KNIGHT -ERRANT 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 DONOVAN
 
 ly 
 
 (Ja 
 
 ^
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBnABIKS 
 
 A DATELESS BARGAIN. By C. L. BrnKis, author 
 
 of ' Lady Lovelace,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 DIIIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. By GF.nTniT.E 
 
 FoEDE, author of ' In the Old Palazzo,' &c. 3 vol?. 
 
 COURTLEROY. Bj Anne Beale, author of 'Fay 
 
 Ailington,' ' The Pennant Family,' 4c. 3 vols. 
 
 VICTIMS. By Tiieo Gift, author of ' Bretty Miss 
 
 Bellow,' ' Visited on the Children," ' Lil Lorimer,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 PASSAGES IX THE LIFE OF A LADY, in 1814 — 
 1815—1816. By Hamilton Aide, author of ' Rita,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT. 13, GREAT MARLBOROUfiH STREKT
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT 
 
 EDNA LYALL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 DONOVAN,' 'WE TWO,' 'IN THE GOLDEN DAYS,' ETC. 
 
 But .oil IhvOTipb life I see a Cross, 
 
 Where sons of God yield up tlicir breath ; 
 
 There is uo (irain except by loss, 
 
 There is uo life except by death, 
 
 There is uo vision but by Faith, 
 
 Nor ?lory but by bearing shame. 
 
 Nor Justice but by taking blame ; 
 
 And that Eternal Passion saith, 
 
 ' Be emptied of glory and right and name.' 
 
 Olrig Grange. Walter C. Smith. 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOEOUGH STREET. 
 
 1887. 
 
 All right! reserved.
 
 
 TO 
 
 EVAXGELINE JAMESOK 
 
 • Scai'chiug my heart for all that touches you, 
 I find there only love and love's good-will.'
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST YOLFME. 
 
 Chai'. 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 I. 'THE HArriEST MAX IX XAPLES' 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 II. A GOODLY HERITAGE . 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 III. FRAXCESCA 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 IV. A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL . 
 
 
 
 51 
 
 V. A TIIREATEXIXG SKY . 
 
 
 
 76 
 
 VI. THE STORM BREAKS . 
 
 
 
 96 
 
 VII. ' NO ONE BUT YOU ' . 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 VIII. riALE SCHEMES 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 IX. THE OLIVE GARDEN . 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 X. THE ' PILGRIM ' 
 
 
 
 169 
 
 XI. A FIRST ENCOUNTER . 
 
 
 
 193 
 
 XII. A TROUBLED NIGHT . 
 
 
 
 222 
 
 XIII. 'pazienza' 
 
 
 
 243 
 
 XIV. THE NEW BARITONE . 
 
 
 
 261 
 
 XV. A DEAR ADVENTURE . 
 
 
 
 283
 
 KNIGHT- ERRANT, 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 'TTIF. happiest man IX XAPI.F.S/ 
 
 'Tlipy came at a dflirate plain called Ease, wbpvp tlipy 
 went with much content; but that plain was but narrow, 
 so they were quickly got over it.' — Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 * Presto I off with the paper ! let us see how 
 they look I ' exclaimed a fresh, mellow voice. 
 
 ' Permit me, signor,' interposed the Neapoli- 
 tan stationer who presided behind the counter 
 of a shop in the Toledo, and taking the little 
 white packet from the hands of the speaker he 
 slipped the blade of his penknife through the 
 wrapper, drew forth with a flourish one of the 
 cards within, and, bowing and smiling, handed 
 
 VOL. I. IJ
 
 2 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 it to his customer. 'There, signor, and accept 
 with it my sincere congratuhitions.' 
 
 The young man glanced eagerly at tlie card, 
 upon wliich was engraved in copperplate the 
 name, — 
 
 'AvvofATo Carlo Pokuio Doxati.' 
 
 It was to him the sign and symbol of man- 
 hood, of freedom ; it meant that he turned his 
 back upon examinations and tutelage ; it meant 
 that he was at length free to declare the love 
 which for many years had been the great guiding 
 influence of his life. 
 
 *Ah, Signor Pietro,' ho replied, turning to 
 the friendly old shopkeeper with a smile which 
 illumined his whole face ; ' I am the happiest 
 man in Naples to-day ! Come, Enrico, you are 
 not half enough excited ! ' and turning to his 
 friend, who stood beside him watching the scene 
 with good-humoured indifference, he caught a 
 similar little packet from his hand, and, tearing 
 it open, produced a card bearing the name, — 
 
 'AVVOCATO En K ICO RriTKR.' 
 
 Enrico was of German parentage, but the
 
 ' THE HAPPIEST MAN IN NAPLES. 3 
 
 Rittors had lived for luilf-a-ccntury in Naples 
 and were naturalised ; nevertheless, spite of his 
 Italian education, Enrico remained German to 
 the hackbone, and presented in every way a 
 most curious contrast to his friend and com- 
 panion. 
 
 ' Why, devil take the cards ! they're not so 
 much to me as to you,' he exclaimed, with a 
 laugh. 'Signer Pietro does not expect to see 
 me wild with excitement over a trumpery piece 
 of pasteboard.' 
 
 'Most matter-of-fact Enrico! "Where is 
 your imagination?' cried Carlo, laughing. ' Can 
 the magic word Avvocato call up to your German 
 brain no visions of the future?' 
 
 * Visions ! ' grumbled Enrico, with assumed 
 despondency ; ' ay, visions of hot courts, long 
 cases, rusty gowns, and scant fees.' 
 
 Both Carlo and the stationer laughed heartily 
 at the dolorous face of the speaker. 
 
 'Well, Signer Pietro, it was ever the same 
 story ; was it not ? He is prosaic now as when 
 we came to you years ago for note -books and 
 pens on our way from the Ginnasio. But come,
 
 4 KNIGHT-ERTIANT. 
 
 it is getting late ; I must be off, Enrico. Good- 
 day to you, Signor Pictro, and many thanks 
 for 3'oui* congratulations.' 
 
 The two friends left tlie shop and walked 
 on tlirougli the busy, crowded streets to the 
 Piazza del Plebiscite. !More than one passer- 
 by turaed to glance at Carlo's beautiful face ; 
 for, truth to tell, good looks are the exception, 
 not the ride, in Naples, and among the swarthy 
 or sallow Neapolitans his rich, ruddy -brown 
 colouring could not fail to win notice. The 
 face was singularly attractive, not only from 
 the beauty of its well-cut features, but from 
 the unaffected modesty of the expression and 
 the sweetness of the dark, liquid eyes. lie 
 looked what he had termed himself — the hap- 
 piest man in Naples. If in appearance he lacked 
 anything it was height ; but we cannot all be 
 heroes of six feet, and Carlo, though small and 
 slight, was so well proportioned, so lithe and 
 active, so imbued with the grace common to most 
 Italians, that it was impossible to wish for any 
 change in him. lie might that day have stood 
 as a true impersonation of Optimism, while
 
 ' THE lIAlTIEtiT MAN IN NAPLES. 5 
 
 Eurico Hitter, on the other hand, might well 
 have posed as the ideal Pessimist. 
 
 Eni'ico was of the Germans, German ; there 
 was no mistaking that fair, straight hair and 
 moustache, that light colouring and broad face, 
 those small, light -grey eyes, honest, hard, yet 
 with some good - humour in their expression 
 which contradicted the cynical mouth. What 
 had first drawn two such curiously contrasted 
 men together it was imiDossible to say ; scientists 
 might have argued that it was the very fact 
 that they were polar opposites. But, whato\er 
 the cause of their friendship, friends they were 
 in the best sense of the word, and their friend- 
 ship had stood the Avear and tear of (en 
 years. 
 
 By this time they had reached the l*iazza ; 
 the afternoon sun was shining on the red walls 
 of the Palazzo Peale, lighting up the heavy 
 arcades of the San Carlo, glorifying the dome 
 and stateh' front of the Church of S. Francesco 
 di Paolo. It seemed a strange medley of ancient 
 and modern, haunted by memories of King 
 Bomba's cruelties, — haunted by visions of Gari-
 
 G KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 balcH and Curio Poerio, while hither and thilher 
 plied the busy tramcars, and amid a gay throng 
 of people dressed in the latest Parisian fashion 
 there filed slowly past a procession of white- 
 robed monks. 
 
 ' Ten minutes to spare before my horse is 
 ready,' said Carlo, looking at his watch ; ' let 
 us have some coffee ; ' and so saying he led the 
 way into the nearest restaurant. Enrico paused 
 to buy an evening paper, then followed his 
 friend. 
 
 The place was crowded, and there arose a 
 confused babel of voices, a mingling of French, 
 English, and Italian. Carlo had seated himself 
 at one of the small marble tables, and, since 
 Enrico seemed more inclined to read his paper 
 than to talk, was fain to listen to the discus- 
 sion going on between two English tourists 
 close by. 
 
 Possibly they thought themselves practically 
 alone in this foreign assembly ; certainly it did 
 not occur to them that their very Italian-looking 
 neighbour understood and spoke their language 
 as well as his own, for they were talking freely
 
 ' THE HAPPIEST MAN IN NAPLES. 7 
 
 on subjects which Englishmen arc not wont 
 to speak of in public. 
 
 ' Bui, really now,' urged the younger of the 
 two, with some warmth, ' you can't possibly 
 maintain such u notion. Do you think wc are 
 not improved, — vastly improved, in the last two 
 hundred years ?' 
 
 * The increase of civilisation gives us a better 
 appearance, I grant,' said the elder, * but I do 
 not believe the sum total of evil is lessened.' 
 
 Carlo listened attentively, for this dreary 
 doctrine was opposed to his whole nature. 
 
 * Why, turn to history,' exclaimed the younger 
 man, ' see how indifferent people were to suf- 
 fering, and then look at our nineteenth cen- 
 tury, with its innumerable charities, its missions, 
 its hospitals, its guilds.' 
 
 * True, quite true,' said the elder man, quietly; 
 * a wave of philanthropy is passing over us ; 
 there is much talk — even, I admit, much good 
 work, but men are not more willing to live the 
 life of the Crucified.' 
 
 The younger man was silent. Hitherto he 
 had been \cry ready with his replies, now he
 
 8 KXIGHT-EKHAXT. 
 
 fell iuto deep thought. Carlo Douuti, too, was 
 struck by those last words. They broke in 
 very painfully upon his rapturous happiness, 
 his joyful anticipations. He had been spared 
 most of tlie usual doubts and fears of a lover ; 
 ho was practicall}' sure of Francesca Britton's 
 love, and already he had received her father's 
 permission to jiropose to lier. Captain Britton 
 having only stipulated that he should wait till 
 his education was finished. 
 
 Now liis time of probation ^\■as over ; ^^•ithin 
 u few days, nay, perhaps within a few hours, Fran- 
 cesca might be his own. Could he bear on that 
 day, of all others, to dream of tlie possibility of a 
 cloud arising ? Ilis sky was so clear, his life 
 had been so happy and successful, the Aery 
 thought of gathering darkness on the hori/^on 
 was torture to him ; ' Let my happiness last I 
 oh, let it last ! ' was his inward cry, and, as 
 if in answer, there floated back to him the 
 stranger's words, and he knew that they Averc 
 true : * Men are not more willing to live the life 
 of the Crucified.' 
 
 Involuntarilv he turned to •'lance at the
 
 ' THE lIAl'l'IKST MAN IX NAl'LES. \) 
 
 man Avlio liud disturbed his peace, and saw a 
 strong, intellectual face, wliicli, notwithstanding 
 traces of deep thought and hard conflict, bore 
 a calm and tranquil expression. But the con- 
 versation had been checked by those gra\e 
 words, the stranger called the waiter, paid for 
 his coffee, tucked his ' Baedeker ' under his arm, 
 and rose to go. 
 
 Carlo followed him with his eyes as he left 
 the restaurant ; he felt strongly that curious 
 conviction which comes to some people when 
 a stranger has unconsciously influenced them, 
 that in this world, or some other, they will in- 
 fallibly meet again. 
 
 So engrossed had he been Avith the two 
 Englishmen and their talk that he had not 
 heeded his friend. lie had not seen the start 
 of surprise and dismay Avitli which Enrico had 
 noted a paragraph in the l*icco/o. What was 
 there in those brief lines which filled him with 
 apprehension 'f AVhy did he glance with such 
 anxiety and regret at Carlo, and then once again 
 read that unwelcome paragraph ? 
 
 * "NVe understand that the season will be
 
 10 KXIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 commenced at Whitsuntide at the Teatro Mer- 
 cadantc, with the operatic company of Signer 
 Mcrlino. Madame Merlino, whose singing has 
 created a very favourable impression in America, 
 will be the prima donna.' 
 
 All the indifference had vanished now from 
 Enrico's face. A dreadful annoyance awaited 
 his friend, and that it should reach him to-day 
 of all days seemed to him intolerable. He would 
 at any rate do his best to give him a respite, Carlo 
 should at least propose to Miss Britton, and 
 enjoy if it were even but a few hours of un- 
 alloyed happiness. Seizing his opportunity, 
 when his companion turned to watch the 
 Englishmen as they left the restaurant, Enrico 
 tore off the corner containing the unwelcome 
 news, and was about to thrust it into his pocket 
 when Carlo checked him with a question, — 
 ' What is it ? About our examinations !'' ' 
 ' No,' said Enrico, composedly ; ' I saw nothing 
 about them. I only wanted a scrap of paper to 
 wrap up these confounded cards ; thanks to your 
 eagerness to see lliem, tlicy're all loose in my 
 pocket.'
 
 ' THE IIAPriEST MAN IN NAPLES.' 11 
 
 So saying-, he deliberately wrapped the cards 
 in the paper containing the bad news, and pushed 
 the rest of the Piccolo towards his friend. ' Take 
 it home with you if you like, I have done 
 with it.' 
 
 * And I,' said Carlo, laughing, * hope to have 
 little time for it.' He took it nevertheless, stowed 
 it away in his pocket and got up to go. 
 
 ' I'll walk with you as far as the stable,' said 
 Enrico. ' Xow follow my advice and ride home 
 calmly. If you go on in this state of fever you 
 will not be fit for yoiir interview with that stately 
 old Englishman, upon whom you have to make a 
 good impression as future son-in-law.' 
 
 ' Stuff and nonsense ! ' said Carlo, laughing 
 gaily. ' Make an impression, indeed ! Do you 
 forget that we have been next-door neighbours 
 this age, and that he knows me as well as you 
 do?' 
 
 ' An impossibility,' said Enrico, smiling, ' for 
 with me I have taught you, as we say in Ger- 
 many, to be as you arc to yourself. Now with 
 that old English captain you walk as though 
 treading on eggs, you are courteous and defer-
 
 12 KNIGIIT-EKRANT. 
 
 cntial ; you never forget that you hope to be hi.s 
 «oii-in-lu\v, and you'll never quarrel with liiin, — 
 at any rate not until the hope has become a tame 
 reality.' 
 
 The dry, sardonic tone in which this had 
 been spoken, turned Carlo's indignant protest to 
 laughter. 
 
 ' The only toinc on which we are likely to 
 quarrel is politics ; and as he knows nothing of 
 Italian affairs, one needs now and then adroitly 
 to turn the conversation. But don't make me 
 speak against Captain Britton, to-day, ainkv 
 iiu'o.' 
 
 'Ah, poor fellow I' said Enrico, pityingly; 
 ' I knew he would prove the crumpled rose-leaf to 
 destroy your perfect bliss. There is always a 
 father-in-law, or a mother-in-law, or a can- 
 tankerous relative, who kicks up a row about the 
 settlements. Don't you expect the course of 
 your true love to run smooth — that's against 
 nature.' 
 
 As he spoke he glanced rather anxiously at a 
 large hoarding which they were api)roaching, 
 rapidly running his eye over the theatrical
 
 ' THE HAPPIEST MAN IX NAPLES.' 13 
 
 posters, but, much to his relief, the Mercadante 
 bills were not yet out. 
 
 * You are as depressing as a funeral ! ' said 
 Carlo, much tickled by the notion that the sub- 
 stantial Englishman was a crumpled rose-leaf ; 
 ' and, indeed, if I have no worse crook in my lot 
 than Captain Britton, I shall fare Avell. No one 
 conld have been more courteous and helpful to 
 my mother all these years, no one could have 
 been more genial and hospitable to me. Of 
 course we all have our faults.' 
 
 ' Too true ! ' said Enrico, mockingly. ' The 
 Englishman loves a lord, and has an eye to the 
 main chance, and knows that you are heir to a 
 certain rich uncle, and that unless the money is 
 secured and tied up in the orthodox English 
 fashion, it will all be flung away upon " Yoimg 
 Italy," or some hare-brained scheme for educating 
 organ-grinders. ' 
 
 * If we were not in the public street I would 
 punish you well ! ' cried Carlo. ' There never was 
 such a fellow for imputing low motives to all 
 the world.' 
 
 ' Well, well, rail at me as you like,' said
 
 14 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Enrico, indifferently ; ' but as yet I have never 
 found myself at fault in assuming that egoism 
 rules the imiverse. Ah, your horse is waiting for 
 you, I see, and the ostler tries to look hot and 
 tired to cajole a large coin from you. A rive- 
 derci ! But I advise you to avoid Naples for the 
 next few days ; don't come to me for sympathy 
 in 3'our rapture, for I've not the smallest doubt 
 that love is egoism, and marriage is egoism, 
 and ■' 
 
 ' You are incorrigible ! ' cried Carlo, as he 
 mounted the beautiful Arab which was waiting 
 for him. 'I'll not wait to hear you out.' And, 
 with a wave of the hand, he rode off, looking 
 back laughingly at the interrupted egoist, who, 
 with a shrug of the shoulders, turned away. 
 
 And yet it was something quite other than 
 egoism which brought a grave look to Enrico's 
 face as he walked home through the sunny 
 streets. Suddenly perceiving an upright, alert- 
 looking old man on the opposite side of the way, 
 he crossed the road and hastened after him. 
 
 * Pardon me, Signor Pialc I ' he exclaimed, 
 * but may I ask you a question ? You are pro-
 
 ' THE HArPIEST MAN IN NAPLES.' 15 
 
 bably acquainted with all that is going on in the 
 musical world. Is this true that I see to-day in 
 the Piccolo ? Is Merlino's Company really com- 
 ing to the Mereadante ? ' 
 
 ' Diaroh ! it is true enough, more's the pity,' 
 replied the old man ; * but I have not said a word 
 of it to my puj^il. Carlo is over-sensitive, he felt 
 that affair too much ; only of late has he seemed 
 to have forgotten it somewhat. He is one whose 
 life should have been exempt from shadows.' 
 
 ' I shoidd have thought common decency 
 would have kept Merlino away from jSTaples,' said 
 Enrico, hotly. 
 
 * Merlino does not care a fig for common 
 decency,' said the old musician. ' He is no credit 
 to our profession. Probably he knows well 
 enough that the Merlino-Donati scandal is just 
 fresh enough in men's minds to make his operas 
 draw well.' 
 
 ' Let us, at least, do our best to keep back the 
 ill news as long as possible,' said Enrico ; * it will 
 be a frightful annoyance to Carlo just now, and I 
 do believe it will be the death of his mother.' 
 
 * 'Tis always the innocent who suffer for the
 
 IG KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 guilty,' said the old Ringing-master, giving a 
 fierce nib to his parchment-like cheek. ' If ever 
 there was one who deserved to be free from care, 
 why it is Carlo ; there are but few now-a-days 
 who could show so blameless a life.' 
 
 * You speak very truly,' said Enrico. ' Tiet us 
 hope his blameless life will weigh with worthy 
 Captain Britton, and prove heavier than the 
 family skeleton.'
 
 17 
 
 ClIAl'TEE II. 
 
 A GOODLY HEIUTACJE. 
 
 ' It is I'.ut best in an inglorious easo 
 To sink and dull content, 
 AVlien -nild revolts and hopeless miseries 
 The unquiet nations fill ; 
 
 Nay, best it is indeed 
 To spend ourselves upon the jzeneral good ; 
 And, oft misunderstood, 
 
 To strive to lift the knees and limbs that bleed. 
 This is the Ijest, the fullest meed, 
 Jiet ignorance assail or hatred sneer 
 AVho loves his race he sliall not fear ; 
 1 le suffers not for long, 
 
 AVho dotli his soul possess in loving, and grows strong.* 
 Lkavis Morris. 
 
 Till-: old .singing-inastor liad not exaggerated 
 matters. Though inclined to see everything 
 connected Avith his favourite pupil through rose- 
 coloured spectacles, his words were in this in- 
 stance strictly true. Carlo had passed scathless 
 lliroughall the temptations of Neapolitan life; hi-i 
 history would bear the full light of day ; it was 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 KNIGHT-KKIJANT. 
 
 impossible to imagine any one more strietly 
 liououiable, more simple and open-minded. Ikit 
 then, eertainly, Xature hud been to bim almost 
 prodigal in her gifts. To begin Avith, he came of 
 a good family, and that not in the vulgar ac- 
 ceptation of the word. The Donati were not of 
 noble birth, but for five or six generations they 
 had been well educated, and had earned quite an 
 unusual reputation in the various learned profes- 
 sions which they had followed. Faults of temper 
 or of judgment they might have shown, but no 
 Donati had ever been guilty of an act of meanness, 
 nor had there been in any one of them a single 
 grain of insincerity. To belong to a family 
 which has earned well-deserved respect, to be 
 able to look back upon forefathers who ha\ e li\ed 
 \vell and bravely, to know that before you existed 
 your father, and his father before him, spoke for 
 freedom and pleaded the cause of the people, this 
 is indeed a birthright worth having. An inher- 
 itance of money may or may not be a desirable 
 thing, but an inheritance of character, an an- 
 cestry of generous, true-hearted men, who did 
 justly, and loved mercy, and wallced humbly Muth
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 19 
 
 tlicir God, this is a tiling that kings might 
 covet. 
 
 Carlo had undoubtedly inherited a noble cha- 
 raeter, or rather had inherited certain tendencies, 
 and as yet, by his life, had heli)ed to develope, 
 not to arrest, their growth. 
 
 At the close of the last century there had 
 been born a certain Bruno Donati. People had 
 prophesied great things of him ; he had estab- 
 lished, Avith almost unheard-of rapidity, a great 
 reputation as an advocate, he had married a 
 beautiful heiress, he was assuredly a man who 
 Avould 'rise' — so said the world, lie did rise, 
 but not in the way predicted. Regardless of 
 his reputation, regardless of self altogether, he 
 joined the patriot party who Avere struggling to 
 overthrow the hated tyranny of the Xeapolitan 
 Bourbons. liCaAing his home, and taking a 
 tender farewell of his Avife and his little children, 
 he set oft' one June morning for Cilento, the place 
 AA'hich had been chosen for a small rising. At 
 first a certain measure of success encouraged the 
 patriots ; they Avere able to take the little fort of 
 Palinuro, and to hoist the tricoloured flag.
 
 2U KXIGIIT-KIUJANT. 
 
 lUit those brave pioneers knew well that they 
 were taking their lives in their hands. They had 
 aehieved a success which must draw the attention 
 of the whole country ujion them. In hot haste 
 General Delcaretto was sent down to attack them 
 with six thousand men, and no mercy was shown. 
 Twenty of the patriots were shot without trial ; 
 twenty-six others, and amongst them Brmio 
 Donati, were executed. The young advocate had, 
 as it seemed, sacrificed his life for a hopeless 
 cause ; he was never again to return to his 
 beautiful home, but General Delcaretto caused 
 his head to be paraded in front of the house 
 before the eyes of his widow and his fatherless 
 shildren. Then, when the people had been 
 ruined, a commune or two suppressed, and the 
 insurrection completely stamped out, the General 
 returned to Naples to be rewarded for his gal- 
 lantry by receiving the title of Marquis, a decora- 
 tion of a knightly order, and a pension. 
 
 Bruno Donati's widow did not die mitil she 
 had educated her two sons, and had seen that the 
 younger one, also Bruno, was likely to be just 
 such a man as his father. »She did not realise
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 21 
 
 how much alike the story of tlio two Brunos 
 woukl be. 
 
 Both sons followed their father's profession, 
 but the younger one was so much engrossed in the 
 revolutionary movement of the time that he did 
 not make much way in it. Instead of so doinfj, 
 he joined 'Young- Italy,' studied deeply under 
 the guidance of Mazzini, and at length enrolled 
 himself in Garibaldi's gallant little army. 
 
 Carlo's earliest recollections were of a hot 
 August day in the year 186:2. lie, as a little 
 fellow, had sat beside his mother in a carriage 
 outside the post-office at Pozzuoli, and some one 
 had brought them the news of Garibaldi's defeat 
 at Aspromonte, and with tliat the tidings tliat 
 Bnmo Donati was dangerously wounded. Carlo 
 coidd even now see vividly his mother's deathly 
 face as she read the news, could remember his 
 puzzled wonder as to what it all meant, and 
 whether it could possibly be that his father would 
 never return. 
 
 But the second Bruno Donati was in some 
 ways happier than his father ; he was brought 
 back from Aspromonte to his own home, where
 
 22 KNIGIIT-EllKAXT. 
 
 he lingered for a month — a niontli Avhicli proved 
 of extraordinary value in his son's education. The 
 child was too young to feel his father's death as a 
 life-long grief, but he was just old enough to 
 carry away from that death-bed a beautiful and 
 unfading memory. Upon his childish brain was 
 stamped the conviction that to die for ,' La 
 Pdtn'a ' was a very happy thing, that the sacrifice 
 of self for others was the only true greatness, 
 and that even such a failure as Aspromonte was 
 not to be accounted failure — tliat right could 
 not fail in the long run. ' Pazicnza .' pnzirnza ." 
 was the word constantly on the lips of the 
 dying patriot — the Avord wliich always connected 
 itself with his memory in the mind of his 
 son. On Bruno Donati's dying face there had 
 been that ' look of faith in renunciation ' whicli 
 was stamped upon the face of his teacher, ^faz- 
 zini, and the look lived on in the child's heart. 
 
 'Carlino/ his father had said tenderly, on the 
 very last day of his life, — ' Carlino niio, thou wilt 
 be a man one day.' 
 
 * How nice it will be when I am a man like 
 you, father I' cried the boy eagerly.
 
 A GOODLY IIEraTAGE. 23 
 
 The dying man smiled sadly. 
 ' Remember ahvays to comfort and shield th}' 
 mother ; and Xita — take good care of Nita.' 
 
 * Why, father, Nita is older than I am, n 
 whole year older ! ' exclaimed the child. 
 
 ' ]iut Xita is a woman, and my Carlo must 
 be her brave protector ; promise me that, my 
 son.' 
 
 * I promise, father,' said the little fellow, 
 squeezing the cold hand that clasped his. ' And 
 father, dear father, T may have your sword, may 
 I not ? You'll not leave it to Uncle Guido, who 
 has one already ? For if I have it, father, then I 
 coidd fight the brigands if they took Nita ; could 
 I not?' 
 
 The dying man smiled, touched by the in- 
 nocent literalness of the reply. He caught Cai'lo 
 to his breast, holding liim in a long, close 
 embrace. 
 
 * Why, father, I do believe you'll soon be 
 well I ' cried the boy, gleefully, feeling the power 
 of those strong arms round him. He did not 
 know that a sudden strength is often death's 
 forerunner.
 
 24 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 And in a sense he little meant his words 
 came true, for hv the next morning the second 
 Bruno Donati liad entered into tlio martyr's 
 rest, and it was ' well ' with him. 
 
 After this Carlo's life had heen uneventful ; 
 the recollection of his father did not sadden him, 
 on the contrar}', it raised and stimulated him. 
 For an Italian boy he had an unusually free and 
 healthy life ; his mother could never make up 
 her mind to leave the country-house where they 
 had been passing their viUeggiatura during that 
 summer of 1862, and in which her husband had 
 died. They lived all the year round at the Villa 
 Bruno, and a kindly old priest at Pozzuoli taught 
 the boy until he was old enough to go in owvy 
 day to the Ginnmio at Naples. 
 
 Plere he entered into his lifelong friendship 
 with Enrico Hitter, and learnt much through 
 his intercourse with the German family, whose 
 house became his head-quarters when he was in 
 Naples. The Hitters, deeming the country life 
 dull for the boy, were constantly inviting him to 
 stay with Ihcni, and giving him brief snatches of 
 gaiety. Nominally Lutherans, the worthy Ger-
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 25 
 
 mans wero practically materialists, and it was 
 largely oAving to his visits at the Hitters that 
 Carlo first became dissatisfied with the religion 
 in which his mother had educated him. Equally 
 was he dissatisfied with the conventional accept- 
 ance of Christianity and the real scejiticism whicli 
 prevailed in the Hitter household. For a year or 
 two ho puzzled his brain over the vexed question ; 
 finally he took the decisive step and resolved to 
 go no more to church. This caused much pain 
 to his mother and to his old friend, Father 
 Cristoforo ; and though ]}lunging deeply into 
 that sort of worship at the shrine of beautiful 
 Nature whicli is the reaction from formalism, 
 he felt a want in his life. 
 
 Shortly before this a house close to the Villa 
 Bruno, which for some years had been un- 
 tenanted, had been taken by an Englishman 
 named Captain Britton. He had just lost his 
 wife; and the home at San Remo, Avhere his chil- 
 dren had been born, and to which he had re- 
 turned year by j-ear when off duty, had grown 
 intolerable to him. He retired from the service, 
 and, taking a fancy to the neighbourhood of
 
 2G KXIGIIT ERRANT. 
 
 Naples, Bettled down at Casa Bella, and made 
 up his mind to live and die there, lie had only 
 two ohildren — Franeesca, a heautiful (r'u'l about a 
 year young-er than Carlo — so named after an 
 Italian friend of the family — and Sibyl, a fairy- 
 like little child of two years old. Miss Clare- 
 mont, Francesea's governess, or, as everyone called 
 lier, ' Clare,' had the management of the house, 
 and it was largely owing to her that a very close 
 intimacy soon sprang up between the two neigh- 
 bouring families. 
 
 Carlo and Franeesca were at first not of an 
 age for falling in love. They became fast friends, 
 and Carlo in his rather lonely life ^\as enchanted 
 to find that the English girl was allowed almost 
 unlimited freedom. She was wholly unlike his 
 convent-bred sister, who, since her mother was 
 an invalid, was allowed to come home now and 
 then for a day or two. Nita was beautiful, and 
 sang like an angel, and was a devout little 
 Catholic, and did her best to teach him the 
 error of his ways. lUit, to save her life, Xita 
 could not have been a companion in his games. 
 Xow Franeesca, though no hoyden, was in the
 
 A GOODLY IIKEITAGE. 27 
 
 matter of games as good as a boy. Slic was not 
 above climbing trees or running races, she ex- 
 celled at rounders, she even initiated him into 
 the mysteries of cricket, enlisting tlie services 
 of Clare and the gardeners. 
 
 Then nothing would do but he must teach 
 her to row, and many were the happy hours they 
 spent on the sea together, sometimes with Clare 
 in the stern, sometimes with little Sibyl and her 
 nurse, sometimes with old Florestano, the fisher- 
 man, who would tell them quaint legends of 
 saints, or mermaids, or ghosts, in all of whicli 
 he believed equally. Sometimes they woidd go 
 oyster-catching in Lake Fusaro, or, with Clare 
 as a delightful third, would scramble about in 
 the Acropolis at Cumo?, seeking to make fresh 
 discoveries. Or they woidd play hide-and-seek 
 in the Grotto della Pace, or act thrilling brigand 
 stories, or dig and search in field or vineyard, 
 and perhaps stumble across the remains of an old 
 Roman villa or the ruins of a temple, hidden 
 away by the straggling green growth. 
 
 Those were happy days for all of them. 
 Carlo before long formed for !Miss Claremont
 
 29> KXIGHT-ERnAXT. 
 
 that sort of reverential, half-worsliippmg friend- 
 ship and admiration which is not uncommon 
 between boys of his age and middle-aged women. 
 And Clare was a friend worth having. She 
 influenced people chiefly by loving them ; you 
 never felt with her that she was trying to doctor 
 you, or to improve your moral or spiritual health. 
 She discussed many things with Carlo, listened 
 to his crude, half-fledged ideas with the utmost 
 patience, and would no more have smiled at them 
 or treated them contemptuously than a woman 
 would smile with contempt as she watches the 
 staggering steps of a baby beginning to walk 
 alone. 
 
 Clare sympathised much with the difficidties 
 of his position ; she saw that his deeply religious 
 Italian nature would never rest content in its 
 present isolation. 
 
 ' Do you never feel the need of worshipping ? ' 
 she asked him one day, 
 
 ' Yes,' he replied, * but one need not bo 
 within the walls of a church to do that ; a boat 
 at sea, or an olive-grove, are more to my taste.' 
 
 Just at that time he was the least bit proud
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 29 
 
 of liming sliaken himself free from the bondage 
 of Romanism, a fact which was quite patent to 
 Clare, and pro\cd to her how perilous was his 
 state. 
 
 ' xVnd yet,' she urged, ' I should have thought 
 that you — a follower of Mazzini — would ha\c 
 had a strong faith in Association.' 
 
 The words struck home, unpleasantly con- 
 vincing Carlo that he had been rapturoiisly 
 hugging a thing which he called Freedom, and 
 that it was but an illusion more worthy to be 
 called Isolation. 
 
 * I don't know where to turn to I ' he ex- 
 claimed, chafed by a remark which had disturbed 
 his peace, and proved it to be false. 
 
 * Are you trying to find out the best place i' ' 
 she asked quietly. 
 
 He was silent, and Clare, who had the rare 
 tact to know when she had said enough, changed 
 the subject. 
 
 But the very next Sunday he astonished her 
 by asking leave to join their party and drive in 
 to the English chiu'ch at Naples with them. 
 His total absence of false shame, and the
 
 30 KNIGIIT-KRHANT. 
 
 ingenuous humility >vhieli could thus tacitly 
 own itself in the wrong, promptly and publicly 
 following the suggestion of a woman, were 
 thoroughly Italian. Clare reflected that an 
 Englishman would have allowed a week or t^o 
 to pass by, in order to prove that he came of 
 his own free will and not at the instigation of 
 another ; or would, perhai)s, have toiled over on 
 foot in the early morning, slinking in at the 
 back of the church, in terror lest people should 
 comment on the amendment of his ways. 
 
