sister, that's sorelly. Sorelly !" he repeated to 
 Carmela. " Sorelly !" 
 
 The enraged little deputy understood. And she got 
 Miss Senter out of the drawing-room without attracting 
 notice. " The master wishes to see the signorina," she 
 said, in a concentrated undertone. "I burn with indig- 
 nation, for it is an insolent intrusion ; it is an insult to 
 his Excellency, who no doubt is a prince in his own 
 country. But they would not go, in spite of all I could 
 say. Nor would they tell me their errand brutes !" 
 And with her skirts quivering she led the way to the 
 outer hall. 
 
 " Find out what these men want, Barly," said Peter, 
 when his sister appeared.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 213 
 
 And then the chief officer again told his story. 
 
 " Mercy !" said Miss Senter, " how dreadful. Some- 
 body was killed, Peter, about seven o'clock this even- 
 ing, in a cafe near the Rialto, and they say they 
 have just found a clew which appears to track the 
 assassin to this very door ! And they wish to 
 search." 
 
 " "\Vhat an absurd idea ! With the -whole place 
 crowded and blazing with lights, as it is to-night, a 
 mouse couldn't hide," said Peter. " Tell them so." 
 
 " They repeat that they must search," said Miss Sen- 
 ter. " But if you will exert your authority, Peter 
 make use of your official position I am sure we need 
 not submit to such a thing." 
 
 Peter, however, was helpless without his vice-consul; 
 he had no clear idea as to what his powers were or 
 were not ; he had never informed himself. 
 
 Carmela, greatly excited, had drawn Miss Senter 
 aside. " There was a sixth man with those musicians!" 
 she whispered. " I saw him. He did not play, but 
 he sat behind them. And he has only just gone. Five 
 minutes ago." 
 
 Miss Senter repeated the information to the chief 
 officer. The officer immediately detached two men to 
 follow this important clew ; he himself, with the third, 
 would remain to go through the apartment, as a matter 
 of form. 
 
 " As the rooms are all open and lighted," said Miss 
 Senter in English to her brother, " it will only take a 
 few minutes, if go they must, and no one need know 
 anything about it. But whom shall we send with 
 them ? If we call Ercole, it will attract attention ; and 
 Florian's men, who were due at another place, have al-
 
 214 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 ready gone. We could have Andrea come up. But no ; 
 Giorgio will do best of all. Call Giorgio to go with 
 these men," she added in Italian to Carmela. 
 
 " Let me conduct them !" answered the deputy. 
 
 " Yes; on the whole, she will be better than any one," 
 said Miss Senter to Peter. " She is so angry at what 
 she calls the insult to you, and so excited about the 
 mysterious person who was with the musicians, that she 
 will bully them and hurry them off to look for him in 
 no time. They can begin with a peep into the draw- 
 ing-room ; I'll tell them to keep themselves hidden." 
 She turned and explained her idea in Italian to the offi- 
 cer ; they could glance into the drawing-room first, and 
 then Carmela would take them through all the other 
 rooms; the Consul, though he had the power of refusal, 
 would permit this liberty in the cause of justice. Their 
 search, however, would be unavailing ; under the cir- 
 cumstances, it was impossible that any one should have 
 taken refuge there, unless it was that one extra man 
 who had been admitted with the musicians to the gal- 
 lery. And he was already gone. 
 
 "Perhaps he only pretended to go?" suggested the 
 officer. " With permission, I will lock this door." 
 And lie did so. 
 
 They went to the drawing-room, the policemen mov- 
 ing quietly, close to the wall. When the last ante- 
 room was reached, the two men hid themselves behind 
 the tapestries that draped the door, and, making loop- 
 holes among the folds, peeped into the ball-room. For 
 it was at that moment a ball-room. The children had 
 again taken up their whirling dance around Ercole, and 
 the gondolier, who had now a small child perched on 
 each of his shoulders, was singing with them in a clear
 
 A SMALL CHILD PKRCHKD ON EACH OF HIS SHOULDERS
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 215 
 
 tenor, having caught the syllables from having heard 
 them shouted about fifty times : 
 
 " Yankee dooda dooda doo, 
 
 Yankee dooda dandee, 
 
 Barkeet cakar vera goo, 
 
 Arso molarsa candee." 
 
 Miss Senter had sent Peter back to his guests. She 
 herself, standing between the tapestries as though she 
 were looking on from the doorway, named to the hid- 
 den policemen, as well as she could amid the loud sing- 
 ing within, all the persons present, one by one. Finally 
 her list came to a close. "And that is Mr. Barlow, the 
 American who lives at the Danieli ; and the one near 
 the Christmas-tree is Mr. Douglas, who has the Palazzo 
 Dario. And the tall, large gentleman with silver hair 
 is Sir William Kay. That is all, except the clown, who 
 is our gondolier, and the five musicians up in the gal- 
 lery ; can you see them from here ? If not, Carmela 
 can take you up." And then she thought, with a sud- 
 den little shudder, that perhaps the officer's idea was 
 not, after all, impossible ; perhaps, indeed, that extra 
 man had only pretended to go ! 
 
 The policemen signified that this was enough as re- 
 garded the drawing-room ; they withdrew softly, and 
 waited outside the door. 
 
 " Now take them through all the other rooms, Car- 
 mela," whispered the Consuless. " Be as quiet about it 
 as you can, so that no one need know. And when they 
 have finally gone, come and stand for a moment be- 
 tween these curtains, as a sign. If, by any chance, 
 they should discover any one " 
 
 " The signorina need not be frightened ; I saw the
 
 S16 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 man go myself! And he could not have re-entered 
 without my knowledge. As for these beasts of police- 
 men " And Carmela's eyes flashed, while her set 
 lips seemed to say, " Trust me to hustle them out !" 
 
 " Run up first and tell the musicians to play the 
 music I sent them," said the Consuless. And then she 
 rejoined her guests. 
 
 For the next dance was to be a Virginia Reel, and 
 some of the elders were to join the children ; the two 
 lines, when arranged, extended down half the length of 
 the long room. It began with great spirit, the clown 
 and the three Kings of Orient dancing at the end of 
 
 O O 
 
 the file. 
 
 "It is really Sir Roger de Coverley, an English dance," 
 said Lady Kay to the Russian princess, who was look- 
 ing on from the chair next her own. " But the Senters 
 like to call it a Virginia Reel, they are so patriotic. 
 And we never contradict the Senters, you know," added 
 the English lady, laughing ; " we let them have their 
 way." 
 
 " It seems to me a vurra good way," answered the 
 princess, who was a plain-looking old woman with a 
 charming smile. " I have nowhere seen so many reech 
 toyees" (here she glanced at the costly playthings heaped 
 on a table near by). " Nor haf I, in Italy, seen so many 
 tings to eat. With so moche champagne." 
 
 "Yes, they always do that," answered the baronet's 
 wife. " They are so very lavish. And very kind." 
 
 Miss Senter herself was dancing the reel. Once she 
 thought there was a quaver in the music, and, glancing 
 up quickly towards the gallery, she perceived the heads 
 of the policemen behind the players. The players, 
 however, recovered themselves immediately, and upon
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 217 
 
 looking up again a moment afterwards she saw with re- 
 lief that the sinister apparition had vanished. Ten 
 minutes later the trim little figure of the deputy ap- 
 peared between the tapestries of the doorway. Miss 
 Senter, still dancing, nodded slightly, as a signal that 
 she perceived her, and then Carmela, with an answer- 
 ing nod and one admiring look at Ercole, disappeared. 
 After all, now that there had been a suspicion about 
 that extra man, it was a comfort to have had the apart- 
 ment searched ; it would make the moment of going to 
 bed easier, the American lady reflected, 
 
 It was now half-past eleven. By midnight the last 
 sleepy child had been carried down the marble stairway, 
 the music ceased, and the musicians departed. The 
 elders, glad that the noise was over, remained half an 
 hour longer ; then they took leave. Only Lady Kay 
 and her husband were left ; they had waited to take a 
 closer look at Miss Senter's Christmas present to her 
 brother, which was a large and beautifully executed 
 copy of Tintoretto's " Bacchus and Ariadne," from the 
 Anticollegio of the Doge's Palace. It had been placed 
 temporarily on the wall behind the Christmas-tree, 
 
 " How exquisite !" said Lady Kay, with a long sigh. 
 " You are most fortunate, Mr. Senter." 
 
 " Oh yes. Though I don't quite know what they 
 will think of it in Rochester, New York," answered 
 Peter, chuckling. 
 
 Sir William and his wife intended to walk home. 
 When it was cold they preferred to walk rather than go 
 to and fro in a gondola ; and as they were old residents, 
 they knew every turn of the intricate burrowing chinks 
 in all the quarters that serve as footways. When they 
 took leave at one o'clock, Peter and Miss Senter, with
 
 218 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 American friendliness, accompanied them to the outer 
 door. Peter was about to open this door when it was 
 swung back, and a figure reeled in Ercole. He had 
 taken off his clown's dress, and wore now his gondolier's 
 costume ; but this costume was in disorder, and his face 
 was darkly red a purple red. 
 
 " Why, Ercole, is it you ? What is the matter ?" 
 said Miss Senter, as he staggered against the wall. 
 
 " Oh, her Excellency the Consuless, I have been 
 beaten /'' 
 
 " Beaten ? Where have you been ? I thought you 
 were down at the landing with Andrea," said Miss 
 Senter. 
 
 " The antiquity-dealer suffocates," muttered Ercole. 
 " And Giorgio dead !" 
 
 This " dead " (morto /) even Peter understood. 
 " Dead ! What is he saying, Barly ?" 
 
 " The man is saying, Mr. Senter, that an antiquity- 
 dealer is suffocating, and that somebody he. calls Giorgio 
 is dead," translated the pink-cheeked, portly Lady Kay, 
 in her sweet voice. " It's your gondolier, isn't it the 
 one who played the clown so nicely ? What a pity ! 
 He has been drinking, I fear." 
 
 While she was saying this, Sir William was leading 
 Ercole farther away from the ladies. 
 
 "Yes, he is drunk," said Peter, looking at him. 
 " Too bad ! We must have help. Let's see ; Andrea 
 is down at the landing. I'll get him. And you call 
 Giorgio, Barly." 
 
 Here Ercole, held by Sir William, gave a maddened 
 cry, and threw his head about violently. 
 
 "Oh, don't leave my husband alone with him, Mr. 
 Senter," said Lady Kay, alarmed. " He is a very pow-
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 219 
 
 erful young man, and his eyes are dreadful. To me he 
 looks as if he were mad. Those somersaults have 
 affected his head." 
 
 And the gondolier's eyes were indeed strangely blood- 
 shot and wild. Miss Senter had hurried to the kitchen. 
 But Giorgio was not there. She came back, and found 
 Ercole struggling with the Englishman and her brother. 
 
 " Let me try," she said. " I am not afraid of him. 
 Ercole," she continued, speaking gently in Italian, " go 
 to your room now, and go to bed quietly ; everything 
 will be all right to-morrow." 
 
 Ercole writhed in Sir William's grasp. " The antiq- 
 uity-dealer ! And Giorgio dead !" 
 
 " Where is Giorgio, Early ?" said Peter, angrily, as 
 he helped Sir William in securing the gondolier. " And 
 where are the other servants ? Where's Carmela ? Find 
 them, and send one down to the landing for Andrea, 
 and the other for Giorgio. Quick !" 
 
 " Oh, Peter, I've been, and I couldn't find Giorgio or 
 any one." 
 
 " Carmela was in your bedroom not long ago," said 
 Lady Kay, watching the gondolier's contortions ner- 
 vously ', " she helped me put on my cloak." 
 
 Miss Senter ran to her bedroom, her train flying in 
 the haste she made. But in a moment she was back 
 again. " There is no one there. Oh, where are they 
 all ?" 
 
 Ercole, hearing her voice, peered at her with his 
 crimsoned eyes, and then, breaking loose suddenly, he 
 came and caught hold of her arm. " The antiquity- 
 room. Will she come ?" 
 
 Peter and Sir William dragged him away by main 
 force.
 