 After a time he formally joined the Engl is] i 
 Church. Of course he had some ojiposition to 
 encounter ; but though his old friend the i)riest 
 shook his head sorrowfully, and though his 
 mother shed tears, and though the Ritters 
 chaffed him good-humouredly, his happiness was 
 too great to be marred by such things ; besides 
 they all loved him so well that they soon par- 
 doned the obnoxious step which he had taken, 
 and did their best to forget that he was not as 
 they Avere. 
 
 A few months after this the first shadow 
 fell upon Carlo's perfect felicity. It was sud-
 
 A GOODLY IIEKITAGE. 31 
 
 (leiily arnmgecl that the Britton houschohl shouhl 
 luig-nitc to Euglaud for a year. An aunt of 
 Franecsca's had just died, and some one Avas 
 urgently needed to look after the motherless 
 children. "NVho so fit for such a task as Clare ? 
 and though she would fain have lived on in 
 that happy Italian home, she could not linger 
 there when needed in another place, and at any 
 rate she should have her children for yet another 
 year. That helped to break the parting. Captain 
 Britton -was glad for a time to he with his 
 brother, and a year of English life, in which to 
 finish Francesca's rather unconventional educa- 
 tion, was deemed a good idea by all. So once 
 more Casa Bella was silent and deserted, and 
 Carlo was left to his own devices. 
 
 It was just at this time that IS'ita returned 
 from her convent. A great change was at once 
 effected in the peacefulness of the Villa Bruno, 
 for the girl, while retaining enough of her 
 religious education to nudce her jjersecute her 
 heretic brother with endless arguments and 
 remonsti-ances, was yet so wearied of its strict 
 restraint that she broke out into violent reaction
 
 32 knigiit-p:rrant. 
 
 and tj'rtiunised over her mother, much a.s she 
 herself had till now been tyrannised over. 
 
 The Signora Donati was an invalid ; she had 
 never recovered from the cruel shock of her 
 husband's death, nor had she at any time been 
 noted for strength of character. Carlo had 
 been too loyal ever to take advantage of this ; 
 her slightest wish had been to him a command, 
 and the two had idolised each other. But some- 
 how it happened that Nita coming home from 
 her convent felt like an intruder ; she could 
 not find a niche for herself in the home, and, 
 measuring the hearts of otlier people by hvv own, 
 fancied she was not cared for. Perliaps her 
 mother did show a little too mai-kcdly that Carlo 
 was her favourite ; but then it really was diffi- 
 cult not to love the son who treated lier with 
 such tenderness, such respectful devotion, some- 
 what better than the daughter, who sought for 
 nothing but her own amusement, and never 
 voluntarily performed for her the slightest 
 ser^'ice. 
 
 It was also, perhaps, true that Carlo did 
 not greatly care for his .sister, at any rate she
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 33 
 
 tried his temper severely. He was impaticut 
 with her aggnivatiug little displays of piety, 
 her deep genuflexions, her paraded fasts, lie 
 was eonstantly detecting lier in petty deceits, 
 and once, after some worse specimen of duplicity 
 than usual, he had angrily iipbraidcd her. 
 
 * You are not fit to hear the name of 
 Donati,' he cried hotly, his boyish sense of 
 honour deeply wounded, and his famil}- pride 
 hurt to find that Nita was no better than the 
 rest of the world. 
 
 * Perhaps I shall not bear it much longer ! * 
 she retorted angrily. 
 
 And those words hamited poor Carlo for 
 many a year. For, not long after, all Naples 
 rang with the news that Anita Donati had eloped 
 with her singing -'master, a certain basso who 
 had been engaged that winter at the San Carloi 
 
 Fortunately the Villa Bruno was far a^'ay 
 in the country, and the Signora too great an 
 invalid to go into society. She could bear her 
 agony in solitude, and was not obliged to wear 
 a mask and go about as though nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 VOL. I, V
 
 34 KNIGHT-EHRANT. 
 
 But Carlo was iu the thick of the fray, he 
 had to h'sten to Uncle Guido's indignant denun- 
 ciations, he had to bear the brunt of the endless 
 questions of the outsiders, had to endure the 
 bitter consciousness that his sister's name was 
 being bandied about in the city, and that, for 
 the first time, a Donati had incurred well-merited 
 blame. 
 
 Since then nothing had been heard of Anita, 
 except that about a week after her flight she had 
 forwarded to her mother a newspaper with the 
 announcement of her marriage. But the Signora 
 Donati never recovered from the shock, nor could 
 she ever forgive herself, for she rightly felt that 
 had her relations with her daughter been happier 
 such a thing could never have happened. 
 
 Five years had gone by since then, and Time 
 had passed his quieting hand over both grief and 
 disgrace. Certainly Carlo felt nothing but happi- 
 ness — unalloyed happiness — as he rode home 
 from Naples that simny spring day. He knew 
 nothing of that ominous little paragraph torn out 
 of the Piccolo, but galloped on over the white, 
 dusty road, past fields of Indian corn, past oKve-
 
 A GOODLY HERITAGE. 35 
 
 gardens and vineyards, through the long, dark 
 grotto of Posilipo, and on towards the jDicturesquc 
 little southern town of Pozzuoli. lie scarcely 
 noticed all the heauty round him ; he could see 
 nothing but the face of his dreams ; and the 
 very horse-hoofs flying over the road seemed to 
 repeat again and again the Avord, ' Francesca ! 
 Franccsca I Francesca ! '
 
 36 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FKANCESCA. 
 
 ' ^lortal ! if life .'iiiile on tlico, and tbou find 
 All to thy mind, 
 ThinL", "Who did once from Heaven to Hell descend 
 
 Thee to befriend ; 
 So shaU thou dare forego, at His dear call, 
 Thy best, thine all.' — Keblk. 
 
 "Will].]-: Carlo rode back from Naples, and while 
 Signor Morlino and his operatic company steamed 
 between the Pillars of Hercules into the blue 
 Mediterranean, Francesca Britton sat in a little 
 stone belvedere in the garden of Casa 33ella, from 
 time to time raising her eyes from her needle- 
 work to glance at that same blue Mediterranean, 
 or at the lovely moimtains in Ischia, which were 
 plainly visible through the arched doorway. 
 
 Beautiful as a child, Francesca was more than 
 beautiful in early womanhood — she was lovely. 
 It was not alone that the outline of cheeks and 
 chin was, perfect, that the no.sc was finely
 
 FRAXCESCA. 37 
 
 chiscllod, that tlio masses of dark hair drawn 
 back from the white forehead were rich and 
 wavy ; all this might be set down in black and 
 white without conveying the faintest idea of wliat 
 she was. And in truth this had happened over 
 and over again ; the photographers had done 
 what they could, but had failed grievously. 
 Photography could not give the ineffable charm 
 of her ever- varying expression, the depth and 
 sweetness of her dark-grey e^'es, the dimple in 
 her cheek, which seemed indeed the sign and 
 symbol of her sunshiny nature. It could not 
 convey the least notion of her shy grace, of her 
 delicate purity, or of that keen sense of humour 
 which sparkled so deliciously in her home -life. 
 Outsiders sometimes deemed the beautiful Eng- 
 lish girl cold and distant, and a country life had 
 tended to increase her natural shyness ; but even 
 had she lived in the midst of the fashionable 
 world, Francesca Britton never could have been 
 thoroughly known out of her own circle, — she 
 was one of those who keep their best for their 
 own. 
 
 She was roused from a reverie by seeing
 
 38 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 a little miniature of herself fiyino; down the 
 straight, sunny walk which led to the summer- 
 house, bordered on either side by azaleas glow- 
 ing with crimson blossom, and tall, white 
 oleanders. 
 
 * Dino sent me,' panted the little girl, — ' Dino 
 sent me with this for father. "Where is father ? 
 They thought he was out here. And only fancy ! 
 Dino says, Fran dear, that Carlo came and rang 
 the bell just like a visitor, and handed in his 
 card. Think of Carlo ringing the belli' 
 
 And Sibyl broke into a peal of laughter as 
 she skipped about the summer-house. Iler sister 
 let her needlework fall, and taking the card, 
 glanced at it, smiling and blushing in a way that 
 would have enraptured anyone but unobservant 
 Sibyl. 
 
 * Dino, he is nodding, and smiling, and look- 
 ing so fuimy ! ' continued the little girl ; ' and he 
 says Carlo has perhaps come a-courting, but he 
 won't tell me what it means. "What is courting, 
 Fran ? Anything to do with the new tennis- 
 court ? ' 
 
 ' 'Tis a game which you play for love, Sibyl
 
 FrvAXCESCA. 39 
 
 dear. There, run and take the card to father, he 
 is down in the orange-grove.' 
 
 The little messenger flew off again on her 
 errand, and Francesca sat musing, smiling to her- 
 self every now and then as she thought of the 
 beloved name with its novel prefix. Carlo an 
 * Avvocato ; ' it was too funny ! And how like 
 him to send in his card and be shown into the 
 drawing-room so ceremoniously, instead of, as 
 usual, just Icajjing over the hedge of prickly pear 
 which divided the gardens of Casa Bella and 
 Villa Bruno. Then delicious tremours, that were 
 neither hope nor fear, ran tlirough her, and her 
 heart beat fast and loud. She could bear the 
 stillness no longer, and, rising, she left the 
 sunmicr-house and Avalkcd down the path be- 
 tween the oleanders and the azaleas. All at once 
 quick footsteps fell upon her ear ; then, through 
 the trees, she caught sight of the lithe, graceful 
 figure so familiar to her. Ah ! how foolish she 
 was. Had they not been the best of friends for 
 years and years ? Why could she not go and 
 meet him naturally to-day ? Scolding herself 
 roundly, she stopped because her feet refused to
 
 40 KXTCnT-EKT^AXT. 
 
 advance another step, and, with fingers which 
 trembled visibly, tried to break off a spray of the 
 crimson flowers. 
 
 ' It is too stiff for you I ' exchiimcd Carlo, 
 turning the corner and hurrying towards her. 
 
 'No, no!' she protested, laughing; 'you al- 
 ways misdoubt my powers;' and putting force 
 upon her unruly fingers she broke off the spray. 
 * Here is a buttonhole for the " Avvocato," with 
 his friend's congratulations.' 
 
 ' The " A^^'ocato " is not content, he craves 
 something more,' said Carlo, smiling. 
 
 ' Very well ; old playmates must not stand on 
 ceremony,' she said gaily, Avell pleased that she 
 had regained her self-possession ; ' come to the 
 belvedere, and I will put some maidenhair witli 
 it.' 
 
 The}- walked together up the path, Francesca 
 pausing to pluck two or three pieces from a 
 jungle of maidenhair growing about the old 
 stones. 
 
 'There!' she exclaimed as they sat down 
 in the cool little arbour while she twisted the 
 ferns among the flowers ; * now are you content ?'
 
 FRANCESCA. 41 
 
 * Xot quite,' lie said ; ' I am clumsy, you will 
 put them iu for me.' 
 
 She fasteuecl the flowers in his coat, and again 
 her tiresome fingers began to tremble. Carlo, 
 blessing the sight, snatched her hand in his and 
 kissed it passionatel}-. 
 
 ' Francesca, forgive me ! ' he cried, ' I could 
 wait no longer; you will not grudge me that 
 one kiss. My darling, my darling, I have waited 
 such years for you ! ' 
 
 His face, glowing with love, and devotion, 
 and eager hope, Avas raised to hers. She only saw 
 it for a moment, for something made a mist rise 
 before her e3'es, and Avhen she could see clearly 
 again she did not dare to meet his gaze ; she 
 looked instead out at the blue ISIediterranean. 
 
 * I have loved you, Francesca, since you came 
 back from England, — since 3'ou came and brought 
 light and happiness to us after that dark time. I 
 told your father, — begged him to let me speak to 
 j'ou, and he bade me wait. I have waited nearly 
 five years, Francesca, and, oh ! at times I scarcely 
 knew how to trust myself here. Again and again 
 I almost broke my word ; but now your father
 
 42 KNIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 gives mc leave to come to you, to confess my love. 
 ^ly darling, look at me, — speak to me ! ' 
 
 She turned and gazed right into his eager, 
 wistful eyes, a long, sweet, steadfast look ; then 
 her lij^s began to quiver a little, but thought 
 better of it and smiled instead. 
 
 'What do you want me to say?' 
 
 * Say,' he cried eagerly, * say, " I will try to 
 love you." ' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' I can never say that,' she replied, and once 
 more looked out seawards. 
 
 But the vehemence, the fire of his Italian 
 nature, half frightened her. Desj^air was written 
 on his face, despair rang in his voice, he did not 
 pause one moment to reflect. 
 
 * Francesca ! Francesca ! ' he cried, ' don't tell 
 me I have come too late. My love ! my love ! 
 I can't live without 3-ou. Unsay that " never." * 
 
 Grieved beyond measure that words so play- 
 fully meant should have called forth such a 
 tropical outburst, she wreathed her arms about 
 his neck, and pressed her face to his. 
 
 ' Carlo )i)io,'' she sobbed, ' don't break mv heart
 
 FRANCESCA. 43 
 
 by misunclorstanding rae, I can never try to love 
 you — because — because — I love you already.' 
 
 The deptli of love and tenderness in her voice, 
 the sweet abandonment of her manner — more 
 really maidenly in its perfect sincerity than any 
 coyness or hesitation — all this heightened to bliss 
 Carlo's rapture of love. The momentary mistake, 
 the cloud-shadow that had threatened his sky, 
 made the sunshine all the more exquisite. Ke 
 coidd not speak a word, but onlj^ clasped her close 
 in the long sweet embrace which symbolised their 
 betrothal. 
 
 ' My own ! ' he murmured at last. ' My own, 
 you gave me one terrible minute. To be without 
 you, Francesca, that Avould bo to be crucified !' 
 
 lie did not definitel}' think of the talk be- 
 tween the two Englishmen, but the thought 
 suggested that afternoon had sunk deep into his 
 mind, and the agonj^ of the brief mistake gave 
 the emphatic utterance of that last word a ten- 
 fold power. Francesca breathed fast ; Love un- 
 folded to her his wonderful face, hitherto veiled ; 
 she was awed by the thought of the immortal 
 passion, the undying devotion of her lover. The
 
 44 KXIGITT-ET^RAXT. 
 
 strengtli and sacrcdncss of that la.st word he had 
 used, filled her lioart with a wondering love and 
 hnmility. His happiness, his life, was in her 
 keeping. And hers in his. ^[ortal man could 
 never hear the strain of the one thought without 
 the sujiport of the other. 
 
 After a 's\hilc they began to weave golden 
 visions of the future ; Carlo suggesting one place 
 and another, for which he thought she had a 
 fancy ; a certain ideal nook, called Quisisana, on 
 the other side of Xaj^les, where once, years before, 
 she had said she would like to build a house if 
 someone would but leave her a fortune ; a pretty 
 villa at Posilipo, which she used to admire. It 
 touched her to see how he remembered all her 
 careless, girlish speeches, and had treasured them 
 up for years. 
 
 * Ah,' she said, smiling, ' I xised to think place 
 would make such a difference ; but now. Carlo 
 mio, I don't care one bit. Wo will make a home 
 in the wilderness, if it so pleases you, or at 
 Naples, in a corner of an old palace — 'tis all 
 one to me so long as we are together.' 
 
 He drew her vet closer to him. They went
 
 FRANCESCA. 45 
 
 Oil weaving tlieir plans unconscious of a small 
 sprite approaching the summer-house. Sibyl 
 stood composedly in the door'svay for a moment, 
 quite unnoticed by the lovers. 
 
 * Oh ! ' she ejaculated at length, ' is that the 
 game ? ' 
 
 Ilcr perplexed and rather disappointed look 
 •was most comical. 
 
 * What game ? ' asked Francesca, laughing 
 and blushing. 
 
 * The game you said people played for love ! ' 
 
 * Yes, this is it,' said Carlo, laughing immode- 
 rately. 
 
 * Is that all ? ' exclaimed the sprite, in a tone 
 of deep disappointment. 
 
 They only laughed. 
 
 '"Well, for my part,' said Sibyl, ■\vho had 
 caught many old-fashioned little phrases from 
 living always with grown-up people, * for ray 
 part, I think it's very dull.' 
 
 She ran off. Carlo •watched her out of sight, 
 smiling at her quaint disapproval. 
 
 * She will miss you, poor little one,' he said at 
 last.
 
 46 KNIGHT-ERKANT. 
 
 * Yes, that would be one reason for not going 
 far away. And your mother, Carlo ! IIow selfish 
 of me not to remember her ! You must never be 
 parted from her — never.' 
 
 ' You will be to her in the place of Nita,' said 
 Carlo. * You will comfort her as I have never 
 been able to do.' 
 
 And so once again they plunged into the 
 golden glories of the future. Clare must be per- 
 suaded to come back again, and take Sibyl in 
 charge, and their paradise should be the Villa 
 Bruno, already dear to them through many 
 associations. That plan would obviate all diffi- 
 culties, and render partings unnecessary ; would 
 be the happiest jilan for others as well as for 
 themselves. 
 
 * And we must not be selfish in our happi- 
 ness,' said Francesco. 
 
 ' Xo,' he replied, smiling as he remembered 
 his friend's parting words, ' we will prove to 
 Enrico Hitter that love is not selfishness, and 
 that egoism does not rule the world, as he 
 thinks.' 
 
 A gong sounding within the house warned
 
 FRAXCESCA. 47 
 
 Carlo tliat he ought to go. Together thc\' left 
 the little stone summer-house and -wandered 
 through the lovely garden, — a garden wholly un- 
 English. The scorching sun would not admit of 
 lawns, hut nevertheless there was a great charm 
 in the straight, shady Avalks, with here and there 
 an umbrella-pine, or a tall and sombre cyj)ress 
 mingling with limes, chestnuts, and camphor- 
 trees. A long colonnade of white pillars was 
 festooned from end to end with honeysuckle ; 
 vines linked together the bushy mulberry-trees ; 
 Indian corn grew green and ribbon-like beneath ; 
 while about all was that delicious sweetness only 
 to be met with in the gardens of Italy. The 
 house was solid and unpretentious, its whiteness 
 relieved by masses of the feathery green pepper- 
 tree, and a glory of climbing red geranium. 
 Captain Britton sat in the loggia, which was 
 wreathed with white roses. lie looked up smiling 
 as he saw the two drawing iiear, then came 
 forward to bestow a kiss upon his daughter and a 
 hearty hand-shake upon his future son-in-law. 
 He was a large-limbed, strong-looking man, 
 somewhat hcavilv built, with sciuity grey hair
 
 48 KNIGIIT-EimANT. 
 
 and wliiskers, and a broad smiling mouth. In 
 manner he was kiudly, genial, and patronising. 
 But, spite of some surface faults, he was a 
 thoroughly good-hearted man, and there "vvas no 
 mistaking his genuine hosintality and anxiety to 
 help his friends. If Carlo occasionally winced 
 beneath his benign patronage, or was provoked to 
 anger by some show of insular prejudice, such 
 trifles were soon forgotten in the recollection of 
 the thousand acts of kindness shown both to 
 his mother and to himself by the neighbourly 
 Englishman. And then the Donati were pro- 
 verbially susceptible, and Carlo had long been on 
 his guard, and had schooled himself into thinking 
 that the small discords and jarring notes which 
 now and then occurred in the intercourse with 
 the Brittons were really owing to his own ultra- 
 sensitiveness. Such things were, after all, but 
 trifles light as air, and were powerless really to 
 disturb the bliss of being near his love. 
 
 ' Hearty congratulations,' said the old Captain, 
 warmly. *I had not much fear that my little 
 Fran would be unkind to you, and I suppose I 
 must not grumble ut losing her. I little thought
 
 FRANCESCA. 49 
 
 that sonic clay she would be changing into a 
 Signora. But, there, we have made half an 
 Englishman of j'ou already ; have we not ? ' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Francesca, quick to note that 
 the last words brought a momcntai'y gleam of 
 anger into her lover's eyes. ' Carlo will alwaj-s 
 be true to his country, though he speaks English 
 almost like a native. That is because I taught 
 you. Carlo iiiio ; is it not ? ' 
 
 ' Without love of the teacher learning is 
 drudgery,' said Carlo, laughing. ' I enjoyed my 
 English lessons.' 
 
 ' That reminds me of your old master. Signer 
 Piale. Oh, what will he say to us, Carlo ? 
 "What will he saj^ ? ' and Francesca laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 * My kind regards to Signora Donati,' said 
 Captain Britton, smiling. 'And if I may be 
 permitted to call and pay my respects ' 
 
 * To-night,' interrupted Carlo, eagerly. ' Say 
 you will come to-night, after dinner. My mother 
 cannot leave the house, you know, and she will 
 be longing to see Francesca.' 
 
 ' Well, well, no need to stand on ceremony even 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 60 KXIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 to-day ; wc arc such old friends, arc we not ? ' 
 said the Captain, good-naturedly. ' After dinner, 
 then — after dinner. Come, Fran, my dear, no 
 need to see Carlo off the premises, you'll meet 
 again before long, and the soup is getting cold.' 
 
 Francesca was borne off to the dining-room, 
 and Carlo, turning away, cleared the prickly 
 pears at a bound, and alighted amid a group of 
 lemon-trees in his own garden.
 
 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 
 
 * Let my voice be heard that asketh 
 Not for fame and not for glory ; 
 Give for all our life's dear story, 
 Give us Love and give us Peace ! ' 
 
 Jean Lvgelow. 
 
 Villa Bruno was a smaller house than Casa 
 Bella. It was lacking, too, in the air of cosy 
 English comfort which the Brittons had managed 
 to impart to their rooms, and the furniture was 
 scanty, though handsome of its kind. Carlo 
 walked through the verandah and entered hy the 
 open window of the salotto, treading lightly, as 
 he saw that his mother lay asleep on her couch. 
 He stole up to her, and stood in silence, watching 
 the beautiful but worn face of the invalid. lie 
 thought how great a happiness was in store for 
 her, and smiled. He imagined Francesca bringing 
 that English air of home into this room, and 
 thought how sweet it would be when he rode 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 home each evening to picture those two together 
 waiting for him. Looking on into the sunny 
 future, he forgot the present ; his mother had 
 opened her eyes, and had watched him for some 
 moments before he saw that she was awake. 
 
 At last he looked down at her, and met her 
 eyes shining into his with ijcrfect comprehension. 
 
 * Carlino, you bring me good news ! ' she 
 exclaimed, drawing his face down to hers, and 
 kissing the smooth, ruddy-brown cheek. 
 
 * The best news, mother — the best ! ' he 
 replied, returning her embrace. * Oh, mother ! 
 I'm the happiest man in Italy.' 
 
 ' Francesca ' began the Signora. 
 
 * Francesca is mine — is mine ! ' he broke in. 
 * She is coming — you will see her soon, madve 
 mia.' 
 
 ' And her father ? ' 
 
 ' Was kindness itself. He will bring her in 
 this evening to see you. No one could ha^•c been 
 more friendly. I saw him first, and then — then 
 he told me I might speak to her — that I should 
 find her in the garden. Afterwards, her first 
 thought was for you. Oh, mother, she will
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 53 
 
 be to you the daughtei' you have so much 
 needed.' 
 
 The tears started to the mother's eyes. 
 
 ' Ltsoijuiia ! Now I have grieved you, and 
 made you think of poor Xita ; happiness made 
 me forget all else. Forgive me, little mother ; I 
 did not mean to make you think of the past.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' sobbed the Signora Donati. * How can 
 I help thinking of it, Carlino, when the contrast 
 is 80 sharp — 3'ou coming to me thus with your 
 joy as a son should, and Nita bringing me only 
 shame and grief and disgrace — not even sending 
 me one line of love or regret all these years ? ' 
 
 ' She will come back, little mother, — she will 
 come back,' he said, soothingly. ' Some day she 
 will feel her need of you. Don't cry to-night, of 
 all nights in the year. I shall take it as a bad 
 omen.' 
 
 Years had raised no barrier between these 
 two ; Carlo was as frank and open with his 
 mother as when he had been a child ; she had 
 shared all his hopes and fears during his long 
 time of probation, and now she shared his joy, 
 and was soon coaxed back to cheerfulness, as he
 
 5-1 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 told her more of -vvbut had pas.sed at the Casa 
 Bella. She was quite herself again as she went 
 in to dinner upon his arm, her grief was forgotten, 
 she laughed merrily at his aceount of Enrico's 
 philosophical counsels, and felt a glow of pride 
 and happiness as she looked across the table at 
 the son who had been all in all to her for so 
 many years. Carlo was too happy to be hungrj*, 
 but he pledged his mother over a bottle of 
 Orvicto, and they drank Francesca's health, and 
 clinked glasses, and made merry. 
 
 The tete-d-tcte dinner at the Ca.sa Bella was 
 quieter, but happj*, too, in its way. The old 
 Captain beamed silently from behind the sirloin. 
 Francesca looked radiant. They talked fitfully 
 of the weather, of the orange-crop, of the silk- 
 worms, of the last letter from England — of every- 
 thing, in fact, except the one subject that was 
 nearest their hearts ; but, then, old Dino was 
 waiting, and it behoved them to keeiJ up aj)pear- 
 ances. Their tongues were unloosed by the 
 appearance of Sibyl and the dessert, and the dis- 
 appearance of the servant. 
 
 * Sibyl,' said the Captain, taking the little
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 55 
 
 girl on liis knee, 'wliat would you tLiuk if 
 wc Avere to have a M-edding here ? ' 
 
 * A wedding, father ? ' Sibyl clapped her 
 hands with delight. ' Oh, may I be the bride, 
 father ? May I be the bride ? ' 
 
 * No,' said the father, laughing, ' that charac- 
 ter is bespoken. You will haye to be my little 
 housekeeper. Francesca is to be bride. There, 
 you must drink her health : Long life and hap- 
 piness to the future Signora Donati.' 
 
 Sibyl obediently repeated the words, but 
 made a wry face oyer the claret. 
 
 * What horrid stuff. Daddy ; do give mc a 
 bit of your orange, quick.' Then, with her 
 mouth yery full, * But Fran can't be Signora 
 Donati.' 
 
 *0h, yes, she can when she marries Carlo,' 
 said the Captain. 
 
 ' Marries Carlo ? ' echoed Sibyl, in astonish- 
 ment. ' Dear mc, will Carlo be married ? What 
 a bother! I sui)pose he'll neycr play games 
 and be jolly any more?' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' said Francesca, laughing. 
 
 ' Oh, he won't,' said Sibyl, looking wise and
 
 56 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 elderly, * I know he won't ; I asked nurse the 
 other day what it meant to be married, and she 
 said it was when people grew steady and settled 
 down.' 
 
 The two elders laughed heartily. 
 
 * But he will be your brother, you know, 
 Sibyl, and brothers always play,' said Francesca. 
 
 ' Carlo my brother ? ' 
 
 * Your brother-in-law.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, I know about that — that's what 
 he had put on his cards,' said Sibyl, triuinphantl}' ; 
 ' so he must have known he was going to be my 
 brother before he came here ; Dino said that long 
 word was in-law.' 
 
 Then before Captain Britton had done laugh- 
 ing, Sibyl convulsed her companions by solemnly 
 raising the glass to her lips again, and repeating 
 in the gravest way imaginable, — 
 
 ' Long life and many games to my future 
 brother — in-law. ' 
 
 Francesca was eager to go in quickly to see 
 Signora Donati, but she had to wait till Sibyl 
 was tucked up in bed and her father had finished 
 Ids after-dinner nap. Then she threw a white,
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETKOTIIAL. 57 
 
 woolly shawl about her head and shoulders, 
 slipped her arm into the Captain's, and crossed 
 over to the Villa Bruno. The Signora was 
 alone ; she came forward to meet them with 
 the prettiest little greeting imaginable. Fran- 
 cesca loved her dearh', and returned her embraces 
 with all possible warmth ; but above the soft and 
 tender assurances of the Signora's delight in 
 the news which Carlo had brought her, she was 
 conscious of her lover's A'oice singing out in the 
 garden. Tlie joyous ring about the old Neapoli- 
 tan song, the unmistakable rapture of the singer, 
 filled her heart with happiness. The sweet, 
 familiar air always brought back to her memory 
 that first perfect evening at the A^'illa Bruno. 
 
 *He has done nothinj? but sins: since he 
 came back from you,' said the Signora, as the 
 singer drew nearer, every word distinctly heard 
 in that clear atmosphere : 
 
 * dolce Napoli, 
 8uol beato 
 Dove sorridere 
 Voile il creatu, 
 Til sei r imjiero 
 Deir annonia, 
 Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia."
 
 58 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 The last note still echoed in the air as Carlo 
 stepped into the dimly-lighted room through 
 the open window, bearing in his hand u bunch 
 of red roses and myrtle - blossom. It was the 
 picture he had so often imagined which met his 
 gaze, for Francesca stood beside his mother, the 
 lamplight shedding a soft glow over her sweet, 
 fair face. She was dressed in some kind of soft 
 Avhite dress which made him think of a baby's 
 robe, her wavy brown hair was a little ruffled 
 by the white shawl which she had thrown 
 aside, in her sweet, pure happiness she was ex- 
 quisite. 
 
 ' I did not know you had come,' he exclaimed, 
 hastening towards her ; ' how was it I never 
 heard j'ou ? ' 
 
 * "We came without ceremony, there was no 
 ringing of bells,' said Francesca. 
 
 * And Carlo was singing at the top of his 
 voice,' said the mother, laughing. * I foresee, 
 Francesca, that he will now be like my canary, 
 who is so happy that he sings all day long, and I 
 have sometimes to extinguish him.' 
 
 ' We have been wondcrin": what »Siunor Piale
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 51) 
 
 •will say,' replied Francesca, smiling ; ' you know 
 he looks upon love as the supreme obstacle in 
 the way of art.' 
 
 * Then he should not compose music to such 
 words as these,' said Carlo, taking up u song 
 from the open piano. 
 
 * Is that his last ? I have not heard it,' said 
 Francesca. * Ah, he has dedicated it to me as he 
 promised.' 
 
 * Go and sing it, Carlo ; it suits you well,* 
 said his mother. 
 
 * I am not well acquainted with your Tenny- 
 son,' she continued, turning to Captain Britton, 
 ' but it seems to me that these words are melo- 
 dious and well adapted for music' 
 
 The Captain was not x^oetical, but he at once 
 launched into an account of how he had once met 
 the Laureate at Lord Blamton's, while Carlo and 
 Francesca wandered off to the piano, Francesca 
 glancing through the accompaniment to see if 
 she coidd manage it. 
 
 Even in that land of beautiful voices Carlo 
 Donati's voice was most remarkable. But Piale 
 was the only person who quite knew what it was
 
 GO KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 worth, and he had issued strict orders that his 
 
 pupil was to sing nowhere save at home and at 
 
 his lessons. He knew Avell enough that if Carlo 
 
 once sang at a Neapolitan party he would be 
 
 allowed no peace, but would become the spoilt 
 
 and overworked amateur, and fail altogether to 
 
 do justice to the severe but excellent training 
 
 which he had now almost completed. The voice 
 
 was a baritone of unusual power and sweetness ; 
 
 Piale's music suited the pathetic words admir- 
 
 ably: 
 
 * Love is come with a soug and a smile, 
 "Welcome love with a smile and a song ; 
 I^ove can stay but a little while. 
 "Why cannot he stay ? They call him away ; 
 Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong ; 
 Love will stay for a whole life long.' 
 
 The song ended, Francesca sat dreamily play- 
 ing over the refrain which her lover had de- 
 claimed so passionately ; he stood close to her, 
 deftly arranging the flowers he had brought from 
 tlie garden in her hair and dress. Then, after 
 the thanks and praises of the listeners had been 
 spoken, Captain Britton once more enlarged upon 
 his meeting with the Laureate, and Carlo, fore-
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 61 
 
 seeing that the topic would last some time, looked 
 longingly out into the dusky garden, then down 
 at Fraucesca. 
 
 ' The paths are quite dry, it is starlight,' ho 
 said : * will you not come out ? ' 
 
 She smiled and nodded, let him wrap the 
 white shawl about her, and crossed the room to 
 the window. Carlo lingered a moment to slip a 
 cluster of red roses into his mother's hand. 
 
 ' We go into the garden for a few minutes, 
 mad re mia,' he explained. 
 
 She smiled approvingly, perceiving that ho 
 meant to claim all the liberty which an English 
 betrothal permits, and then turned again to the 
 Captain with a question, in her pretty broken 
 English, which she was well aware would keep 
 him happy for some time to come. 
 
 * And this Lord Blamton, at whose house it 
 occurred, is he your friend ? ' 
 
 The lovers, supremely indifferent to both 
 Lords and Laureates, strolled out into the starlit 
 garden. All was still and peaceful ; through the 
 olives they could catch glimpses of the yellow 
 lights in Pozzuoli, and every now and then a
 
 62 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 lurid crimson flame and a column of vapour lit 
 up by the fierce glare, revealed in the distance 
 the conical form of Vesuvius and its peaceful 
 neighbour, Somma. There was a delicious 
 fragrance in the air ; thyme, and myrtle, and 
 mignonette, filled the dewy garden Avith their 
 sweetness ; everywhere the peace of a great 
 content seemed to brood. A stranger might 
 have fancied something disturbing and incon- 
 gruous in the burning mountain ; but to Carlo 
 Vesuvius was an old friend, not a terror. In 
 his childhood he had fancied it a sort of symbol 
 of the Deity, vaguely connecting it with that 
 other pillar of cloud by day and pillar of fire by 
 night of which old Father Cristoforo had told 
 him. Not a care, not the least shadow of anxiety, 
 broke the bliss — the unclouded happiness of that 
 evening. 
 
 Remembering Enrico's advice to keep his 
 happiness to himself, Carlo took a holiday, and 
 stayed at home till the end of the week, when, 
 partly prompted by a conscientious wish to break 
 the news to Piale, and to keep his usual appoint- 
 ment with tlie old Maestro on Saturday morning,
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 63 
 
 partly because he wished to search for a betrothal 
 ring to his mind, he ordered his horse and rode 
 in to Naples. 
 