 220 A CHPaSTMAS PARTY 
 
 " The gentlemen, then. Will they come ?" said the 
 gondolier, hoarsely. And again freeing himself with 
 two strokes of his powerful arms, he passed out (for 
 the door was still open), and began to descend the out- 
 side staircase. 
 
 " Oh, thank Heaven, he has gone !" " Oh, lock the 
 door !" cried the two ladies together. 
 
 " We must follow him, Mr. Senter," said Sir Will- 
 iam. " He is plainly mad from drink, and may do some 
 harm." 
 
 " Yes ; and down there Andrea can help us," an- 
 swered Peter. 
 
 And the two gentlemen hastened down the staircase. 
 It was a very long flight with three turns. The court 
 below was brilliantly lighted by many wall lamps. 
 
 " I don't like my husband's going down," said Lady 
 Kay, in a tremor, as she stood on the landing outside. 
 " If they are going to seize him, the more of us the 
 better ; don't you think so ? For while they are hold- 
 ing him, you and I could run across and get that other 
 man in from the riva." 
 
 But Miss Senter was not there. She had rushed back 
 into the house, and was now calling with all her strength : 
 " Giorgio ! Carmela ! Assunta ! Beppa !" There was 
 no answer, and, seized with a fresh panic by the strange- 
 ness of this silence, she hastened out again and joined 
 Lady Kay, who was already half-way down the stairs. 
 The gondolier had not turned towards the water en- 
 trance ; he had crossed the court in the opposite di- 
 rection, and now he was passing through a broad, low 
 door which led into the hall on the ground -floor be- 
 hind the show-room of Z. Pelham, throwing open as 
 he did so both wings of this entrance, so that the light
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 221 
 
 from the court entered in a broad beam across the stone 
 pavement. 
 
 " My dear, don't go in !" " Oh, Peter, stop ! stop !" 
 cried the two ladies, as they breathlessly descended the 
 last flight. 
 
 But Peter and Sir William had paid no attention. 
 Quickly detaching two of the lamps from the wall, they 
 had followed the madman. 
 
 " The other gondolier !" gasped Lady Kay. 
 
 And the two women ran swiftly to the water-door 
 and threw it open, Miss Senter calling, in Italian : " An- 
 drea ! come instantly /" 
 
 The little riva along the small canal was also brightly 
 lighted. But there was no one there. And opposite 
 there was only a long blank *vall. 
 
 " Oh, we must not leave them a moment longer," 
 said Lady Kay. 
 
 And again they rushed across the broad court, this 
 time entering the dark water-story ; for it was better 
 to enter, dreadful though it was, than to remain out- 
 side, not knowing what might be happening within. 
 Ercole meanwhile had made his way into Mr. Pelham's 
 show-room, and here he had struck a match and lighted 
 a candle. As he had left the door of the show-room 
 open, those who were without could see him, and they 
 stopped for a moment to watch what he would do next. 
 It was now a group of four, for the ladies had joined 
 the other two, Miss Senter whispering to her brother : 
 
 " Andrea isn't there !" 
 
 The gondolier bent down, and began to drag some- 
 thing across the floor and out to the open space be- 
 hind. " Here !" he said, turning his purple face tow- 
 ards their lamps. " I can no more." And he sat down
 
 222 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 suddenly on the pavement, and let his head and arms 
 fall forward over his knees. 
 
 Peter and Sir William, giving their lamps to the la- 
 dies, were approaching cautiously, in order to secure 
 him while he was quiet, when they saw, to their hor- 
 ror, two human legs and feet protruding from the ob- 
 ject which he had dragged forth. 
 
 " Why, it's the second-hand dealer ; it's Z. Pelham !" 
 said Peter, in fresh excitement. " I know his arctics. 
 Bring the lamp, Early. Quick !" 
 
 The two ladies came nearer, keeping one eye upon 
 Ercole. Peter and Sir William with some difficulty cut 
 the rope, and unwound two woollen coverlids and a 
 sheet. Within, almost suffocated, with his hands tied 
 behind him, was the dealer. 
 
 " I suppose he did this !" whispered Lady Kay to 
 Miss Senter, her pink face white, as she indicated the 
 motionless gondolier. 
 
 Sir William lifted the dealer's head, while Peter 
 loosened his collar. 
 
 " Now will Excellencies look for Giorgio," muttered 
 Ercole, without changing his position. 
 
 " He says now will you look for Giorgio," translated 
 Lady Kay. " That he tells his crimes shows that he 
 really is mad !" she added, in a whisper. 
 
 " No ; I think he has come to for the moment, and 
 that's why he tells," said Peter, hastily rubbing Z. Pel- 
 ham's chest. " Ask him where we shall look, Barly ; 
 ask while he's lucid." 
 
 " Where must we look for Giorgio, Ercole ?" qua- 
 vered Miss Senter, her Italian coming out with the odd- 
 est pronunciation. 
 
 " Back stairs," answered the gondolier.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PAKTY 223 
 
 " Back stairs, he says," translated Lady Kay. 
 
 " There are no back stairs," replied Peter. 
 
 " I'll put this coverlid under his back. That will make 
 him breathe better," said the Englishman, his sympa- 
 thies roused by the forlorn plight of the little dealer, 
 whose carefully strapped arctic shoes gave ironical em- 
 phasis to his helplessness. 
 
 Meanwhile Miss Senter, saying " Yes, there are 
 stairs," had run across the pavement with her lamp, 
 found the door at the back of the hall, and opened it. 
 Z. Pelham began to breathe more regularly, although 
 he had not yet opened his eyes. Sir William drew him 
 farther away from the gondolier, and then he and Peter 
 hastened across and looked up the spiral. " It goes to 
 the attics," explained Miss Senter. 
 
 " You two stand here at the bottom with one lamp, 
 and Sir William and I will go up with the other," said 
 Peter. " Keep your eye on Ercole, Early, and if he so 
 much as moves, come right up and join us." 
 
 " Wait an instant," said the Englishman. " Stay 
 here with Mr. Senter, Gertrude." Making a detour so 
 as not to rouse the gondolier, he entered the antiquity- 
 dealer's show-room and tried to open the outer door. 
 But it was locked, and the key was not there. " No 
 use," he said, coming hurriedly back ; " I had hoped to 
 get help from outside to watch him while we go up. 
 Now remember, Gertrude, you and Miss Senter are to 
 come up and join us instantly if he leaves his place." 
 And then he and Peter ascended the winding steps, 
 carrying one of the lamps. Round and round went the 
 gleam of their light, and the two ladies at the bottom, 
 standing with their skirts caught up ready to run, 
 watched the still form of the gondolier in the distance,
 
 224 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 visible in the gleam of the candle burning in the show- 
 room. It seemed an hour. But a full minute had not 
 gone when Peter's voice above cried out : 
 
 " It's Giorgio ! Good God ! Killed ! Bring up the 
 other light." 
 
 And the two ladies rushed up together. There on 
 the landing lay the poor old cook, his eyes closed, his 
 face ghastly, his white jacket deeply stained with blood. 
 Miss Senter, who was really attached to the old man, 
 began to cry. 
 
 " He isn't quite dead," said Peter, who had been 
 listening for the heart. " But we must get him out 
 of this icy place. Then we'll tie up Ercoly we can 
 use that rope and after he is secured, I can go for 
 help. Here, you take his head and shoulders, Sir Will- 
 iam ; you are the strongest. And I'll take his body. 
 Barly can take the feet." 
 
 " It will be difficult," said the Englishman. " These 
 steep stairs " 
 
 But Peter, when roused, was a veritable little lion. 
 " Come on," he said ; " we can do it." 
 
 " Please go down first and see if Ercole is still 
 quiet," begged Miss Senter of Lady Kay. And the 
 Englishwoman, who now had both lamps, went down 
 and came back in thirty seconds ; she never knew how 
 she did it. " He has not stirred," she said. And then 
 old Giorgio was borne down, and out to the brilliantly 
 lighted court beyond. 
 
 " Now," said Peter, whose face was bathed with 
 great drops of perspiration, " we'll first secure him," 
 and he indicated Ercole by pointing his thumb back- 
 ward over his shoulder towards the water-story, " and 
 then I'll go for a doctor and the police."
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 225 
 
 But as he spoke, coming out of the door upon his 
 hands and knees, appeared Z. Pelham, who, as soon as 
 he saw the cook's prostrate body, called back, hoarsely, 
 in Italian : " Ercole, get my brandy-flask." 
 
 " Oh, don't call him !" said Lady Kay, in terror, clap- 
 ping a fold of her skirt tightly over the dealer's mouth 
 and holding it there. " He is mad quite mad !" 
 
 Mr. Pelham collapsed. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Gertrude, don't suffocate the poor 
 creature a second time," said Sir William, pulling his 
 wife away. 
 
 , Z. Pelham, released, raised his head. "Ercole has 
 been bad beat, and tbat makes him not genteel," he 
 explained. " Ercole, bring my brandy-flask," he called 
 again, in Italian, and the effort he made to break 
 through his hoarseness brought out the words in a 
 sudden wild yell. " My voice a little deranged is," he 
 added, apologetically, in English. 
 
 They could now hear the steps of the gondolier with- 
 in, and the ladies moved to a distance as he appeared, 
 walking unsteadily, the flask in his hand. " Not dead ?" 
 he said, trying to see Giorgio. But his eyes closed 
 convulsively, and as soon as the dealer had taken the 
 flask, down he went, or half fell, on the pavement as 
 before, with his head thrown forward over his knees. 
 Sir William placed himself promptly by his side, while 
 Peter ran within to get the rope. Z. Pelham, uncorking 
 the flask, poured a little brandy between Giorgio's pale 
 lips. " You have all mistake," he said to Sir William 
 as he did this. " Ercole was bad beat by a third partee 
 who has done it all me and he and this died cook ; a 
 third partee was done it all." And he chafed the cook's 
 temples with brandy.
 
 226 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 "A third party?" said Peter, who had returned with 
 the rope. " Who f" 
 
 " I know not ; they knocked me from behind. It 
 was lightning to me, in my head also," answered Z. 
 Pelham, going on with his chafing. 
 
 " Come here, Barly," said Peter, taking command. 
 " Say what I tell you. Don't be afraid ; Sir William and 
 I will grab him if he stirs. Say, ' Ercoly, who hurt 
 you ?' " 
 
 " Ercole, who hurt you ?" said Miss Senter, tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Non so. Un demonio" answered the gondolier, 
 his head still on his knees. 
 
 " He says he doesn't know. A demon," said Lady 
 Kay. 
 
 " Ask when it happened." 
 
 "It was after he had taken the presents from the 
 tree," translated Lady Kay again. " He was struck, 
 dragged down the back stairs, gagged, and left in the 
 antiquity-room. He has only just now been able to 
 free himself." 
 
 "How could he act the clown, then?" pursued Peter. 
 " He says he hasn't been a clown or seen a clown. 
 Oh, Peter, it was some one else disguised ! Who could 
 it have been ?" cried Miss Senter, running away as if to 
 fly up the staircase, and then in her terror running 
 back again. 
 
 The cook's eyes had now opened. " He says see 
 what is stoled," said Mr. Pelham, administering more 
 brandy. Mr. Pelham was seated, tailor fashion, on the 
 pavement, his feet in their arctics under him. 
 
 "Giorgio knows something about it, too," said Peter. 
 " Ask him, Early."
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 227 
 
 But Miss Senter was incapable of speaking ; she had 
 hidden her face on Lady Kay's shoulder, shuddering. 
 The clown with whom she had talked, who had danced 
 all the evening with the children, was an assassin ! A 
 strange and savage murderer ! 
 
 " I'll do it," said the Englishman. And bending 
 over Giorgio, he asked, in correct, stiff Italian : " Do 
 you know who hurt you ?" 
 
 "A tall, dark man. I never saw him before," an- 
 swered the cook, or rather his lips formed those 
 words. "He stabbed me after he had struck down 
 Ercole." 
 
 " Now he is again gone," soliloquized Z. Pelham, as 
 Giorgio's eyes closed ; " I have fear this time he is 
 truly died !" And he chafed the cook's temples anew. 
 
 "It's all clear now," said Peter, "and Ercoly isn't 
 mad ; only hurt in some way. So I'll go for help at 
 once." 
 
 " Oh, Peter, you always get lost !" moaned his 
 sister. 
 
 And it was true that the Consul almost invariably 
 lost his way in the labyrinth of chinks behind the 
 palace. 
 
 " I'll go," said the Englishman. " It's not very late " 
 (he looked at his watch) ; " I shall be sure to find some 
 one." 
 
 "You must let me go with you, my dear," urged 
 Lady Kay. 
 
 In three minutes they were back with two men. 
 " I've brought these two, and there's a doctor coming. 
 And I sent word to the police," said the Englishman. 
 
 And following very soon came a half-dressed youth, 
 a young American doctor, who had been roused by
 
 228 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 somebody. The cook was borne up the stairway and 
 into the salon, where the chandeliers were shedding 
 their soft radiance calmly, and where all the fairy- 
 lamps were still burning on the Christmas-tree ; for only 
 twenty minutes had passed since the host and his 
 guests had left the room. Behind the group of the 
 two men from outside, who with Peter and the doc- 
 tor were carrying Giorgio, came Sir William leading 
 the gondolier, who seemed now entirely blind, while Z. 
 Pelham followed, last of all, on his hands and knees. 
 
 "This old man has a deep cut done with a knife; 
 he has lost a good deal of blood ; pretty bad case," 
 said the doctor. " Your gondolier has been dreadfully 
 beaten about the head, but it won't kill him ; he is 
 young and strong. This third man seems to be only 
 sprained. Get me something for bandages and com- 
 presses, and bring cold water." 
 
 "Get towels, Barly," said the Consul. 
 
 " Oh, Peter, I'm afraid to go," said Miss Senter, 
 faintly. "The man may still be hidden here somewhere. 
 And I know he has murdered Carmela and the other 
 servants, too !" 
 
 Peter ran to his own chamber, and came back with a 
 pile of towels, a sheet from his bed, a large jug of 
 water, and a scissors. " Now, doctor, you stay hear and 
 do what you can for all three," he said, as he hurried 
 round the great drawing-room, locking all the doors 
 but one. " And the ladies will stay here with you. 
 The rest of us will search the whole apartment imme- 
 diately ! Lock this last door as soon as we're out, 
 will you?" 
 
 " Oh, Peter, don't go !" cried his sister. " Let those 
 two men do it. Or wait for the police."
 
 229 
 
 " My dear, pray consider," said Lady Kay to her 
 husband ; " if any one is hidden, it is some desperate 
 character " 
 
 But the Englishman and Peter were already gone, 
 and the ladies were left with the doctor, who, compre- 
 hending everything quickly, locked the last door, and 
 then hurried back to the cook. Old Giorgio's mind 
 was now wandering ; he muttered incoherently, and 
 seemed to be suffering greatly. The gondolier, his 
 head enveloped in wet towels, was lying in a stupor on 
 one of the sofas. Z. Pelham quietly tied up his own 
 sprained ankles with a portion of the torn sheet, and 
 then assisted with much intelligence in the making of 
 the bandages which the doctor needed for Giorgio. 
 
 Sir William, Peter, and the two men from outside 
 began with the kitchen ; no one. The pantries and 
 store-rooms ; no one. The supper-room ; no one. The 
 bedrooms ; no one. The anterooms and small draw- 
 ing-room ; no one. As the whole house was still 
 brightly lighted, this did not take long. They now 
 crossed to four rooms on the north side ; no one. Then 
 came a large store-room for linen. This was not 
 lighted, so they took in a lamp ; no one. 
 
 " There's a second door here," said Sir William, per- 
 ceiving one of those masked flat portals common in 
 Italy, which are painted or frescoed so exactly like the 
 wall that they seem a part of it. 
 
 " It opens into a little recess only a foot deep," 
 said Peter, going on with the lamp to the second store- 
 room. " No one could possibly hide there. Now after 
 we have finished on this side, there is only the wood- 
 room left ; that is off by itself in a wing." 
 
 The Englishman had accompanied his host. But
 
 230 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 having a strong bent towards thoroughness, he was not 
 satisfied, and he quietly returned alone and opened 
 that masked door. There, flattened against the wall, 
 not clearly visible in the semi-darkness, was the outline 
 of a woman's figure. His exclamation brought back 
 the others with the lamp. It was Carmela. 
 
 She stood perfectly still for an instant or two, so 
 motionless, and with such bright eyes staring at them, 
 that she looked like a wax figure. Then she sprang 
 from her hiding-place and made a swift rush down the 
 corridor towards the outer door. They caught her. 
 She fought and struggled dreadfully, still without a 
 sound. So frantic were her writhings that her apron 
 and cap were torn away, and the braids of her hair fell 
 down and finally fell off, leaving only, to Peter's 
 astonishment, a few locks of thin white hair in their 
 place. It took the four men to hold her, for she threw 
 herself from side to side like a wild -cat; she even 
 dragged the four as far as the anteroom nearest the 
 drawing-room in her desperate efforts to reach that 
 outer door. But here, as she felt herself at last over- 
 powered, a terrible shriek burst from her, her face 
 became distorted, her eyes rolled up, and froth ap- 
 peared on her lips. 
 
 The shriek, an unmistakably feminine one, had 
 brought the doctor and two ladies from the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " A fit !" exclaimed the doctor as soon as he saw the 
 froth. " Here, get open that tight dress." He un- 
 buttoned a few buttons of the black bodice, and tore off 
 the rest. " Gracious ! corsets like steel." He took out 
 his knife, and hastily cutting the cashmere across the 
 shoulders, he got his hand in and severed the corset
 
 A CHRISTMAS PARTY 231 
 
 strings. " Now, ladies, just help me to get her out of 
 this harness." 
 
 And with trembling fingers Lady Kay and Miss Senter 
 gave their aid, and after a moment the whole edifice 
 for it was an edifice sank to the floor. What was 
 left was an old, old woman, small and withered, her 
 feeble chest rising and falling in convulsions under 
 her coarse chemise, and the rest of her little person 
 scantily covered with a patched, poverty-stricken under- 
 skirt. 
 
 " Oh, poor creature !" said Lady Kay, the tears filling 
 her eyes as all the ribs of the meagre, wasted body 
 showed in the straining, spasmodic effort of the lungs 
 to get breath. 
 
 " Bring something to cover her, Early," said Peter. 
 
 And Miss Senter, forgetting her fears, ran to her room, 
 and brought back the first thing she could find a large 
 white shawl. 
 
 " All right now ; she's coming to," said the doctor. 
 
 The convulsions gradually ceased, and Carmcla's 
 eyes opened. She looked at them all in silence as she 
 sat, muffled in the shawl, where they had placed her. 
 Finally she spoke. " The Consul is too late," she said, 
 with mock respect. " The Consuless also. Did they 
 admire the dancing of the clown ? A fine fellow 
 that clown ! You need not hold me," she added to 
 the two men from outside, who were acting as guards. 
 " I have nothing more to do. My son is safe, and that 
 was all I cared for. They will never find him ; he is far 
 from here now. He is very clever, and he has, besides, 
 to help him, all the money which the Consuless so 
 kindly provided for him by keeping it in a secret 
 drawer, whose ' secret ' every Italian not an idiot
 
 232 A CHRISTMAS PAETY 
 
 knows. But the Consuless has always had a singular 
 self-conceit. I had only to mention that extra man with 
 the musicians poor little Tonio the tailor it was and 
 she swallowed him down whole. I could have got away 
 myself if I had cared to. But I waited, in order to keep 
 back the alarm as long as possible ; I waited. Oh yes, 
 I helped all the ladies to put on their cloaks ; I helped 
 this English ladyship to put on hers last of all, as she 
 knows. When their Excellencies went down to the 
 water-story, I then tried to go ; but I found that they 
 could still see the staircase, so I came back. What 
 matters it? They may do with me what they please. 
 For myself I care not. My son is safe." On her old 
 cheeks, under the falling white hair, were still the faint 
 pink tinges of rouge, and from beneath the wretched 
 petticoat came the two young-looking high-heeled shoes. 
 She folded her thin hands on her lap, and refused to 
 say more. 
 
 Assunta and Beppa were found in the wood-room, 
 gagged and bound like the others, but not hurt. And 
 in the morning the Consul's gondola was discovered 
 floating out with the tide, and within it Andrea in the 
 same helpless state. The man, who was an ex-convict, 
 a burglar, suspected of worse crimes, after committing 
 the murder at the cafe, had fled to the palace. Here he 
 and his intrepid little mother had invented and carried 
 out the whole scheme in the one hour which had fol- 
 lowed the distribution of the presents from the tree, 
 before the dancing began. Carmela had even left the 
 house to obtain a clown's costume from a dealer in 
 masquerade dresses who lived near by. And she had 
 herself opened for her son's use the disused door which 
 led to the spiral steps.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PAETY 233 
 
 That son was never caught. His mother, who Lad 
 worked for him indefatigably through her whole life 
 worked so hard that her hands were worn almost to 
 claws who had supported him and supplied him, who 
 had made herself young and active like a girl, though 
 she was seventy-four, in order to be able to send him 
 money his mother, who had allowed herself nothing 
 in the world but the few smart clothes necessary for 
 her disguise, who was absolutely honest, but who had 
 stolen for him three thousand francs from the secret 
 drawer, and had stood by and aided him when he beat, 
 stabbed, and gagged her fellow-servants this mother 
 was not arrested. She should have been, of course. 
 But somehow, very strangely, she escaped from the 
 palace before morning. 
 
 Poor old Giorgio was never able to work again. But 
 as Peter pensioned him handsomely, he led an easy life, 
 while Ercole became a magnate among gondoliers. 
 
 It was not until three years afterwards, in Rochester, 
 New York, that Peter, surrounded by Z, Pelham's 
 entire collection (which he had purchased, though 
 thinking it hideous, at large prices), confessed to his 
 sister that he had connived at Carmela's escape. 
 " Somehow I couldn't stand it, Barly. That thin white 
 hair and those poor old arms of hers, and that wretched, 
 wasted, gasping little chest in prison !"
 
 IN VENICE 
 
 " YES, we came over again in February, and have 
 been here in Venice since the last of March. For some 
 reasons I was sorry to come back one is so much 
 more comfortable at home ! What I have suffered in 
 these wretchedly cold houses over here words, Mr. 
 Blake, can never express. For in England, you know, 
 they consider fifty-eight Fahrenheit quite warm enough 
 for their drawing-rooms, while here in Italy well, one 
 never is so cold, I think, as in a warm climate. Yes, 
 we should have been more comfortable, as far as that 
 goes, in my own house in New York, reading all those 
 delightful books on Art in a properly warmed atmos- 
 phere (and I must say a properly warmed spirit too), 
 and looking at photographs of the pictures (you can 
 have them as large as you like, you know), instead of 
 freezing our feet over the originals, which half the time 
 the eyes of a lynx could not see. But it is not always 
 winter, of course. And then I have lived over here so 
 long that I have, it seems, acquired foreign ways that 
 are very unpopular at home. You may smile, and it is 
 too ridiculous ; but it is so. For instance, last summer 
 we went to Carley Ledge (you know Carley ; pretty 
 little place), and we found out afterwards that the 
 people came near mobbing us ! Not exactly that, of 
 course, but they took the most violent dislike to us ;
 
 IX VENICE 235 
 
 and why? It is too comical. Because we had inno- 
 cently treated Carley as we treat a pretty village over 
 here. One lady said, and, I am told, with indignation, 
 that we had been stopping, ' more than once, right in 
 the main street, and standing there, in that public place, 
 to look at a cloud passing over the mountain !' And 
 another reported that she had herself discovered us 
 ' sitting on the grass, no farther away from the main 
 street than the open space in front of Deacon Seymour's, 
 just as though it was out in the country !' That ' out 
 in the country ' is rather good, isn't it ? Always that 
 poor little main street !" 
 