 Piale lived over a shop in the Strada Mont' 
 Oliveto. His apartments were furnished in a 
 Spartan manner without the least attempt at 
 comfort or picturesquenoss. A marble floor, 
 unrelieved by carpet or mat, walls painted in 
 pale green, but bare of a single picture, a grand 
 piano in the middle of the room, a table strewn 
 with music-paper, books, and pens, and a few 
 straight-backed chairs stiffly set round it, com- 
 pleted the furniture of this musical anchorite. 
 When Carlo entered the room that morning 
 he found the old man poring over the score 
 of some opera, his shaggy grey hair tossed 
 back from his broad forehead, and the shabbiness 
 of his many-coloured dressing -goAvn fully re- 
 vealed by the sunshine which streamed in through 
 the half-open jalomies. He looked up as Carlo 
 entered, giving him a sharp, searching glance, as 
 though to discover how the world went witli him 
 that morning. Convinced by the radiant happi- 
 ness of his pupil's face that at present the sk}'
 
 64 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 was cloudless, he grunted out a rather surly 
 ' Buon f/iorno,' and closed his book with an air of 
 reluctance. 
 
 ' I want your congratulations, ^laestro,' said 
 Carlo, coming quickly forward. ' Nothing but 
 the most filial obedience and respect to yourself 
 brought me away from my paradise this morning. 
 You must mingle with praise your good wishes 
 for our health and happiness.' 
 
 * Hein ! ' exclaimed the old man, pretending 
 not to catch his meaning. * You are an avvocato, 
 I understand ; young Eitter told me as much as 
 that. Corpo di Bacco ! don't come to me for 
 congratulations. You've mistaken your profes- 
 sion. You are wasting — yes, wasting, the noblest 
 gift of God.' 
 
 * But, Maestro, reflect ; how is it possible for 
 me to use my voice as you would have me ? 
 Would you wish me to leave my mother ? And 
 then, moreover, there arc other considerations — 
 I am about to be married.' 
 
 * Married ! ' The Maestro turned away with 
 a groan. * Ah, then I wash my hands of you ! 
 You are lost to art — lost to the noblest of the
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 65 
 
 professions ! Farewell to my hopes ! All my 
 efforts "with you arc thro^\^l away ! You might 
 have been the pride of my old age and the de- 
 light of Europe. Instead you choose the career 
 of a lawyer and the caresses of a Avoman.' 
 
 ' You speak scornfully, Maestro,' replied the 
 culprit, laughing. * I shall add two adjectives 
 to your bald remark — " the useful career," and 
 "a perfect woman." "Wliy, signor, you who 
 know Miss Britton should bo ready to make 
 excuse for me. What else could you expect? 
 Is the Muse of Harmony to take precedence of 
 such an one?' 
 
 * Hear him ! ' cried Piale, in despair, * great 
 Heaven ! and it is this ungrateful one that thou 
 hast endowed with the voice of a seraph and the 
 dramatic power of a Salvini ! ' 
 
 *My apologies to Salvini,' said Carlo, laugh- 
 ing merrily, * but that, beloved Maestro, is bathos 
 — a fine example.' 
 
 His laughter was so infectious that Piale was 
 obliged to join in it, then, with a shrug of the 
 shoulders, he shuffled across to the piano. 
 
 ' You are incorrigible ! I wash my hands 
 
 vor. T, I.'
 
 OG KNIGIIT-EHKANT. 
 
 of you I But since you are in so jocular a mood 
 at the prospect of settliii<r down to so monotonous 
 a life ' 
 
 * Maestro ! ' broke in Carlo, witli indig- 
 nation. 
 
 *Do I speak unadvisedly?' said Piale, with 
 sarcasm ; ' not at all. Oh, I know well enough 
 what it will be. You will sit under your vine 
 and under your fig-tree, and you will count the 
 olive-branches round your table ' 
 
 * Signor Piale ! ' 
 
 * And jon will say as you look, " I must work 
 hard," and you will become the speaking-machine 
 of the Neapolitan criminals, and you will use that 
 divine gift for the proclamation of lies, and you 
 will debase your fine dramatic genius and make it 
 the tool of the worthless and the guilty. Since 
 all this makes you in so gay a humour, come sing 
 mc your song from // Barhiere.' 
 
 Pursing up his lips the old professor began to 
 play the accompaniment of Largo al Factotum ; 
 and Carlo, entering into the spirit of the thing, 
 and with his sense of humour touched by the 
 analogy between the barber's glorification of his
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 67 
 
 profession and the words that had just passed, 
 sang magnificently. 
 
 At the end there was unbroken silence. The 
 old professor sat lost in thought, Cai'lo watched 
 him with a smile on his lips. Then, sauntering 
 across the room, sang, sotto voce, the recitative 
 which followed, throwing malicious meaning into 
 
 the 
 
 'Ah! Chebellavital Oh! Che mesttere ! ' 
 
 ' It could not have been better sung ! ' cried 
 Piale, with a gesture of despair. * Carlo, perhaps 
 I have dealt unfairly by you. I have never 
 praised you, never told you what I thought of 
 your powers ; I feared to ruin that modesty 
 which has endeared you to me. But now it is 
 time that you seriously consider the matter. 
 There, there, don't interrupt me I Marry if 
 you M'ill, and let your wife tend the Signora 
 Donati in your absence. But do not allow so 
 glorious a gift to rust unused.' 
 
 * But, dear Maestro,' said Carlo, gravely, ' you 
 do not realise that others do not think of the 
 profession as you do. Captain Britton regards 
 the theatre as the school for hell, the stage is
 
 68 KNIGIIT-ERKANT. 
 
 an abomination to him, lie fancies that all 
 actors arc like that villain !Merlino. And, in- 
 deed, it is wonderful that he made no objection 
 to having as son-in-law one who is so deeply 
 compromised as I am. I suppose he hardly real- 
 ised the fact, he has almost forgotten poor Nita's 
 existence.' 
 
 At the recollection of that sorrowful past he 
 sighed. Piale was quick to note how the re- 
 meinbrance interfered with his present hap- 
 piness. 
 
 * Well, only a brute would dream of holding 
 you responsible for the sins of others,' he said, 
 warmly. 
 
 * Tell me,' said Carlo, ' have you seen any 
 mention of my sister lately in any of the musical 
 papers?' 
 
 * I heard that Merlino's company had been in 
 America for the last two years, and that Madame 
 MerKno had made a good impression there. 
 . . . AVell, I suppose I must say no more, lad, but 
 it is hard on a master to have his best pupil 
 lost to the world.' 
 
 lie changed tlio subject rather hastily. lie
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. G9 
 
 coiUd not bear to bring buck that cloud to Carlo's 
 brow by telling liini the last news of his sister. 
 
 His lesson over, Carlo began to ransack the 
 jewellers' shops, and having at last found a broad 
 gold gipsy ring with a single diamond which 
 satisfied him he bent his steps towards his uncle's 
 house, conscious that Guido Donati — a rather 
 autocratic man — would require early notice of 
 his nephew's engagement. 
 
 The interview passed off well. Uncle Guido 
 thoroughly approved of the marriage, and treated 
 his nephew in the most generous and paternal 
 way, and Carlo came forth in excellent spirits. 
 All seemed to promise well for his future life. 
 Ilappy in his love, with the prospect of a fair 
 inheritance, a hope "which practically amounted 
 to certainty of success in his profession, and with 
 the b(;st of mothers and the truest of friends, it 
 seemed as if life could offer him nothing more. 
 His face was radiant as he greeted Enrico 
 Ritter. 
 
 * Well met !' he exclaimed, waylaying Eurico, 
 who, in a fit of abstraction, would have passed 
 him bv.
 
 70 KNIGHT- KIJR ANT. 
 
 * Oh, it is you ! ' exclaimed Enrico, looking 
 him critically in the face. * "Well, what news ?' 
 
 ' You will be requested to dance at my wed- 
 ding before long,' said Carlo, gaily. 
 
 * So ! * Enrico whistled. 
 
 * I took your advice, you see, amico mlo, and 
 stayed at home, that you might not be afflicted 
 with the trouble of congratulating me.' 
 
 * Yes, yes,' said Enrico, with a sarcastic smile. 
 * That is j-our kind way of putting it — egoist that 
 you are ! You stayed to enjoy yourself, and now 
 you want to make mc believe that you were con- 
 sidering my comfort and not your own. An 
 egoist ! A double-dyed egoist ! ' 
 
 But his laughter was suddenly checked. They 
 were passing a hoarding in the Strada S. Trinita, 
 Carlo had glanced at one of the placards, and 
 now he clutched his friend's arm. 
 
 'Enrico!' he gasped; 'my sister's name — I 
 thought I saw it. Look for me ; I can't.' 
 
 Huge black letters on a pink ground danced 
 in wild confusion before his eyes ; but surely it 
 Mas that hateful name of Merlino which had 
 suddenly darkened his sky, which had struck a
 
 A CLOUDLKSS iJETROTilAL. 7l 
 
 blow at bis beart and left bim stunned and 
 bewildered ! 
 
 ' Dear old fellow, you must come on/ said 
 Enrico. ' I didn't know tbose cursed placards would 
 be out yet ; but it is true, alas ! only too true.' 
 
 Carlo walked on mecbanically, feeling as 
 tbougb be were in a nightmare. His tbougbts 
 flew wildly from Francesca to Anita, from his 
 mother to Captain Britton, from his uncle to 
 Merlino. He had no definite ideas, only a giddy 
 consciousness that the world, so bright but a 
 minute before, was now overshadowed, and that a 
 nameless fear filled his heart. 
 
 ' "WTicre ? ' he faltered, after a brief silence. 
 
 * The Mercadante,' said Enrico, following his 
 train of thought and understanding the laconic 
 question as a friend should. 
 
 * Let us come there,' said Carlo. 
 
 Enrico silently complied. After a time his 
 friend looked up with another question, — 
 
 * You knew of this before, then ? ' 
 Enrico signed an assent. 
 
 * The day I last saw you ?' he added, after a 
 pause.
 
 72 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ' What 'i That thing you tore out of the 
 Piccolo ? Why did you try to keep it from me ? ' 
 
 ' I wanted you to have a cloudless betrothal,' 
 said Enrico, rather reluctantly. 
 
 *Ah, amico mio!' exclaimed the other, grate- 
 fully. * You shield me thus, and then call your- 
 self egoist ! ' 
 
 * Of course,' said Enrico, who hated to be 
 caught in a kindly action. * It was pure egoism. 
 Naturally, I wish you to be happy, for it disturbs 
 nic and makes me uncomfortable to see you as 
 you are now. Purely for my own sake I deferred 
 the evil day.' 
 
 Carlo could not help smiling, even then, at 
 the energy with which his friend tried to 
 establish his own selfishness for the sake of 
 triumphing in his pet theory. 
 
 'I must find out whether they are yet in 
 Naples,' he said, growing grave once more, and 
 trying hard to collect his thoughts. * Oh, Eurico, 
 how shall I break the news to my mother ? She 
 is mifit to bear the least shock.' 
 
 *I would keep it from her, then — at any 
 rate, till you know wliat line vour sister in-
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 73 
 
 tends to take,' siiid Enrico. ' liut, see, ^we are 
 close to the Mercudunte. Shall I make inquiries 
 for you?' 
 
 *I Avish you would,' said Carlo, with a 
 look of relief. * Ask when the Company 
 arrives in Naples, and where they are to be 
 found.' 
 
 Enrico walked forward, Carlo following more 
 slowly ; on past two open-air caffes, with groups of 
 idlers beneath a shady trellis-work of vine and 
 euonjnnus ; on past a stall gaily wreathed A^ith 
 lemons and greenery, where thirsty Neapolitans 
 were drinking mineral water ; ou till the arsenal 
 was in sight, and the red tower of tlie lighthouse, 
 while in the foreground was the Teatro Merca- 
 dante. Little had he thought that the sight of 
 its i)ink walls with their white facings would ever 
 have caused him such strange emotion. Huge 
 placards were posted here in all directions. He 
 read them over and over in a sort of dream, 
 taking in little but that one name in larger type, 
 'Mmk. Me]U,ino.' At length, Enrico came forth, 
 having made his inquiries. 
 
 ' They do not seem to know the exact date of
 
 74 knight-erkakt. 
 
 their arrival,' he said, in answer to Carlo's mute 
 question. * The man was just going off to his 
 siesta, and was not best pleased at being hindered. 
 However, he Avrote down the address for me. 
 You will find them there, whenever they do 
 arrive. It may be to-morrow or any day next 
 week. They are coming from America, but by 
 what route the fellow didn't know. However, 
 you see by the placards there are no performances 
 for another ten days.' 
 
 Carlo took the paper, and read the address. 
 
 * I shall be here again to-morrow,' he said. 
 *I Avill call and sec if they have arrived, and till 
 then I shall sa}' nothing to my mother.' 
 
 ' That would be wise/ said Enrico. ' Then 
 she will be spared the worry and luiccrtainty. 
 You look tired, amico mio. Come home with me, 
 and have your siesta in peace.' 
 
 ' No,' said Carlo ; * I want to go liome. I 
 want to tell Francesca.' 
 
 * You can't ride back in this heat ; you'll get 
 a sunstroke.' 
 
 But he only shook his head, and, with an 
 unmistakable air of wishing to be alone, said
 
 A CLOUDLESS BETROTHAL. 75 
 
 good-bye to bis friend, and went to order bis 
 horse. 
 
 Enrico turned to look after bini. Profound 
 dejection was expressed in bis -walk. Tbc ser- 
 pent bad all too soon invaded bis paradise.
 
 76 
 
 CIIAPTEIl V. 
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 
 
 * Come, all ye faithful, come, and dare to prove 
 The bitter sweet, the pain and bliss of love.' 
 
 Trencu. 
 
 Francesca came down one of the shady garden 
 paths to meet her lover ; she held in her hand a 
 forked branch, on which, nestled among the pale 
 green leaves, grew four fresh-looking lemons. 
 For a moment Carlo forgot everything in the 
 bliss of seeing her again. It seemed to him that 
 they had been ages apart ; that he had been 
 toiling across a barren desert to reach this cool, 
 green retreat, in which his betrothed reigned 
 supreme. How beautiful she looked in that 
 familiar, soft, white dress, and with her wliite 
 forehead and delicate colouring shaded by a largo 
 hat ! The hat was one of those shallow white 
 ones which can sometimes be bought for two or 
 three soldi ; it was not calculated, however, to
 
 A TIIKEATEXIXG SKY. 77 
 
 sustain the embraces of a lover, and it speedily 
 fell back, leaving Francesca witli her wav}' brown 
 hair uncovered. For a minute, Carlo held her 
 from him, that he might the better see her, with 
 a datura-tree for background, and the soft, creamy 
 flowers drooping over her liead. Francesca, 
 having known him and loved him for years, saw 
 in one glance that he was in trouble. 
 
 * You are tired, my own,' she said. ' It was 
 too hot for you to ride back so early ; you should 
 have taken your siesta at Naples.' 
 
 ' I couldn't rest,' he said, with a sigh. * I 
 wanted to get back to you,' 
 
 * Something has grieved you. Does Uncle 
 Guide disapprove of our betrothal ? ' 
 
 * No, oh no. How could he do that ? ITe 
 treated me as though I had been his son.' 
 
 ' Yet something or someone has been troubling 
 you. But we will not talk of it now ; you shall 
 rest first. Come into the Rose-room ; it will be 
 cool there, and the sim is not off the summer- 
 house yet.' 
 
 They went together towards the house. The 
 Rose-room was Francesca's own little sittino:-room.
 
 78 KNIGIIT-EHRANT. 
 
 It had a ceiling painted after the Italian fashion 
 with wreaths of pink roses ; it had cool grey 
 walls crowded with a most miscellaneous collec- 
 tion of photographs and water-colour sketches ; 
 it had rose-coloured curtains in figured muslin ; 
 and, after the manner of rooms, it betrayed its 
 owner's chief failing — it was in wild disorder. 
 Francesca was by no moans immaculate ; like 
 other girls, she had her faults, and untidiness 
 was one of them. 
 
 * Try my rocking-chair,' she said, removing 
 a guitar which reposed uijou the cushions, and 
 trying to find a home for it upon the crowded 
 table. ' I will be back directly.' 
 
 Carlo, rescuing the guitar, which was in 
 imminent danger of falling, lay back in the easy 
 chair, and waited, letting his hands wander idly 
 about among the strings. It was sweet to feel 
 already so entirely at home at Casa Bella — its 
 very confusion was dear to him. I*resently Fran- 
 cesca returned, bearing a big tumbler of St. 
 Galmier, which she set down upon Dante's 
 Para'Uso, while she selected the finest of the 
 lemons from her branch.
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 70 
 
 ' Lend inc your kiiifc, Carlino/ she said ; ' ISc 
 lost mine, as usual. There ! ' as she cut open the 
 cool, ripe fruit ; * isn't that a beauty ? How 
 much, I wonder, for this glassful ? I should 
 think half. Ah, how like me ! I've forgotten 
 the sugar.' Then, running to the door, * Sibyl ! 
 Sibyl ! ' 
 
 The little sister came flying down the 
 passage. 
 
 'Run and fetch me some sugar, will you, 
 Sibyl dear ? Oh, bother ! Now, what have I 
 done with the store-room key? Look, darling, 
 I think it must be on my dressing-table, or, 
 perhaps, in the pocket of my blue gown ; or, if 
 not, in my work-basket.' 
 
 Sibyl ran away to hunt for the missing key, 
 and Franccsca searched among the contents of the 
 table to see if by chance it had been left there. 
 
 *Ah, Carlo inio!' she said, with a pretty 
 penitence, * I fear I am not, as the ladies say 
 who advertise in the newspapers, '* thoroughly 
 domesticated." I shall have to mend my evil 
 ways now.' 
 
 Carlo pretended not to understand what
 
 80 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 * domesticated * meant, and they had much merri- 
 ment over a dictionary, which declared that it 
 ■was to be ' tame ' and ' not foreign.' 
 
 Sibyl at last returned with the sugar-basin, 
 claiming one lump as wages and accepting 
 another to run away. Then Francesca began to 
 stir the contents of the tumbler with an ivory 
 paper-knife since spoons were not handy ; and in 
 much laughter and lover -like teasing Carlo 
 forgot all about the cloud-shadow which had 
 arisen. 
 
 The ring fitted to perfection, and Francesca's 
 delight was pretty to see ; she was not above a 
 womanly weakness for jewellery, and frankly 
 owned that she always had longed for just one 
 diamond. 
 
 * And what about the old Maestro ? ' she 
 exclaimed at last. 'You never told me how he 
 bore the news.' 
 
 ' Well, dear old Piale was, or pretended to be, 
 a good deal depressed. It seems that he really 
 had set his heart on my going on the stage, and 
 had not at all realised how impossible that would 
 be.'
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 81 
 
 Yet you do not feel as my ftitlier does about 
 said Francesca. * And Clare ! 
 Don't you remember what arguments v,c used to 
 have with dear Clare about it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, she was dead against it ; but then she 
 was brought up in a Puritan family, and the old 
 prejudices lingered with her. For me, I have 
 no feeling whatever of that sort, but nevertheless 
 the life of an operatic singer is quite the last I 
 should willingly choose. Piale talks scoffingly 
 of the humdrum life of an advocate ; but for my 
 part I shall be very well content to stay at home, 
 with the hope of some day following in my 
 father's steps and doing a little for the country. 
 Think of the wretchedness of a wandering life ! 
 It's all very well to talk about delighting Europe 
 — practically one would bo little better than an 
 exile — and into the bargain Piale owns that art 
 requires the sacrifice of domestic life.' 
 
 * I knew he would not approve of me,' said 
 Francesca, laughing. ' We must have him to 
 our wedding, Carlo, and he shall make a speech. 
 A^Hiat fun he will be ! ' 
 
 Just for a minute, as they talked of theatrical 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 KNIGHT-EKKANT. 
 
 life, Carlo's thoughts had reverted to Nita, but 
 Franccsca's refercucc to the wedding soon dis- 
 persed the cloud. He had most markedly the 
 Italian faculty of living wholly in the present, 
 and enjoying it much as a child enjoys life. 
 They lingered long in the Rose -room. Later on, 
 when the heat of the afternoon was past, they 
 walked tlirough the garden and down the vine- 
 clad slopes to the beach, where old Florcstauo 
 sat smoking his pipe with his back against a 
 boat. He sprang up, on seeing them, as quickly 
 as his rheumatism would permit. 
 
 ' Going for a row, signer ? ' he said, when he 
 had finished his lengthy congratulations, and had 
 made Francesca blush deliciously. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Carlo, flinging his coat into the 
 stern ; * but we shan't want you, Florcstano ; we 
 shall never want you any more,' and, with a laugli, 
 he shoved the boat down to the water's edge. 
 
 ' Ah, signorina,' said tlie old fisherman, 
 chuckling, * he is one to be proud of, tliat he is. 
 Why, I do declare he might be a fishennan. 
 Look at him now.' 
 
 And with delighted pride the old man watched
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 83 
 
 the skill with which the strong, active figure in 
 straw hat and shirt-slcevcs set to work. Carlo 
 looked round with a bright, glowing face. 
 * Come, Francesca, let us be off. Good-bye, 
 Florestano. Ah, wait a minute, though ! Ilave 
 a cigar ? ' 
 
 He handed his case to the old fisherman, who 
 helped himself with a smiling face, then he 
 shoved the boat into the water, sprang in, and, 
 taking the oars, rowed off towards Ischia. 
 
 The fisherman stood on the quiet and lonely 
 beach watching them, and meditatively stroking 
 one of his huge, projecting ears. 
 
 '"Well, well,' he remarked, shrugging his 
 shoulders, ' some of us be born to happiness and 
 some to sorrow, there's no helping that. But all 
 of us ought to be born to a fair chance of living 
 somehow. 80 says the young signer, but I doubt 
 me if, for all his hot words and his seeming near 
 as much of a Socialist as any of us, he'd care to 
 act it out in his life. Eh, eh ! we be all of us 
 ready enough to talk about others, but to live for 
 them that's another matter.' 
 
 And, with a grim chuckle, Florestano pulled
 
 84 KXIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 out a number of L(t Campann from his pocket, 
 and, stretching himself on the pebbles, began to 
 spell out more lessons in Socialism. 
 
 The sun was low in the heavens when the 
 lovers returned from their row. Carlo had to 
 hasten home to his mother, but later in the 
 evening he once more appeared at Casa Bella. 
 Apart from Francesca all his restless apprehen- 
 sion had returned. 
 
 Captain Britton was asleep in the dining- 
 room. Francesca was in the dusky drawing- 
 room seated at the piano, where two candles 
 under rose-coloured shades made a little oasis of 
 light. She was trying over her favourite of all 
 Carlo's songs, ' Dio Posscntc,'' but broke off with 
 a little cry of surprise and delight as he came 
 towards her. 
 
 * I shall think that my ring is a fairy ring,' 
 she cried, ' and brings me all I wish for. I was 
 just longing to hear you sing this.' 
 
 Carlo had not felt in a singing humour, but 
 her words drove everything else from his mind, 
 and he sang perhaps all the better for the real 
 care and anxiety which were oppressing him,
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 85 
 
 certainly lie sang as she had never before heard 
 him sing. 
 
 ' Piale is right/ she said at the close, brushing 
 away the tears from her eyes ; ' nature meant 
 you for a singer ; you were Valentino then, and 
 no one else.' 
 
 Carlo did not speak ; she looked up at him 
 quickly, and again saw that look of care which 
 he had borne back Avith him from Naples. 
 
 * My darling,' she said, making room for him 
 on the ottoman beside her, * you arc keeping- 
 something from me ; you are unhappy. Carlo mio, 
 and yet you will not let me know.' 
 
 'Yes,' he said sadly, 'I must let you know; that 
 is what I came back for. You remember Nita ? ' 
 
 * Your sister ? Yes, — oh, yes. What of her ? 
 Has she written ? ' 
 
 'No, but to-day in Naples, as I Avalked down 
 the Strada S. Trinita, I saw that she was to sing 
 the week after next at the Mercadante.' 
 
 Francesca looked startled. All in a minute 
 it flashed upon her that the perfect peace of their 
 betrothal was disturbed, and that it could never 
 return.
 
 86 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 She knew enough of Nita's story to be aware 
 how painful it would be for both Signora Donati 
 and Carlo to have her as the prima donna of a 
 Neapolitan theatre ; but she tried hard to see 
 gleams of possible good in the news. 
 
 * She may be sorry, and come to sec you,' 
 she suggested. ' Oh, surely she would come back 
 to Villa Bruno when she is so near to it as 
 Naples?' 
 
 But Carlo was not hopeful. She listened to 
 all his doubts and fears with tender, womanly 
 sympathy. She was no spoilt child caring only 
 for the pleasure of her betrothal ; perhaps, in- 
 deed, notwithstanding the ruffled peace, she had 
 never been so happy as she was that evening 
 when Carlo told her his troubles, and then, with 
 his arm round her, whispered sweet words about 
 the comfort of telling her. 
 
 Francesca quite agreed with Enrico that it 
 would be better to say nothing as yet to the 
 Signora Donati ; and even in her anxiety there 
 was keen pleasure in feeling that she had a right 
 to share her lover's cares. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and Carlo, as usual,
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 87 
 
 drove in to the English church with the Brittons, 
 But after the serA-ice he left them, pleading an 
 engagement, and went off to see if Merlino's 
 Company had arrived. 
 
 The Palazzo Forti was in a gloomy side street, 
 he entered the courtyard, and found his way up 
 a very dirty staircase to the third floor, whcro 
 he rang and inquired whether Madame Merlino 
 had arrived. An answer in the affirmative from 
 a bright-eyed little servant made his heart leap 
 into his throat. He had not expected it. Ho 
 had walked to the old Palazzo in the firm con- 
 viction that his sister would not yet have reached 
 Naples, and to be told that she was actually close 
 to him almost took away his breath. He hesi- 
 tated a moment. 
 
 * Is she within ? can I see her ? ' he inquired. 
 
 The servant seemed a little doubtfid, but said 
 she would ask, and, taking Carlo's card, she dis- 
 appeared, leaving him in the doorway. In all 
 his life he had never felt so uncomfortable. He 
 had never known Anita well ; her convent edu- 
 cation had made her practically a stranger to 
 him, and now years had passed since their last
 
 88 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 meeting, and between them was the shadow of 
 her wrong-doing. Then, too, he was not even 
 sure whether he should see her alone, her hus- 
 band might be there ; and Carlo, being Italian 
 and hot-tempered, was not quite sure how the 
 sight of Merlino might affect him. He breathed 
 quickly as the servant returned. 
 
 ' Would the Signer step this way for a 
 minute ? ' 
 
 Setting his teeth, he followed the maid down 
 a passage, and was ushered into a good-sized but 
 comfortless-looking room. He was surprised and 
 relieved to find within it neither his sister nor 
 Merlino, but a yoimg Englishman of about eight- 
 and-twenty with fair hair and moustache, arched 
 eyebrows, and keen light blue eyes, in which 
 there was no mistaking the sparkle of genuine 
 wit ; but the face was a restless one, and the 
 expression of careless good-humour was some- 
 times slightly tinged with bitterness. He bowed, 
 then glanced again at the visitor with undisguised 
 curiosity. 
 
 * You are Madame Merlino's brother, I think ? ' 
 Carlo assented,
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 89 
 
 * I should have known you anywlicre, tho 
 likeness is so strong.' 
 
 * I speak English, if you prefer it, sir,' said 
 Carlo, noticing that the stranger's Italian was 
 far from fluent. 
 
 * Do you ? that will be a great relief, then. 
 The patience of you foreigners amazes me. How 
 you can learn our barbarous tongue I can't con- 
 ceive. For me, I only learnt enough of yours to 
 satisfy my singing-master.' 
 
 'May I ask whom I am speaking to?' said Carlo. 
 
 * I am Sardoni — that, at least, is my profes- 
 sional name — 2^rimo tenovc of "the happy band of 
 pilgrims " who patrol this Avicked world under 
 Merlino's care. ^Vhen they brought me your card 
 just now I thought I might ask to sec you, al- 
 though Madame Merlino is out, for, to tell the 
 truth, signer, it is quite time that Madame Mer- 
 lino's friends and relations did something to save 
 her. You must pardon the liberty I am taking, 
 but, indeed, it is little use mincing matters in an 
 affair of this kind.' 
 
 Carlo took a long look at the speaker. He 
 was evidently an English gentlenaan — a man
 
 90 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 doubtless witli faults enough, but yet, he in- 
 stinctively felt, a man to be trusted. 
 
 ' My sister is out, you say,' he began, with a 
 troubled look. 
 
 * She went o\it driving this morning,' said 
 Sardoni, promptly, ' with her usual cavalier, 
 Comerio, our first baritone. But I know Comerio 
 Avell, and he will not long be content to be a mere 
 hanger-on. Every day Madame Merlino gets more 
 imder that man's power. lie and she ' 
 
 But here he hastily broke ofP, for Carlo 
 sprang forward with a gesture so threatening 
 that anyone but an Englishman would have re- 
 coiled a pace. 
 
 ' Be silent ! ' he tlumdered ; * how dare you 
 couple my sister's name with the name of that 
 brute?' 
 
 His dark eyes were all ablaze with anger. 
 Sardoni was silent, not because he doubted the 
 truth of his own words, but because he was 
 obliged to pause and admire. 
 
 * I sec 3'ou are the brother whoni Madame 
 Merlino needs,' he said, quietly ; ' and it is in 
 order that those two names may not with just
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 91 
 
 cause be coupled togctlicr all the world over that 
 I speak to you plainly,' 
 
 The glow of colour had faded from Carlo's 
 face, aud had left him unusually pale. lie 
 turned away with a groan as tSardoni ended. 
 Vaguely as he had dreaded his sister's arrival, 
 he had never dreamed that it would be so bad as 
 this. 
 
 ' Her husband ? ' he said at length. 
 
 * Merlino is a brute, but many degrees better 
 than Comerio. 'Tis a sort of lion and imicorn 
 business, with your sister for crown. But you 
 spoke as though you knew Comerio ? ' 
 
 'I only know what report has to say of him,' 
 replied Carlo. ' He was singing here five years 
 ago ; his wife aud children, I believe, still live 
 here.' 
 
 * Report says nothing of him that is not 
 strictly true.' 
 
 ' But how is it, then, that Merlino is so blind 
 to his own interests as to keep him in his 
 troupe ? ' 
 
 * I can't say, unless it is that tyrants always 
 believe in their own superiority. And then, too,
 
 92 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 Comcrio is such a wily devil, he always manages 
 to keep in Merlino's good books. There has 
 never been the least apparent reason for getting 
 rid of him ; and, besides, Merlino is not so over- 
 burdened with wealth that he can afford to cancel 
 an engagement. Italian opera is not such a 
 paying concern as people think.' 
 
 ' I must try to see my sister,' said Carlo, Avith 
 a sigh, *or write to her.' 
 
 ' Then if you see her allow me to suggest that 
 you do not call on her here, where ten to one you 
 will fall foul of her husband ; and if you write, do 
 80 now and entrust the letter to me, for Merlino 
 watches her correspondence with Ijtix eyes, and 
 does not scruple to open every letter.' 
 
 Carlo uttered an impatient exclamation of dis- 
 gust. Every sentence which the Englishman let 
 fall seemed to reveal to him a fresh glimpse of the 
 intolerable life which poor Nita was leading. He 
 accepted the pen and ink which his companion 
 offered him, liowcver, and, drawing a chair to the 
 table, began with deei)ening colour to write. 
 
 Sardoni glanced at him from time to time ; he 
 bad taken up a newspaper, and made as though
 
 A THREATENING SKY. 93 
 
 he were reading it, but in reality his mind was 
 full of his Italian visitor. Carlo's face was al- 
 most as easy to read as a book, and Sardoni could 
 not help feeling sorry for him. He had just wit- 
 nessed one of the most painful sights imaginable, 
 that of a perfectly unsullied nature being brought 
 for the first time into near connection with a net- 
 work of evil. There was something, too, in the 
 implicit trust which Donati had reposed in him 
 which appealed to him strongly. What a 
 wretched position to be in ! Powerless to help 
 his own sister without trusting to the help and 
 believing in the honesty of a stranger and a 
 foreigner ! Carlo in the meantime had finished 
 his letter, and, folding it up, handed it unsealed 
 to Sardoni. 
 
 The Englishman put it in his pocket-book, 
 remarking, as he did so, ' For a perfect stranger 
 you trust me with a good deal, Signer Donati.' 
 
 Carlo looked troubled as it flashed across him 
 how unsuspiciously he had believed the stranger's 
 words. It had never occurred to him that Sar- 
 doni could possibly have any reason for mis- 
 leading him. lie looked at him searchingly.
 
 9-1 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 * But tLcn, you iire uu Englishman,' he said, 
 in a tone of relief. 
 
 Sardoni laughed. ' That is a compliment to my 
 nation ^^■hich I shall not readily forget. But 
 look here,' an expression of great bitterness stole 
 over his face, * there arc many of my own 
 comitrymcn who would snaj) their fingers at my 
 Avord of honour.' 
 
 Carlo again looked him through and through, 
 and, as he looked, the blue eyes seemed to grow 
 less hard, to appeal against that harsh opinion 
 which had just been mentioned. 
 
 * Oh, as for that,' said Carlo, witli the expres- 
 sive gestures of a Neapolitan, 'that is just no- 
 thing at all to me. I trust you, signer.' 
 
 Sardoni smiled and grasped his hand. 
 
 * I'll not betray your confidence,' he said. 
 And with that the two men parted. 
 
 Carlo went down the dirty stone stairs, look- 
 ing pale and harassed. Sardoni with a flushed 
 face returned to his newspaper, but still did not 
 take in one word. 
 
 * He trusted mo,' he thought to himself — * he 
 really did trust me. Oh, God ! if I could only
 
 A THREATENING SKY. . 95 
 
 cliangc natures with a fellow like that I' Then, 
 as some painful recollection brought hot tears to 
 his eyes, he sprang up, and flinging aside his 
 newspaper strode across to the piano and began 
 to play a waltz. * You are a fool, Jack ! a fool ! 
 a fool ! Why should that Italian make you 
 think of it ? A mere countrified innocent ! ' 
 
 And with that he played on recklessly, doing 
 his best to forget Donati's eyes.
 
 96 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 
 
 ' God be praised, that to believiiif,' souls 
 Gives light in darliness, comfort in despair.' 
 
 King Henry VJ., Part II. 
 
 How to break the news to his mother ? this was 
 Carlo's sole thought as he walked home on that 
 Sunday afternoon. For an Italian he was an 
 unusually good walker, having fallen a good deal 
 into English habits through his close friendship 
 with the Brittons ; and perhaps it was to the free 
 country life which he had always lived, and to his 
 daily rides to and from Naples, that he owed his 
 brilliant colouring and his healthy mind and 
 body. 
 