 " Still, I think, on the whole, that the cold houses 
 are worse than the village comments," replied Mrs. 
 Marcy's visitor. " A New-Yorker I know, a confirmed 
 European too, always goes home to spend the three 
 months of winter. A\ r hen he comes back in the spring 
 his English friends say, ' I hear you have had so many 
 degrees of frost over there fancy!' meaning, per- 
 haps, zero or under. To which he assents, but always 
 inflexibly goes back. They look upon him as a kind 
 of Esquimau. But how does Miss Marcy like exile ?" 
 
 " Oh, Claudia is very fond of Italy. You have not 
 seen her, by-the-way, since she was a child, and she is 
 now twenty. Do you find her altered ?" 
 
 " Greatly." 
 
 " At home she was never thought pretty-^when she 
 was younger, I mean. She was thought too too 
 vigorous is perhaps the best word ; she had not that 
 graceful slenderness one expects to see in a young girl. 
 But over here, I notice, the opinion seems to be differ- 
 ent," continued the lady, half questioningly. " And, 
 of course, too, she has improved."
 
 236 IN VENICE 
 
 " My dear Miss Sophy improved ? Miss Marcy is a 
 wonderfully beautiful woman." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know ; Mr. Lenox thinks so too, I be- 
 lieve," answered Mrs. Marcy, half pleased, half irritated. 
 "It seems she is a Venetian that is, of the sixteenth 
 century ; and dressed in dark-green velvet, with those 
 great puffed Venetian sleeves coming down over her 
 knuckles, a gold chain, and her hair closely braided, she 
 would be, they tell me, a perfect Bonifazio. In fact, 
 Mr. Lenox is painting her as one. Only he has to im- 
 agine the dress." 
 
 Mrs. Marcy was a widow, and fifty-five. It had 
 pleased her to hear again the old " Miss Sophy " of 
 their youth from Rodney Blake ; but as she had been 
 one of those tall, slender, faintly lined girls who are 
 called lilies, and who are associated with pale blues and 
 lavender, she naturally found it difficult to realize a 
 beauty, even if it was that of a niece, so unlike her own. 
 Mrs. Marcy was now less than slender ; the blue eyes 
 which, had once mildly lighted her countenance were 
 faded. But she still remained lily -like and willowy, 
 and her attire adapted itself to that style ; there was a 
 gleam of the lavender still she wore long shawls and 
 scarfs. 
 
 In the easy-chair opposite, Rodney Blake leaned back. 
 He was fifty-six, long and thin, with a permanent ex- 
 pression on his face of half-weary, half-amused cyni- 
 cism, which, however, seemed to concern itself more 
 with life in general than with people in particular, and 
 thus prevented personal applications. He was well-to- 
 do, well dressed. There was a generally received le- 
 gend that he was rather brilliant. This was the more 
 remarkable because he seldom said much. But per-
 
 IN VENICE 237 
 
 haps that was the reason. Miss Marcy had entered as 
 her aunt finished her sentence. 
 
 " The sitting is over, then," said the elder lady. " Has 
 Mr. Lenox gone?" 
 
 " Not yet," answered the niece, giving her hand to 
 Mr. Blake as he rose to greet her. 
 
 She was, as he had said, a beautiful woman. Yet at 
 home there were still those who would have dissented 
 from this opinion, as, secretly, her aunt dissented. She 
 was of about medium height, with the form of a Juno. 
 She had a rich complexion, slowly moving eyes of deep 
 brown, and very thick, curling, low-growing hair of a 
 bright gold color, which showed a warmer reddish tinge 
 in the light. She was the personification of healthy life 
 and vigor, but not of the nervous or active sort ; of the 
 reflective. Wherever the sun touched her it struck a 
 color : whether the red of cheek or lip, or the beautiful 
 tint of her forehead and throat, which was not fair but 
 clear ; whether the brown of her eyes, or the gold of 
 eyebrows, eyelashes, and the heavy, low-coiled hair. 
 Her features were fairly regular, but not of the pointed 
 type ; they were short rather than long, clearly, almost 
 boldly, outlined. Her forehead was low ; her mouth 
 not small, the lips beautifully cut. She was attired in 
 black velvet she affected rich materials and as she 
 talked she twisted and untwisted a string of large pearls 
 which hung loosely round her throat and down upon 
 the velvet of her dress. 
 
 " Mr. Lenox does not have to imagine much, after 
 all," observed Mr. Blake in his slow way to Mrs. Marcy. 
 " In velvet, with those pearls, she does very well as it is." 
 
 "They are only Roman beads," said Claudia. "I 
 don't know what you mean, of course."
 
 238 IN VENICE 
 
 " I had been telling Mr. Blake that they say that if 
 you had a green velvet, with those big sleeves, you 
 know, and your hair braided close to the head, to make 
 it look too small in comparison with the shoulders, it 
 would be a Bonifazio," explained the aunt. 
 
 " Your pearls are not so effective as they might be, 
 Miss Marcy," continued the visitor, scanning her as she 
 took a seat. 
 
 " I do not wear them in this way, but so." She un- 
 fastened the clasp, and rewound the long string in three 
 close rows, one above the other, round her throat, above 
 the high-coming black of her dress. 
 
 " That is better," said her critic. 
 
 " It feels like a piece of armor, so I unloosen it as 
 soon as I can," she answered. 
 
 Here the artist came in, bat in hand. " I am on my 
 way home," he said. "Good-morning, Mr. Blake. I 
 have only stopped to ask about our expedition this 
 afternoon, Mrs. Marcy." 
 
 " Oh, I suppose we shall go," answered that lady, 
 " the day is so fine. How are they at home this morn- 
 ing, Mr. Lenox ?" 
 
 " Elizabeth is quite well, thanks ; Theocritus as usual. 
 Shall I order gondolas, then ?" 
 
 " If you will be so good ; at four. Mr. Blake will, I 
 hope, go with us." 
 
 And then Mr. Lenox bowed, and withdrew. 
 
 " Does the the idyllic personage accompany us ?" 
 asked the gentleman in the easy-chair. 
 
 " It is only a child appended to the name," said 
 Claudia, laughing. " For some reason Mrs. Lenox al- 
 ways pronounces it in full ; she could just as well call 
 him Theo."
 
 IX VENICE 239 
 
 " It is her nephew, and she is devoted to him," ex- 
 plained Mrs. Marcy. " He is nearly ten years old, but 
 does not look more than five. His health is extremely 
 delicate, and he is at times rather rather babyish." 
 
 " Peevish, isn't it ?" said Claudia. She had taken up 
 two long black needles entangled in a mass of crimson 
 worsted, and, disengaging them, was beginning to knit 
 another row on an unfinished stripe. Her beautifully 
 moulded hands, full and white, with one antique gem 
 on each, contrasted with the tint of the wool. The thin 
 fingers of Mrs. Marcy were decked with fine diamonds, 
 and diamonds alone ; in spite of the " foreign ways" of 
 which that lady had accused herself, she remained suffi- 
 ciently American for that. She could buy diamonds, 
 and Claudia an antique ring or two ; both aunt and 
 niece enjoyed inherited incomes, that of Claudia being 
 comfortable, that of Mrs. Marcy large. 
 
 These ladies occupied rooms on the third floor of a 
 palace on the Grand Canal, not far below the Piazzetta. 
 The palace was a stately example of Renaissance archi- 
 tecture, with three TOWS of majestic polished columns 
 extending one above the other across its front. Be- 
 tween these columns the American tenant, who had 
 once been called " the lily," and her niece, who was so 
 like a Bonifazio, looked out upon the golden Venetian 
 light a light whose shadows are colors: mother-of- 
 pearl, emerald, orange, amber, and all the changing 
 gradations between them thrown against and between 
 the reds, browns, and fretted white marbles of the 
 buildings rising from the water ; that ever-moving 
 water which mirrors it all here a sparkling, glancing 
 surface, there a mysterious darkness, both of them 
 contrasting with the serene blue of the sky above,
 
 240 IX VENICE 
 
 which is barred towards the riva by the long, lean, 
 sharply defined lateen spars of the moored barks, 
 and made even more deep in its hue over the harbor 
 by the broad sails of the fishing-sloops outlined against 
 it, as they come slowly up the channel, rich, unlighted 
 sheets of tawny yellow and red, with a great cross 
 vaguely defined upon them. 
 
 Next to the Renaissance palace was a smaller one, 
 narrow and high, of mediaeval Gothic, ancient and 
 weather-stained ; it had lancet-windows, adorned above 
 with trefoil, and a little carved balcony like old Vene- 
 tian lace cut in marble. Ilere Mr. and Mrs. Lenox oc- 
 cupied the floor above that occupied by the ladies in 
 the larger palace. Communication was direct, however, 
 owing to a hallway, like a little covered bridge, that 
 crossed the canal which flowed between a canal nar- 
 row, dark, and still, that worked away silently all day 
 and all night at its life-long task of undermining the 
 ponderous walls on each side ; gaining perhaps a half- 
 inch in a century, together with the lighter achieve- 
 ment of eating out the painted wooden columns which, 
 like lances set upright in the sand at a tent's door, the 
 old Venetians were accustomed to plant in the tide 
 round their water-washed entrances. At four o'clock 
 the little company started, the three from the Gothic 
 palace having come across the hall bridge to join the 
 others. Two gondolas were in waiting ; as the after- 
 noon was warm, they had light awnings instead of the 
 antique black tops, with the sombre drapery sweeping 
 out behind. 
 
 "I like the black tops better," observed Claudia. 
 " Any one can have an awning, but the black tops are 
 Venetian."
 
 IN VENICE 241 
 
 " Tliey can easily be changed," said Lenox. 
 
 " Oh no ; not in this heat," objected Mrs. Marcy. 
 " We should stifle. Mr. Blake, shall you and I, as the 
 selfish elders, take this one, and let the younger people 
 go together in that ?" 
 
 " I want to go in the one with the red awning the 
 bright red," said Theocritus. This was the one Mrs. 
 Marcy had selected. 
 
 " No, no, my boy ; the other will do quite as well for 
 you," said Lenox. 
 
 " It won't," replied the child, in a decided little 
 voice. 
 
 " It is not of the slightest consequence," graciously 
 interposed Mrs. Marcy, signalling to the other gondola, 
 and, with Blake's assistance, taking her place within it. 
 
 Mr. Lenox glanced at his wife. She was occupied in 
 folding a shawl closely over the boy's little overcoat. 
 " Come, then," he said, giving his hand first to Miss 
 Marcy, then to his wife and the child. The gondolas 
 floated out on the broad stream. 
 
 Claudia talked ; she talked well, and took the Vene- 
 tian tone. "The only thing that jars upon me," she 
 said, after a while, " is that these Venetians of to-day 
 those men and women we are passing on the riva now, 
 for instance do not appreciate in the least their won- 
 derful water-city scarcely know what it is." 
 
 u They don't study ' Venice ' because they are Ven- 
 ice isn't that it ?" said Mrs. Lenox. She had soothed 
 the little boy into placidity, and he sat beside her quiet- 
 ly, with one gloved hand in hers, a small muffled figure, 
 with a pale face whose delicate skin was lined like that 
 of an old man. His eyes were narrow, deep-set, and 
 dark under his faintly outlined fair eyebrows ; his thin
 
 242 IN VEXICE 
 
 hair so light in hue and cut so closely to his head that 
 it could scarcely be distinguished. 
 
 " I hope not," said Claudia, answering Mrs. Lenox's 
 remark " at least, I hope the old Venetians were 
 not so ; I like to think that they felt, down to their 
 very finger-tips, all the richness and beauty about 
 them." 
 
 " You may be sure the feeling was unconscious com- 
 pared with ours," replied Mrs. Lenox. "They did not 
 consult authorities about the pictures ; they were the 
 pictures. They did not study history ; they made it. 
 They did not read romances ; they lived them." 
 
 " I wish I could have lived then," murmured Miss 
 Marcy, her eyes resting thoughtfully on the red tower 
 of San Giorgio, rising from the blue. No veil obscured 
 the beautiful tints of her face ; Claudia's complexion 
 could brave the brightest light, the wind, and the sun. 
 The dark-blue plume of the round hat she wore curled 
 down over the rippled sunny braids of her hair. Mr. 
 Lenox was looking at her. But Mr. Lenox was often 
 looking at her. 
 
 " That would not be at all nice for us," said Mrs. 
 Lenox, in her pleasant voice, answering the young lady's 
 wish. " If you, Miss Marcy, can step back into the fif- 
 teenth century without trouble, we cannot ; Stephen 
 and I are very completely of this poor nineteenth." 
 
 "I don't know," said Claudia, slowly ; she looked at 
 " Stephen " with meditative eyes. " He could have been 
 one of the soldiers. You remember that Venetian por- 
 trait in the Uffizi at Florence General Gattamelata ? 
 Mr. Lenox does not look like it ; but in armor he would 
 look quite as well." 
 
 " I don't remember it," said Mrs. Lenox, turning to
 
 IN VENICE 243 
 
 see why Theocritus was beating upon her knees with 
 his right fist. 
 
 " You must remember it is so superb !" said Clau- 
 dia. 
 
 " I want to sit on the other side," announced Theoc- 
 ritus. 
 
 "When we come back, dear. See, the church is 
 quite near ; we shall soon be there now," answered his 
 aunt. 
 
 " You remember it, don't you ?" said Claudia to 
 Lenox. 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " No now" piped Theocritus. " The wind is blow- 
 ing down my back." 
 
 " If he is cold, Stephen " said Mrs. Lenox. 
 
 " I will change places with him," replied her hus- 
 band. " Do not move, Miss Marcy." 
 
 " No ; Aunt Lizzie must go too !" said the boy. He 
 had wrinkled up his little face until he looked like an 
 aged dwarf in a temper ; he stretched back his lips over 
 his little square white teeth, and glared at his uncle and 
 Miss Marcy. 
 
 " Let me change do," said Claudia, rising as she 
 spoke. And Mrs. Lenox accepted the offer. 
 
 " When you have finished my portrait, suppose you 
 paint yourself as a fifteenth-century Venetian general," 
 continued Miss Marcy, taking up again the thread of 
 conversation which had been broken by Theocritus's ob- 
 stinacy. " The portrait of a man painted by himself 
 is always interesting ; you can see then what he thinks 
 he is." 
 
 " And is not ?" said Lenox. 
 
 " Possibly. Still, what he might be. It is his ideal
 
 244 IN VENICE 
 
 view of himself, and I believe in ideals. It is only our 
 real, purified what we shall all attain, I hope, in an- 
 other world." 
 
 Thus she talked on. And the man to whom she 
 talked thought it a loveliness of nature that she passed 
 so naturally and unnoticingly over the demeanor of the 
 spoiled child who accompanied them. Mrs. Lenox could, 
 for the present take no further part in the conversa- 
 tion, as Theocritus had demanded that she should re- 
 late to him the legend of St. Mark, St. George, and St. 
 Theodore climbing down from their places over the 
 church porch, the palace window, and the crocodile 
 column to fight the demons of the lagoons. This she 
 did, but in so low a tone that the conversation of the 
 others was not interrupted. 
 
 They reached the island and landed ; Mrs. Marcy and 
 Blake were already there, sitting on the sun - warmed 
 steps of the church whose smooth white facade and 
 red campanile are so conspicuous from Venice. " We 
 were discussing the shape of the prow of the gondola," 
 said Mrs. Marcy, as they came up. " To me it looks 
 like the neck of a swan." Mrs. Marcy never sought for 
 new terms ; if the old ones were only poetical she was 
 a stickler for that she used them as they were, con- 
 tentedly. 
 
 Mr. Blake, who always took the key-note of the con- 
 versation in which he found himself, advanced the 
 equally veteran comparison of the neck of a violin. 
 
 " It is the shining blade of St. Theodore, the patron 
 of the gondolas," suggested Claudia. 
 
 " To me it looks a good deal like the hammer of a 
 sewing-machine," observed Mrs. Lenox, lightly. This 
 was so true that they all had to laugh.
 
 IN VENICE 245 
 
 " But this will never do, Mrs. Lenox," said Blake, 
 turning to look at her as she stood on the broad mar- 
 ble step, holding the little boy's hand ; " you will de- 
 stroy all our carefully prepared atmosphere with your 
 modern terms. Here we have all been reading up for 
 this expedition, and we know just what Ruskin thinks ; 
 wait a bit, and you will hear us talk ! And not one will 
 be so rude as to recognize a single adjective." 
 
 "You admire him, then Ruskin?" said the lady. 
 
 " Admire ? That is n.ot the word ; he is the divinest 
 madman ! Ah, but he makes us work ! In some al- 
 ways inaccessible spot he discovers an inscrutably beau- 
 tiful thing, and then he goes to work and writes about 
 it fiercely, with all his nouns in capitals, and his adjec- 
 tives after the nouns instead of before them which 
 naturally awes us. But what produces an even deeper 
 thrill is his rich way of spreading his possessive cases 
 over two words instead of one, as, ' In the eager heart 
 of him,' instead of In his eager heart.' This cows us 
 completely." 
 
 " I want to go in the church. I don't want to stay 
 out here any longer," announced Theocritus. And, as 
 his aunt let him have his way, the others followed her, 
 and they all went in together. 
 
 Compared with the warm sunshine without, the silent 
 aisles seemed cool. After ten minutes or so Mrs. Marcy 
 and Blake came out, and seated themselves on the step 
 again. " You have known her for some time ?" Blake 
 was saying. 
 
 " Mrs. Lenox ? No ; only since we first met here, six 
 I mean seven weeks ago. But Stephen Lenox I 
 have always known, or rather known about ; he is a 
 distant connection of mine. His history has been rather
 
 246 IN VENICE 
 
 unusual. His mother, a widow, managed to educate 
 him, but that was all; they were really very poor, and 
 Stephen was hard at work before he was twenty. He 
 had some sort of a clerkship in an iron-mill, and was 
 kept at it, I was told, twelve and thirteen hours a day. 
 Before he was twenty-two he married. He worked 
 harder than ever then, although he had, I believe, in 
 time a better place. His wife had no money, either, 
 and she was not strong. Their two little children died. 
 Well, after twelve years of this, most unexpectedly, by 
 the will of an uncle by marriage, he came into quite a 
 nice little fortune; the uncle said, I was told, that he 
 admired a man who, in these days, had never had or 
 asked for the least help from his relatives. And so 
 Stephen could at last do as he pleased, and very soon 
 afterwards they came abroad. For he had been an 
 artist at heart all this time, it seems at least, he has a 
 great liking for painting, and even, I think, some skill." 
 
 " I doubt if he is a creative artist," answered Blake. 
 " He is too well balanced for that a strong, quiet fel- 
 low. His wife is of about his age, I presume ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he is thirty -six, and she the same. They have 
 been over here already nearly two years. She is a very 
 nice little woman " (Mrs. Lenox was tall and slender ; 
 but Mrs. Marcy always patronized Mrs. Lenox), "al- 
 though one does get extremely tired of that spoiled boy 
 she drags about. Do you know," added the lady, deep- 
 ly, " I feel sure it would be much better for Elizabeth 
 Lenox if she would remember her present circumstances 
 more ; there is no longer any necessity for an invariable 
 untrimmed gray gown." 
 
 " Doesn't she dress well ?" said Blake. " I thought 
 she always looked very neat."
 
 IN VENICE 247 
 
 " That is the very word neat. But there is no flow, 
 no richness. She has been rather pretty once ; that is, 
 in that style gray eyes and dark hair ; and she might 
 be so still if she had the proper costumes. Of course, 
 going about Venice in this way one does not want to 
 dress much ; but she has not even got anything put 
 away." 
 
 " If one does not wear it, what difference does that 
 make ?" asked the gentleman. 
 
 " All the difference in the world !" replied Mrs. Marcy. 
 " Let me tell you that the very step of a woman who 
 knows she has two or three nice dresses in the bottom 
 of her trunk is different from that of a woman who 
 knows she hasn't." 
 
 " But perhaps Mrs. Lenox does not know that she 
 ' hasn't,' " remarked Blake. This, however, went over 
 Mrs. Marcy's head. 
 
 Within, the others were looking at the beautiful 
 Tintorettos in the choir. After a while the ill-favored 
 but gravely serene young monk who had admitted them 
 approached and mentioned solemnly " the view from 
 the campanile ;" this not because he cared whether they 
 went up or not, but simply as part of his duty. 
 
 " I should like to go," said Claudia ; " I love to look 
 off over the lagoons." 
 
 They turned to leave the choir. "/ don't want to 
 go," said Theocritus, holding back. " I want to stay 
 here and see that picture some more ; and I'm going to !" 
 
 This time Miss Marcy did not yield her wish. " Do 
 not come with me," she said to Mr. and Mrs. Lenox; 
 " it is not in the least necessary. I have been up be- 
 fore, and know the way. I will not be gone fifteen 
 minutes."
 
 248 IN VENICE 
 
 " I really think that he ought not to climb all those 
 stairs," said Mrs. Lenox to her husband, looking at the 
 child, who had gone back to his station before the 
 picture. 
 
 "Of course not," answered Lenox. Then, after a 
 moment, " I will stay with him," he added ; " you go 
 up with Miss Marcy." 
 
 " I want Aunt Lizzie to stay not Uncle Stephen !" 
 called the boy, overhearing this, and turning round to 
 scowl at them. 
 
 " He will not be good with any one but me," said 
 Mrs. Lenox, in a low tone. " You two go up ; I will 
 wait for you here." 
 
 " The question is, Is he ever good, even with her ?" 
 said Claudia, following Lenox up the long flight of 
 steps that winds in square turns up, up, to the top of 
 the campanile. 
 
 " She says he is sometimes very sweet and docile 
 even affectionate," replied Lenox. " She thinks he has 
 quite a remarkable mind, and will distinguish himself 
 some day if we can only tide his poor, puny little 
 body safely over its childish weakness, and give him 
 a fair start." 
 
 " She is very fond of him." 
 
 " Yes ; his mother was her dearest friend, his father 
 her only brother." 
 
 Claudia considered that she had now given sufficient 
 time to this subject (not an interesting one), and they 
 talked of other things, but in short sentences, for they 
 were still ascending. Twice she stopped to rest for a 
 minute or two ; then Lenox came down a step, and 
 stood beside her. There was no danger; still, if a 
 person should be seized with giddiness, the thought
 
 IN VENICE 249 
 
 of the near open well in the centre, going darkly down, 
 was a dizzy one. 
 
 At the top they had the view : wide green flatness 
 towards the east, northeast, southeast, with myriad 
 gleaming, silvery channels ; the Lido and the soft line 
 of the Adriatic beyond ; towns shining whitely in the 
 north ; to the west, Venice, with its long bridge stretch- 
 ing to the mainland ; in port, at their feet, a large Ital- 
 ian man-of-war; on the south side, the point of the 
 Giudecca. 
 
 " ' A Saint-BIaise, a la Zuecca, 
 
 Vous etiez bien aise ; 
 
 A Sa'mt-Blaise, a la Zuecca, 
 
 Nous etions bien la !' " 
 
 quoted Claudia. " I chant it because I have just dis- 
 covered that the Zuecca means the Giudecca yonder." 
 
 " What is the verse ?" said Lenox. 
 
 " Don't you know it ? It is Musset." 
 
 " I have read but little, Miss Marcy." 
 
 " You have not had time to read," said Claudia, with 
 a shade of emphasis; "your time has been given to 
 better things." 
 
 " Yes, to iron rails !" 
 
 " To energy and to duty," she answered. Then she 
 turned the subject, and talked of the tints on the 
 water. 
 
 Down below, in the still church, the little boy sat 
 beside his aunt, her arm round him, his head leaning 
 against her. The monk had withdrawn. 
 
 " The angels were all there, no doubt," she was 
 saying ; " but only a few painters have ever tried to 
 represent them in the picture. It is' not easy to paint 
 an angel if you have never seen one."
 
 250 IN VENICE 
 
 " Pooh ! I have seen them," said Theocritus, " hun- 
 dreds of times. I have seen their wings. They come 
 floating in when the sunshine comes through a crack 
 all dusty, you know. How many of them there do you 
 suppose saw the angels ? Not that big girl with the 
 plate, anyhow, / know !" Thus they talked on. 
 