 It tortured him to think that the story which 
 had been a shock to him would be tenfold worse 
 to his mother. It had been, as Sardoni observed, 
 his first near connection witli evil, but to his 
 mother it would be the first introduction to evil
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 97 
 
 at all. He had not lived the life of a Neapolitan 
 student without coming across many Comerios ; 
 but his mother, in her peaceful country life, her 
 tranquil invalid existence, knew nothing of wick- 
 edness. His mind was so taken up with the 
 diffieidty of telling her that he had no leisure to 
 think of the yet greater difficulty, how to help 
 Anita. 
 
 He could not bear to be the one to bring her 
 these bad tidings ; he half thought of asking 
 Father Cristoforo to go to her ; then, ashamed of 
 shrinking from a painfid task, he forced himself 
 to pass the old man's house and climbed the hill, 
 turning over in his mind a dozen different ways 
 of approaching the subject, and feeling satisfied 
 with none of them. 
 
 There was something very beautiful in the 
 devotion of this mother and son ; perhaps only 
 Francesca and Clare knew how entirely Carlo had 
 given his life to the work his father had left himy 
 or how wonderfully it had helped to mould his 
 character. To a woman it is second nature to de- 
 vote herself to an invalid, nor does it involve any 
 very serious break in her life ; but to a many 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 KNIGIIT-ERKANT. 
 
 obliged to go on with his daily work at the same 
 time, the strain of attendance in a sick-room is 
 infinitely greater. If he can live this life for 
 years, it gives him an established habit of always 
 ruling his life by the needs of another, and not 
 by his own desires. 
 
 There were two gates to the grounds of 
 Villa Bruno. The one nearest to Naples was 
 that which led into the stable-yard, and Carlo, 
 from force of custom, went in this way, al- 
 though he was on foot. He was surprised to see 
 a hired carriage in the yard ; he wondered if 
 possibly Frau Ritter had driven out to call on 
 his mother, and paused on his way to the house to 
 ask a servant who was the visitor. 
 
 * Oh, signer,' said the girl, flushing up, ' they 
 say it is Madame Merlino ! ' 
 
 With an exclamation, which was almost a cry, 
 he rushed on towards the house. His mother had 
 had no preparation whatever — the shock might 
 be fatal to her. And yet, surely it looked well 
 that Nita should at once hurry home in this way? 
 Surely that in itself gave the lie to Sardoni's 
 assertion ? And then it flashed across him that
 
 THE STOini BKEAKS. 99 
 
 NIta would regard him in the light of the elder 
 brother in the story of the prodigal son, and he 
 prayed that he might be his direct opposite. 
 
 Flinging open the front door he hurried on, 
 pausing for an instant outside the salotto. There 
 was a sound of voices ; he hastily entered, glanced 
 quickly towards his mother's couch, then towards 
 his sister, who had risen at sight of him with a 
 look so frightened and timid that he longed to 
 reassure her, as one longs to still the fears of a 
 terrified child, 
 
 'Why, Nita!' he exclaimed, kissing her re- 
 peatedly, ' I have been trying to find you in 
 Naj^les, but you Avere before me after all.' 
 
 Something in the tone of his * Ben rcituto,' and 
 in the many untranslateable Italian phrases with 
 which he greeted her, brought the tears to 
 Anita's eyes. 
 
 She watched intently while Carlo bent down 
 to kiss his mother. 
 
 'You are cold, tiiadrc mia !' he exclaimed. 
 
 * You are faint and over-tired.' 
 
 * Ah, it is my fault ! ' cried Nita, vehemently. 
 
 * It is I who have tired her and broken her heart!'
 
 100 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 He saw that there would be no quieting her 
 just then, and took the law into his own hands. 
 
 * You must rest a little,' he said ; ' you too arc 
 tired ; and then, after dinner, mother will be fit 
 to talk again. See, I will show you a room — the 
 place is a little altered.' 
 
 "With some difiiculty he enticed her awa}-, but 
 no sooner were they alone than her tears again 
 broke forth. 
 
 ' Oh, Carlo ! I am afraid I hare been too 
 much for her,' she exclaimed, * and yet — and yet 
 ■ — I wanted so to come.' 
 
 ' Yes, jxs, I am so glad you came ; only wc 
 must be careful ! ' said poor Carlo, distracted at 
 the thought that she was keeping him from his 
 mother, and much alarmed as he recollected how 
 white and weary the invalid had looked. * There, 
 you will lie down and rest till dinner-time, will 
 you not ?' 
 
 * But I ought to go back,' sobbed Nita. 
 
 ' Not yet,' he said ; * you must dine first ; and 
 now promise rac to rest. There, I will not stay 
 longer ; I am a little anxious — she is not strong, 
 you know.'
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 101 
 
 lie tore himself away, and returned as fast 
 as possible to the salotto. His mother's face 
 was hidden; he could hear her low, gasping 
 sobs. 
 
 ' Madrc mia !' he cried, and there was anguish 
 in his voice. ' Oh, do not give way ! She has 
 come back to us, carina — all will be well, if only 
 you will take care of yourself.' 
 
 * I must tell you ' she sobbed. 
 
 * Not now,' he said, * not now, mother. In- 
 deed you must be quiet or ' 
 
 ' I must speak,' she said, ' it is killing me ! I 
 must speak now, that you may promise me to 
 save her.' 
 
 ' From her husband ? ' he asked, anxious to 
 find how much she knew. 
 
 * No, no — from one she loves. Don't look like 
 that, Carlo — her husband was so stern and cruel, 
 and she was afraid of him, and — and this man 
 was kind.' 
 
 ' Kind ! ' ejaculated Carlo, with scorn in- 
 describable. 
 
 'He always tried to shield her from her 
 husband, and then, when they were leaving
 
 102 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 America, she was in debt and he lent her money, 
 and ' 
 
 * Enough, darling ; enough,' he said with ten- 
 derness which contrasted strangely with his last 
 ejaculation. * She came and told you all, and now 
 we can help her. If you love me, try to rest.' 
 
 But it was too late. The shock and the 
 agitation had brought on one of the Signora's 
 worst attacks. Carlo hastily summoned a servant, 
 and the whole household came rushing together 
 in a miserable confusion of helplessness. But the 
 maids only glanced at their mistress's face and 
 went away ; they would have left their own rela- 
 tions rather than have staj'ed in a room where the 
 Death Angel already hovered. 
 
 It was then, in his terrible, lonely watch, that 
 Carlo thanked Heaven that Francesca was Eng- 
 lish. The doctor had already been sent for, but 
 he left his mother for a moment and hurried to- 
 wards the group of weeping women gathered 
 round Anita. 
 
 ' We have sent for Father Cristoforo, signor,' 
 said one, hoping for a word of commendation for 
 her forethouo-ht.
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 103 
 
 But Carlo took no notice, nor did his stern 
 face soften. 
 
 * One of you go instantly,' lie said, * and fetch 
 Miss Britton.' 
 
 Francesca knew little of sickness, nor had she 
 ever seen death, hut she had none of the Italian 
 shrinking from a dying hed, in fact, every thought 
 of herself was swallowed up in the one longing to 
 be able to help Carlo. Cutting short the servant's 
 tearful description of the Signora's state, she 
 rushed out, not even pausing for a hat, and never 
 stopped running till she reached the Villa Bruno. 
 Then she pushed past the little group who would 
 have detained her, knocked at the door of the 
 salotto, and softly entered the room where, only a 
 day or two before, they had spent such a happy 
 evening. 
 
 For a moment she stood amazed, able to think 
 of nothing but the havoc wrought in so short a 
 time. Her lover knelt beside the couch, he 
 looked ten j'ears older than when they had 
 parted that morning. The Signora, whose head 
 rested on his arm, was haggard, ghastly, utterly 
 changed, while the iudcicribable look of ap-
 
 104 KNIGnX-ERRANT. 
 
 preaching death upon her face seemed reflected 
 in the young face which bent over her. 
 
 ' Darling, is there anything I can do ? ' said 
 Francesca, when she had wiped tlie damp brow 
 and reverently kissed the dying woman. 
 
 ' Nothing,' he replied, * except to stay here. 
 You do not mind ? ' He looked up at her with 
 questioning eyes, which yet were sure of their 
 answer. 
 
 * Oh, no ! ' she said. ' I am so thankful you 
 sent for me.' 
 
 A long sigh escaped him ; he tried to stifle 
 it, lest it should disturb his mother, who lay with 
 closed eyes. And after that the room was per- 
 fectly quiet, so quiet that Francesca coidd hear 
 the ticking of her watch ; while the canary in the 
 window, pecking the bars of his cage with his 
 little pink beak, seemed to make a noise so loud 
 that she wondered whether it would disturb the 
 Signora. 
 
 At last there was a change in the wan face ; 
 the eyes opened, and the Signora looked up at 
 Francesca with a smile. 
 
 Perhaps the beautiful face of the girl made
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 105 
 
 her think of her own daughter, for the smilo 
 changed to a look of aaiguish as she turned her 
 eyes to her son. 
 
 ' Don't forsake Nita — promise me — save her 
 — try to save her.' 
 
 The words were gasped out with an agony of 
 tone indescribable. But yet it was not till Carlo's 
 answer was given that Francesca's eyes brimmed 
 over with tears. 
 
 *I promise, madvc mia — I promise.' 
 
 His face was like the face of a saviour, strong, 
 pure, and sweet ; his voice was firm and clear. 
 No one could have helped trusting him. 
 
 A look of rest — even of hopefulness — stole 
 over his mother's face. She lay still for a few 
 minutes, then turned again to Francesca with a 
 most beautiful smile. 
 
 * He has never given me one moment's sorrow 
 all his life,' she said. 
 
 The words, which would be sweet to remember 
 in after years, which might bring in time to the 
 lips of the son a reflection of the mother's smile 
 as she uttered them, were, just then, more than 
 he coidd endure. His fortitude gave way ; ho
 
 106 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 had littlo to reproach liimsclf with, yet it grieved 
 him now to remember that at times it had been a 
 hard struggle to leave Naples and return to the 
 quiet of Villa Bruno, and that sometimes he had 
 perhaps lingered a little longer than he should 
 have done at Casa Bella. Now his days of ser- 
 vice were over; she would no longer need his 
 help. 
 
 "With a cry, which tore Francesca's heart, ho 
 bent down, clasping the dying form yet closer as 
 he sobbed out a passionate appeal, — 
 * Mother, mother, do not leave me ! ' 
 But the Signora was past hearing, past 
 speaking— only she felt his close embrace, and, 
 feebly raising her left hand, passed it behind his 
 head with that gentle pressm*e — half caress, half 
 support — which every woman knows how to 
 bestow on a baby. And thus they stayed till the 
 door opened, and the old priest and a little acolyte 
 entered, barely in time to administer the last 
 sacraments. Then Carlo regained his composure, 
 stung into calmness by a sort of bitter resent- 
 ment that an outsider must usurp those last 
 sacred niouicnts, and that ho, heretic and alien.
 
 THE STORM BREAKS. 107 
 
 had no part or lot in the ceremony, and would bo 
 expected to leave the room. But Father Cristo- 
 foro, who was a son first and a Churchman after- 
 wards, read his thoughts at once. 
 
 ' Stay, my son,' he said, with so kind and 
 fatherly a look, that Carlo's bitter thoughts were 
 banished, and he knelt on, still supporting his 
 mother. 
 
 Francesca knelt, too, on the other side of the 
 couch, but she could neither praj'^ nor feel; she 
 watched the scene like one in a dream. The sun- 
 shine streamed in through the window, lighting 
 up the white, unconscious face of the Signora and 
 the grief- stricken face of her son, the rich vest- 
 ments and tonsured head of the priest, the curious, 
 roving eyes of the acolyte with his Kttle silver- 
 toned bell. But Francesca was still numb from 
 the exceeding pain of watching her lover's agonj-. 
 Now he was peacefid once more ; his thoughts 
 were raised above the pain of the parting, but her 
 thoughts would not follow. The monotonous voice 
 of Father Cristoforo, as he intoned the service, 
 seemed only to increase her didl stupor. It was 
 not till the canary in the window broke out into a
 
 108 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 sudden burst of song that her heart scorned t» 
 awake once more, and to join in the familiar 
 ■words, * Gloria in crcelm Deo. Et in term pax 
 hominibus* And then, as once more the service 
 became unintelligible to her, she bent her head, 
 and prayed on with fast-flowing tears, * God ! I 
 thank Thee that she is spared the pain — that it is 
 only left for us.' 
 
 When she looked up once more, all was over. 
 Father Cristoforo, with a few kind words, went 
 quietly away ; from without there was a sound 
 of bitter weeping ; but Carlo knelt on with 
 bowed head and peaceful heart, and the Signora's 
 face was stamped with that calm majesty of death 
 which Franccsca had never before seen, and the 
 canary in the window still sang his song of praise.
 
 109 
 
 CIIAPTEIl VII. 
 
 * NO ONE HUT YOU.' 
 
 * You like to behold and even to touch the Cross, but, 
 alas ! \Yhen the command comes to you to bear it ! ' — 
 
 Francesca had lived many years in Italy, and 
 liad more than once witnessed the passionate 
 demonstrations of sorrow in a bereaved household; 
 nevertheless, it was something of a shock to her 
 to leave the quiet room of death and to go to 
 Anita, whom she found surrounded by the weep- 
 ing servants. They evidently took a melancholy 
 pleasure in watching her violent paroxysms of 
 grief. 
 
 To the English girl such a state of things 
 seemed dreadful ; she did as she would have been 
 done by, and induced the noisy mourners to go 
 away, thinking that poor Anita would find Avhat- 
 evcr comfort there was for her in silence and soli- 
 tude. She could not understand that total absence 
 of the consciousness of others, which to a northern
 
 110 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 nature is so utterly foreign, and she would have 
 left Anita with a few tender words and a long, 
 close embrace had not the poor girl clung to her 
 like a child with such wild sobs and tears, such 
 loud, unrestrained crying, that Francesca began 
 to understand that she must be comforted much 
 as Sibyl needed comforting after some dire 
 disaster. 
 
 At length, words began to frame themselves 
 amid the sobs, a constant repetition of the one 
 bitter regret which overpowered everything else 
 — ' I have killed her ! I have killed her ! It is 
 all my doing ! ' 
 
 * You could not tell — you could not know,' said 
 Francesca, feeling it hard indeed to find words to 
 meet so terrible a grief, and weeping, too, for 
 sympathy. * She has been so much weaker of 
 late— miable to bear any shock — but how could 
 you know ? And, oh, Nita, she must have been so 
 glad that you came I ' 
 
 ' No, no,' sobbed Nita. * I might have stayed 
 away, and then she woidd have forgotten.' 
 
 * Never, for she loved you,' said Francesca. 
 ' Her last words almost were of you. Oh, if you
 
 'no ONE BUT YOU.' Ill 
 
 could but liavc heard how she begged Carlo not 
 to leave you ! ' 
 
 But at this Nita only wept the more. 
 
 ' Carlo will hate me,' she cried. * Oh, let me 
 go ! let me go ! Tell them to put in the horses. 
 I can't stay here any longer.' 
 
 * He does not hate you ; he loves you,' said 
 Francesca, warmly. ' He promised the Signora 
 that he would always take care of you.' 
 
 Something in her tone quieted Nita. She lay 
 musing over the words, wondering if, indeed, her 
 brother knew all and would yet help her, 
 trembling with fear at the thought of meeting 
 him, and yet trembling still more when she 
 thought of going back to Naples to face tempta- 
 tions too strong for her. 
 
 Francesca watched her tenderly, aware that 
 some conflict was going on in her mind, though 
 wholly ignorant of her story, and far too young 
 and innocent to dream of the meaning which lay 
 in the dying words of the Signora. Nita was in 
 trouble, and in some sort of difficulty, and Carlo 
 had promised i;o help her. Francesca did not 
 curiously wonder what the difficulty might bo.
 
 112 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 nor did she for one moment doubt Carlo's power 
 of saving her. She accepted everything with the 
 quiet confidence of a child who is vaguely con- 
 scious that there is trouble in the house, but is 
 quite certain that its elders will soon make all 
 right. Looking at Nita, she saw how strong a 
 likeness existed between the brother and sister; 
 and even if she had not felt drawn towards her 
 before by her loneliness and her grief, this would 
 have appealed to her. The fine profile and the 
 warm, bright colouring, were exactly alike, but 
 the mouth was disappointing, and had the same 
 weakness which had slightly spoilt the expression 
 of Signora Donati ; while the eyes, though large 
 and bcautlfid, were lacking in soul, and niiglit 
 almost have been the eyes of a doll, so little did 
 they varj'. But yet, as Nita lay there in her grief 
 and self-reproach, trying to make up her mind be- 
 tween two evils, wondering which fear was the least 
 intolerable, there was something about her which 
 pleaded for pity. She was so young, so weak — a 
 parasite by nature, she seemed ready to cling to 
 anything, no matter what it was, so long as it had 
 the strength which she lacked.
 
 ' NO ONE BUT YOU.' 113 
 
 Site was afraid of sleeping- in the same house 
 as her dead mother, but then she was yet more 
 afraid of confessing to her husband where she 
 had been. She dreaded meeting Carlo, but she 
 still more dreaded meeting Comerio. All at once 
 it occurred to her to Avondcr who her companion 
 was. 
 
 ' I have forgotten your name, signorina,' she 
 said, looking into the sweet, pure face above her ; 
 ' but I think you must be Carlo's English play- 
 mate from Casa Bella ?' 
 
 * Yes ; I am Francesca Britton,' she replied, 
 quietly, not liking just then to speak of her happy 
 betrothal. 
 
 * Ah ! how shocked I was in the old days at 
 the games you and he played together ! ' said 
 Nita, wistfully. * And now — now it is I who 
 have shocked you all. But you were quite right 
 all the time. I have seen American life since 
 then, and if we Italian girls had something of 
 their libert}', there would not be so many broken 
 hearts among us.' 
 
 The words reminded her of her grief, and she 
 again burst into tears. 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 114 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 * Let mc fetch Carlo,' said Francesca. ' lie 
 will comfort you as uo one else can. Oh, you 
 must not say you are afraid of him, that is only 
 because you have forgotten. And I may tell him 
 that you will stay, may I not ? — you could not 
 leave him all alone.' 
 
 Nita sobbed out something inarticulate, which 
 Francesca took for a consent, and hurried away 
 in search of her lover. She found him in the 
 salotto, but the body of the Signora had been 
 carried to her ovni room, and Carlo, looking 
 broken-hearted, was trying to write a letter to 
 his uncle to tell him the news. Softly passing 
 her arm round his neck, and with her cool cheek 
 leaning against his heated brow, she stood by him 
 for some moments in silence. 
 
 * I must go home, my own,' she said, at 
 length. * Father will have come back, and will 
 not know where I am. May I ask him to come 
 in and see if he can help you in any way P ' 
 
 Carlo thanked her. lie felt dazed and 
 bewildered ; he thought it would be a comfort to 
 have the help of the kind-hearted Englishman, 
 who delighted in managing other people's affairs.
 
 ' NO ONE BUT YOU.' 115 
 
 * And then tlicre is Nita ! ' he exclaimed, with 
 a look of perplexity. That promise Avhich he 
 had made returned to him. It lay like a heavy 
 weight on his burdened mind ; he had promised 
 to save her, hut how to perform that promise he 
 had not an idea. 
 
 * It was about Nita I wanted to speak to you/ 
 said.Francesca. * She said at first that she must 
 go back to Naples at once, and seemed to dread 
 meeting you. But I think — I really think she 
 would stay if you went to her and let her see 
 that you care for her still. She is in terrible dis- 
 tress, and no one but you can comfort her, Carlo 
 
 ' No one but you ! — No one but you ! ' The 
 words haunted him as he turned to go to Nita. 
 His mother had trusted all to him ; Francesca, 
 too, seemed to think that with him lay the solo 
 chance of reaching his sister. Their very confi- 
 dence seemed to crush him, he was utterly at a 
 loss to know what he should do or say ; he could 
 not even feel acutely, sympathy seemed dead, 
 his heart cold and numb with suffering, and yet, 
 impelled by the truth of those words, * No one
 
 116 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 but you ! ' he entered Nita's room. Her face was 
 buried in the pillow, she was sobbing aloud, and 
 took no notice of his presence. He sat down by 
 the bed and meclianically took her hand in his ; 
 her sobs did not move him, and no words of 
 comfort came to his lips. 
 
 But all at once, as he watched the little 
 hand which lay in his, a keen pang of pain 
 shot through his heart. The hand was like his 
 mother's hand, so much like that he could hardly 
 believe it was not hers ; he pressed it to his lips 
 with love and reverence, for the first time in 
 his life fully realising the meaning of brother- 
 hood. With that pain and that new vision his 
 heart awoke once more, his work lay before him, 
 his perplexity melted in a rush of love and pity, 
 and that eager longing to help which swallows 
 up diffidence and proves its own guide. 
 
 * Nita mia ! ' he said, his tears falling fast on 
 the little white hand, ' do not cry like that. 
 She is at rest — at rest, and very happy ; we dare 
 not wish her back again.' 
 
 * But I — but I have killed her ! ' sobbed Anita. 
 
 * No, never say that — never think it,' he cried ;
 
 ' NO ONE BUT YOU.' 117 
 
 * you (lid right to come home, quite right. It is 
 the will of God.' 
 
 No contact with Enrico's sceptical philosophj' 
 had been able to mar that wonderful childlike 
 faith which is one of the most beautiful charac- 
 teristics of an Italian. E voktc di Dio. The 
 words were spoken with a grave simplicity which 
 would have startled an EngKshman. He did 
 not pause to think of the proper thing to say, or 
 reflect for one instant how his words would 
 affect others, he just spoke out the perfect 
 assurance which, in his terrible grief, had been 
 his ovm refuge. 
 
 ' You must know, Nita,' he resumed, us she 
 grew more quiet, ' that I have heard aU ; she 
 told me ; and she died happy because she was 
 sure you would be saved from this. You will 
 not let her hope be vain.' 
 
 * If you would help me,' faltered Anita. 
 
 ' I will — I will ! ' he cried eagerly. That 
 was no time to think of details or of difficulties, 
 he could only gi^•e her his unqualified promise. 
 Then, when the two had discussed things a little 
 more, it was arranged that Carlo should write a
 
 118 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 note to Mcrlino, and tell him that Anita would 
 remain for a few days at the Villa Brmio. 
 
 ' And, oh ! write carefully/ exclaimed Nita ; 
 ' see that you do not offend him.' 
 
 Carlo wrote a cautiously worded letter, and 
 sent it in to Naples by old Florestano, who also 
 bore the ill news to Guide Donati and to the 
 Hitters, and, that he might make all the more 
 speed, was prevailed on to accept a seat in the 
 carriage which had brought Nita that morning. ] 
 
 Thus in a weary round of petty duties the 
 time wore on, and at length night came. Carlo 
 slept little, however, and rose the next day but 
 ill prepared for the work before him. Nothing but 
 the lifelong habit of making his own needs stand 
 second to the needs of others, kept him up. 
 With regard to the funeral there was little for 
 him to arrange, as all was managed after the 
 usual custom by one of the congrcgazionc, the 
 relatives not even going to the church or the 
 grave. But he had to interview Father Cristo- 
 foro, to talk to Captain Britton, to receive Uncle 
 Guide, Avho drove over from Naples at noon, and 
 to do his best to shield Anita from reproaches,
 
 'no oxio but you.' 119 
 
 taking good care that the elder Donati should 
 not hear one word about Comcrio. 
 
 And always through the livelong day, above his 
 grief, above the avcII- meant condolences of his 
 friends, there rang in his head one unanswerable 
 question — how to save Nita ; and with that Fran- 
 cesca's words, * No one but you ! ' In the evening, 
 when all was over and the sad coming and going 
 had given place to a terrible, oppressive quiet, his 
 grief and perplexity made him turn to Enrico 
 Ritter, with the feeling that unless he unbur- 
 dened his mind to some one he should lose his 
 senses. It was true that Francesca partly 
 divined his trouble, but he could not discuss 
 his difficulties with her, could not bear to imfold 
 to licr so dark a page. Sardoni, his informant, 
 was a total stranger ; Cajitain IJritton was the 
 last man to whom he could turn ; while Uncle 
 Guido, with his uncertain temper, and his wrath 
 ut the stain which Anita had alroad}' brought 
 upon the family name, was little likely to give 
 helpful counsel in this matter. Enrico, * purely 
 to please himself,' had hastened over to Villa 
 Bruno, and now inevitably Carlo turned to him,
 
 120 KXIGlIT-i:iM!AXT. 
 
 and, exactiug a promise of secrecy, told him 
 everything that had happened since their last 
 meeting. 
 
 He had chosen his confidant well. Enrico 
 could bo trusted to keep perfect silence ; more- 
 over, his sound common sense, his cool, calm, 
 practical way of looking at things, was precisely 
 what Carlo needed. His own brain was so over- 
 wrought, so confused with the sudden calamity 
 which had befallen him, that he was not in the 
 least capable of seeing any matter in its true 
 light. And then, too, the mere relief of sharing 
 his perplexities wnth another was an inexpressible 
 comfort. Not that Enrico had many suggestions 
 to offer ; he listened for the most part in silence. 
 But then there are times in life when the silence 
 of a friend is the one thing for which we crave ; 
 and Carlo turned to the unspoken sympathy of 
 the man who really cared for him when wearied 
 with the condolences of outsiders. Guido Donati 
 had spoken of returning the next day to discuss 
 the future, but the really perplexing future was 
 discussed with the German pessimist. 
 
 ' There is only one thing I would advise you,
 
 ' NO ONE BUT YOU.' 121 
 
 and that is, have no personal communication with 
 Comcrio,' said Enrico at length. *I have seen 
 him, and, into the bargain, know a good deal 
 about him, and he's the veriest devil you can 
 conceive. Pay him back the money, but do so 
 through some third person.' 
 
 * I'm sure I have no wish to see him,' said 
 Carlo, sighing. ' If only I could think of some 
 way of getting rid of him.' 
 
 That there would be any difficulty in raising 
 the money had not as yet occurred to Carlo. He 
 had been extremely careless about money matters 
 all his life ; and though leading too secluded a life 
 to be precisely extravagant, he had allowed things 
 to drift, well content so long as he received 
 his small annual allowance from his mother, 
 and never troubling his head about the amount 
 of their actual income. He knew that he was to 
 be his uncle's heir, and to receive a very com- 
 fortable allowance from him on his marriage, 
 therefore he left all details to his mother, took 
 what came to him, and lived on in serene com- 
 fort. Compelled now to face the situation he 
 was startled to find how entirely dependent he
 
 122 KNIGIIT-EHRANT. 
 
 was upon his uncle ; the income upon -vvliicli they 
 had lived had been derived from an annuity, and 
 of course ceased at his mother's death ; the A'^illa 
 Bruno was only rented by the year, and though 
 its furniture belonged to him it was worth but 
 little. His only other possession was his horse, 
 and he could not well part with that to raise 
 the necessary money, for not only would it at 
 once have provoked a question from his uncle, 
 but it was indispensable to him so long as he 
 lived in that remote country place. In the end 
 Enrico, becoming aware of his embarrassment, 
 said that he should ask his father to advance him 
 the money ; and as the need of a loan was quite 
 comprehensible to Ilcrr E,ittcr at such a time, 
 he very willingly acceded to the request, and 
 Enrico himself was charged with tlie dis- 
 agreeable errand of conveying the money to 
 Comerio. 
 
 This was one step in the desired direction, 
 and one care off Carlo's mind, but his perplexity 
 about Anita only increased, for, as each day he 
 learnt to know her better, he was forced to own 
 to himself how utterly unfit she was for the
 
 ' NO ONE BUT YOU.' 123 
 
 difficult life before her. Ilcr beauty, her weak- 
 ness, her moral cowardice, her miserable mar- 
 riage, all were against her. She seemed in- 
 capable of really loving, capable onl}' of a sort 
 of desire to be caressed and shielded. Carlo 
 gained a certain amount of influence with her, 
 just because she trusted like a child to his 
 strength, and was quite certain that he would 
 do what he could for her; but she left every- 
 thing to him, and, in those bitter days of his 
 grief and perj)lexity, lived on in a placid, restful 
 state which was almost hajipincss. 
 
 At length an interruption came to this state 
 of things. One afternoon Sardoni drove over 
 from Naples ; Carlo was heartily glad to sec him, 
 and received him with a warmth which seemed 
 to please the Englishman. 
 
 * 1 was afraid you would always dislike me as 
 the bearer of ill news,' he said ; * I came partly 
 to give you back your letter, which, of course, I 
 have not had u chance of giving to Madame 
 Mcrlino. She is still with you ? ' 
 
 * Yes, she is still here,' said Carlo, tearing 
 the letter in pieces, and stifling a sigh as he
 
 124 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 remembered how different all had been when 
 he wrote it. 
 
 ' I came partly to warn you that Merlino 
 intends soon to send for your sister/ said Sardoni ; 
 ' indeed, it is really a necessity that she should 
 come back, for the first rehearsal is on Monday, 
 and the theatre is to open next Thursday.' 
 
 ' So soon ! And as yet I have done nothing ! ' 
 exclaimed Carlo. 
 
 * Are you so sure of that ? ' asked Sardoni, 
 with a keen glance at hiui. ' You have at any 
 rate succeeded in making Comerio your bitter 
 enemy ; and, by-the-bye, I have discovered one 
 thing which may, perhaps, be of service to you ; 
 Comerio's engagement was for three years, but 
 may be terminated in half that time either at 
 Merlino's option or at his own.' 
 
 * When does the first half expire ? ' 
 
 ' In three weeks' time,' said Sardoni. 
 
 Carlo thought for a few minutes in silence ; 
 then he said somewhat abruptly, — 
 
 ' I wish you would just tell me plainly 
 what sort of man Merlino is ; I can gather but 
 little from what my sister lets fall about him.'
 
 ' NO ONE BUT YOU.' 125 
 
 ' I can't draw a very pleasing picture of him,' 
 said Sardoni, with a smile, ' for, truth to tell, 
 there is no love lost between us, lie has very 
 little education, but that is a subject of regret to 
 him ; since his marriage he has become moral and 
 respectable, but he is the most awful tyrant I ever 
 had the misfortune to meet with. Of course his 
 position tends to foster a love of power ; for don't 
 you see the manager of an operatic company is 
 like a king, not a constitutional one, but a despot 
 — an autocrat ? Then your sister, if you will 
 pardon my bluntness, was the very last sort of 
 wife he ought to have had. She is afraid of him 
 and has no notion of holding her own, and 
 he — great brute — treats her abominably. 
 Why don't you persuade her to try for a 
 separation?' 
 
 * I could not be a party to that,' said Carlo, 
 * so long as he is faithful to her. That a man has 
 a bad temper is no fit reason for breaking the 
 marriage vow.' 
 
 'Those notions are old-fashioned,' said Sar- 
 doni, with a rather pitying smile. 
 
 But the smile quickly died away ; for Carlo,
 
 126 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 A\ith a dignity indescribable, made him a little 
 bow and dismissed the subject with a calm — 
 * That is very possible, signer.' 
 
 There was a world of expression, both in tone 
 and gesture, and Sardoni saw that to argue about 
 his suggestion would be useless. 
 
 ' If you reject that idea,' he said, after a 
 silence, * there is only one alternative — Comerio 
 must be got rid of. I have thrown out as many 
 hints as I dare to Merlino, all to no purpose. To 
 tell him the truth plainly woidd make him ten 
 times more brutal to your sister, and is altogether 
 out of the question, even if one had the right. 
 "Why, he would be a fiend incarnate ! You 
 know what Italian husbands are when once their 
 jealousy is stirred up.' 
 
 Carlo involuntarily smiled, then, tickled by 
 the speaker's ingenuous remark, fairly laughed. 
 
 Sardoni looked confused. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' he said ; 'but indeed I 
 had forgotten that I was not talking to a fellow- 
 countryman — a compliment to your accent, you 
 see. Where did you become such a jjroficient ?' 
 
 ' Our nearest nci";hbours arc Enu-lish,' said
 
 * NO ONE BUT YOU.' 127 
 
 Carlo, not caring to explain any further, though 
 instinctively his eyes turned towards a photo- 
 graph of Francesca which stood on the mantel- 
 piece. Sardoni's keen eyes noted this. He 
 observ'cd the photograph with secret admiration 
 and drew his own conclusions. 
 
 ' Then how do you propose that Comerio shall 
 be got rid of?' said Carlo, breaking the silence. 
 ' You do not imagine, signer, that we Italians — 
 about whom, it ajipcars, you are in the habit of 
 generalising — carry stilettos and conveniently 
 dispose of our foes by a stab ? ' 
 
 ' There is only one way of getting rid of him,' 
 said Sardoui. * ^lerlino is always trying to cut 
 down expenses, and with very good reason, for, as 
 .1 told you before, the opera is not always a pay- 
 ing concern. Now, if before the agreement with 
 Comerio is renewed you can find a baritone with 
 as good a voice who will sing on lower terms, 
 then I have little doubt that Merlino would settle 
 with him and give Comerio his co)i(jt.^ 
 
 * You must have been talking with Piale, 
 signer^?' said Carlo, conscious of a vague feeling 
 of discomfort.
 
 128 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 ' Piale ?' said Sardoni, looking puzzled ; ' I do 
 not know any one of the name.' 
 
 ' Ah ! then it was only an odd coincidence. 
 But he is a well-known professor, and he has a 
 pupil — a baritone — whom he is very anxious to 
 bring out ; he was talking to me about it only a 
 few days ago.' 
 
 * Why, then, there is good hope for our plans,' 
 said Sardoni. * A beginner would expect far less 
 than Comerio, and, if he really has a good voice 
 and some dramatic power, no doubt Merlino 
 wovdd catch at him. What sort of looking fellow 
 is he ? Have you seen him ? Is he presentable ?' 
 
 A bright, sudden smile lit up Carlo's sad face 
 for a minute. 
 
 * Of that I am no fit judge,' he said demurely, 
 * for I am the pupil in question.' 
 
 'You!' ejaculated Sardoni, in amazement. 
 Then, recollecting his question, he began to 
 laugh. ' Well, I have my answer in an uimiis- 
 takablc form. There can be no doubt that you 
 are well fitted for the stage.' 
 
 Again his companion made that funny little 
 Italian bow, in which there lurked so much
 
 ' NO OXK BUT YOU.' 129 
 
 dignit)'. There was just a sliade of irony in liis 
 expression. 
 