 When the two from the campanile returned, and 
 they went out to embark, a slight breeze had risen. 
 The little boy lifted his shoulders uneasily, and seemed 
 almost to shiver. Mrs. Lenox felt of his head and 
 hands. "I think I had better take him back in one 
 of those covered gondolas, Stephen," she said. " He 
 seems to be cold ; he might have a chill." 
 
 " Surely it is very warm," said Mrs. Marcy. 
 
 " Yes, but he is so delicate," replied the other lady. 
 
 " I will go with you, Mrs. Lenox," said Claudia. 
 
 " Oh no ; the gondolas here are the small ones, I see, 
 and Stephen could not come with us. Do not leave 
 him to go back alone ; if one of us sees to the child, 
 that is enough." 
 
 It ended, therefore, according to her arrangement : 
 she went back with Theocritus in a covered gondola, 
 Mrs. Marcy and Blake returned as they had come, 
 while Claudia and Lenox had the third boat to them- 
 selves. 
 
 Rodney Blake being added, this little party contin- 
 ued its Venetian life. Lenox made some progress with 
 his portrait of Claudia, but it was not thought, at least 
 by the others, that his wife made any with Theocritus, 
 that child remaining as delicate as ever, and, if possible, 
 more troublesome. In Mrs. Marcy's mind there had 
 sprung up, since Mr. Blake's arrival, an aftermath of 
 interest in Venetian art and architecture which was
 
 IN VENICE 251 
 
 richer even than the first crop ; she went contentedly 
 to see the pictures, churches, and palaces a fourth and 
 even fifth time. 
 
 Claudia had a great liking for St. Mark's. "But 
 who has not?" said Mrs. Marcy, reproachfully, when 
 Blake commented upon the younger lady's fancy. 
 
 " Yes ; but it is not every liking that is strong enough 
 to take its possessor there every day through eight 
 long, slow weeks," answered the gentleman. 
 
 " Not so slow," said Claudia. " But how do you 
 know ? You have been here through only one of 
 them." 
 
 " That leanest mosaic in the central dome is an old 
 friend of mine; he has told me many things in his 
 time (I am an inveterate Venetian lounger, you know), 
 bending down from his curved abode, his glassy eyes 
 on mine, and a long, thin finger pointed. Be careful ; 
 he has noticed you." 
 
 Several days later, strolling into the church, he found 
 her there. "As usual," he said. 
 
 " Yes, as usual," she answered. Miss Marcy liked 
 Blake ; his slow remarks often amused her. And she 
 liked to be amused perhaps because she was not one 
 of those young ladies who find everything amusing. 
 She was sitting at the base of the last of the great pil- 
 lars of the nave, where she could see the north transept 
 with the star-lights of the chapel at the end, the old 
 pulpit of colored marbles with its fretted top and angel, 
 and the deep, gold-lined dimness of the choir-dome, 
 into which the first horizontal ray of sunset light was 
 now stealing a light which would soon turn into 
 miraculous splendor its whole expanse. 
 
 " It always seems to me like a cave set with gold and
 
 2o2 IN VENICE 
 
 gems," said Blake, taking a seat beside her. ""And, 
 in reality, that is what it is, you know a wonderful 
 robbers' cavern. As somebody has said, it is the 
 church of pirates of the greatest sea-robbers the 
 world has ever known ; and they have adorned it with 
 the magnificent mass of treasure they stole from the 
 whole Eastern hemisphere." 
 
 " I wish they had stolen a little for me one of 
 those Oriental chains, for instance. But what pleases 
 me best here is the light. It isn't the bright, vast 
 clearness of St. Peter's that makes one's small sins of 
 no sort of consequence ; it isn't the sombreness of the 
 Duomo at Florence, where one soon feels such a dread- 
 ful repentance that the new virtue becomes acute de- 
 pression. It is a darkness, I admit, but of such a 
 warm, rich hue that one feels sumptuous just by sit- 
 ting in it. I do believe that if some of our thin, anx- 
 ious-faced American women could only be induced 
 to come and sit here quietly several hours a day they 
 would soon grow serene and physically opulent, like " 
 
 " Like yourself ?" 
 
 " Like the women of Veronese. (Of course I shall 
 have to admit that I do not need this process. Unfort- 
 unately, I love it.) But those Veronese pictures, Mr. 
 Blake after all, what do they tell us ? Blue sky and 
 balconies, feasts and brocades, pages and dogs, colors 
 and splendor, and those great fair women, with no ex- 
 pression in their faces what does it all mean ?" 
 
 " Simply beauty." 
 
 " Beauty without mind, then." 
 
 " A picture does not need mind. But, to be worth 
 anything, beauty it must have." 
 
 " I don't know ; a picture is a sort of companion.
 
 IN VENICE 253 
 
 One of those pictures would not be that ; you might as 
 well have a beautiful idiot." 
 
 " Ah, but a. picture is silent," replied Blake. 
 
 Claudia laughed. " You are incorrigible." Then, 
 going back to her first subject, " I wish Mrs. Lenox 
 would come here more," she said. 
 
 " You think she needs this enriching process you 
 have suggested ?" 
 
 " In one way yes. All this beauty here in Venice 
 is so much to her husband , while she is forever with 
 that child !" 
 
 " But she does not keep him from the beauty." 
 
 " No ; but she might make it so much more to him 
 if she would." 
 
 " Why don't you suggest it to her ?" 
 
 " There is no use. She does not understand me, I 
 think. We speak a different language." 
 
 " That may be. But I fancy she understands you." 
 
 " Perhaps she does," answered Claudia, with the un- 
 troubled frankness which was one of her noticeable 
 traits. She spoke as though she thought, indeed, that 
 Claudia Marcy's nature was a thing which Mrs. Lenox, 
 or any one, might observe. Claudia rather admired her 
 nature. It was not perfect, of course, but at least it was 
 large in its boundaries, and above the usual feminine 
 pettinesses ; she felt a calm pride in that. She was 
 silent for a while. The first sunset ray had now been 
 joined by others, and together they had lighted up one- 
 half of the choir-dome ; its gold was all awake and 
 glistening superbly, and the great mosaic figure en- 
 throned there began to glow with a solemn, mysterious 
 life. 
 
 " Men should not marry until they are at least thirty,
 
 254 IN VENICE 
 
 I think," resumed Claudia ; " and especially those of 
 the imaginative or artistic temperament. Three-quar- 
 ters of the incongruous marriages one sees were made 
 when the husband was very young. It is not the wife's 
 fault ; at the time of the marriage she is generally the 
 superior, the generous one ; the benefit is conferred by 
 her. But she does not advance, and he does." 
 
 "What would you propose in the way of of an 
 amelioration ?" asked her listener. 
 
 " There can, of course, be no amelioration in actual 
 cases. But there might be a prevention. I think .that 
 a law could be passed such as now exists, for instance, 
 against the marriage of minors. If a man could not 
 marry until he was thirty or older, he would at that 
 time naturally select a wife who was ten years or so his 
 junior rather than one of his own age." 
 
 " And the women of thirty ?" 
 
 " They would be already married to the men of fifty, 
 you know." 
 
 Here a figure emerging from the heavy red-brown 
 shadows of the north aisle, and seeming to bring some 
 of them with it, as it advanced, crossed the billowy 
 pavement, and stopped before them. It was Mr. Lenox. 
 He took a seat on the other side of Blake, and they 
 talked for a while of the way the chocolate-hued walls 
 met the gold of the domes solidly, without shading, and 
 of the total absence of white two of the marked feat- 
 ures of the rich interior of the old pirate cathedral. At 
 length Blake rose, giving up his place beside Miss Marcy 
 to the younger man. " I think we have still a half-hour 
 before that jailer of a janitor jangles his keys," she 
 said. 
 
 " Yes ; but for the men of fifty it is time to be go-
 
 IN VENICE 255 
 
 ing," answered Blake. " They take cold rather easily, 
 you know, those poor fellows of fifty." 
 
 He went away. Claudia and Lenox remained until 
 the keys jangled. 
 
 Every day the weather and the water-city grew more 
 divinely fair. June began. And now even Mrs. Marcy 
 saw no objection to their utilizing the moonlight, and 
 no longer spoke of " wraps." The evenings were 
 haunted by music ; everybody seemed to be floating 
 about singing or touching guitars. The effect of the 
 minglad light and shadows across the fronts of the pal- 
 aces was enchanting ; they could not say enough in its 
 praise. 
 
 " Still, do you know sometimes I would give it all 
 for the fresh odor of the fields at home, in the country, 
 and the old scent of lilacs," said Mrs. Lenox. 
 
 " Do you care for lilacs ?" said Claudia. " If you had 
 said roses " 
 
 " No, I mean lilacs the simple country lilacs. And I 
 want to see some currant bushes, too ; yes, and even an 
 old wooden garden fence," replied Mrs. Lenox, laugh- 
 ing, but nevertheless as if she meant what she said. 
 She went with them only that once in the evening, for 
 when she reached home she found that the little boy 
 had been wakeful, and that he had refused to go to 
 sleep again because she was not there. After this the 
 others went without her in a gondola holding four. At 
 last, although the moonlight lingers longer in Venice 
 than anywhere else, there was, for that month at least, 
 no more. Yet still the evening air was delicious, and 
 the music did not cease ; the effect of the shadows was 
 even more marvellous than the mingled light and shade 
 had been. They continued to go out and float about
 
 256 IN VENICE 
 
 for an hour or two in the warm, peopled darkness. They 
 went also, but by daylight, to Torcello, and this time 
 Theocritus was of the party. During half of the day 
 he was more despotic than he had ever been, but later 
 he seemed very tired ; he slept in his aunt's arms all 
 the way home. Once she made an effort to transfer 
 him to her husband, as the weight of his little muffled 
 figure lay heavily on her slender arm ; but Theocritus 
 was awake immediately, and began to beat off his un- 
 cle's hands with all his might. 
 
 "Do let me take him, Elizabeth; he will soon fall 
 asleep again," said Lenox, lie looked annoyed. "You 
 are overtaxing your strength ; I can see that you are 
 tired out." 
 
 " It will not harm me ; I know when I am really too 
 tired," answered his wife. She gave him a little trust- 
 ing smile as she spoke, and his frown passed off. 
 
 Thev were all together in one of the large gondolas ; 
 Blake noted this little side-scene. 
 
 That night Theocritus had a slight attack of fever. 
 Mrs. Lenox said that it came from over -fatigue, and 
 that he must not go on any of the longer expeditions. 
 When they went to Murano, therefore, and down to 
 Chioggia, she did not accompany them, but remained at 
 home with her charge. 
 
 Mrs. Marcy was enjoying this last month in Venice 
 greatly. " Naturally, it is much pleasanter when one 
 has some one to attend to one, and one too who knows 
 one's tastes and looks after one's little comforts," she 
 remarked to her niece, with some intricacy of imper- 
 sonal pronouns. The lily did not observe that the at- 
 tentions she found so agreeable were being offered to 
 her niece also by another impersonal pronoun. As she
 
 IX VENICE 257 
 
 would herself have said, "naturally," when they went 
 here and there together, the two elders often sat down 
 to rest awhile when Claudia and Lenox did not feel the 
 need of it. 
 
 " Of course, with her beauty, her attractive qualities, 
 and her fortune, Miss Marcy has had many suitors," 
 said Blake to the aunt during one of these rests. 
 
 " Several," answered that lady, moderately. " But 
 Claudia is not at all susceptible. Neither is she so 
 so generally attractive as you might suppose. She has 
 too little thought for the opinions of others. She says, 
 for instance, just what she thinks, and that, you know, 
 is seldom agreeable." 
 
 " True ; we much prefer that people should say what 
 they don't. I have myself noticed some plainly evi- 
 dent faults in her : a most impolitic honesty ; and, 
 when stirred, an impulsiveness which is sure to be 
 unremunerative in the long-run. I should say, too, 
 that she had an empyrean sort of pride." 
 
 " Yes," replied the lily, not knowing what he meant, 
 but concluding on the whole that he spoke in repro- 
 bation. " As I said before, she has not quite enough 
 of that true feminine softness one likes so much to 
 see I mean, of course, in a woman." 
 
 " Her pride will be her bane yet. It will make her 
 blind to the most obvious pitfall. However, I'll back 
 her courage against it when once she sees where she 
 has dropped." 
 
 " What ?" said the lily. 
 
 " She will in time learn from you ; she could not 
 follow a more lovely example," said Blake, coming 
 back from his reflections. 
 
 Towards the last of June a long expedition was 
 
 17
 
 258 IN .VENICE 
 
 planned, an expedition into " Titian's country," which 
 was to last three days. This little pilgrimage had 
 been talked about for a long time, Mrs. Lenox being 
 as much interested in it as the others. Whether she 
 would have had the courage to take Theocritus, even 
 in his best estate, is a question ; but after the time 
 was finally set and all the arrangements made, his worst 
 asserted itself, and so markedly that it was plain to all 
 that she could not go. Something was said about post- 
 ponement, but it was equally plain that if they were to 
 go at all they should go at once, as the weather was 
 rapidly approaching a too great heat. Claudia wished 
 particularly to take this little journey ; she had set her 
 heart upon seeing the Titians and reputed Titians said 
 to be still left in that unvisited neighborhood. Blake 
 asserted that she even expected to discover one. It 
 was next proposed (although rather faintly) that Mr. 
 Lenox should be excused from the pilgrimage. But 
 it could not be denied that the little boy had been quite 
 as ill (and irritable) several times before in Venice, and 
 that he had always recovered in a day or two. Not 
 that Mrs. Lenox denied it ; on the contrary, she was 
 the one to mention it. She urged her husband's going ; 
 it was the excursion of all others to please him the 
 most. It ended in his consenting ; it seemed, indeed, 
 too much to give up for so slight a cause. 
 
 " She looks a little anxious," observed Blake, as they 
 waited for him in the gondola which was to take them 
 to the railway station. Lenox had said good-bye to her, 
 and was now coming down the long stairway within, while 
 she had stepped out on her balcony to see them start. 
 
 " Do you think so ?" said Mrs. Marcy. " To me she 
 always looks just the same, always so unmoved."
 
 IN VENICE 259 
 
 Lenox now came out, and the gondola started. Clau- 
 dia looked back and waved her hand, Mrs. Lenox re- 
 turning the salutation. 
 
 On the evening of the third day, at eleven o'clock, 
 a gondola from the railway station stopped at the larger 
 palace's lower door, and three persons ascended the 
 dimly lighted stairs. 
 
 At the top Mrs. Lenox's servant was waiting for 
 them. " Oh, where is signore ? Is he not with you ? 
 He has not come ? Oh, the poor signora may the 
 sweet Madonna help her now !" cried the girl, with 
 tears in her sympathetic Italian eyes. " The poor 
 little boy is dead." 
 
 They rushed up the higher stairway and across the 
 hall bridge. But it was as the woman had said. There, 
 on his little white bed, lay the child ; he would be 
 troublesome no more on this earth; he was quiet at 
 last. Mrs. Lenox stood in the lighted doorway of her 
 room as they came towards her. When she saw that 
 her husband was not with them, when they began hur- 
 riedly to explain that he had not come, that he had 
 stayed behind, that he had sent a note, she swayed 
 over without a word and fainted away. 
 
 It was only over-fatigue, she explained later. The 
 child had lain in her arms for thirty hours, most of the 
 time in great pain, and she had suffered with him. 
 She soon recovered consciousness and was quite calm 
 more calm than they had feared she would be. They 
 were anxiously watchful ; they tended her with the 
 most devoted care. Blake did what he could, and then 
 waited. After a while, when Mrs. Lenox had in a meas- 
 ure recovered, he softly beckoned Mrs. Marcy out. 
 
 " You must tell her that her husband will not be
 
 260 IX VENICE 
 
 back in time for that he will not be back for at least 
 six days, and very likely longer. And as his route 
 was quite uncertain, we cannot reach him ; there is 
 no telegraph, of course, and even if I were to go 
 after him I could only follow his track from village 
 to village, and probably come back to Venice behind 
 him." 
 
 " How can I tell her !" said the tearful lady. " Per- 
 haps Claudia " 
 
 " No, on no account. You are the one, and you 
 must do it," replied Blake, and with so much decision 
 that she obeyed him. Thus the wife was told. 
 
 What Blake had said was true ; it was hopeless to 
 try to reach Lenox before the time when he would 
 probably be back of his own accord. He had started 
 on a hunt after some early drawings of Titian's, of 
 which they had unearthed dim legends. One was said 
 to be in an old monastery, among others of no impor- 
 tance ; two more were vaguely reported as now here, 
 now there. Lenox had not been certain of his own 
 route, but expected to be guided from village to vil- 
 lage according to indications. It was not even certain 
 whether he would come back by Conegliano or strike 
 the railway at another point. " It certainly is an in- 
 exorable fate !" exclaimed poor Mrs. Marcy, in the 
 emergency driven to unusual expressions. 
 
 But when Stephen Lenox's wife understood the po- 
 sition in which she was placed, she at once decided 
 upon all that was to be done, and gave her directions 
 clearly and calmly directions which Blake executed 
 with an attention and thoughtful care as complete as 
 any one could possibly have bestowed. 
 
 The little boy was to be buried at Venice, in the
 
 IN VENICE 261 
 
 cemetery on the island opposite, early in the morning 
 of the second day. 
 
 " She is so sensible !" Mrs. Marcy commented, ad- 
 miringly. " Of course, under all the circumstances, 
 it is the thing to do. But so many women would have 
 insisted upon all sorts of plans ; and it would have 
 been so hard." 
 
 " I would willingly carry out anything she wished 
 for, no matter how difficult," replied Blake. " I great- 
 ly respect and admire Mrs. Lenox. But, as you say, 
 the perfect balance of her character, her clear judg- 
 ment and beautiful goodness, have at once decided 
 upon the best course." (The lily had not quite said 
 this ; but in her present state of distressed sympathy 
 she accepted it.) 
 
 Claudia, meanwhile, remained through all very si- 
 lent. She assisted, and ably, in everything that was 
 done, but said almost nothing. 
 
 The evening before the funeral the two ladies went 
 across to Mrs. Lenox's rooms ; they had left her some 
 hours before, as she had promised to lie down for a 
 while, but they thought that she was now probably 
 awake again. They found her sitting beside the little 
 white-shrouded form. 
 
 " Now this is not wise, Elizabeth," began Mrs. Marcy, 
 chidingly. 
 
 " I think it is ; I like to look at him," replied the 
 watcher. " See, the peaceful expression I have been 
 hoping for has come ; it is not often needed on the face 
 of a child, but it was with my poor little boy. Look." 
 
 And, sure enough, there shone upon the small, still 
 countenance a lovely sweetness which had never been 
 there in life. The face did not even seem thin ; its
 
 262 IN VENICE 
 
 lines bad all passed away ; it looked very fair and 
 young, and very peacefully at rest. 
 
 "His mother would know him now at once ; he was 
 a very pretty little fellow the last time she saw him, 
 when he was about a year old," she went on. " I was 
 very fond of his mother, and his father, as probably 
 you know, was my only brother. Their child was very 
 dear to me," she resumed, after a short silence, which 
 the others did not break. " His constant suffering 
 made him unlike stronger, happier children, and I think 
 that was the very reason I loved him the more. I 
 wanted to make it up to him. But I could not. I 
 suppose he never knew what it was to be entirely with- 
 out pain the doctors have told me so. He did not 
 know anything else, or any other way, but to suffer 
 more or less, and to be tired all the time. And he was 
 so used to it, poor little fellow, that I suppose he 
 thought that every one suffered too that that was 
 life. He has found a better now." Leaning forward, 
 she took the small hands in hers. " All my loving 
 care, dear child, was not enougli to keep you here," she 
 said, smoothing them tenderly. "But you are with 
 your mother now ; that is far better." 
 
 The funeral took place early the next morning. Then 
 Mrs. Lenox came back to her empty rooms, and entered 
 them alone. She preferred it so. 
 
 After the first explanation, the only allusion she had 
 made to her husband's absence was to Rodney Blake. 
 That gentleman had not expressed the shadow of a dis- 
 approbation. He had not told her that he had objected 
 to Lenox's lengthened absence, and had done what he 
 could to prevent it ; he had stopped Mrs. Marcy sharp- 
 ly when she spoke of telling.
 
 IN VENICE 263 
 
 " Can't you see, Sophy, that that would be the worst 
 of all for her ?" he said ; " to know that Lenox would 
 go, in spite of my unconcealed opposition, just because 
 Clau just because he wanted those trivial drawings," 
 he added, changing the termination of his sentence, but 
 quite sure, meanwhile, that " Sophy " would never dis- 
 cover what he had begun to say. 
 
 Mrs. Lenox's remark was this. Blake had come in 
 to speak to her about some necessary directions con- 
 cerning the funeral, and when she had given them she 
 said : " It will be a grief to Stephen when he comes 
 back that he could not have seen the little boy, even if 
 but for once more. And I hoped so that he would see 
 him ! I expected you back at eight you know that 
 was the first arrangement and towards seven he 
 seemed easier. Once he even smiled, and talked a little 
 about that legend of St. Mark and St. Theodore, of 
 which, you remember, he was so fond. Then it was 
 half-past seven, and I still hoped. And then it grew 
 towards eight, and he was in pain again. Still I kept 
 listening for the sound of your gondola. But it did not 
 come. And at half-past eight he died. But perhaps 
 it was as well so," she continued, although her voice 
 trembled a little. " Stephen would have felt his suffer- 
 ing so much. I was more used to it, you know, than 
 he was." 
 
 " Yes," answered Blake. 
 
 But she seemed to know that he was not quite in ac- 
 cord with her. " Of course I feel it very deeply, Mr. 
 Blake, on my own account, that my husband is not here ; 
 I depend upon him for everything, and feel utterly lone- 
 ly without him. But his absence is one of those acci- 
 dents which we must all encounter sometimes, and as
 
 264 IN VENICE 
 
 to everything else the outside help I needed yoa 
 have done all that even he could have done. You 
 have been very good to me," and she held out lier 
 hand. 
 
 Blake took it, and thanked her. And in his words 
 this time he put something that contented her. It was 
 the sacrifice he made to his liking for Stephen Lenox's 
 wife. 
 
 The evening after the funeral Mrs. Marcy, who had 
 been made nervous and ill by all that had happened, 
 went out at sunset for a change of air, and Blake ac- 
 companied her. Claudia preferred to stay at home. 
 But five minutes after the departure of their gondola 
 she went up the stairs and across the hall bridge that 
 led to Mrs. Lenox's apartment. Mrs. Lenox was there, 
 lying on the sofa. It was the first time since the re- 
 turn that the two had been alone together. She looked 
 pale and ill, and there were dark shadows under her 
 eyes ; but she smiled and spoke in her usual voice, ask- 
 ing Claudia to sit beside her in an easy-chair that stood 
 there. Claudia sat down, and they spoke on one or 
 two unimportant subjects. But the girl soon paused 
 in this. 
 
 " I have come to say," she began again, in a voice 
 that showed the effort she made to keep it calm, " that 
 I shall never forgive myself, Mrs. Lenox, for for a 
 great deal that I have thought about you, but especially 
 for having had a part in the absence of your hus- 
 band at such a time. If it had not been for me he 
 would not have gone off on that foolish expedition. 
 But I wanted those miserable drawings, or at least 
 sketches of them, and so I kept talking about it. 
 When 1 think of what you have had to go through,
 
 IN VENICE 265 
 
 alone, in consequence of it, I am overwhelmed." Here 
 her voice nearly broke down. 
 
 "You must not take it all upon yourself, Miss Mar- 
 cy," answered the wife. " No doubt Stephen wanted 
 to please you ; no doubt he wanted to very much to 
 get you the drawings, if it was possible ; of that I am 
 < quite sure." 
 
 But Claudia was not quieted. " If you knew how I 
 have suffered how I suffer now as I see you lying 
 there so pale and ill " here she stopped again. " I 
 come to tell you how I feel your suffering, and I spend 
 the time talking about my own," she added, abruptly. 
 " I am a worthless creature !" And covering her face 
 with her hands, she burst into tears. 
 