 * I sec the prospect does not attract you,' said 
 Sardoni ; * j'ct I slioidd fancy j'ou might do great 
 things on the stage, from the look of j'ou.' 
 
 ' But I hope for a very different life, signer.' 
 
 * I see. AVell, I -would be the last to tell you 
 that our life is an enviable one. Some people 
 seem to fancy that an actor's life is " all beer and 
 skittles" — I thought so once myself, but I can 
 tell you that's a confounded mistake.' 
 
 Carlo had never felt less inclined to discuss 
 the merits of theatrical life ; he devoutly wished 
 that Sardoni would go ; that feeling of vague dis- 
 comfort grew upon him. 
 
 * Well,' he said, ' I will see if possibly Piale 
 may know of someone else capable of taking 
 Comerio's phice ; and I am greatly obliged to 
 you, signor, for your suggestions and your help.' 
 
 Sardoni perceived that he wished to be alone, 
 and, leaving a message of inquiry for Madame 
 Merlino, took his departure. 
 
 But the discomfort which his presence had 
 kept vague and undefined, broke into a clear, 
 
 VOL, I, K
 
 130 KXIGIIT-KRKANT, 
 
 torturing pcrce^jtion when Carlo was once more 
 alone. Over and over the words rang in his head 
 — * No one but you ! — no one but you ! ' He tried 
 to stifle them, he argued with himself on the folly 
 of the idea — he said it was impossible, Quixotic, 
 preposterous. Finally, he hurried off to ra«a 
 Bella.
 
 181 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 riAl.K SCUKMES. 
 
 * Wilt tbou go forth into the friendless waste 
 That hast this Paradise of pleasure here ? ' 
 
 The LiyJit of Asia. 
 
 There arc sonic who consider that a hero must 
 be practically immaculate, and who grumble sorely 
 if called upon to study the life of an ordinary 
 mortal Avho often stumbles when the road is 
 rough, who shrinks from the Valley of Humilia- 
 tion and takes a foolish, fleeting delight in By- 
 path Meadow. But if the function of all art is to 
 picture life, — not to photograph, but to paint it, — 
 then, without doubt, the typical hero of romance 
 with his faultless features and his preternatural 
 nobility must disappear for ever from the canvas ; 
 for where are these perfect beings who, in spite 
 of cruel circumstances, never fall, who never har- 
 bour selfish thoughts — never speak hasty words ? 
 Thank God, one meets plenty of good men,
 
 132 KNiGirr-KiniANT. 
 
 but llic best of them would certainly own tliat 
 there had been times when they had felt ready to 
 tear their tongues out in vain regret for irrevoc- 
 able words — that they would give almost any- 
 thing to live over again some misguided bit of 
 their lives. 
 
 Carlo Donati was not an immacidato hero of 
 romance, but a nineteenth-century man, — a man 
 of flesh and blood, with a quick, ardent, sanguine 
 temperament and strong passions. When those 
 words which the English tourist let fall in the 
 Neapolitan caff'e had arrested his attention, he had 
 been pricked at heart, and for the time vaguely 
 disquieted. A yet deeper impression had been 
 made upon him by his promise to his mother on 
 her death-bed. Still, all had been vague and 
 formless. Now, 8ardoni's bald, matter-of-fact 
 statement had plunged the sword much farther, 
 had called up before him a plain, unmistakable 
 way of helping Anita. The typical hero would 
 of course have flmig himself into the breach 
 without an instant's hesitation, but Carlo did no 
 such thing ; he did not even allow his thoughts 
 to dwell on the possibility, but just turned his
 
 riALE SCHEMES. 133 
 
 back on the whole matter, tried to make Anita's 
 visit as pleasant as might be, and sought refuge 
 from his own sad memories in daily meetings 
 Avith Fraucesca. 
 
 lie did, however, to some extent follow 
 Sardoni's advice, and, intrusting Piale with as 
 much of the truth as he deemed necessary, wrote 
 to ask him whether he knew of any singer who 
 might be found to take Comerio's place. He 
 also wrote to Mcrlino, obtaining further leave of 
 absence for his sister, on condition that she drove 
 in to Naples each day next week for rehearsal, 
 and finally returned whon the performances 
 began. The days sped by rapidly enough, and 
 on the Thursday, true to his promise. Carlo took 
 his sister back, parting with her at the entrance 
 to the Palazzo Forti, not witliout regret and 
 apprehension. Mingled, however, with these 
 came a sense of dec>p relief, for, from a selfish 
 point of view, he could not but revel in his 
 regained freedom : his life coidd never again be 
 what it had been before Anita's return, but a 
 sort of after-glow of the old times seemed to rise 
 in his sky when the cloud of poor Nita's imme-
 
 134 KNIGIIT-EUHANT. 
 
 dliitc presence was removed, lie felt hopeful, 
 too, for Pialc had written to ask him to call at 
 twelve o'clock, and he thought that perhaps he 
 had found a desirable baritone. 
 
 The old Maestro received him very kindly, 
 but soon dashed his expectations to the ground, 
 
 * I know of no one,' he said emphatically, — 
 *no one. You speak as if good baritones were 
 as rife as mushrooms. And, look }-ou, Comcrio is 
 a clever actor, and has a fine voice ; you'll not 
 easily find any one to beat him, and if you did 
 it is unlikely enough that they would take lower 
 terms. Besides, Merlino is extremely unpopular 
 as a manager ; only just now I had his conductor 
 in, a capital young fellow — Marioni, and he 
 says that they all find it almost impossible to 
 work with him. You must give up that idea ; 
 I, at any rate, cannot help j'ou in it.' 
 
 Carlo sighed, and fell into deep thought, 
 lie did not hear footsteps on the stairs, nor 
 notice that some one entered the inner room, 
 which was divided from the front one only by 
 a curtain. But Pialc heard, and abruptly 
 changed the subject.
 
 PIALE SCHEMES. 135 
 
 'You have been neglecting your voice, I 
 fear,' lie said, looking critically into his pupil's 
 face, and gricAang to see what a change trouble 
 had wrought in it, ' Not that T blame you in 
 the least ; there are times, of course, when even 
 music must go to the wall. Let me hear 
 you.' 
 
 He made him work for a time at solfcyyi, 
 then broke into an impatient exclamation, for- 
 getting everything but his art. ' Out of practice 
 — shockingly out of practice,' he said, with a 
 portentous frown, ' try this.' 
 
 He took down a copy of ' Faust ' and played 
 the opening bars of ' Dio Fosseiite.' The frown 
 and the impatient ejaculation incited Carlo, 
 he cared intensely to please his old master, and, 
 throwing his whole soid into the music and 
 losing his own identity in that of Valentino, he 
 gave an almost perfect rendering of the song. 
 
 Suddenly the curtain between the two rooms 
 was torn back, and a black-beurded man, with 
 swarthy face, and extremely small, dark ej'cs, 
 with a restless, irritable look in them, hastened 
 forward.
 
 13G KNIGHT-EKRANT. 
 
 ' SIy:iior l*ialo, I congratulate you ! ' he 
 exclaimed, * you have produced the iiKJ.st pro- 
 mising singer of the day! No wonder }ou arc 
 proud of your pupil ! ' 
 
 lie was evidently carried away by the excite- 
 ment of the moment, for his face, naturally most 
 disagreeable, was illuminated with the same 
 glow of artistic delight which, as the song 
 proceeded, had softened Piale's rugged features. 
 
 For a minute an observer would have noticed 
 that the two listeners had forgotten everj-thing 
 but their art, while Carlo was still Valentino, 
 not himself. There was a silence, the old 
 Maestro looked triumphantly happy, the stranger 
 turned bis small, restless eyes on the singer, 
 and Carlo gradually awoke to the recollection 
 that he was not Valentino going off to the war 
 and praying for the safety of his sister, but 
 Anita's brother with far greater cause for 
 anxiety, and with his hopes of assistance from 
 Piale dashed to the ground. 
 
 All at once he came to full consciousness of 
 the actual present, and found the stranger un- 
 disguisedly taking stock of him, looking him
 
 PI ALE SCHEMES. lo7 
 
 over from lieiul to foot with interest and eurio- 
 sity. Carlo, iinaccustomed to this sort of apprais- 
 ing stare, felt the blood rush to his checks, yet 
 it was no sense of the stranger's rudeness which 
 aroused his strong antipathy. lie looked hastily 
 at the black-bearded visitor, looked again, angry 
 with himself at being so much moved, then 
 instinctively he recoiled a pace. 
 
 ' The likeness is extraordinary ! ' exclaimed 
 the new-comer, turning to Piale and startling 
 him from his happy reverie. 
 
 ' Likeness ! ' ejaculated the old musician, still 
 half in the clouds, but dimh^ perceiving that 
 sublunary affairs were somehow gone ixv,Yy. 
 ' Likeness ! Not at all, signer, not at all ; 
 there's not a voice like that in all Italy.' 
 
 * I don't speak of the voice,' said the stranger, 
 impatiently, ' but the face is like my wife's — 
 curiously like.' 
 
 The old musician looked dismayed ; he was 
 fully awake now, art was forgotten, and a 
 perilous bit of real life lay before hiin. In two 
 strides Carlo was beside liiin, liis face flushed, 
 his eyes full of suppressed anger.
 
 138 KNIGIIT-KKKAKT. 
 
 * Maestro,' he punted, * what is this ? •what 
 is this that you have done to mo ? ' 
 
 ' Forgive me,' said the old man, ' I am not 
 so mucli to blame as you think. I did indeed 
 invite 8ignor Merlino to hear you sing, but 
 with the understanding that he should not 
 appear. You broke faith with me, signor.' 
 
 *A thousand pardons,' said Merlino, coolly; 
 * but in truth your pupil ought to be pleased 
 with the compliment. I was so carried away 
 by his singing that I forgot all. I don't imder- 
 stand what all this fuss is about.' 
 
 lie glanced at Carlo, who had turned away 
 at his first words, and stood now at the window 
 with his back to them, evidently struggling to 
 restrain an outburst of passion. Piale looked 
 at him, too, with comimnction, but with great 
 bewilderment. How was he to get matters set 
 right ? how disentangle himself from the con- 
 fusion into which Merlino's impulsive entrance 
 had plunged everything ? 
 
 Carlo stood looking out into the busy street, 
 but he saw nothing, was conscious of nothing 
 but that Merlino was in the room with him —
 
 riALE bCUEMES. 131) 
 
 Mcrlino, the cause of all his sorrow and per- 
 plexity. He had conquered by a supreme eli'ort 
 the first savage impulse to fly at the throat of 
 the man Avho had caused his mother so much 
 grief, but fierce auger still burnt in his heart 
 and sent fiery blood coursing through his veins. 
 A storm of wrathful indignation consumed him 
 as he thought of Merlino's misdeeds ; he was 
 angry, too, with Piale, feeling naturally enough 
 that a snare had been laid for him ; and he was 
 angry with himself because even in this moment 
 of confusion he was aware that he had deliber- 
 ately turned his back on tlie question now forced 
 upon him, and that want of preparation was 
 his own fault. 
 
 For moments of what seem to us sudden 
 temptation are seldom really sudden. God has 
 given us our times of preparation, and if we have 
 wilfully neglected them the conflict is severer, 
 or perhaps ends in defeat. 
 
 How was he now to think out the frightfully 
 involved question at issue J' How decide on the 
 right course of action ? And yet a false step 
 might prove Nita's ruin. The anguish of that
 
 110 KNIGUT-ERKANT. 
 
 tliought, and the loatliin*,' of his own selfish 
 procrastination, calmed his anger. "With an 
 effort lie yielded up his will, and therewith 
 forgot 3Ierlino's presence, hccausc another pre- 
 sence absorbed him wholly. 
 
 lie was interrupted by a touch on his arm. 
 I'iale stood beside him, with a look of deep 
 concern on his kind old face. 
 
 ' Carlo mio,^ he said, in a low ^•oicc, ' I 
 apologise to you, and beg your forgiveness ; but 
 since things have so fallen out, perhaps you will 
 permit mc to introduce you to Signor Merlino, 
 who will then understand us better.' 
 
 Carlo assented, subduing the angry thoughts 
 whicli yet struggled to find place in his heart. 
 
 ' (Signor,' said the old musician, approaching 
 Merlino, * there is nothing extraordinary in the 
 likeness you observed. Permit mc to introduce 
 you to Signor Donati.' 
 
 Merlino started violently, and for a minute 
 looked abashed, and greatly confused. I'iale 
 with much curiosity watched his pupil, who had 
 turned from the window as he spoke, and now, 
 with a face as pale as death, bowed gravely.
 
 PI ALE SCIIE>rivS. ] il 
 
 There was an a\A]<;war(l pause, broken prc- 
 sciilly l)y Carlo. 
 
 *I hrouglit my sister to Palazzo Forti an 
 hour ago, signor,' he said, speaking to ]\Ierlino 
 •with grave courtesy ; ' I am much obliged to 
 you for sparing her to me so long.' 
 
 The speech cost him a great deal, but he was 
 glad that he had brought himself to make it, 
 for he had no wish to quarrel with Nita's 
 husband, indeed he fully recognised ]Merlino's 
 rights, though unable to think patiently of the 
 way in which he had acquired them, or the 
 manner in which he now abused them. 
 
 * A few days' rest will doubtless have been 
 good for Anita,' said Merlino, complacently, 
 speaking of his wife much as he might have 
 spoken of an over-worked horse ; ' she has had 
 hard work in America, nor can wc afford now 
 to be idle. It is a pleasure to mc to make your 
 acquaintance, signor. If I could induce you to 
 follow your sister's example and use your great 
 talents professionally it would give me the 
 greatest satisfaction.' 
 
 Carlo's heart began to throb painfully. Could
 
 142 KNIGIIT-ERKAXT. 
 
 it bo that he was called to this ? Could it be 
 that this man — this coarse, brutal tyrant — was 
 to prove the arbiter of his destiny ? The words 
 which a few days before he liad used so em- 
 phatically to Sardoni trembled on his lips, ' I 
 hope for a ver}^ different life.' liut he managed 
 to strangle them. Had he not offered up liis 
 will? He stood silent, waiting for guidance, 
 hoping against hope, as is the way with poor 
 mortals, that, after all, his own will might be 
 done. He waited. At length Piale spoke ; the 
 words fell on him like blows. 
 
 * I have long urged upon ni}' pupil, signer, 
 the duty of going on the stage, for which he is 
 admirabh^ fitted. I am not without hope that 
 circumstances may prompt him at length to 
 consent. But there is as yet no vacancy in your 
 troupe, I think, so I fear that you will not have 
 the honour of introducing to the public both 
 Madame Merlino and Carlo Donati.' 
 
 Carlo stood silently listening to the discussion 
 of his fate, looking now at Piale's brown, 
 wrinkled face, with its parchment-like skin, 
 furrowed bro^v, and crown of bushy, grizzled
 
 riALE SCHEMES. 143 
 
 hair, now iit the clisagrceahlc face of 3[crliuo. 
 He knew that when the Impresario spoke next 
 he would say that Comcrio's engagement might 
 he terminated ver}' shorth^ if he so willed ; knew 
 that Merlino was once more appraising him, 
 observing the spnmetry of his face and figui-c, 
 calculating whether he would 'draw.' He felt 
 like a slave in the market, but still he waited 
 and held his peace. 
 
 * It shall not be my fault if I lose the honour,' 
 said Merlino at length ; ' by good luck Comerio's 
 engagement is terminable at eighteen months if 
 I so please ; may be ended, that is, in a fort- 
 night's time. Y/hat say you, Signer Piale? 
 Could 3'ou have your pupil fit to fill the vacancy 
 in so short a time as that ? ' 
 
 Piale was not to be daunted, though he knew 
 well enough that the time was very short indeed 
 for the preparation which would be necessary. 
 
 ' Whether Comerio's costumes could be altered 
 for him so soon is perhaps doubtful,' he replied 
 proudly ; * they might or might not be ready in 
 a fortnight's time ; but my pupil will be ready — 
 quite ready.'
 
 14-1 KNIGIIT-ERKANT, 
 
 * Well, I'll risk It,' .said Merlino, who was a 
 keen-eyed man of business, and knew that Carlo 
 would prove a good speculation. * I am prepared 
 to offer you, signer, an engagement of three 
 years, terminable at the end of the first j'ear at 
 the wish of either party. As to the salary, we 
 shall net quarrel I think, " Oro e, che oro rnlc," 
 let me see ' 
 
 He began to make a calculation and to dis- 
 cuss money matters with Piale, who, in his 
 delight at the prospect of at length inducing his 
 pupil to go on the stage, was ready to accede to 
 almost any terms. 
 
 Carlo, still with that thought of the slave- 
 market in his mind, watched the discussion like 
 one in a droam, paying little heed to the details. 
 It mattered nothing to him, just then, whether 
 he received five pounds a -week or fifty; it 
 mattered supremcl}' that he had prayed for 
 guidance, and that immediately after there had 
 come to him this definite offer. lie dared not re- 
 fuse, he hesitated to accept. Silencing the fiends' 
 voices which urged him at once to decline 
 Merlino's proposal, at once to seek the selfish
 
 PIALK SCHEMED. 145 
 
 peace which that decision woukl bring-, he braced 
 himself up for a reply. The haggling at length 
 ended, and Mcrlino turned to him. 
 
 * Well, Signor Donati, j'ou hear my ofier, and 
 tSignor I'iale approves of the terms ; it rests with 
 you now to accept them or not. It is not for nie 
 to advise you either one way or the other ; but, in 
 my own mind, I have little doubt that, if you 
 A\()rk well, you will be one of the first singers of 
 the day.' 
 
 Piale's eyes shone ; he could hardly contain 
 himself, so great was his excitement. It damped 
 his ardour to see that this glorious prospect 
 brought no faintest gleam of pleasure to his 
 pupil's face. He scratched his parchment-like 
 cheek ferocioiisly, a trick which he had Avhen 
 anything annoyed him or tried his patience. At 
 length Carlo sjwke : 
 
 ' 1 am obliged to you for your offer, signor, 
 but you will understand that it is impossible for 
 me to accept it on the spur of the moment. The 
 decision will affect others ; I must think of them 
 as well as of myself. I must consult those who 
 belong to me.' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 KXIGIIT-KRHANT. 
 
 ' Well, well,' said Meiiiuo, impatiently, ' so 
 long as you keep the matter quiet — so long as it 
 docs not come to Comcrio's ears, I don't object to 
 that ; but I can't aftord to be olf with liiin till I 
 am on with you.' 
 
 ' I promise you all shall be kept quiet,' said 
 Carlo. ' How soon nmst you know my decision ?' 
 ' Meet me next "Wednesday at the Mercadantc 
 — or, better still, if Signor IMale will permit, at 
 tliis house, and I will have the cojitract ready. 
 That leaves you nearly a week, and I shall quite 
 hope for a favourable reply. T shall, in the mean- 
 time, not breathe a word of this to my Avife, who, 
 of course, will be charmed to have you in the 
 troupe. Good- day, signor, and let me entreat 
 you not to throw awa}' this o^jpurtunily. A 
 thousand thanks, Signor Piale, for your courlesy, 
 and pray forgive my impetuous entrance.' 
 He bowed himself out. 
 
 Carlo watched him as he walked down the 
 street -wal eh ed him in a sort of stupor. When 
 he had disai)peared, his eyes turned to a heavily 
 laden mule just coming into sight, with waving 
 green boughs tied about its head to keep oif the
 
 PIALE SCHEMES. " 147 
 
 flies ; it toiled patiently on, the lazy boy in cliarge 
 hanging on to its tail with his right hand, Avhile lie 
 devoured a great hunch of bread clasped fast in 
 his left. Carlo watched with a sort of envy the 
 placid cahu of the sunburnt lad — that pictui-e of 
 lazy content contrasted so oddly Avilh Ihc state of 
 his own mind. Piale soon added to the fierce- 
 ness of the storm by urgent and almost piteous 
 entreaties that he would accept Merlino's offer. 
 With tears in his eyes, the old musician paced to 
 and fro, passionately declaiming upon the sacrod 
 calling, and the duty of not allowing such great 
 gifts to rust unused ; and Carlo listened with the 
 reluctant attention of one who does not wish to be 
 persuaded. It was bad enough to light against 
 his own convictions ; he did not want Piale's 
 arguments to make the conflict yet more severe. 
 
 'I tell yuii,' urged the old man, ' that Italian 
 opera is dying — dying for Avant of fit exponents. 
 There is scarcely a man whom one cares to listen 
 to, aiKJ il will never be kept alive by two or three 
 prime donne. You might revive it, and yet you 
 hesitate, Corpo di Bacco ! Is it that you are 
 unaware of your gifts ? Is it that your very
 
 148 KNIGHT-EliUANT. 
 
 modesty is to prove the baue of your life and the 
 destruction of my hopes ? Listen to mc — it is 
 the plain truth I am telling you, and you well 
 know I never flatter. For years upon years Italy 
 has produced no great tenor, or baritone, or bass ; 
 now she has produced you ; and, if you work well, 
 you will be the first singer in Europe. Italy has 
 produced you, and then you persist in hiding 
 your light under a bushel ! iJiavoIo ! 'tis enough 
 to try the patience of a saint ! ' 
 
 * Dear ^Maestro,' said Carlo, witli a faint smile, 
 ' what can I do more than promise to consider 
 tliis offer ? How can you expect me to decide all 
 in a moment ? Ah ! ' — a quick sigh escaped him 
 — ' Do you not sec what it will involve h ' 
 
 ' llcin ! AVhat it will involve h AVhy, yes ; I 
 understand that it might postpone your marriage 
 for a time. Art demands some sacrifices.' 
 
 ' And what right have I to sacrifice Fran- 
 cesca's happiness ? To a duty perhaps even that 
 might be right, but to a dream of fame — never ! ' 
 lie laughed ; the idea when put into words 
 seemed to him so preposterous. 
 
 * Happiness be damned ! ' cried l*iale, with
 
 riALE SCHEMES. 149 
 
 righteous indignation. ' I have yet to learn that 
 Italy produced you, and England produced Miss 
 Britton. that you might be happy. And do I not 
 know Miss Britton ? Can I for one moment 
 dream that she would wish to hold j'^ou back ? 
 Why, by all saints, no ! My dear boy, you are 
 young — young. Believe me, a girl is always 
 willing to wait when the good of her lover is in 
 question. As to Captain Britton, he can't have 
 lived all these years in Italy and yet retain his 
 Puritan notions in all their strictness. lie may 
 object at first, but, hearing all the circumstances 
 of the case, he will soon give way. Courage, 
 Carlo iiiio ! For a great gain, a momentary 
 sacrifice ! ' 
 
 Perhaps it was that word ' momentary ' which 
 showed Carlo plainly what he had before felt 
 dimly, that Piale knew nothing whatever about 
 the sacrifice in question. 
 
 Much as he loved the old man, he could bear 
 his presence no longer, but hastily took leave 
 with a few incoherent words about ' time ' and 
 ' thinking it over.' He fled from his old singing- 
 master as those in trouble or perplexity always
 
 150 KXTGTIT-ETITIANT. 
 
 do flee from glib talk. It is the one intolcraLle 
 thing, as exasperating to the nineteenth-century 
 man as the glib talk of Eliphaz, ]iildacl, and 
 Zophar, was to poor Job. 
 
 ' ^Momentary, indeed I A momentary sacri- 
 fice ! ' The idea made him indignant and yet 
 pitiful. Had Piale lost his manhood in his art- 
 life ? Had he so little conception of what it was 
 to love that he could speak thus ? And then he 
 tried to imagine to himself the fulfilment of the 
 Maestro's Avish ; he had a vision of himself, old 
 and grey-headed, enjoying the sense of his fame 
 and his world-wide reputation, and calmly advis- 
 ing some other in the heyday of youth to renounce 
 love and happiness. 
 
 It was not till he was confronted by a huge 
 poster, in v.liich the names of Madame !Merlino 
 audComerio shone out conspicuously, that he once 
 more perceived the true facts of the case. This 
 was no question between the merits of marriage 
 and of art-life ; it was the question whether he 
 should choose happiness for Francesca and him- 
 self, or choose the possibility of saving his sister. 
 I.iifc is made up of such decisions — some of them
 
 riALE SniKMES. 151 
 
 petty, some of tlicm overA\heliningly great, but 
 all of tliem momentous. We hate the thought 
 of the clioice, long to gain witliout losing, hope to 
 triumph without sacritice, strive and struggle and 
 fret in the vain effort to break through the inexor- 
 able law that those who tind their life must first 
 lose it. Truly, ' men arc not more willing to live 
 the life of the Crucified.' 
 
 Again those Avords returned to Carlo's mind; 
 the}' grated upon him even more than when he had 
 first heard them spoken — perhaps because, while 
 far from understanding them, he began vaguely 
 to perceive their drift. He saw a dim, distasteful 
 vision of self-renunciation ; he did not see that 
 true self-renunciation implies the peace-giving 
 presence of One in whose service we renounce. 
 
 While he was still all confused and agitated 
 by this inward conflict he was waylaid by Ileir 
 ru'ttcr. 
 
 ' Wliither aA\ay ? ' exclaimed the old man, 
 kindly. 'You are never thinking of going to 
 Vvy/.woVi in this heat. Come home with me ; it is 
 long since I saw you. You are looking fagged, 
 Carlo.'
 
 152 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 llccollcctin^ the oblif^ation he was under to 
 Enrico's father, Carlo felt that it ■would not do to 
 refuse his hospitality, though, truth to tell, he 
 had never felt less inclined for a visit to the 
 kindly Gennan household. He, the la\ighter- 
 loving, felt that he could not endure the sound of 
 laughter; he, the impulsive and unreflecting, had 
 actually come to such a point that he desired 
 nothing so much as quiet and solitude to think 
 out this great question. 
 
 He did not get much quiet in the Ritter 
 household, but he met with that hearty, vociferous 
 kindness which Enrico's family knew so well how 
 to bestow, Frau Ritter had never before been so 
 motherly, the daughters of the house never so 
 anxious to do what they could for him. Enrico 
 himself was unusually silent ; he watched his 
 friend narrowly, perceiving from his face that 
 matters must be worse rather than better since 
 their last meeting. Possibly, however, the part in <; 
 with his sister might account for the troubled 
 expression he bore; and when, after dinner, the two 
 friends were left alone, Enrico turned eagerly to 
 tlie subject which the others had studiously avoided.
 
 PIALE SCHEMES. 153 
 
 * Madame Merlino has left you, I suppose ? ' he 
 began. ' She makes her first appearance to-night, 
 I see.' 
 
 ' She left this morning,' said Carlo, ' and sings 
 to-night in Don Giovanni.' 
 
 ' Why should j'ou go back to the empt}- 
 house ? Spend the night here,' suggested Enrico. 
 
 Carlo hesitated. 
 
 ' It woidd be my best chance of seeing 
 Comerio,' he said, thoughtfully. 
 
 ' How do you mean ? ' 
 
 'If I slept here and went this evening to the 
 Mercadante.' 
 
 * Gran Bio ! It would scarcely be an enjoy- 
 able evening for you, my friend.' 
 
 Carlo made an expressive gesture with liis 
 shoulders. 
 
 'Perhaps not, but I should sec him and be 
 able to judge better what to be at.* 
 
 ' You have not heard, then, of a baritone fit 
 to step into his shoes ? ' 
 
 ' I have heard of one, but it is doubtful 
 whether he will accept Merlino's offer.' 
 
 * What ! Has it gone so far as that ? Actually
 
 154 KXIGIIT-KIJIJANT. 
 
 an offer ? Come, the clouds begin to disperse ! 
 Once get that scamp ousted and your troubles are 
 over.' 
 
 Carlo was silent. In his heart he thought 
 they would be, not over, but just begun. lie 
 had not yet told Enrico of Piale's little plot, for 
 lie knew that his friend would favour no plan 
 likely to make him unhappy, and felt that he was 
 not yet strong enough to stand argmnents for the 
 side on which he was already biassed. 
 
 ' Well, I will stay the night since you ask 
 me,' he said at length. ' Will you come with me 
 to Boil Giovanni '/ ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you are indeed bent on going. Your 
 presence will be commented on, though. You 
 see it is so soon after ' he broke off in con- 
 fusion, adding, after a pause, ' And you see 
 everyone will be there to-night, for Madame 
 !Merlino's first appearance has been much talked 
 of. Your going miiy be mi.suiulerstood.' 
 
 ' C/ic snni Sdi'o,' said Carlo, with a quick 
 sigh. ' Enough, I shall go ; let us say no more 
 about it.'
 
 155 
 
 cirAPTErt IX. 
 
 THE OI.TVK OAllDKX. 
 
 ' Though ono but say, " Thy will bo done,'' 
 lie hath not lost his day 
 At set of sun.' CiiniSTixA Rossetti. 
 
 As Enrico had predicted, the Teatro Mercadante 
 Mas crowded. Not only Avas it the openino- 
 night, but the Xeapolitan workl was curious to 
 sec the new priiiui donna, this girl of good birth 
 and breeding, who had outraged all the pro- 
 prieties and eloped with her singing-master. 
 Had it not been for his inwai'd consciousness 
 that there was something much worse that people 
 might ere long say of his sister, Carlo could not 
 liavc endured all that he was that night fated to 
 overhear. On every side people discussed the 
 Merlino-DonatI scandal; but though ho winced 
 under it, the dread of the future deadened the 
 recollection of the past, the new danger eclipsed 
 the old shame.
 
 15G KNIGIIT-EIIRANT. 
 
 Ho sat as though in a bad dream, waiting for 
 the curtain to rise and disclose to him the face 
 of this enemy of liis peace ; so engrossed was he 
 with this thouglit that lie scarcely heard the 
 overture. lie wanted to meet his foe face to 
 face, and with a sort of shudder he reflected 
 that in a very short time it was possible that he 
 himself might be standing on that very stage 
 whence Leporello was now descanting upon his 
 master's vioes. A moment more and Comerio — 
 the Don Giovanni of the evening — would appear. 
 Carlo breathed hard, drew himself together, and 
 waited through moments which seemed like hours. 
 Curiously enough the first sight of his foe re- 
 lieved him ; Comerio was not at all the ideal 
 villain ; he Avas a small-made, supple-looking 
 man, with very white taper hands, and a face 
 which at that distance looked refined — much too 
 refined for a Bon Giovanni. He sang rather 
 well, but his acting was so execrable that Carlo 
 forgot everything in a longing desire to substi- 
 tute something lifelike for the ludicrous throwing- 
 up of hands whicli seemed to be Comerio's idea 
 of dramatic art. Never once was it possible to
 
 THE ULIVE-GAUDEX. 157 
 
 think of liiiu ay aiiytliing- but Coincrio tlio bari- 
 tone ; he walked through his part and threw 
 about his arms very freely, that was all. And 
 yet his complete failure as an actor was in Carlo's 
 favour. He wanted to study the man, not to 
 enjoy the opera, and since Comerio had no notion 
 of throwing himself into his part, the opera was 
 as good a time to study his own ctaracter as any 
 other. 
 
 For a while all went well. The pretty scene 
 in which Zerlina made her first appearance amid 
 the crowd of merry peasants could not have been 
 better chosen for Anita's debut. She looked so 
 charming, and sang so well, that she won all 
 hearts, and even Carlo felt a thrill of pride and 
 pleasure as he listened to her sweet, bird-like 
 notes in the duet with Masetto, a part which was 
 well filled by Merlino himself. 
 
 But his pleasure was of short duration. All 
 his miserable apprehension returned the instant 
 Comerio was ontlic stage again. To see him making 
 love to Anita was more than he could endure. 
 
 Next day the newspapers were warm in their 
 praise as to the acting in the scenes between
 
 158 KNIGIIT-ERKANT 
 
 Don Giovanni and Zcrlina ; but Carlo knew that 
 lliis was just the one ])art of the opera in wbieh 
 there liud been no attempt at actin;^. 
 
 The niiisie was poisoned to him tliat niglit, 
 and lie eould hardly endure the rci)etitiou of 
 ' La ci (Irtrc)ii/ which roused the audience to 
 enthusiasm, lie never si)okc once to Enrico, 
 who for his part could only speculate as to his 
 friend's feelings, for Carlo showed no other sign 
 of agilalion than a slightly heightened colour, 
 sat out the opera, and gi'eeted two or three 
 friends whom they encountered afterwards quite 
 in his usual manner. Only one thing seemed 
 ominous, because it was unnatural, and that was 
 his silence. It grew so burdensome as they 
 Malked home that at last Enrico broke the ice 
 with an outspoken qucstiou, * Well, Avhat do you 
 think of him ? ' 
 
 ' 1 don't know — I can hardly tell — my head 
 aches too much,' said Carlo, in a voice which 
 betrayed so much suffering that his friend ven- 
 tured no more inipiiries, and was glad enough 
 when they reached home. ' I shall think things 
 out better to-morrow,' were his last words that
 
 THE ()Livi>GAnui:x. 159 
 
 uight. But wlieu the inoruing came he was 
 iucaixable of thinking at all, and could only lie 
 still and endure the Avorst headache he had eAcr 
 had in hi.s life, -while, as thougli to torture liiiu 
 yet more, ' La ci ddirm ' rang perpetually in hi?; 
 cars. 
 
 On the Satiu'day he awoke to the conscious- 
 ness that the pain was over, that his brain was 
 clear once more, and that he must no longer 
 postpone the decision upon which so much 
 depended. But Frau Ritter absolutely refused 
 to allow hira to go home till the lieat of the day 
 was over ; and it was not until late that he 
 managed to escape from his kindly nurses, and, 
 taking a boat at the Piliero, nuide his way home. 
 lie felt much shaken by all that he had been 
 through, and would fain have given himself up 
 to the refreshment of the sweet June evening, 
 turning his back on the threatening future, and 
 getting what pleasure he could from the beautiful 
 bay which was so familiar and so dear to him. But 
 something warned him that now was his time, 
 that he was not likely again to have such imin- 
 terrupted quiet.
 