 Mrs. Lenox put out her hand and stroked the beau- 
 tiful bowed head caressingly. " Do not feel so badly," 
 she said. " You must not ; it is not necessary." 
 
 " But it is it is," said the girl, amid her tears. " If 
 you knew " 
 
 " I do know, Claudia. I know yoM." 
 
 " Oh, if you really do," said Claudia, lifting her 
 head, her wet eyes turned eagerly upon the wife, "then 
 it is better." 
 
 " It is better ; it is well. My dear, I think I have 
 understood you all along." 
 
 " But I have not understood myself," replied Clau- 
 dia. She had nerved herself to say it; but after it was 
 spoken a deep blush rose slowly over her whole face 
 until it was in a flame. Through all its heat, however, 
 she kept her eyes bravely upon those of the wife. 
 
 " That I knew, too," rejoined Mrs. Lenox. " But I 
 also knew that there was no danger," she added. 
 
 " There was not. It was unconscious. In any case,
 
 266 IX VENICE 
 
 I should in time li.-ive recognized it. And destroyed it, 
 as I do now." These short sentences were brought out, 
 each with a fresh effort. " I do not speak of of the 
 other side," the girl went on, with abrupt, heavy awk- 
 wardness of phrase. " There never was any other side 
 it was all mine." And then came the flaming blush 
 again. 
 
 "But you are very beautiful, Claudia?'' said the oth- 
 er woman, not as if disturbed at all in her own quiet 
 calm, but half tentatively. 
 
 " Yes, 1 am beautiful," replied Claudia, with a sort 
 of scorn. " But he is not that kind of man," she add- 
 ed, a quick, involuntary pride coming into her eyes. 
 Then she turned her head away, shading her face with 
 her hand. She said no more ; it seemed as if she had 
 stopped herself shortly there. 
 
 After a moment or two Mrs. Lenox began to speak. 
 " All this life, here in Venice, has been so much to 
 Stephen," she said, in her sweet, quiet voice. "You 
 know he has worked very hard he was obliged to ; 
 just so many hours of each long day, for long, hard 
 years. He never had any rest ; and the work was al- 
 ways distasteful to him, too. It was a slavery. And 
 it was beginning to tell upon him ; he could not have 
 kept it up without being worn out both in body and 
 mind. Judge, then, how glad I am that he has had all 
 this change and pleasure he needed it so ! There is 
 that side to his nature a love of the beautiful, and a 
 strong one. This has been always repressed and bound 
 down ; it is natural that it should break forth here. I 
 have not the feeling myself at least, not like his ; but 
 I understand it in him, and sympathize with it fully." 
 She paused. Claudia did not speak.
 
 IN VENICE 267 
 
 " You have not been a wife, Claudia, and therefore 
 there are some things you do not know," pursued the 
 voice. " A wife becomes in time to her husband such 
 a part of himself (that is, if he loves her) that she isn't 
 a separate person to him any more, and he hardly thinks 
 of her as one ; she is himself. Many things become a 
 matter of course to him are taken for granted on 
 this very account. It does not occur to him that she 
 may feel differently. lie supposes that they feel alike. 
 Often they do. Still, a woman's thoughts do not al- 
 ways run in the same channel as those of a man ; we 
 are more timid, more limited, more afraid of things, 
 you know ; but the husband does not always remember 
 that. But there are some things in which a husband 
 and wife do feel alike, always and forever ; there are 
 ties which are eternal. And my own life holds them 
 ties and memories so precious that I can hardly explain 
 them to you ; memories of those early years of ours 
 when we were so alone and poor, but so dear to each 
 other that we 'did not mind it. AVe love each other 
 just the same; but then we had nothing but our love 
 and it was enough. The coming, the short stay with 
 us, and the fading away of our two little children, 
 Claudia these are ties deep down in our hearts which 
 nothing can ever sunder. Stephen will go back to all 
 that old grief of his when he comes home to find the 
 little boy gone. For the greatest sorrow of his life, 
 one he has never at heart overcome, was that he felt 
 when we lost our own little boy. Stephen had loved 
 the child passionately, and would not believe that he 
 must go ; and when he did he bowed his head in a 
 silence so long that I was frightened. I had never 
 seen him give up before. But even that is a dear tie
 
 268 IX VENICE 
 
 between us, for then lie had only me. Those early 
 years of ours, with their joys and sorrows I often 
 think of them. A man does not dwell upon such 
 memories, one by one, as a woman does. But they are 
 none the less there, a part of his life and of him." 
 She stopped. " Do not mind," she added, in a changed 
 voice. " I am only a little tired, I think." 
 
 Claudia, who had not moved, turned quickly. Mrs. 
 Lenox's eves were closed ; she was very pale. But she 
 did not faint ; owing to Claudia's quick, efficient help, 
 she was soon herself again. " You know what to do, 
 don't you ?" she said, smiling, when the faint feeling 
 had passed. 
 
 " It is not that I know, so much as that I long to 
 help you," answered Claudia. " I wish you would let 
 me unbraid your hair, and make you ready for bed ; 
 you look so tired, and perhaps I could do it with a 
 lighter touch than Bianca," she added, humbly. 
 
 " Very well," said the other, assentingly. 
 
 And with much care and skill the girl performed 
 her task. " I will even put out the light," she said. 
 " I will tell Bianca that you have gone to bed, and are 
 not to be disturbed." When all was done and the 
 light out, she paused for a moment by the bedside. 
 " I am not going to talk any more," she said, " but I 
 will just say this: aunt and I are going away. To- 
 morrow, probably, or the day after. You will not be 
 left alone, for Mr. Blake will stay." 
 
 There was a silence. Then Mrs. Lenox's voice said : 
 " That is a mistake. It would be better to stay." 
 
 " I do not sec it in that way," answered the girl. 
 Then, " You must not ask too much," she added, in a 
 lower voice.
 
 IX VENICE 269 
 
 Mrs. Lenox took her hands, which were hanging be- 
 fore her, tightly clasped. The touch shook Claudia ; 
 she sank down beside the bed and hid her face. 
 
 " Stay j it is far better," whispered the wife. " Then 
 it will be over. By going away you will only think 
 about it the more." 
 
 " Yes, I know. But" 
 
 " I will answer for all. I know you better than 
 you know yourself. "When you see us together, it will 
 be different to you. Stay, to please me." 
 
 "Very well," murmured the girl. 
 
 They kissed each other, and she rose. When she 
 had reached the door Mrs. Lenox spoke again. " Of 
 course, you know that I quite understand that it is 
 only a girl's fancy," she said, with a tender lightness. 
 This was her offering to Claudia. 
 
 On the evening of the seventh day after the funeral 
 Stephen Lenox came back; he had sent a despatch to 
 his wife from Conegliano, and Blake was therefore able 
 to meet him at Mestre, and tell him what had happened. 
 He went directly home, and the others did not see him 
 until the next evening. Then he came across to the 
 larger palace. Blake was there ; he kept himself rather 
 constantly with Mrs. Marcy now, perhaps to direct that 
 lady's somewhat wandering inspirations. For this oc- 
 casion he had warned her that she must not be too 
 sympathetic, that she must be on her guard. So Mrs. 
 Marcy was " on her guard ;" she only took out her 
 handkerchief four times ; she even talked of the 
 weather. Claudia scarcely spoke. Blake himself con- 
 ducted the conversation, and filled all the gaps. They 
 could naturally say a good deal about the health of 
 Mrs. Lenox, as that lady had been obliged to keep her
 
 270 IN VENICE 
 
 room for the three preceding days. Lenox did not 
 stay long ; he said he must go back to his wife. As 
 he rose he gave the small portfolio he had brought 
 with him to Claudia. " I don't think they were Ti- 
 tians," he said. " But I sketched them for you as well 
 as I could." 
 
 Mrs. Marcy thought this an opportunity ; she took 
 the portfolio, and exclaimed over each picture. Blake, 
 too, put up his eye-glass to look at them. Lenox said 
 a word or two about them and waited a moment long- 
 er ; then he went away. Claudia had not glanced at 
 them. 
 
 He never knew of her visit to his wife; those are 
 the secrets women keep for each other, unto and be- 
 yond the grave. 
 
 What passed when he came home was simple enough. 
 His wife cried when she saw him ; she had not cried 
 before. She told him the history of the little boy's 
 last hours, and of all he had said, and of the funeral. 
 Then .they had talked a while of her health, and then 
 of future plans. 
 
 " I ought to have remembered that you were anxious 
 about him even before I went away," said Lenox, going 
 back abruptly to the first subject. He was standing by 
 the window, looking out ; this was an hour after his 
 return. 
 
 " But he had been ill so many times. No, it was 
 something we could not foresee, and as such we must 
 accept it. I wanted you to go don't you remember ? 
 I urged your going. You must not blame yourself 
 about it." 
 
 " But I do," answered her husband. 
 
 " I cannot allow you to ; I shall never allow it. To
 
 IN VENICE 271 
 
 me, Stephen, all you do is right ; I wish to hear noth- 
 ing that could even seem otherwise. I trust you en- 
 tirely, and always shall." 
 
 He turned. She was lying back in an easy-chair, 
 supported by pillows. He came across and sat down 
 beside her, his head bent forward, his elbows resting 
 on his knees, his face in his hands. He did not speak. 
 
 " Because I know that I can," added the wife. 
 
 That was all. 
 
 They stayed on together in Venice through another 
 two weeks. Mrs. Lenox improved daily, and was soon 
 able to go about with them. She seemed, indeed, to 
 bloom into a new youth. " It is the reaction after the 
 long, wearing care of that child," explained Mrs. Marcy. 
 " And isn't it beautiful to see how devoted he is to her, 
 and how careful of her in every way ? But I have al- 
 ways noticed what a devoted husband he was, haven't 
 you ?" 
 
 These two ladies and Mr. Blake were going to Baden- 
 Baden. But the others were going back to America. 
 " We may return some time," said Lenox ; " but at 
 present I think we want a home." 
 
 " I wish we could have stayed on together always, 
 just as we are now," sighed the sentimental lily, 
 smoothing the embroidered edge of her handkerchief. 
 " Such a pleasant party, and of just the right size ; 
 these last two weeks have been so perfect !" 
 
 The time for parting came. The three who were go- 
 ing to Baden-Baden were to leave at dawn, and they 
 had come across to Mrs. Lenox's parlor to spend a last 
 hour. Claudia talked more than usual, and talked well ; 
 she looked brilliant. 
 
 At the end of the second hour the good-byes began
 
 272 IX VENICE 
 
 in earnest. Everything that was appropriate was said, 
 Blake, in particular, delivering himself unblushingly of 
 one long fluent commonplace after another. They were 
 to meet again oh, very soon ; they were to visit each 
 other ; they were to write frequently one would have 
 supposed, indeed, that Blake intended to- send a daily 
 telegraphic despatch. At last the lily, having kept 
 them all standing for twenty minutes, bestowed upon 
 Mrs. Lenox a final kiss, and really did start, the two 
 gentlemen and Claudia accompanying her down the 
 long hall. But the hall was dark, and Claudia was be- 
 hind ; without the knowledge of the others she slipped 
 back. 
 
 Mrs. Lenox was standing where they had left her. 
 When she saw the girl returning, pale, repressed, all 
 the sparkle gone, she went to her, and put her arms 
 round her ; Claudia laid her head down upon the other's 
 shoulder. Thus they stood for several moments in 
 silence. Then, still without speaking, Claudia went 
 away. 
 
 When Mrs. Marcy reached the stairway which led 
 down to her own apartment, on the other side of the 
 hall bridge, " Why, where is Claudia?" she said. 
 
 " Here I am," said her niece, appearing from the 
 darkness. 
 
 " You will come down with us for a moment, won't 
 you, Mr. Lenox?" suggested the lily. "Just for one 
 last look ?" 
 
 " Do not ask him," said Claudia, smiling ; " he is worn 
 out ! We have already extended that look over two 
 long hours. Good-bye, Mr. Lenox ; and this time, I 
 think, is really the last."
 
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