 160 KNIGIIT-KIJHANT. 
 
 Resolutely lie went over in his mind nil that 
 there was to be .said on either side of the ques- 
 tion. What course would Captain Britton take ? 
 Would he not justly complain of an arrangement 
 which must indefinitely postpone his daughter's 
 marriage? Would he not be wrathful at his 
 choice of such a profession h And how was he 
 to explain to him that choice without altogether 
 betraying Nita's story ? Again, there was the 
 profession itself. Piale thought only of the 
 reputation he would some day gain, but Carlo, 
 not unnaturally, thought of the reputation he 
 would lose. He knew quite well how his friends 
 would regard his choice: he could imagine the 
 expression of Uncle Guide's face as he exclaimed, 
 * What ! a Donati turn actor ? ' 
 
 And then there was Francesca. His breast 
 heaved, his cj'es grew dim ; had it not been for 
 the presence of the boatman he would have gi^■cn 
 way and sobbed aloud. And yet Piale was right 
 as far as that went. Once convinced that he 
 might really save Nita, Francesca would be the 
 first to bid him go ; once sure that he was doing 
 what he thought right, she would bid him
 
 THE OLIVE-GARDEN. 161 
 
 God - speed and bear tlic pain like a little 
 heroine. 
 
 Willi him rested the real difficulty, the 
 terrible decision. Was he to give her this pain 
 to bear ? 
 
 ' There Avill be storni}' weather to-night, 
 signer,' said the boatman, turning round in his 
 seat to glance out seaAvards as they rounded 
 Posilipo. 
 
 This remark diverted Carlo's thoughts for a 
 moment. The sea was like glass, far away in 
 the distance he could see a yacht lying becalmed, 
 her beautifid white sails flapping idly as she 
 rolled. 
 
 The sunset was just over, and already the 
 brief twilight Mas fading away, the summer 
 night beginning, and after the sultry, almost 
 breathless day, a cool wind was springing up ; 
 on the horizon could be seen the dark line which 
 showed that a change was coming, and that the 
 time of calm inaction was over. 
 
 Was it not like his life? lie had had his 
 days of ease, his smooth, uneventful days, with 
 nothing to mar the tranquil happiness. Then 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 KNIGHT- KKIJANT. 
 
 there had arisen the dark foreboding of coming 
 trouble, and now the storm had broken. Was he 
 to choose this life of perpetual storm ? Or might 
 he not seek the tranquil haven where he longed 
 to be ? Must he indeed go forth into a world so 
 uncongenial? — into a strife so distasteful? ^ 
 
 He was not indolent b}' nature, he was not 
 selfish; but he had, in a marked degree, that 
 Italian hatred of storm and struggle which to a 
 northern nature is so incomprehensible. To go 
 out into a life of perpetual temptation, — a life 
 likely to be full of provocations to the temper, 
 this was harder to him than to most men, for he 
 dreaded nothing so much as losing his self- 
 control. What if he should accept this offer, go 
 forth as Nita's preserver, and then fail himself ? 
 In thflt case, indeed, all would have been lost, 
 honour included, lie could not risk all this for 
 a mere hope, a mere chance. It could not surely 
 be expected of a man that he should give up his 
 home, his prospects of marriage, his profession, 
 cverytbing that he cared for, all for the sake of 
 saving one woman ? No, it certainly could not be 
 expected ! Why, the world would laugh at such a
 
 THK OLIVE-GARDEN. 163 
 
 notion. Had any other man put sucli a case to 
 liim, he, too, would have smiled at it, and called 
 the propounder of such folly u mere Quixote. 
 IIow foolish the old boatman Avould think him if 
 he steered this frail little boat out into the 
 troubled -waters yonder instead of making all 
 speed to guide it to the shore ! 
 
 lie shivered slightly, threw his cloak across 
 his chest, and, for tlie sake of u change of 
 thought, began to abuse old Frau Hitter for 
 having delayed his return so long, and in her 
 dread of sunshine brought him in for the risk of 
 malaria. But above it all floated the perverse 
 voice Mhich would not leave him unmolested : 
 * Men are not more willing to live the life of the 
 Crucified.' lie left off abusing Frau Hitter, and 
 began to hum a song, but naturally enough 
 chanced to begin with an air from Don Gtocaniii. 
 The voice he longed to droAvn spoke more and 
 more clearly. Well, Don Giocauni was poisoned 
 for him, he must eschew it in future. And 
 forthwith he strove to dri\e the unpleasant 
 thoughts connected Avith it from his mind witli 
 the first snatch of song which came to his head .
 
 161 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 Out into the summer night rang the noLle 
 impassioned address of Vak'utlno to Mcphi.sto- 
 
 phcles : 
 
 ' La croce dui demoni tuoi ci yuarda I ' 
 
 The scene in the opera rose vividly before liiui, 
 the soldier, with his cross-handled sword uplifted, 
 boldly confronting the devil who so lately had 
 worsted him, but who noAV shrank back helpless 
 and trembling. Good heavens ! and he had 
 sought to drown the voice of God in his heart by 
 those very words, had sought to drive back the 
 good and to give place to the evil. 
 
 A horror of great darkness fell upon him. 
 It was the crisis of his whole life. Afterwards, 
 when he recalled the past anguish, he recalled 
 with it those sombre surroundings, the purple 
 waters, the great dark cloud draM-ing nearer and 
 nearer, tlie hopeless gloom of the night broken 
 only by the light on Cape Miseno and the red 
 light on the side of the yacht. Not a somid was 
 to be heard save the splashing of the oars, and 
 now and then a sort of hoarse shout in the 
 distance, probably the yacht's captain giving 
 orders to his crew ; but to Carlo the silence was
 
 THE OLIVE-GAEDEN. 165 
 
 tumult. He was sailor enough to kno-\v that in a 
 few minutes the storm would be upon them. 
 That mattered little, for they were close to the 
 shore ; it was the tumult in his own heart which 
 absorbed him. 
 
 Yaf^uely, and as if from a great distance, ho 
 heard the boatmen giving thanks to San Gcnnaro 
 that they were safely in before the squall, he had 
 indistinct recollections of paj'ing- the man a 
 double fare and bidding him seek shelter for the 
 night at Florestano's hut, then of plunging 
 wildly on through the darkness, across the beach, 
 up the hill among the dusky vines, his pain in- 
 creased by a consciousness that when he had last 
 trodden that path it had been with Francesca. 
 Was it to be thus with his life ? ^lust he content 
 himself with a memory of the briefest snatch of 
 happiness ever given to man, and toil on through 
 long, solitary years over the rough and stony 
 paths of publicity ? It was impossible, — impos- 
 sible ! lie rushed on yet faster, as though by 
 rapid motion he coidd escape from the tyranny 
 of an idea. 
 
 Just as he reached the olive- garden the storm
 
 1G6 KXIGITT-ERrvANT. 
 
 suddenly broke. Tlie wind raffed over the land, 
 tossing the trees wildly to and fro ; the rain came 
 down in torrents, the lightning cast its angry gleam 
 across the heaving sea, and the swaying boughs, 
 and the wet, shining shore. Carlo threw him- 
 self down on the ground, beneath the thickest of 
 the olive-trees, seeking at once shelter from the 
 outward storm and help in the inward struggle. 
 lie would no longer flee from the voice that had 
 liaunted him ; he would listen to it — would try 
 to understand it. What /ras the life of the 
 Crucified ? 
 
 All his soul went into the question, and the 
 confusion within him seemed to lessen as he 
 waited for the answer, which framed itself to him 
 amid the raging of the wind and tlie dull roar of 
 the thimder, something after this fashion. 
 
 The life of the Crucified was lived by One 
 who delighted to do God's will. He did not ex- 
 clude pleasure, or morbidly delight in pain ; it 
 was just that lie did not think about pleasing 
 Himself at all. He took the bitter and the sweet 
 as they were sent, and delighted in them because 
 He knew the Sender who sought only the good of
 
 THE OLIVE-GAT?T)i:x. 1G7 
 
 all men. This is the life of the Crucified. You 
 think happiness is to please yourself ; — it is not 
 that at all, it is to delight in doing His will. 
 
 ' Lord,' he sobbed, * I am not willing — it is 
 true — I am not willing to live Thy life, bavo 
 mo from my selfishness ! " By Thine agony and 
 bloody sweat, by Thy cross and passion, Good 
 Lord, deliver me." ' 
 
 He repeated the familiar words again and 
 again, hardly conscious of what he was saying, 
 yet in his anguish finding them a sort of relief. 
 And, presently, either the words or his own sur- 
 roundings brought to his mind what the greatest 
 of modern atheists once termed, with an in- 
 volimtary softening of the voice, * That terrible 
 garden-scene.' There had been a struggle — an 
 agony — for the Son of God Himself. He, too, 
 knew what it cost deliberately to take the course 
 which must bring bitter grief to those v/ho loved 
 Him. He, too, knew how human nature shrank 
 from isolation, from misconception. Every tempt- 
 ation now assailing him had also assailed the Son 
 who learned obedience by the things which Ho 
 siiffend.
 
 168 KNIGIIT-KRRANT. 
 
 And just as a child will for very awe forget 
 its little grief when brought face to face with the 
 great grief of its parents, so Carlo lost sight for a 
 time of his own pain, that past scene becoming- 
 far more real to him than the bitter present. 
 The tears wrung from him first by his own 
 nnguisli fell now for another. 
 
 * Lord,' he sobbed, ' it cannot be that I am 
 willing that Thou shouldst bo crucified afresh — 
 put to open shame — while I live here in this 
 paradise ! Anything rather than that ! Lord, 
 choose for me what Thou M'ilt. My spirit is 
 willing, but my flcsli is weak, " B}' Thine agony 
 and bloody sweat, by Thy cross and jiassion, Good 
 Lord, deliver me." ' 
 
 An hour later tlic brief Mediterranean storm 
 was over, the stars were shining, the yacht was 
 on her course once more, her white sails spread to 
 catch the softened breeze. 
 
 Then Carlo rose to his feet and went on liis 
 way.
 
 1G9 
 
 CHATTER X. 
 
 THK 'pilgrim.' 
 
 * Joy, SO true and tender, 
 Dare you not abide? 
 "Will you spread your pinions? 
 Must you leave our side ? 
 
 — Nay; an Angel's shining grace 
 
 Waits to fill your place!' 
 
 A. A. PllOCTKR. 
 
 ' Yf.ky odd of Carlo not to come in to-day,' re- 
 marked Cajotain Britton from the depths of his 
 easy chair. * I suppose the heat was too much 
 for him. Have you heard from him, Fran ?' 
 
 * I had a little note from him yesterday, 
 father, only to say that he wasn't well and that 
 the Ritters insisted on keeping liim, but that he 
 would be sure to be at home again on Saturday. 
 I daresay Frau Hitter made him stay ; it was so 
 sultry, you know, and since Herr Ritter's illness 
 she is always in terror of sunstrokes.' 
 
 * Well, one thing is, this tlumder-storm will 
 clear the air,' said the Captain, rubbing his large
 
 170 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 liancls together contcntedl}'. * If I could be sure 
 your uncle was safely in port, I should feel more 
 corafortahle, though. What did I do with his 
 letter ? Ah, here it is ! " The yacht is to leave 
 Leghorn on Wednesday," he says. They cer- 
 tainly ought to be at Naples by this time.' 
 
 ' I looked out for the Pihpim yesterday,' said 
 Francesca, ' but to-day I forgot all about it. IIow 
 I wish Clare and the girls were coming too ; it 
 was very benighted of them to like a stupid 
 visit to the North Cape better than a cruise in 
 the Mediterranean.' 
 
 'No accounting for tastes,* said the Captain, 
 smiling. ' If it were not for this engagement of 
 yours, I should feel sorely tempted to get your 
 uncle to give me a berth. There is nothing, after 
 all, like the sea. You smile, Fran. Why, bless 
 your dear little heart ! I wasn't wishing things 
 otherwise with you and Carlo. On the contrary, 
 I think the sooner you are married and settled 
 the better for both of you. He has looked sadly 
 worn and out of spirits lately, poor fellow ! ' 
 
 ' There has been so much to trouble him,' said 
 Francesca, with a sigh,
 
 THE 'pilgrim.' 171 
 
 *Ay, and he is unfit to be left all alone in 
 that dreary house. Eeally, I don't see why there 
 should be any more delay. Now that he has got 
 rid of that sister of his, why shouldn't you be 
 married quietly and have done with it ? No dis- 
 respect to the mother in that, poor soul ! AVhy it 
 is the thing of all others she would have wished. 
 I tell you what, Fran, here is such a chance as is 
 never likely to come again. Your uncle is unex- 
 pectedly coming out here, he is sure to give at 
 least a week to Naples — why should we not have 
 your wedding while he is here ? Upon my 
 word!' — he rubbed his hands with greater satis- 
 faction than before — * that's the happiest notion 
 that has come to me for a long time, Fran. You 
 and Carlo shall be packed off on your honeymoon, 
 Sibyl and I will console ourselves with a cruise 
 in the Pilgrim, and we'll all forget that provoking 
 Madame Merlino, who has made sucli a storni in 
 a tea-cup.' 
 
 Frunccsca blushed vividly. 
 
 ' If you reaU)' think — if Carlo ,' she 
 
 broke off in confusion. 
 
 Captain Brit ton patted her head caressingly
 
 172 KNIGIIT-EKnAXT. 
 
 * AVI13', of course, my love, of course I would take 
 good care that Carlo thought the suggestion 
 his own. To prolong the engagement would be 
 bad for botli of you. Nothing in tlic world more 
 trying tlian long engagements. Not that you are 
 to think I am in any hurry to get rid of you ; but, 
 after all, we sliall scarcely be separated, and an 
 engagement is somehow neither one thing nor 
 the other. I should like to see you married, my 
 dear ; this sad affair of poor Carlo's has been an 
 annoyance to me — such things are unsettling, 
 they interrupt the steady routine of dail}^ life. I 
 confess I shall be glad to go away for a time with 
 your uncle, and then, later on, to come back and 
 begin our ordinary life once more.' 
 
 Franccsca felt like a cat rubbed the wrong 
 waj', but knowing that the rubber meant it all 
 very kindly she bore it with composure. 
 
 * A cruise in the Pihjriiii would be the best 
 possible change for you,' she said, laughing 
 lightly, though not altogether without an eflfort. 
 
 * I shall go and sec if she is anywhere to be seen ; 
 and realh'^, since you are in such a hurry to be 
 off, I shall have to think about my wedding-dress.*
 
 THE 'pilgrim.' 173 
 
 Gliicl to put au end to the conversation, slie 
 crossed tlie room, throw open the window, and 
 stepped out into the Io<j(ji(i. The night was 
 deliciously fresh after the storm ; she felt an 
 inexpressible sense of freedom and relief as she 
 closed the window behind her, and drank in deep 
 draughts of the cool, moist air. Though her 
 father's words had grated upon her, there was, 
 nevertheless, a certain amount of truth in thcui 
 which she could not but recognise. She, too, had 
 that longing to go away, to escape from the scene 
 of all the trouble and sorrow which had lately 
 invaded their home. It would be like escaj)Lng 
 from the hot, lamplit drawing-room into this cool 
 out-of-doors. And then, perhaps Carlo Avould 
 begin to be himself again. Surely, though she 
 had not liked the way in which the idea was 
 expressed, the idea itself ^^•as a good one. They 
 woidd go away, — right away from Naples, — away 
 from the region of theatres, — away from all that 
 could recall Carlo's Itjss, and .she would comfort 
 him. Then, later on, they would induce Merlino 
 to let Anita come to them ; she should stay a\ ith 
 them at the Villa Bruno, should be made per-
 
 174 KNIGIIT-EKUANT. 
 
 fectly liuppy, should have all kinds of little 
 English comforts -which would be new and 
 delightful to her after her wandering life. And 
 so her troubles should somehow conveniently dis- 
 ajjpear, and she should find that their home was 
 her home. If her trouble Avas connected with 
 money, as Francesca fancied, why then Carlo 
 would somehow manage to clear off her debts, 
 and she, too, should start life afresh, and they 
 would all live happily ever after. So she dreamed 
 in her girlish fashion, knowing nothing of the 
 real state of the case, only fully convinced that 
 this dreary state of things could not last for ever, 
 that somehow it would all come right in the end 
 like the books. And in that belief no doubt she 
 was right; wrong onh' in this, that ' coming right 
 in the end ' meant to her coming right in these 
 threescore years and ten. 
 
 To be married, perhaps, next week I llow 
 calmly her father had suggested the idea, and 
 how her heart throbbed as she recalled his words ! 
 (She would lay aside her mourning for that one 
 day, woidd be dressed, sjntc of the sadness wliich 
 had heralded in her marriage, ' as a bride adorned
 
 THE 'riLGKIM.' 175 
 
 for licr husband ; ' and therewith she began, after 
 the manner of girls, to picture the dress to her- 
 self ; it should be long and white and shining ; 
 and as for orange - blossom^ Avhy there was no 
 lack of that in the garden, always supposing this 
 heavy rain had not dashed it. Thinking of the 
 orange-blossom, she turned from those inward 
 visions and looked down into the dusky mass of 
 trees and shrubs below, starting a little at sight 
 of someone approaching, but quickl}' recognising 
 her lover. 
 
 * Carlo ! why, Carlo ! is it really you 't ' she 
 exclaimed, an ecstasy of happiness in her voice, 
 for she had not in the least expected him. 
 
 lie looked up. She was leaning on the rail of the 
 lo(j<jia among the climbing roses, her eyes bright 
 with joy, her sweet face a little flushed, her white 
 neck and arms gleaming through the black lace 
 of her dress. He trembled from head to foot. 
 It was too late now to tell her all — and had he 
 strength to meet her ? "Would it not be better 
 just to kiss that hand resting on the white 
 balustrade, and excuse himself for the evening ? 
 But Francesca, '»\ ho had never since her betrothal
 
 17G KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 been so long parted from her lover, turned and 
 flew down the steps to meet him. 
 
 'Oh, I liad quite given 3'ou uj), darling I ' she 
 cried. ' And are you really well again — quite 
 well?' 
 
 A terrible pang rent his heart, but he trembled 
 no more; all the man in liim rose up to meet this 
 sore trial. 
 
 'Quite well, carina; only wet through, and 
 not fit to touch j'ou,' he said; and by an impulse 
 ■which he could hardly have explained he checked 
 the hands which were stealing round his neck, 
 drew them down, and held them fast in his Mhile 
 he bent forward and kissed her. 
 
 A shade passed over her face. Wliy did he 
 stop to think about his wet clothes ? "What lover 
 ever deigned to bestow a thought on such prudent 
 considerations Y 
 
 lie read her thoughts in a glance, and there- 
 with saw a vision of the future — the shadow 
 deepening on that dear face, the cacs dim with 
 tears, the brow contracted with pain. To hide his 
 agony from her he let his head droop forward, 
 resting his burning forehead on her shoulder.
 
 THE 'pilgrim.' 177 
 
 ' I have been so dreadfully anxious, Carlino,' 
 she said. ' And, oli ! it is so beautiful to have 
 you back again ! ' 
 
 He did not speak, only his cold hands held 
 hers more tightly ; his face was hidden on her 
 breast. But, though he could hide from her the 
 sight of his anguish, he could not deceive her ; 
 she knew intuitively that it Avas no ph3'sical pain 
 which made a man like Carlo bow his head like 
 one overwhebned. It must surely be that he 
 was thinking of his mother — and it must have 
 been terribly dreary coming back from Naples 
 that stormy evening — coming home for the first 
 time to the empty house. 
 
 * My own dear one,' she said, all the deep 
 tenderness in her heart stealing into her voice, 
 * you'll not shut me out from your sorrow. What 
 is yours is mine, Carlino. I was so happy when 
 I saw you, I forgot what a sad home-coming it 
 must be. But, darling, it wasn't that I forgot 
 her, for I, too, loved her.' 
 
 * Pray that I may keep my promise to her,' he 
 whispered. * Pray ! pray ! ' 
 
 There was a silence. The tears welled up in 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 KNIGIIT-KKHANT. 
 
 Franccsca's eyes, not because she luiderstood his 
 sorrow, but because the sorrow was his, and 
 because she loved him. She prayed obediently 
 like a little child. After a while he raised his 
 head, looked for a moment into her eyes, then 
 pressed his lips to hers in a long, lingering kiss. 
 
 * Dear love,' he said, gently, ' we will keep our 
 Whitsuntide together.' 
 
 He watched her up the marble steps, then 
 turned away, walking home through the wet 
 garden paths. And even in his great sadness he 
 could not but smile faintly as he reflected what 
 Piale's feelings would be could he now see him, 
 cold, and wear}-, and wet to the skin. * The singer 
 keeps his shop in his throat,' he said to himself, 
 with a pathetic little effort to persuade himself 
 tliat he was now quite accustomed to the idea. * I 
 must not indulge any more in evening storms.' 
 
 The next day was Wliitsunday. Carlo, as 
 usual, drove in to Naples with the Brittons, and 
 was very glad that the great excitement of 
 ' Uncle George's ' probable arrival excluded all 
 other topics of conversation. It lasted through- 
 out the drive, and, indeed, engrossed Captain
 
 179 
 
 Britten's thouglits so much during cburcli-timc 
 that lie was ghicl to effect his escape with Sibyl 
 after the sermon, leaving- Carlo and Francesca to 
 the second service, while he hastened to make 
 inquiries as to the Pilyrim. 
 
 To his surprise and delight, he was greeted 
 just outside the church by his brother. 
 
 Sib}d, who had ver}^ vague recollections of 
 her uncle, studied him with a child's keen criti- 
 cism. 
 
 ' Ke is like j^apa,' she reflected, ' but smaller 
 and finer ; his beard is beautiful, and white and 
 curly, like a Father Christmas ; he laughs with his 
 eyes. I like him.' 
 
 Having satisfied "lier self on this point, she 
 began to listen to the conversation. 
 
 ' Yes, we got in early this morning,' her uncle 
 was saying. ' AVe had very light winds all the 
 way from Leghorn — in fact, yesterday we were 
 becalmed, but after the squall we got on better. 
 What a paradise you live in, to be sure ! Ah, is 
 this your little one ? Why, Sibyl, you have 
 grown out of all knowledge ! And wdiat have 
 you done with Francesca ? '
 
 180 KNIGIIT-ERHANT. 
 
 * Francesca will be here directly/ replied the 
 Captain. * We may as well wait for her, if you 
 are not in a hurr}'. By the bye, George, I think 
 you have not heard tliat she is to bo married 
 shortly.* 
 
 * "What high and mighty nobleman has been 
 80 happy as to meet with your approval 'i ' said 
 Mr. Britton, well aware of his brother's weakness 
 for titles, and convinced by his beaming face that 
 the marriage was desirable in his eyes. 
 
 * A yomig Italian neighbour of ours. Signer 
 Donati ; not a noble at all, but of a good old 
 family, and likely to do well at the Neapolitan 
 Bar. Oh, I am thoroughly pleased with the 
 affair — thoroughly pleased, and Donati is heir to 
 a rich old uncle, so it is satisfactory in every way.' 
 
 *I hope he is good enough for dear little 
 Fran,' said Mr. Britton, drily. Somehow the 
 notion of his pretty niece marrying the first 
 foreigner who proposed for her did not please 
 him. 
 
 * Well, as to that, I doubt if there is anyone 
 in the world quite good enough for her,' said 
 Captain Britton, rubbing his hands, but slightly
 
 THE 'pilgrim.' 181 
 
 embarrassed by the presence of his Prayer-book. 
 * You will like Donati, though, I am sure of that. 
 lie is a fiuc fellow. Just now, poor boy, he is in 
 great trouble — lost his mother quite suddenly, 
 and, of course, he's dreadfully cut up. In fact, I 
 think the only thing will be to hasten on the 
 marriage, and get him right away from the place 
 for a bit. Ah, here they come ! that's right ! ' 
 and he hurried forward lest Sibyl should fore- 
 stall him as news-bearer. 
 
 Mr. Britton glanced quickly at Franccsca's 
 Jiance, and felt his iusular prejudice melting 
 away. A more beautiful face he had never seen. 
 Something of its serenity vanished, however, as 
 Captain Britton approached, — a sort of shade 
 passed over the forehead, and he evidently came 
 back to the present with an effort. The Captahi 
 brought him forward, and introduced him in his 
 usual rather boisterous and patronising way. 
 Mr. Britton was all the more struck b}' the grace 
 and dignity of the Italian, and he held out his 
 hand cordially. 
 
 * I have been hearing of you, Signer Donati,' 
 he said, pleasantly. ' You must let me congratu-
 
 182 KNIGIIT-KUKAXT. 
 
 late you, foi', indeed, I tliiidv you arc u very liappy 
 man.' 
 
 The Italian smiled, surely the saddest smile 
 ever seen, as he bowed his acknowledgments. Mr. 
 Britton was startled and perplexed, but Fran- 
 cesca's happy face reassured him, and had not the 
 Captain said that his future son-in-law was in 
 trouble ? 
 
 * I want you all to come and spend the day on 
 my yacht,' he said, turning- to his brother. 'The 
 gig is waiting down by the Arsenal. Come ! you 
 must really take compassion on my solitude. 
 Signor Donati, I hope you'll put up with that 
 barbarous custom, an early dinner ; but the fact 
 is, our cook's cuddy is so near tlie men's quarters 
 that if I dine late the poor fellows are half-grilled 
 ut night.' 
 
 After a little more discussion, they all set oil" 
 for the Arsenal, where the ' gig,' a term which 
 had baffled Carlo altogether, resolved itself into a 
 four-oared boat, manned by trim-looking English 
 sailors, who bore the name of the Pihjnm in red 
 letters across their blue jerseys, and in gold 
 letters round their lials. 'Mv. liritton took his
 
 183 
 
 place in the stern, insisting that his brother must 
 sit beside Sib}'! to trim the boat, and, having thus 
 managed that the lovers sliould be side by side, 
 gave the word to start. Sibyl gave a cry of 
 delight as the golden-brown oars were promptly 
 raised in the air and simultaneously lowered into 
 the water. 
 
 * Oh, Uncle George ! ' she cried, * how happy 
 }ou must be with this dear little boat always 
 waiting for you, and men to do so beautifully just 
 what you say ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said :Mr. Britton, laughing. ' 'Wait 
 till you are on board the Pihjrhn ! I see,' he 
 added, turning to Carlo and Francesca, ' that you 
 two have already taught this little one to imder- 
 stand the pi-oud sense of possession.' 
 
 Francesca smiled and blushed. Carlo appeared 
 to be engrossed with a vessel which they were 
 passing, the huge Bttilio, then nut (piite completed. 
 
 * I suppose,' he said, turning back with a 
 bright smile wliich veiled the pain at his heart, 
 * I suppose there is no need to introduce you to 
 our monster vessel, you probably know much 
 more about her than wo do.'
 
 184 IvMCJliT-EKKANT. 
 
 The shipbuilder was not above appreciating 
 the compliment thus delicately conveyed, and 
 Francesca looked up at the unwield}' form with 
 its dull red colour and its six funnels, and tried 
 to seem interested in the discussion which arose 
 upon its merits among the men ; its only merit to 
 her was that it seemed to be interesting Carlo 
 and taking him out of himself. The Pihjvim, u 
 pretty, schooner-rigged yacht, of about 150 tons, 
 was anchored off the Military Mole, and, like all 
 the vessels in harbour, was gaily dressed with 
 flags in honour of ih.Qfest(t. A somewhat smaller 
 yacht was anchored close by. 
 
 ' They tell mc our neighbour the Aida belongs 
 to an Italian Count or Duke, or something of the 
 sort,' said Mr. Britton. 'What was the name, 
 Oxenberry ; do you recollect ? ' 
 
 * Count Carossa, I believe, sir,' said the cox- 
 swain. 
 
 * Coimt Carossa ! ' said Captain Britton, with a 
 beaming face. * The name seems familiar to me. 
 A friend of yours, ])crhaps. Carlo ? ' 
 
 * No, sir; I have never even met him,' said 
 Carlo, repressively.
 
 THE ' riLGiuM.' 185 
 
 'But the name is familiar to you, surely ? ' 
 
 'It is certainly a well-known name,' said 
 Carlo, still in tlie same tone. 
 
 Mr. Britton was a little puzzled, he could not 
 make out whether the Italian kncAV of something 
 not to the credit of Count Carossa, or whether his 
 tone merely implied a great distaste of the Cap- 
 tain's love of the aristocracy. 
 
 By this time they were alongside the yacht, 
 and the Captain, forgetting all about the Count, 
 began to admire his brother's latest toy, 
 
 ' A very pretty little vessel indeed, George ! 
 I confess I envy you. Sib3'l, what do you say ? 
 tSliall we not sell the villa and live afloat ? Now, 
 Carlo, don't forget to take your hat off to the 
 deck, it's a mortal insult to forget that ! ' 
 
 Carlo laughed ; just for a little time lie forgot 
 his cares, and his first thought, as he glanced 
 round the deck, with its exquisitely smooth and 
 white boards, its shining brass Avork, its cun- 
 ningly arranged skylights and companions, was 
 this :— 
 
 ' A 3'acht is the last place in the world for 
 private conversations. One more day of free-
 
 IHG KXIGIIT-KRIJANT. 
 
 dom ! (_)nc more day's peace of mind for my 
 darling ! ' 
 
 As for Sibyl, she was wild with happiness, 
 now watching the gig as it was hauled \\\y, noAV 
 trotting off hand in hand with the coxswain to 
 the forecastle, looking with longing eyes at the 
 rope ladders, and chattering without inter- 
 mission. 
 
 It was not without difficulty that Francesca 
 bore her olf to be washed and brushed before 
 dinner, and had it not been for the fascinations of 
 tlie shifting table in the saloon, she would liardly 
 have been induced to stay down below for so dull 
 a dut}' as eating. 
 
 'Uncle George,' she said, leaning forward in 
 her quaint way, * it would have been nice to come 
 on board the Plhjrini any day, but being Sunday 
 it's just perfect.' 
 
 * Eh— how's thath' said Mr. Ihitton. 'The 
 better the day the better the deed, is that your 
 idea ? ' 
 
 * No ; but don't you see on weekdays we can 
 ]iavc games — different games every day, if Ave like, 
 but Sundays arc always — always the same. Now
 
 187 
 
 this makes such a beautiful difference. I am glad 
 you asked us on Sunday ! ' 
 
 Carlo, to whom the rules of the English 
 Sunday had always been incomprehensible, could 
 not repress an amused smile, but he ^\iscly avoided 
 taking part in the discussion whicli ensued on 
 modern Sabbatarianism, being, of course, ready 
 enough to speak out his own opinion if it were 
 asked, but not feeling bound to volunteer it. The 
 argument was at hist interrupted by the entrance 
 of the steward. 
 
 'A boat has just come across from the Aida, 
 sir, with Count Carossa's card, but the Captain 
 can't make out what the men say, all of them 
 being Italians.' 
 
 Carlo at once offered to act as interpreter, and 
 ran up on deck, returning with the message, 
 which he delivered with an impartial face. 
 
 * Count Carossa presents his compliments to 
 the owner of the Pihjrim, and it would give him 
 much pleasure to make his acquaintance. If 
 quite convenient to ^Ir. Brittou, the Count will 
 call upon him in the afternoon.' 
 
 * Very happy to sec him, I'm sure,' said Mr.
 
 188 knight-i:khant. 
 
 Britton, who was the soul of hospitality. ' Per- 
 haps, Signor Donati, 3'ou would be so good as to 
 frame a polite message for me and deliver it to 
 the messenger ; or stay, I'll write it on my card.' 
 
 This done, they all adjourned to the deck, 
 wliere, before long, they were joined by Count 
 Carossa, a fine-looking man of two or three-and- 
 thirty, to whom Captain Britton took very kindly. 
 There was much amusing discussion as to the 
 merits of the two yachts, then of Mr. Britton's 
 homeward route, during which the Count dis- 
 covered that Fraucesca and her father were living 
 in the neighbourhood, and did his best to push 
 tlie acquaintance, eliciting very easily an invita- 
 tion to dinner on the following Wednesday. 
 
 Carlo, after the Coimt's arrival, had kept 
 sedulously in the background, and had said 
 but little. Happening to glance at him once 
 Mr. Britton was struck by the strange ex- 
 pression of his face. lie hastily turned his 
 eyes towards Francesca ; she was smiling in 
 answer to some polite nothing addressed to her 
 by the Count. 
 
 * I believe that fellow Donati is jealous ! ' he
 
 189 
 
 thouglit to himself. ' jMy poor little Fran, j'ou 
 are altogether too good to be left to the tender 
 mercies of an Italian husband. I wonder if the 
 marriage is, after all, so advisable as they seem 
 to think.' 
 
 Afterwards, when the Count was gone, ho 
 said, casually, to Carlo, — 
 
 ' By the way, Signor Donati, I sujDposc this 
 Count Carossa is a decent sort of fellow ; you 
 don't know anything against him, do you ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing whatever, sir,' said Carlo, emphati- 
 cally, — * nothing whatever. I only know that he 
 is verj^ rich, and that he leads a wandering life ; I 
 have often heard people wonder why in the Avorld 
 he does not settle down.' 
 
 ' Then he is unmarried ? ' 
 
 * Yes, he is immarried.' 
 
 At that moment Sibyl ran up to beg Carlo to 
 look at ' some dear little tortoises in the dinghy.' 
 Mr. Britton nodded to himself with the air of 
 one who has surmised rightly. 
 
 * Just as I thought,' he muttered, ' as jealous 
 as he can be.' 
 
 The afternoon was spent in rambling about
 
 100 KNIGHT-KKRANT. 
 
 Xaples, showing Uncle George as many lions as 
 he cared to sec ; then they returned to the yacht 
 to that curious English meal called ' lea,' — a new 
 experience to Carlo, and it was arranged that 
 they should drive home in the cool of the evening, 
 taking 3Ir. I]rittf)n with tlicm, 
 
 ' It has heen such a delightful day,' said 
 Francesca ; * I think I agree with Sibyl that being 
 a Sunday it has been all the nicer.' 
 
 The lovers were standing near the wheel in 
 the dim starlight ; perhaps Carlo was glad that 
 the light was no clearer. 
 
 'See,' he said, 'there is Venus just setting; 
 not there ; look, out yonder behind St. Elmo.' 
 
 Francesca was just in time to see the last of 
 the planet; after it was set, the Castle on its 
 lofty height seemed to stand out more darkly 
 against the evening sky. The harbour was very 
 quiet, but from the shore came somids of laughter 
 and merriment, a confused roar of many voices, 
 and now and then in the distance a line or two of 
 Garibaldi's hj-nm floating on the wind. 
 
 ' How still and peacefid we are out here ! ' 
 said Francesca, ' and how noisy and horrid it
 
 TiiK 'riLCiin.M.' 101 
 
 seems ill Naples. Why docs a Babel like that 
 always sound so wicked, I wonder ? It makes 
 me think of Vanity Fair in the P/7(/n'ni'.s 
 Pi'Ofjrea^.' 
 
 'And 5'ct through all the iiproar we can 
 make out Garibaldi's hymn,' said Carlo. 
 
 ' Ah,' she said, laughing, ' I know you would 
 like to be in the thick of it all, fighting against 
 the evil as your father and grandfather fought in 
 their day. Oh, Carlino, what a good thing for 
 me that there are no battles now ! ' 
 
 * Yet in a good cause j'ou Avould not have 
 hindered me, I think, carina ? Tell me,' his lips 
 trembled, — ' tell me, had we lived then would 
 5'ou have begged me to stay at home ? ' 
 
 *No, Carlo inio,^ she said, raising her sweet 
 eyes to his ; ' I Avould have told you to go and 
 help your country ; I wouldn't liave cried till 
 you were out of sight.' 
 
 They were interrupted by a summons to get 
 into the gig, and the four trim-looking sailors 
 rowed them swifth^ across the quiet harbour, the 
 only sound being an occasional * Qui va hi ? ' from 
 the watchnuin on board one of the anchored
 
 192 KNIGIIT-EHIJANT. 
 
 vessels, aud a ringing reply from tlie coxswain of 
 * Yacht's boat.' 
 
 * The peace of my life is over,' thought Carlo, 
 as he glanced back across the quiet waters to the 
 Pihjrim with her golden harbour light ; * now 
 for Vanity Fair.'
 
 193 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 
 
 ' Blest, too, is he who can divino 
 A\'here real right doth lie. 
 And dares to take the side that seems 
 Wrong to man's blindfold eye. 
 
 Then learn to scorn the praise of men, 
 
 And learn to lose with God ; 
 For Jesus won the world through shame, 
 
 And beckons thee His road.' Faber. 
 
 ' I HAVE something to say to you, carina ; let us 
 linger behind the others ; there is no hotter place 
 on earth than these streets of Pompeii, and I 
 think we know them well enough.' 
 
 The whole party had driven over early on 
 the Monday morning to show Mr. Britton the 
 more recent excavations ; he had been to Pom- 
 peii before, but many years ago. 
 
 To Carlo and Franccsca, however, those old 
 grey streets and ruined temples were perfectly 
 familiar, and Fraucesca was not sorry to follow 
 
 VOL. T o
 
 194 KXIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 out Carlo's suggestion, and despatched Sibyl to 
 tell the others that they would wait in the 
 Temple of Venus tUl their return. 
 
 ' At which message you may be sure Uncle 
 George will laugh,' she said. * Had we been 
 wise in our generation, Carlo, we should have 
 chosen the Temple of Isis, but then this is my 
 favourite, and, after all, we arc proof against 
 teasing now.' 
 
 Carlo smiled sadly, as he looked across the 
 beautiful expanse of countrj'. On one side, be- 
 yond the ruined streets, lay the verdant Campagna 
 bounded by Vesuvius and Somma ; on the other, 
 was a yet more lovely view of sea and mountains, 
 with the white houses of Castellamare gleaming 
 in the sunshine. 
 
 * We have not chosen a very shady place,' 
 said Fraucesca. ' But, see, there is just a little 
 patch of shadow down there. Let us come.' 
 
 ' Do you know what that is ? ' said Carlo, 
 repressing a shudder. 
 
 'Why, yes, to be sure,' she replied gaily; 
 * it's the altar of sacrifice. How fond Clare used 
 to be of poking about in here — don't you re-
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 1 95 
 
 member ? I wish she had come with Uncle 
 George.' 
 
 ' And I, too ; I would have given anything 
 to have had her here — for j'our sake, carina.' 
 
 There was something so miusual in his tone 
 that Francesca looked up quickh'. 
 
 * Carlo niio, you frighten nie ! What do you 
 mean ? Don't lean on the altar like that ! Come 
 and sit down on this step by me in the shade. 
 Why do you wish Clare here for my sake ? 
 What do I really want with any one now that I 
 have you ? ' 
 
 'But if, as we were saying last night, there 
 was a battle to fight and I had to leave you ? ' 
 
 ' Carlino ! what do you mean ? Surely there 
 is not going to be a revolution — a war ? ' 
 
 * Oh, no, it is much tamer than that,' he said, 
 with a slightly bitter smile. Then, a sudden 
 light illumining his face, he put his arm round 
 her and held her closely. 
 
 ' My dear one,' he said, speaking rapidly and 
 with great earnestness, — * my own true love, you 
 gave me fresh courage last night by your words. 
 Carina, there are other wars than those between
 
 196 KNIGIIT-ERRAWT. 
 
 nations ; there is the great war in which you 
 and I have vowed our service ; you would not 
 wish me, I know, to prove coward in that — to be 
 a deserter. I must tell you, in plain words, the 
 actual case, even though it is hard to\lo it, — even 
 though I would give the world to keep all know- 
 ledge of such evil from you. Franccsca, do you 
 know what killed my mother ? I will tell you. 
 It was the knowledge that Anita was living in 
 hourly peril of proving unfaithful to her husband ! 
 He — that one who would niin her — that one who 
 dares to call his foul passion by the name of love, 
 is actually a member of Merlino's company. 
 Mcrlino himself suspects nothing, if he did he 
 would half kill Anita. I have thought of every 
 possible plan for getting rid of this villain with- 
 out betraying my sister ; but, darling, there is 
 only one way that will answer, and it is this : 
 to get rid of this man — this baritone — I must 
 take his place myself.' 
 
 * You must offer,' said Franccsca, faintly ; 
 * but perhaps Signer Merlino will not accept 
 you.' 
 
 * The post has already been offered to me by
 
 A FIRST ENCOUIjrTER. 197 
 
 Merliuo, and on Wednesday, Francesca mia, I 
 must let him know whether I accept his offer or 
 not.' 
 
 'Ah!' 
 
 She locked her hands together convulsively, 
 but only that one sob of intense, intolerable pain 
 escaped her. 
 
 There was silence — a silence so deej) that the 
 distant sounds of the workmen busy over the 
 excavations seemed quite near. A little lizard 
 darted across the pavement close to their feet, 
 and plunged into the maidenhair that fringed 
 the altar. 
 
 Francesca opened her eyes. 
 
 ' My love ! my love ! ' she cried, ' don't look 
 like that ! See, Carlo mio, I am going to keep 
 my word. I will say, like the wives in the old 
 days, " Go and help," and I'll not cry ; I 
 promise you I'll not cry. And yet — yet — oh ! 
 how can I help it when you set me so bad an 
 example ? ' 
 
 With a stifled sob she broke off and hid her 
 face on his breast. The sight of her suffering 
 had umierved him, but quickly he regained
 
 198 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 that strange self-mastery wliich was all the 
 more remarkable because it was combined 
 with an ardent, emotional, highly - strung tem- 
 perament. 
 
 * You are helping me to keep my word,' he 
 said, drawing her yet closer to him. ' As a child 
 I promised my father on his death -bed that I 
 would shield Nita, and my mother's last entreaty 
 you heard.' 
 
 ' Do I help you ? ' she said, eagerly ; ' do I 
 really help ? Then I am no longer unhappy. 
 It was the thought of your going quite away 
 where I could do nothing — )wt1nn(j for you — it 
 was that broke my heart. If, even away, I can 
 help you — if even in this we can work together — 
 then I can bear it.' 
 
 * Your father,' he said, hesitatingl}-, ' I must 
 tell him at once, — and, carina, he will not see 
 things in the light you see tliem.' 
 
 'He will not approve of your going on the 
 stage,' said Francesca. ' He will be vexed and 
 annoyed, but he cannot help seeing that it is the 
 only thing to be done.' 
 
 Carlo made a faint gesture of dissent. The
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 199 
 
 last sentence was so like Franccsca, so unlike the 
 Captain. 
 
 * He will most naturally wish that I had 
 never spoken to you. Indeed, I myself could 
 almost wish it, darling ; for what have I brought 
 you but trouble, and grief, and the sliadow of a 
 disgrace 'i ' 
 
 * You have brought me yourself, Carliuo,' she 
 said, with a sweet mirthfulness in look and tone ; 
 * 3'ou don't seem to think much of the gift, it is 
 true.' 
 
 'And yet if I had kept silence a week 
 longer all would have been different. I shoidd 
 have gone off with Merlino's company and there 
 would have been no discussion and remonstrance ; 
 I should not have vexed your father — shoidd not 
 have felt that I had spoiled your life. You would 
 have been free, and the pain would have been 
 mine alone.' 
 
 * Why, you vain boy ! ' she exclaimed, half 
 laughing, half crying, ' do you think it was that 
 tale you told me in the Belvedere that made 
 me love you ? You know quite well I have 
 loved you for years and years ! And then you
 
 200 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 talk of going away in silence and leaving rae 
 free and happy. Carlino, I'm ashamed of you ! ' 
 
 Like two children, they forgot for a little 
 while the dark future, and basked in the sunny 
 present. Parting was a thought hardly to be 
 conceived while they sat together in the old 
 Temple of Venus, and made love to each other 
 after the fashion of lovers in all ages and 
 climes. 
 
 After a time they talked of Carlo's future life, 
 he spoke warmly of Sardoni, quoted Piale's high 
 opinion of Marioni, the conductor, and said all 
 that could be said in Merlino's favour. He 
 wanted to paint his new life in bright colours for 
 her sake, and he talked cheerfully of winning 
 Nita's love and confidence, speaking with more 
 assurance than he really felt. 
 
 And yet Francesca remembered well enough 
 his words a few weeks befoie about the wretched, 
 roving life of a singer, and she knew that in his 
 heart he shrank from it still. 
 
 * Shall you be in Italy, do you think ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' No,' replied Carlo, with a sigh. * Merlino
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 201 
 
 will only stay here till he has got his chorus 
 together again, and given his' principals a short 
 holiday'. You see things are different here, 
 travelling companies are not much in vogue.' 
 
 * Then, where will you be ?' 
 
 ' In England for a time, then in America.' 
 
 * America ! ' she could not repress the ex- 
 clamation. * That will seem terribly far away — 
 I hoped, as they had just come back, there would 
 be no question of going there again.' 
 
 ' America is the great field for companies like 
 Merlino's ; I suppose a great deal of my life will 
 probably be spent there.' 
 
 Francesca sighed. 
 
 ' Ah, well, after all it is chiefly in imagination 
 that distance affects one — our letters will travel 
 just as well across the Atlantic. You will have 
 to send me all your changes of address, Carlino ; 
 and, as for me, I sUhll have to learn to write 
 smaller, or there will never be space enough for 
 all I shall have to say.' 
 
 By the time the rest of the party joined them, 
 they had grown accustomed to the thought of the 
 change — had bravely faced the coming sopara-
 
 202 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 tion, each strengthening the other to endure ; 
 and Mr. Britton little guessed, as he gaily teased 
 his niece about her indifference to the new dis- 
 coveries, what had passed during that hour in the 
 Temple of Venus. Francesca only smiled and 
 drew him into a description of all they had seen, 
 while with her eyes she followed rather wist- 
 fully the lithe figure running with Sibyl down 
 the steep old street which led out of Pompeii. 
 They limched in the little restaurant at the 
 entrance ; allowed Mr. Britton to be inveigled into 
 the region of photographs, bronzes, and lava 
 ornaments ; then, in the cool of the afternoon, 
 drove home again, Francesca nursing a Dying 
 Gladiator in terra-cotta, which was to go home to 
 Clare in the Pilgrim. 
 
 If Captain Britton thought Carlo rather more 
 silent than usual he put it down to constraint in 
 the presence of a stranger, — the last thing Carlo 
 would have been likely to experience. However, 
 the worthy Captain liked liini uU the better 
 fur it, and talked to him in his bland, semi- 
 patronising way, chaffing him not a little on his 
 light-hearted compatriots who thronged the road
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTEE. 203 
 
 in their fcsta clothes, closelj' piicketl in open car- 
 riages. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; you Neapolitans arc terrible 
 pleasure - lovers,' he said, laughingly. ' Look 
 there, now — ten people stowed away in that, and 
 the horses all decked out with brass ornaments 
 and bells ; and yet they are people of the lower 
 class who, likely enough, will be hungry to- 
 morrow ! ' 
 
 Franccsca fully expected that the term, ' lower 
 class,' would call forth a remonstrance from Carlo, 
 but he let it pass, and the next moment she 
 understood why. Ilis eye had been caught by a 
 poster on one of the walls of Portici in which 
 Madame Merlino's name appeared in large letters. 
 
 Carlo was invited to dine at the Casa Bella 
 that evening ; he had not yet made up his mind 
 whether he would tell all to Captain Britten face 
 to face, or whether he would write him a letter. 
 Though a very fluent speaker, he was not parti- 
 cularly fond of writing English, however ; and if 
 only a favourable opportunity could be found he 
 rather inclined to an interview with the Captain. 
 
 The opportunity came. Dessert was over,
 
 204 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 Francesca liad left the room, Mr. Britton excused 
 himself soon after, as he had a great number of 
 letters to write ; the Captain drew his chair up to 
 the table again and passed the wine to his guest. 
 Carlo knew then that his time was come ; the 
 hand Muth which he helped himself to snow 
 trembled a little, but his voice was firm and well 
 modulated when he spoke. 
 
 ' It seems a little ungracious to be glad that 
 Mr. Britten's holiday should be invaded by busi- 
 ness letters,' he began, ' but I particularly wanted 
 a few words alone with you.' 
 
 Captain Britton thought of his scheme for 
 hastening on the marriage, and quite hoped that 
 the same idea had occurred to Carlo. A kindly 
 smile played about his broad mouth. 
 
 * I, too, have wanted to speak with you all 
 da}', but these family parties are no time for 
 confidential talk.' 
 
 Carlo thought of the Temple of Venus, and 
 was silent. Captain Britton resumed : — 
 
 * The fact is I am anxious about you, my dear 
 fellow ; you look to me far from well. I wish 
 that sister of yours was at the other side of the
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 205 
 
 Atlantic, and that's the truth of it ; it was a bad 
 day for all of us when she returned. "When do 
 they leave Naples? You'll never be yourself 
 again till you are rid of that brother-in-law.' 
 
 * I am not likely to be rid of him for some 
 time to come, I fear,' said Carlo, phmging boldly 
 into his subject. ' It is about the step which I 
 purpose taking that I wish now to speak to you.' 
 
 Did he mean to propose that wedding journej'' 
 which the Captain had planned ? His face was 
 grave almost to sternness, but then the Merlinos 
 were quite enough to account for that. 
 
 ' I know it is a step which you will disap- 
 prove,' resumed Carlo. 'And yet — there is no 
 help for it — take it I must.' 
 
 Captain Britton's hopes sank ; he began to 
 think apprehensively of all the things he should 
 least like to happen. 
 
 ' Well, short of turning Romanist again,' he 
 said, after a pause, * I don't think anything you 
 are likely to do would disquiet me very much.' 
 
 'It will, however, delay our marriage,' said 
 Carlo ; ' that is, I fear, quite inevitable.' 
 
 'Well, well,' said Captain Britton, thinking
 
 206 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 that lie meant to study for some of the higher 
 branches of the law, ' you are both young, and I 
 can assure you I'm in no hurry to get rid of ray 
 little Francesca. Have you discussed the matter 
 with her ? ' 
 
 * Yes, and she agrees with mo that I must go.' 
 *Go! Where?' 
 
 * With Merlino's company ; it is the only way 
 in which I can keep my promise to my mother — 
 the only possible way of shielding Anita.' 
 
 Captain Britton was so much startled that for 
 a minute he could not speak, only the colour 
 rose to his forehead and his eyes opened wider. 
 In all his trouble and anxiety Carlo could not 
 help observing that he bore a comical resemblance 
 to the crimson shade over the lamp, with its owl's 
 head and round, staring eyes. How was he to 
 make this man, of all men in the world, under- 
 stand Nita's position and sjnnpathise with its 
 difficulties ? "^Vhile he hesitated how best to put 
 her case without divulging too much, the Captain 
 recovered his breath. 
 
 ' Do I understand that you mean to turn 
 actor?' he asked in a sort of hoarse roar.
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 207 
 
 Tone and manner were alike overbearing. 
 
 Carlo made one of his dignified little bows 
 and said gravely, * Merlino has offered me reason- 
 able terms, and Piale has long wished that I 
 should go on the stage. Had I only my own 
 wishes to consult I should certainly not choose 
 the career of a public singer ; but, sir, I promised 
 my mother to shield Anita, and I must do my 
 best — I must think of her.' 
 
 ' I should have thought you were bound to 
 think of your promised wife,' said the Captain, 
 wrathfully, * to consult her wishes.' 
 
 ' Francesca agrees with me,' said Carlo ; * she 
 would never keep me back from a duty.' 
 
 * Francesca is a fool, then. Duty, indeed ! 
 A duty to mix yourself up with a set of idle, 
 profligate fellows ! A duty to pander to the taste 
 of the dissolute, and play the buffoon on the stage, 
 and be clapped by all the scum of the town ! ' 
 
 Carlo by a great effort strangled the words of 
 angry remonstrance which rose to his lips, and 
 tried to understand the feelings of an Englishman 
 with Puritan traditions. He would at least try 
 to explain the state of affairs patiently.
 
 208 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 * It is very hard for inc to understand the 
 view 5'ou take of the stage, sir,' he began ; * we 
 Italians honour and respect our theatre ; it is 
 not, as you would say, the haunt of the dissolute, 
 but the resort of the whole people ' 
 
 The Captain interrupted him, he was all the 
 more angry because his companion had managed, 
 so far, to exercise a well-bred restraint. Some 
 devil prompted him to rouse the Italian's latent 
 passion. 
 
 * Yes,' he said sneeringly, * I know your 
 national tendencies well enough, but I had 
 thought you were superior to your countrjTnen. 
 I see I was wrong ; you are as frivolous and plea- 
 sure-seeking as the rest of the lot ; it was well 
 said of you Italians that you were only fit for 
 artists' models and the operatic stage.' 
 
 Carlo sprang to his feet, fire flashing from 
 his eyes. 
 
 * No man is called on to sit still and hear his 
 country insulted,' he cried. ' The words are not 
 worthy of you, sir ; I am sure you will retract 
 them.' 
 
 ' If I retract them in part I certainly still
 
 A FIRST ENCOtNTER'. 209 
 
 apply them to you,' said Captain Britton. ' What 
 have you proved yourself but fickle and frivolous ? 
 You have altogether deceived me.' 
 
 His patriotic feelings somewhat smoothed, 
 Carlo grew a little calmei", the personalities 
 were less intolerable. Again he made an effort 
 patiently to put before the Captain the whole 
 case ; this thne he was determined that he would 
 make him fully comprehend it and hear it out. 
 
 * You condemn me, sir, before you have 
 grasped the situation,' he began, his voice so 
 subdued by the strong restraint he was putting 
 on himself that it sounded low and monotonous. 
 In words plain enough to make the Englishman 
 wince he briefly described the dilemma. ' Know- 
 ing this,' he went on, — ' knowing, too, that my 
 mother trusted to me to avert the danger, you 
 surely cannot judge me harshly for taking this 
 stop. I knew the stage was dishonourable in 
 your eyes, but I thought you would see in time 
 that for me it was a necessity.' 
 
 The Captain had risen, too, and was pacing 
 the room with quick, irritated steps. Nita's 
 story had been a severe shock to him, Carlo'.s 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 l)lain-spcaking still caused his cars to tingle, aud 
 the thought of any sort of connection with a 
 family on the borders of such a scandal was 
 unbearable to him. He had a just pride in his 
 Britton ancestry, in his honest, God-fearing 
 forefathers ; his strong love of family, his sense 
 of kinship, was the best part of the man. But 
 virtues generally have their corresponding vices, 
 and the Captain had an overweening idea of his 
 own dignity, and a habit of looking on other 
 men's affairs from a lofty height, which often 
 made his judgment faulty. 
 
 He was blind now to Carlo's unselfishness, 
 blind to his pain, he struck out remorselessly, 
 thinking only how to rescue Francesca from 
 further connection with INladame Merlino's 
 brother. 
 
 ' Don't talk to me of duty and necessity,' he 
 thundered ; ' you are a Jesuit in disguise, you are 
 doing evil that good may come, if, indeed, there 
 is any thought of good in the whole plan. My 
 own belief is that you are tired of Francesca. 
 If so you couldn't have set to work better. I 
 shall certainly not give my daughter in marriage
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 211 
 
 to an actor ; you may consider your belrotlial at 
 an end.' 
 
 For a minute the blow seemed to crush the 
 very life out of Carlo, he turned deathly white. 
 Twice he made as though he would speak, twice 
 failed in the attemjat, his lips refusing to frame 
 the words. Captain Britton felt a pang of 
 regret as he saw the result of his own work, but 
 the regret was soon swallowed up in wrathful 
 recollections. 
 
 * I don't think you in your heart believe all 
 that you say of me, sir,' said Donati, struggling 
 even now to make excuse for Francesca's father. 
 * All I can do is to bow to your decision. You 
 will let me see Francosca ? ' 
 
 Something in his patient dignity, in his 
 manly forbearance, struck a hard blow at the 
 Captain's pride. "What a contrast there was 
 between his own behaviour and the behaviour of 
 the Italian ! The thouglit chafed him, and called 
 forth a burst of passionate anger. 
 
 ' I shall not dream of permitting you to sec 
 her,' he cried furiously. * I'll have no more of 
 your kissing and caressing for my daughter,
 
 212 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 you'll have enough of that at the theatre. Keep 
 your caresses for the priina doiuias ! ' 
 
 111 an instant Carlo's whole bearing altered, 
 the burning colour rushed to his cheeks, his eyes 
 blazed, all his pent-up wrath burst forth like a 
 volcano. For an Italian nature is not unlike 
 the Mediterranean itself ; people are tempted to 
 presume on that calm, blue peacefulness which 
 looks as if it could never be broken, and then 
 they find themselves suddenly overtaken by one 
 of its sharp, characteristic storms ; and, just in 
 the same way, they presume on the infinite 
 patience and the sweet nature of those 
 Southerners whose only wish it has seemed to 
 please, and are amazed when the}^ find that 
 sensitiveness and delicacy of perception has two 
 sidee. 
 
 Captain Britton had at length exhausted even 
 the patience and courtesy of an Italian ; he was 
 alarmed now at the storm he had evoked. 
 
 Carlo's English had forsaken him, bis voice, 
 so subdued a minute before, was now eager and 
 passionate, his gesticulations were vehement as 
 ho poured forth a torrent of angry remon-
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 213 
 
 strance, a storm of words so rapidly uttered that 
 to foreign ears the}' were hardly intelligible. 
 
 The Captain was only conscious of two things : 
 that he deserved this burst of indignation, and 
 that he must somehow get rid of his fiery guest. 
 At .such a moment, and in such agitation, he 
 was not likely to weigh his words. At length 
 Carlo paused for a moment, not because his 
 wrath had cooled, but because his breath failed 
 him. The Captain instantly snatched at his 
 advantage. 
 
 ' I will at least save my child from further 
 contact with a deceiver ! ' he exclaimed hoarsely. 
 ' She is mine, and I owe it to her to shield her 
 from such as you.' They were words which 
 could never be forgotten, — words which in their 
 cruel injustice would rankle like a poisoned 
 arrow. The same white-heat of passion Avhich 
 causes daily murders in the Santa Lucia district 
 leapt now to Carlo's brain, yet through it all he 
 was conscious of a voice in his heart which said, 
 * Go, go at once while you can control your limbs. 
 Go while there is yet time.' 
 
 The habit of a lifetime prevailed ; to turn
 
 214 KNKIIIT-EUHANT. 
 
 ami leave his foe was to him more bitter than 
 death, but with a struggle worthy of his bravo 
 progenitors, he obeyed the voice, and strode out 
 of the room Avithout a word. 
 
 lie did not dure to pause for a moment, lest 
 he should sec Franccsca, or perhaps hear licr 
 voice in the distance and be overcome. With 
 hurried steps he crossed the vestibule, snatched 
 up his hat from the stand, flung his coat across 
 his chest, and closed the door of Casa Bella 
 behind him. Then he stopped for a minute, 
 suddenly conscious that he felt sick and giddy, 
 and that he was still trembling witli passion. 
 The fiend whom he had worsted assailed him in 
 a new form. 
 
 ' You treated him Avith great forbearance,' it 
 argued ; ' you proved yourself his superior in 
 every way. lie ouglit to apologise to you for 
 what he said.' 
 
 Carlo walked slowly home. The idea of 
 bringing the Englishman to his feet and making 
 liim crave pardon soothed him a little. ' This 
 anger shall not get the mastery of me,' he said 
 to himself. * I will go in and make my prepara-
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. 215 
 
 tions for leaving home just as il this liad not 
 happened.' 
 
 And, witli the sort of unreal strength whicli 
 anger gives, he actually did hegin his sorrowful 
 task, called the servants together, told them that 
 he was leaving Italy, paid them their wages, and 
 dismissed them. Then, more tried by the sight 
 of their grief and surprise than he had fancied 
 would be the case, he sat down to his desk and 
 began to write letters. There was the lease of 
 the Villa Bruno to be disposed of, it was his for 
 another year; he wrote to a house-agent in 
 Naples. There was the furniture to be sold ; he 
 wrote to an auctioneer, asking that an earl}' date 
 might be fixed for the sale. At any other time 
 these letters would have cost him much to write, 
 but now he felt little, for fierce anger crowded 
 out grief and regret. lie had not in the least 
 realised that he was never again to sec Francesca ; 
 he could realise nothing but that he had been in- 
 sulted, — grossly insulted, by the man who should 
 have been his best friend. And yet, though he 
 was still beside himself with passion, he was all 
 the time aware of an inner voice urging him to
 
 216 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 forgive. The idea made him laugh sconif ullj' as 
 he directed and stamped his envelopes. What ! 
 was he to forgive one so clearly in the wrong ? 
 He had never before felt the difficulty of for- 
 giving, being naturally generous and sweet- 
 tempered ; but Captain Britton had wounded 
 him too deeply. Words which might have been 
 pardoned in a mere acquaintance, seemed un- 
 pardonable in a friend who had known him from 
 boyhood. The recollection of them sent another 
 of those maddening bursts of fury through his 
 frame. He pushed back his chair and began to 
 pace the room, wrestling with the demon of 
 fierce hatred which possessed him. For Fran- 
 cesca's sake he could have forgiven her father 
 almost anj'thing, but so gross an insult to his 
 love — the love which he knew to be pure, and 
 sacred, and unblamable — was surely beyond 
 forgiveness. 
 
 It was only slowly and by degrees that lie 
 began to reap the fruits of his brave struggle for 
 self -mastery. He grew a little calmer, and 
 turned from the torturing recollection of the 
 insult to an inward picture of Captain Britton
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. . 217 
 
 himself. Almost dispassionately he began to 
 consider that big, broad, massive figure, that 
 bluff, weather-beaten face, with its calculating, 
 far-seeing eyes and wide mouth. Genial and 
 friendly as he had hitherto thought the Captain 
 to be, he had never given him credit for much 
 refinement of feeling ; he had known well enough 
 that the Englishman found it very hard to make 
 allowance for anything outside his own circle ; 
 he had long been fain to admit in his own heart 
 what he would never have admitted, even to 
 Enrico Eitter, that there Avas in Francesca's 
 father a slight but unmistakable vein of vul- 
 garity. It was, then, only too natural that the 
 Captain should fail to understand the present 
 state of things, and, so failing, sliould supply 
 hideous motives for so unaccountable a step. 
 Oh, yes, it was natural enough. He ought to 
 have been prepared for it. But tlio i:)erceptiou 
 of this brought him no nearer to forgiveness. 
 
 The night was now far advanced, but sleep 
 was out of the question in his present state. lie 
 began to roam through the house, considering 
 what things he should save from the sale ; some
 
 218 KNIGHT-KUHANT. 
 
 Averc too precious to be lost, and must be left to 
 Enrico's keeping ; some were small enough to be 
 reserved as souvenirs of home, to be taken away 
 on his wanderings. Going up to his bedroom, his 
 eye fell at once upon his father's sword, which 
 hung above the mantelpiece, and beneath it a 
 childish device of his own — a golden shield, and 
 upon it, in red letters, the name of each battle in 
 which the sword had been used. * Aspromonte,* 
 in larger letters curving up to the left and right 
 to meet the shape of the shield, shone out con- 
 spicuously. 
 
 ' I'll not be parted from that,' he said to him- 
 self, a thrill of loving reverence passing through 
 him and killing the anger and hatred, ' I shall, 
 peihaps, need a sword in my stage wardrobe, and 
 so, after all, this will be needed to protect Nita. 
 It would seem like desecration to the Captain 
 to use it on tlie stage, yet it will surely be 
 my own fault if it is less honourable than at 
 Aspromonte.' 
 
 His thoughts wandered back to that last 
 vividly remembered scene beside his father's 
 death-bed, and a glow of eager devotion warmed
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTER. , 219 
 
 liis heart as he pledged himself anew to keep that 
 promise, to go forth bravely as the knights of old 
 in defence of the weak and the tempted, to live 
 the life of the Crucified. 
 
 Then, like lightning, it suddenly flashed upon 
 him how grievously he had failed. Self had 
 started to the front even in his self-sacrifice ; he 
 had borne but a few strokes from the enemy, and 
 at the first personal insult had thrown down his 
 colours ; reviled, ho had reviled again ; suffering, 
 he had threatened ; wounded, he had sought to 
 wound. In anguisli he remembered that flood of 
 scathing words, that fiery retort which had 
 escaped him ; and yet there was One who had 
 borne the worst possible insults in strong silence, 
 and he had vowed that he would live His life ! 
 Instead, he had suffered himself to be overcome 
 by an unjust judgment, to be maddened by a few 
 words spoken by a man avIio liad also yielded to 
 the same devil of pride and anger. How was he 
 to face the difficulties of life in Mcrlino's troupe 
 when at the very outset his temper had betrayed 
 him ? In bitter grief and self-reproach he had to 
 learn, as all of us have to learn, that ' We must
 
 220 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 be humbled utterlj' in our own conceits before we 
 can be peacemakers.' 
 
 After a while, he was seized witli that strong 
 desire to start afresh which comes to every 
 wounded soldier, whether he fights in the legions 
 of the Seen or the Unseen. His share of the 
 wrong must first be set right ; that was as clear 
 as it was hard. He doubted if he could bring 
 himself to do it, but he went so far as to go down 
 to the salotto, take out his desk, and sit down 
 with pen and paper before him. And at length, 
 just as faint golden streaks appeared in the 
 horizon heralding the day, the letter was finished 
 and the struggle over. 
 
 Carlo coidd not rest till he had done all that 
 could be done, so he went out into the cold dawn, 
 and, making his way to the Casa Bella, dropped 
 his missive in the letter-box. Then, when all 
 was over, when he knew that for the last time he 
 was leaving the house which contained all that he 
 loved, his desolation suddenly broke upon him. 
 Wrath had stilled grief, but now tliat liis anger 
 had passed Grief claimed him for her own. His 
 betrothal was at an end ; Francesca was no longer
 
 A FIRST ENCOUNTEK. 22l 
 
 his ; even a farewell was denied liim. With 
 heart-broken wonder he marvelled how it was 
 that only now did he fully take-in the idea. 
 What was Captain Britton ? What were all the 
 insults in the world before the one bitter, deso- 
 lating fact that he was parted from his love ? 
 
 How he got home he never knew, but he 
 Aaguely remembered finding his way to his own 
 room, and seeing through a mist the sword and 
 the red letters of ' Aspromonte' beneath. Then, in 
 his great anguish, he had cried aloud, 'Strengthen 
 me, O God ! that I, too, may be faithful till 
 death.' 
 
 But, afterwards, all was a blank, and when he 
 came to himself the sun was far above the 
 horizon, and he was lying at full length on the 
 floor, feeling stiff, and sore, and bruised.
 
 222 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A TK0LJ5LED NIGHT. 
 
 ' All, Love ! but a clay, 
 
 Aud the world is changed ! 
 The sun's awaj', 
 
 And the bird estranged ; 
 The wind has dropped. 
 
 And the slcy's deranged ; 
 Summer lias stopped. 
 
 Ft. Browning. 
 
 FiiANCESCA kept up bravely all tbrougli the long 
 hours of that Whitsun Monday ; at dinner she 
 talked a little more than usual to cover Carlo's 
 silence, but it was hard work, and she gave a sigh 
 of relief when at length the ordeal was over, and 
 she was free to go away alone. Carlo stood up to 
 open the door for her, and as she passed him she 
 looked up into his eyes and smiled; but once 
 within the friendly shelter of the drawing-room 
 her own filled with tears. She would have given 
 much to run up to her room and have a good cry; 
 that was out of the question, however, for she
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 223 
 
 could not plead a headache when by doing so she 
 should lose Carlo's good night. The sound of the 
 dining-room door opening made her beat a hasty 
 retreat from the lamplight ; she stood in the 
 shade, and made as though she were looking out 
 of the window, while she hurriedly dried her 
 eyes, for not for the world would she have been 
 caught crying. Mr. Britton, coming into the 
 room, descried the slim figure in its black lace 
 dress, and came towards her. 
 
 *My sweet Fran,' he said, *if you will not 
 think rae the laziest old uncle in the -world, I am 
 going to bid you good-night. Here is a budget 
 of letters which I shall get through better in my 
 own room.' 
 
 * Must you really see to them now ? ' she said. 
 * Why, it is not half a holiday if business follows 
 you out here.' 
 
 Something in her voice made him look at her 
 more attentively. lie saw that she was in 
 trouble, recollected that Carlo had scarcely 
 spoken to her through dinner, and very naturally 
 leapt to the conclusion that there had been a 
 quarrel between the lovers.
 
 224 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 ' I have a long letter from Kate, wliicli 
 perhaps you'll like to see,' he said. ' She and 
 Clare seem getting on grandly at the North 
 Cape, They know nothing of your betrothal 
 May I tell them the news when I answer 
 this ? ' 
 
 ' I think I will tell them myself,' she said, 
 her colour deepening a little. ' I will put in a 
 line to-morrow, if I may.' 
 
 The tears welled up into her eyes again ; she 
 turned hastily and drew his attention to the 
 distant view of Vesuvius with crimson flame 
 leaping up, and summer lightning brightening the 
 sky in the background. But Mr. Britton was 
 too fond of her to be put aside ; he began to feel 
 really anxious about her future. 
 
 ' Dear little niece,' he said, gently, ' you must 
 forgive an old imcle's anxiety, but are you quite 
 happy in your betrothal ? Are you quite sure 
 that you have chosen the happiest life ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure that I have chosen the only man 
 in the world whom I could love,' she said, 
 recovering herself, and looking up into her 
 uncle's face with such a sweet, bright, lovelit
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 225 
 
 smile that he could onh^'inwardly protest that no 
 mau liviug was worthy of her. 
 
 * Yet soniethmg is trouhling you to-night 'i ' he 
 said, uneasily. 
 
 * Yes/ she said, her lips quivering ; * there is 
 something troubling Carlo ; he is going to talk it 
 over with father, and — and I am not quite sure 
 how father will take it.' 
 
 Mr. Britton looked grave. 
 
 * Dear child, of one thing you maj' at least be 
 sure,' he said, gentl}' ; * your father cares for 
 nothing but your happiness.' 
 
 The words fitted in only too well Avith her 
 own forebodings. 
 
 ' Oh, why will people think of nothing but 
 that ? ' she exclaimed. ' "What is happiness to 
 me when Carlo is in the question ? Uncle ' — she 
 looked up at him appealingly — * promise me that 
 whatever luqipens you will ncAcr think him to 
 blame ; — tlicre are things no outsider can under- 
 stand. Promise me tliat j'ou will always be his 
 friend.' 
 
 * "Well, he must be a cold-liearted person who 
 could refuse such a petition from such lips,' he 
 
 VOL, I. Q .
 
 22G KNIGIIT-KUUANT. 
 
 said, stooping to kiss her. ' Don't be unhappy, 
 dear little Fran ; there never yet was a betrothal 
 ■whieli was all sunshine. AVait a little, and your 
 clouds will disperse. Nine o'clock ! I must be off 
 to my desk.' 
 
 ' I will send up your colfee, then. Good- 
 night,' said Francesca, feeling a little comforted 
 at having enlisted such a helper as Uncle George 
 on Carlo's side. 
 
 She sat down near the lamp, and unfolded her 
 cousin's letter, trying hard to feel some interest 
 in the account of the voyage, and the midnight 
 Bun, and the adventures which always seemed to 
 occur to anyone who travelled with Clare. But 
 it would not do ; the words conveyed nothing to 
 her mind ; she could only listen for the sound of 
 approaching steps, for the long delay made her 
 feel certain that Carlo was at that moment telling 
 her father of his decision. 
 
 At length, after what seemed to her a very 
 long time, she heard the dining-room door 
 sharply opened and closed, then quick steps 
 crossing the vestibule. She listened breathlessly, 
 and, by a sudden impulse, started to her feet, but
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 227 
 
 the next instant slic sank clown again almost as 
 though someone had struck her, for she had 
 heard the front door closed, and knew that her 
 father must have forbidden Carlo to see her 
 again. 
 
 After that she felt no inclination to cry, only 
 a sense of cold and wretchedness, — a dull, aching 
 misery. She sat crouched np on the sofa, still 
 holding Kate's letter in her hand. Presently the 
 clock struck ten, and the study bell was sharply 
 rung. In a minute Dino appeared at the draw- 
 ing-room door. 
 
 ' Captain Britton is very busy, signorina,' said 
 the old butler, * and does not wish to be disturbed 
 agam to-night. lie would be much obliged if 
 the signorina would read prayers.' 
 
 The good old servant had no idea how much 
 he conveyed to his young mistress in that com- 
 monplace message. The words cut her to the 
 heart, but Avith the true womanly instuict to hide 
 her wounds, she stood up quickly and said in her 
 usual voice, * A'^ery well, Dino ; bring in the books 
 then.' 
 
 And steadily she went through the usual
 
 228 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 form, her voice never once faltering, nor did she 
 give way till the door of her own room was safely 
 locked, and she was alone for that night of doubt, 
 and suspense, and grief. 
 
 Meanwhile Captain Britton was not much 
 happier than the Uvo lovers whose separation he 
 had decreed. He felt as soon as he had dis- 
 missed Dino that he had done a cowardly thing ; 
 but the thought of meeting Franccsca that night, 
 or of reading prayers in his present frame of 
 mind, was more than he could endure. 
 
 At heart the Captain was a kind man ; he 
 would have liked to please all with whom he 
 came in contact, if only they would be pleased in 
 his own M'ay ; but to have his plans crossed, to be 
 disappointed in any matter upon which he had set 
 his heart, was too much for so proud a temper to 
 bear. 
 
 Nor could he at all understand Carlo's knight- 
 errantry. That a brother under the circum- 
 stances should be beside himself with anger, 
 should afterwards give the traitor a good horse- 
 whipping, or even challenge him — this he could 
 have understood and approved ; but the quiet
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 221) 
 
 surrender of home, countrj^ profession, and per- 
 sonal happiness, in the hope of preventing the 
 evil, this was altogether beyond him. 
 ■ The Captain liked well enough to do a good 
 action, but it must be an action that would be 
 approved of men ; nothing would have induced 
 him to take a line that would expose him to 
 censure : if he did a generous thing he would 
 take good care that it should win him the plea- 
 sant and cheering approval of his friends and 
 acquaintance. 
 
 And yet, in spite of his anger with Carlo's 
 quixotic scheme, he was too kind-hearted a man 
 not to regret the harsh and wholly unjustifiable 
 words which had escaped him in the heat of the 
 moment. Keen shame made tlic colour mount 
 to his forehead as he remembered that he had 
 insulted a guest at his own table. The thought 
 of this troubled him more than anything. It 
 haunted him all through the night. lie re- 
 gretted deeply the pain he must give to Fran- 
 cesca ; he felt bitterly disappointed that the 
 marriage should now be out of the question ; he 
 was still indio-nant with Carlo's blind foolishness
 
 230 KNIGIIT-ERKANT. 
 
 ill going on the stage : but everything faded into 
 insignificance before the one great regret, — a 
 regret which would follow the Captain to his 
 grave, — that for once in his life ho had been 
 guilty of a breach of hospitality. 
 
 If sleep refused to visit eitlier Carlo or Fran- 
 cesca that night, it was equallj' cruel to Captain 
 Britton. He tossed and turned till the bed- 
 clothes were in a state of chaotic confusion : he 
 tried the window open, he tried the window shut, 
 lie tried a light, he tried total darkness, he paced 
 the room, he counted alternate black and white 
 sheep going through a gate, he ate bread, ho 
 smoked a cigar, — in fact, he tried all the remedies 
 for sleeplessness he had ever heard of. 
 
 At last he gave up all thoughts of rest for 
 that night, and began to wonder how his neigh- 
 bour was faring : the young Italian's face haunted 
 him. Now he saw him boyish, eager, and im- 
 pulsive, coming nearly five years ago to tell 
 of his love for Francesca, and receiving his 
 sentence of probation with an odd mixture of 
 hope, despair, and courtes}'. Again he recalled 
 the day — only three weeks ago in reality, though
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 231 
 
 it seemed more like three months — when Sibyl had 
 run down to find him in the olive-garden, bearing 
 that significant card Avith the words, 'Avvocato 
 Carlo Poerio Donati,' which conveyed to him 
 so much. lie remembered hastening back to the 
 house, and could see again in imagination the 
 bright look of hope which had flashed like sudden 
 sunshine over Carlo's face when he had told him 
 to go and find Francesca in the belvedere. And 
 then, lastly, and most vividly of all, he recalled 
 that face as he had last seen it. Such anger 
 once seen is never forgotten ; and the Captain 
 knew that so generous and sweet-tempered a man 
 must have been almost maddened by pain before 
 his face could have worn that look of vindictive 
 fury, before his eyes could have blazed with the 
 fierce glow that recalled to him the eyes of a 
 wounded lion. Had the Captain been a coward^ 
 or even a man with highly -strung nerves, he 
 would have trembled before such a look, for to 
 meet such eyes is to look death in the face. But, 
 with all his faults, he was a staunch, brave- 
 hearted Englishman, and all that he had felt was 
 a great surprise when the fierce gleam had sud-
 
 232 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 dciily died away, and Carlo had tuiiied sharply 
 round on his heel and left him without u word. 
 
 IIo wondered what luid happened to him 
 afterwards, and began to feel troubled as he 
 remembered the desolateness of the Villa Bruno. 
 
 Oidy a fortnight had passed since the gentle 
 Signora Donati had been laid in lier grave ; ho 
 had forgotten all that when in sudden wrath he 
 had driven her son away. Bitterly did he now 
 repent the unkindness. Had he been an imagin- 
 ative man, he would have conjured up a tragic 
 ending to that night's work, and have suffered 
 yet more ; but, luckily, he was not of an imagin- 
 ative turn, so he was only vaguely and increas- 
 ingly miserable. 
 
 Then he began to think of poor little Francesca, 
 doomed through his angry command never to sec 
 her lover again. No ; at least he would yield on 
 that point, he would go to see Carlo after break- 
 fast, would apologise to him for his hastiness, and 
 permit him to come once more to the Casa Bella 
 and take leave of Francesca. This idea gave the 
 poor Captain a little relief, but he groaned aloud 
 as he thought of all the grief in store for his child.
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 233 
 
 At length he heard the welcome souncls of life 
 iu tlie house. The night was over ; Rosctta was 
 banging the door-mat vigorously against the 
 ])orch ; Dino was tramping up and down tlie 
 marble passages, fetching and carrjdng. Pre- 
 sently there was the refreshing sound of tlie rap 
 at his door, and the servant's familiar summons, 
 * Half-past seven, signer, and a fine morning.' 
 
 The Captain rose more promptly than usual, 
 unlocked his door, and took in his hot-water can ; 
 on the lid there lay an envelope directed to him 
 in Carlo's handwriting. He tore it open M'ith a 
 sense of sickening anxiety. 
 
 What was it that brought a sudden mist be- 
 fore his eyes? Only a short, manly letter, — a 
 letter of apology from the man whom he had 
 wronged. 
 
 Carlo had forestalled liim, and the letter 
 which had cost the writer so much cost the 
 reader yet more. There was very little in 
 it, with its careful English and neat foreign 
 writing ; but the words had come straight from 
 the heart, and they went straight as an arrow to 
 the heart of the Captain.
 
 234 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 The Brittons, tliougli so long; resident in 
 Italy, kept English hours and breakfasted all 
 together at eight o'clock. 
 
 The Captain came down that morning with a 
 curiously guilty feeling. Francesca was in the 
 dining-room before him, apparently absorbed in 
 coffee-making. He glanced at her anxiously, and 
 saw that she was pale and worn, and looked as if 
 she had cried till she could cry no longer. She 
 felt her father's anxious glance and winced be- 
 neath it. Uncle George, with more tact, made as 
 though he noticed nothing, and adroitly kept the 
 conversation going ; Avhile Sibyl was luckily at 
 that unobservant age which takes no account of 
 faces when once they have become familiar. It 
 was an uncomfortable meal, and they all hailed as 
 a relief the appearance of the Captain of the 
 Pilgrim, a weather-beaten Scotchman, who had 
 driven over with a telegram wliicli had just 
 arrived for ^Mr. Britton. 
 
 Captain Britton had never felt more glad to 
 have a guest to whom lie could sliow hospilalil}'. 
 
 ' Come, Captain, you must breakfast with us 
 after vour long drive!' ho exclaimed, in his
 
 A TKOUBLED NIGHT. 235 
 
 hearty voice. ' Sibyl, run and tell Diiio to lay 
 another place.' 
 
 * Thank you, sir,' said the Captain, drawing a 
 chair to the table ; ' I breakfasted on the yacht, 
 but I will be glad of a cup of coffee if Miss 
 Britton has some for a late comer. I thought 
 I'd better come over with the telegram, sir,' ho 
 continued, turning to the owner of the Pihjrhn, 
 ' for I had a feeling it might mean a change of 
 plans.' 
 
 * Second -sight on your part, Captain,' said 
 Mr. Britton, looking up ; 'I am sorry to say it 
 does mean a change of plans and an end to my 
 holiday. I must go home at once.' 
 
 'Nothing wrong at Merlebank, I hope?' said 
 his brother, while Franccsca and Sibyl listened 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' Oh, no ; it is only a business affair, but I 
 must be home by Friday at latest. I'm afraid 
 the Pilfjrun Avould hardly manage that. Captain, 
 eh?' 
 
 There was a general laugli. 
 
 * Well, that would be expecting a little too 
 much of a sailing yacht,' said Captain Graham.
 
 236 KNIGIIT-ERRAXT. 
 
 * I'm sorry, sir, yoii arc called back to England. 
 Wc had looked to liavc a pleasant cruise.' 
 
 Mr. Britton sighed. 
 
 * No peace to the wicked ; eh, Francesca ? In 
 this world it is alwaj'S the way that some people 
 have more work than they wish, and others not 
 so much. I should like a few words with you, 
 John, in the study.' 
 
 The brothers went off together, and the old 
 Scotch Captain turned to Sibyl. 
 
 ' "What should you say to a cruise, Miss 
 Sibyl? I think that would be just the thing 
 for you. You'd make a fine little sailor.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear Captain Graham, do coax Uncle 
 George to let me ! ' cried Sibyl, in an ecstasy. 
 ' Oh, Fran, wouldn't it be lovely I ' 
 
 Francesca smiled faintly, not wishing to damp 
 the little girl's pleasure, but feeling a little more 
 wretched than before, as she wondered whether 
 possibly her father might think it best to send 
 her away from home. 
 
 'Sea air would do you all the good in the 
 world, miss,' said Captain Graham, glancing at 
 her pale face ; ' it's only a pity none of your
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 237 
 
 cousins arc on board, tlien wc should liavc u 
 merry party. Miss Kate, slic doesn't care for 
 the yacht, but the others, why, they arc as good 
 as sailors ! Miss Lucy and Miss Molly, they 
 kept a watch all through our last cruise ; and as 
 to little Miss Flo, why, she'd like to live on 
 board.' 
 
 Meanwhile, in the study, the owner of the 
 Pihjrini was trying to do all in his power for his 
 pretty niece. lie had guessed, both from her face 
 and his brother's depression, that there must have 
 been a quarrel with }'oung Donati on the previous 
 night. lie hoped he might be able to set 
 things straight again before he left, but he had 
 no idea how serious was the state of affairs. 
 
 * Look here, John,' he said, closing the door 
 of the study, ' it has just struck me, Avhy 
 shouldn't you all have a trip in the yacht now 
 she is here Y There will be plenty of room for 
 you, and the girls, and young Donati, and a 
 couple of other friends besides, if you lilce. Now 
 do think of it, for it quite vexes me that 
 the PU(j villi should be all down here to no 
 purpose.'
 
 238 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 ' You arc very good,' said Captain Britton, 
 licsitalingly ; ' for myself there is nothing I 
 should so much like ; indeed, I must get away 
 somewhere, I feel quite knocked up with this 
 tiresome affair.' 
 
 'What affair?' 
 
 ' AVhy, I meant to have told you all about 
 it to-day. Poor little Franccsca's engagement 
 is broken off ! ' 
 
 ' Dear me ! how is that ? You don't mean 
 to say he is tired of her already ? ' 
 
 * No, that's the worst of it ; the fellow is 
 desperately in love with her still, but I have 
 had to jiut a stop to it. I never was so dis- 
 appointed in a man in my life.' 
 
 * It's a grave affair,' said Mr. Ihitton, 
 thoughtfully, * for I fancy little Fran's heart 
 is quite given awa}'.' 
 
 'That is the miserable part of it. I wish 
 she had never seen Donati I I wish I'd never 
 come to this place ! ' and the poor CaiJtain 
 sighed heavily. 
 
 ' But have you not, perhaps, been a trifle 
 hasty ? ' said his brother, remembering the pro-
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 239 
 
 misc he had made to Franccsca on the previous 
 night. ' Though starting with plenty of iusuhir 
 prejudice against the man I was very much 
 struck with liini yesterda}'. There is something 
 noble about his face. Surcl}^ he can't be guilty 
 of any great offence ? ' 
 
 * lie is guilty of the greatest offence possible, 
 he is guilty of an utter want of common-sense,' 
 said the Captain, angrily. ' I thought we had 
 made half an Englishman of him, but I might 
 have known that with his Italian blood and his 
 foolish radical ideas we should, sooner or later, 
 fall foul of one another.' 
 
 * You are surely not going to break off the 
 engagement because of political differences ? ' 
 said Mr. Britton, getting quite on to the wrong- 
 tack. 
 
 'Merc opinions are nothing to me,' said the 
 Captain, * but when the fellow acts — acts upon 
 his insane ideas — comes to me and deliberately 
 tells me that he has taken a course which will 
 make his marriage with Francesca out of the 
 question for an indefinite time, what can you 
 expect me to say ? '
 
 240 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 * I don't wonder }'ou were very niucli \'excd 
 about it.' 
 
 ' Vexed ! I was never in .such a heal in my 
 life. "Wrong a.s the fellow was, I am bound to 
 apologise; to him for what I said. I'll not shirk 
 that, though I do believe the mere sight of him 
 will put me out of temper again.' 
 
 * You think there is no hope, then, of setting 
 matters straight ? Surely you would submit to 
 almost anything rather than put Francesca to so 
 much pain. What if her lover is a little high- 
 flown in his notions? Anything is better than 
 callousness and indifference.' 
 
 * I can't explain it all to you, for did I do so 
 I shoidd break Donati's confidence, but soon 
 you will sec for yourself what line he has taken 
 up, and then jou will see that my anger is at 
 least excusable. To permit the engagement to 
 go on is out of the question while he still keeps 
 to his resolution ; Miss Claremont, I am sure, 
 would agree with me. lie is deliberately choosing 
 a career which is| bound to degrade him — he is 
 taking the high road to hell.' 
 
 The Captain was working himself up into
 
 A TROUBLED NIGHT. 241 
 
 wrathful indignation again. Mr. Britton could 
 only imagine that Donati had avowed his con- 
 nection with some secret political society such 
 as he believed to exist in Italy. He saw that it 
 was useless to attempt any further remonstrance. 
 
 ' Tlien, if this is really quite at an end,' he 
 said, hesitatingly, ' would it not be doubly de- 
 sirable that you should all leave the neighbour- 
 hood for a time ? Take a month's cruise in the 
 Pilgrim. There is no chance of my using her 
 again till August.' 
 
 ' I wish you could have been with us too,' said 
 the Captain, with a sigh. * Must you really go 
 off at once ? ' 
 
 * I must bo off this evening, there's no help 
 for it,' said Mr. Britton. ' I would give much 
 to be with you, but this business will bear no 
 delay — I feel like a school-boy cheated of his 
 holiday. But look, let us decide this matter 
 while Captain Graham is here. When would you 
 like to start?' 
 
 ' To-morrow ; — no. To-morrow Count Carossa 
 dines Avith us, — but on Thursday, — I really think 
 we might start on Thursday. It's very good of
 
 242 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 you, George, to propose it. You've no idea what 
 a relief it will be to rac, for we are such near 
 neighbours to Donati that it would be very- 
 unpleasant to be here.' 
 
 ' Well, that's settled, then,' said Mr. Britton. 
 ' I'll go and tell Graham to make preparation for 
 you. He will be enchanted to have you on board.*
 
 243 
 
 CHAPTEH XIII. 
 
 * PAZIEXZA.' 
 
 * We may not make this ■world a paradise 
 l?y walking it together, hand in hand, 
 AVith eyes that meeting feed a double strength. 
 We must be only joined by pains divine 
 Of spirits blent in mutual memories.' 
 
 Sjmnish Gijmj. 
 
 Captain Brixton had seldom felt more ill at ease 
 than when he walked that morning up to the door 
 of the Villa Bruno. A sallow, wrinkled, old 
 servant, with a gay scarlet neckerchief, was 
 polishing the door-handle ; she nodded to him 
 cheerfully as he approached. 
 
 'Good -morning to you, signer; walk in. 
 You'll find the master in the salotfo.' 
 
 She made no sign of leaving her door-handle 
 and duster, and indeed the Captain had long ago 
 asked leave to walk into his neighbour's house 
 without ceremony, and the Signora Donati and 
 Carlo, thougli disliking his unheralded intrusion,
 
 21t KXIGIIT-EHKANT. 
 
 had been far too courteous to return a negative 
 to the tactless request. He crossed the vestibule 
 and was about to enter the mlotto when a sound 
 of voices within made him pause, hesitate a mo- 
 ment, and then go instead into an adjoining room. 
 
 He had recognised the voice of Guido Donati, 
 and guessed correctly that the uncle had driven 
 over in hot haste from Naples on learning his 
 nephew's startling plan. That he was exceed- 
 ingly annoyed could be gathered from the tone 
 of his voice and from the vehement and extra- 
 ordinarily rapid utterance, which reminded the 
 Captain of Carlo's tirade on the preceding night. 
 At last the violent harangue came to an end, and 
 Carlo's voice was heard : it was low but distinct, 
 and the Captain could not avoid hearing the 
 words, — 
 
 ' I am sorry to vex you, uncle, but my mind 
 is made up.' 
 
 'Madonna Santissima f it is made up, is it?* 
 said the other, furiously. * Then mine, too, is 
 made up ; and I am sorry to vex you, but not a 
 penny of mine shall you ever inherit. Do you 
 understand?*
 
 ' PAZIENZA.' 245 
 
 There was u silence, but Captain Britton 
 could well imagine the expressive gesture whicli 
 Carlo would make. 
 
 ' Dlavolo !^ cried the uncle. 'You take it 
 cubnly. You think you will live comfortably 
 enough on that voice of yours, and laugh at 
 the rich old uncle. You will tell a different talc 
 a few years hence, my fine fellow, when you have 
 a wife and children to support ! ' 
 
 * I shall never marry,' said Carlo, s^Jeaking 
 more shortly than the Captain had ever before 
 heard an Italian speak. 
 
 * What ? ' cried Uncle Guido. * Then you 
 have thrown over j-our betrothal for this nuid 
 scheme ? An apoplexy on you ! I'll have no 
 more to do with such a fool ; ' and Avith that 
 he strode out of the room. 
 
 The Captain only waited till he was sure 
 the angry man had really gone, and then he 
 knocked at the door of the salotto. Nothing 
 but a conscientious sense of duty could have 
 induced him to face at that moment his guest 
 of the previous evening ; but there was a certain 
 rugged loyalty about Fraucesca's father, and he
 
 246 KNIGIIT-ERIIANT. 
 
 walked sturdily into the room, bracing himself 
 up to make the necessary apology. Carlo was 
 standing at the side window, the sunlight fell 
 full upon him, and revealed to the Captain a 
 very different face to the one which bad haunted 
 him through the night — a face worn with 
 suffering, but strong and resolute, spite of its 
 haggard look. 
 
 * I beg your pardon for intruding, but the ser- 
 vant told me to come in,' began the Captain, 
 approaching him. 
 
 Carlo turned with an inarticulate exclama- 
 tion, the blood rushed to his face, and a look 
 of distress dawned in his eyes ; he was tired 
 out with all he had been through, and felt 
 wholly unequal to another stormy discussion. 
 
 But he welcomed his visitor with native 
 cereraoniousness, betraying only by additional 
 courtesy any remembrance of the quarrel. The 
 Captain remembered the letter of the morning, 
 and all his kindly feelings returned to him, as 
 he' said heartily, — 
 
 ' Carlo, I have come to apologise for the 
 words which escaped me yesterday. I regret
 
 * PAZIENZA.' 247 
 
 tlicm more than I can tell yon. You had every 
 excuse for your anger.' 
 
 Carlo grasped his hand. ' No, no,' he said, 
 quickly, * I was very much to blame. I am 
 glad, sir — it is a great relief to me — that last 
 night was not our parting. I am grateful to 
 you for coming here to-day.' 
 
 * I must also apologise for having inadvertently 
 overheard some of your uncle's words,' said the 
 Captain, who felt very uncomfortable when he 
 remembered his involinitary eavesdropping. 
 
 ' I knew Uncle Guide would be very much 
 against this plan,' said Carlo ; and as he spoke 
 he threw himself wearily into a chair facing 
 Captain Britten's. 
 
 The Captain was struck by the look of 
 extreme physical exhaustion both in the face 
 and the attitude ; he began to realise the 
 difference between his own physique and that 
 of the Italian, and faintly to understand that 
 Carlo had a greater capacity for feeling pain 
 than he had himself. 
 
 * Did you realise that this scheme of yours — 
 this scheme which I still most strongly dis-
 
 248 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 approve — would cost you so dear?' he asked 
 abruptly. 'Did you think your uncle would 
 have disinherited you ? ' 
 
 * I didn't think about the money at all,* 
 said Carlo ; * but I knew he would be annoyed.' 
 
 * But does this make no change in your 
 feeling? Are you willing to lose every single 
 thing you possess, and even to forfeit the 
 respect of j'our friends, for the sake of this 
 plan?' 
 
 ' Yes,' he said simply ; * I am willing, sir.' 
 When he had spoken he let his head drop 
 wearily on to his hand ; he was calm with the 
 calm of blank bereavement, for, like the Princess 
 in the poem, he had found that 
 
 ' Not to fear because all is taken 
 Is the loneliest depth of huniau pain.' 
 
 The Captain sighed. lie was not angry 
 now, only ^'ery much annoyed at the imijossi- 
 bility of inducing one bereft of connnon- sense 
 to see reason. 
 
 ' You make light of the loss of income,' 
 he said at length ; ' but how will you fare 
 supposing you fall ill ? '
 
 ' PAZIENZA.' 2-19 
 
 Carlo looked up "vvitli an odd sort of smile, 
 
 ' Well, you will think mc unpractical,' he 
 said ; ' but I have never been ill in my life, and 
 I liad not considered that possibility. However 
 my salary is a tolerably fair one for a novice, 
 and if the worst comes to the worst there are 
 always the hospitals.' 
 
 ' Carlo,' broke in the Captain, * I can't bear 
 to think of one who has led the life you have 
 led going out into such a Avorld ! What would 
 your poor mother have said to it ? ' 
 
 Carlo's face lighted up as if the suggestion 
 had given him some uncxj^ected comfort. 
 
 'At least our dead understand us,' he said, 
 fervently ; * they know that I am trying to 
 keep my promise.' 
 
 The Captain felt that his small stock of 
 patience would not last much longer, and Carlo, 
 glancing at him, saw that their parting, though 
 peaceable, would be final ; he knew intuitively 
 that although the Captain had taken back some 
 of his harsh Avords, he still regarded him as at 
 any rate a self-deceived deceiver, a man who 
 under the cloak of duty veiled his craving for
 
 250 KNIGIIT-KHRANT. 
 
 change and excitement, or, at best, as an enthusiast 
 who could hut he despised for giving up solid 
 realities for foolish dreams. Their friendship 
 was at an end ; for, though Ioac is undying, 
 friendsliip is quite a different thing, and there 
 are shocks Avhich it will not survive. 
 
 'There is one other thing I wished to say,' 
 said Captain Britton, rising, * and that is, that if 
 you wish you may have one more interview 
 with Francesca.' 
 
 Carlo caught eagerly at this boon, and the 
 Captain suggested that he should return with 
 him to Casa Bella. 
 
 * Does she know of ' he hesitated how to 
 
 put it, ' of your decision ? ' 
 
 'I have not spoken to her about it, but I 
 know she infers it,' said the Captain, rather 
 coldly. 
 
 Carlo paced the room for a minute, struggling 
 with his emotion ; he Avas not sure whether he 
 had strength to meet Francesca and tell her 
 Avith his own lips that all was over between 
 them. 
 
 ' If you A\ish to see her we had better come
 
 'PAZIENZA.' 251 
 
 at once,' said the Captain. ' I^Iy brother is 
 unexpectedly called back to England, and mc 
 have much to see to to-day.' 
 
 He was vexed that Donati did not show more 
 gratitude for the concession ho had made, for 
 he was a man who liked to be thanked, and it 
 had not been easy for him to retract what he 
 had first said. Something in his tone stung 
 Carlo ; he drew himself together. * Ehhcnc, 
 si(/iior,' he said gravely, forgetting his English, 
 as he often did when much moved, and re- 
 covering it with an effort. * If you will permit 
 it I will accompany you.' 
 
 They walked away from the Villa Bruno 
 in silence. Carlo thinking of the Captain's words, 
 ' Wc have much to see to to-day.' How calmly 
 he classed the supreme struggle of his life, the 
 parting that was as death to him, with the 
 trivial household commotion caused by Mr. 
 Britten's journey. 
 
 But once back in his own house the Captain's 
 kinder feelings returned ; he took Carlo to the 
 rose-room, then held out his hand cordially. 
 
 * This had better be our final parting,' he
 
 252 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 said, ' I leave home ou Thursday. Good-bye, 
 Carlo. Sliouldj you even now see fit to give 
 up this foolish seheme I should be quite willing 
 to reconsider matters.' 
 
 * My mind is made up, sir,' said Carlo, 
 turning sadly away. 
 
 * So it appears. Well, I will send Francesca 
 to you.' 
 
 lie closed the door ; and Carlo, Avith a 
 choking feeling in his throat, looked round the 
 dear, familiar room, the very untidiness of which 
 breathed of Francesca. The * Dying Gladiator ' 
 for Clare reposed periloush' on a shaky pile of 
 books; a kitten was worrying a ball of red wool 
 on the sofa; and the sock in process of knitting, 
 and which he knew had been intended for him, 
 lay at a little distance on the floor. He turned 
 to the window, and looked out at his old friend 
 Vesuvius with its cloud of smoke, and at the 
 glimpses of blue sea visible here and there 
 between the trees. Then, with an aching con- 
 sciousness that these were left to him, but that 
 he should never more stand in that little room, 
 he turned and looked round it, as tliough he
 
 ' PAZIENZA. 253 
 
 wished to stamp for ever on his miud all its 
 girlish decorations, all its familiar details. But 
 the sound of footsteps without roused him and 
 dispelled his calm ; the door opened, and Fran- 
 cesca came quickly forward to greet him ; she 
 always entered a room more quickly, yet more 
 gracefully than other people, but now she almost 
 ran towards him, she wanted him not to notice 
 her wan, tear-stained face. 
 
 If, however, in one sense love is blind, in 
 another it is all-observant ; in one glance he 
 had read all, and in that glance there came to 
 him the sharpest of his suffering. 
 
 Stifling the sobs that rose in his throat he 
 held her in a long, close embrace, but to speak 
 was impossible ; and though there was comfort 
 and rapture in her presence, yet there was also 
 anguish which threatened to unman him. At 
 length he put her gently from him, and 
 turned away that he might fight down his 
 emotion. For a few minutes there was silence, 
 then he came and sat beside her on the sofa, 
 and, putting his arm round her, drew her head 
 dovra. on to his shoulder.
 
 254 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 * Carina,^ he said, and the mellow baritone 
 voice was firm, yet terribly sad, * your father 
 would not let me see you last night, but to-day 
 he allows me this one more meeting with you. 
 He said he had not spoken to you, but that you 
 knew what had passed between us.' 
 
 * Yes,' she said, her tears raining down quietly; 
 * I knew it must be so when I heard you go.' 
 
 They talked sometimes in English, sometimes 
 in Italian, as had been their custom ever since 
 childhood. 
 
 * Darling,' he said, tenderly, ' I am bound to 
 obey your father's decree ; there could be no 
 right betrothal for us without his consent, and 
 so you stand free once more. You must try, 
 carina, not to let these three short weeks spoil 
 your life ; you will try, my own, my darling, 
 for it would break my heart if I thought I had 
 ruined your happiness.' 
 
 ' Love ought not to weaken us,' she said 
 tremulously, for in her heart she felt that apart 
 from Carlo she should be like a rudderless boat. 
 ' These three weeks ought to give me courage 
 for the rest.'
 
 ' rAziENZA.' 255 
 
 There was iudcscribablc sadness in the last 
 two words, 
 
 * All, darling ! ' cried Carlo, passionately, 
 * don't speak of your beautiful young life like 
 that ! ' 
 
 And then he was silent again. All the 
 strength and ardour of their mutual love seemed 
 to rise up against the Captain's decree ; if for 
 the present they were fain to obey it and to 
 part, yet hopes for the future would rise ; 
 perhaps each intuitively knew what Avas in the 
 other's heart, but no words passed between them ; 
 indeed when Carlo did speak it was almost as 
 if he wished to reason awa}^ any brightness 
 which might hover over their future. 
 
 'You see, my darling,' he said, 'even should 
 this immediate danger no longer keep me from 
 you, even if Nita no longer needed me, I shall 
 have cut myself off from you hopelessly, — we 
 must face that. I shall by that time, if I succeed 
 at all, be to the world Donati the singer, and 
 your father would certainly not choose me for his 
 son-in-law. Then, again, Uncle Guido has dis- 
 inherited me, so that if I gave up the stage I
 
 25G KNiCillT-KHWANT. 
 
 should be penniless and more or less unfitted for 
 work as an advocate.' 
 
 ' lias ho indeed disinherited you ? Oh, 
 Carlino, what troubles you ha^•e had ! Don't let 
 me be another, darling. See, I'll not cry any 
 more ; we must think of what is still left us. 
 The worst they can do to us is to keep us apart ; 
 they can't kill our love, they can't check our 
 prayers for each other — the best part, the highest 
 part no one can meddle with.' 
 
 He held her closely, murmuring tender 
 Italian words of endearment ; and the clock on 
 the mantelpiece ticked on inexorably, measuring 
 all too quickly the time which, when they were 
 parted, would move with leaden feet. Rosalind 
 should surely have said * parting lovers ' rather 
 than a ' thief going to the gallows ' when asked, 
 * "Who gallops Time withal ? ' And still they 
 lingered over the sweet, imwritable talk till the 
 clock relentlessly struck twelve, and roused them 
 to the recollection of the outer world. 
 
 Then Francesca drew off her engagement 
 ring, and placed it in his hand. 
 
 ' There, Carlo,' she said, steadily, * I give you
 
 ' PAZIKXZA.' 257 
 
 back the ring- and your troth, and I will obey my 
 father, and will neither hear from you nor write to 
 you ; but more tliau that no woman can promise, 
 for love is not made and unmade to order.' 
 
 Carlo put on the ring-, which from a token of 
 union liad now become changed to a token of 
 separation. lie was too heart-broken to speak, 
 and after a long pause it was Franccsca who 
 at length broke the silence. 
 
 ' Tell me a little more of the sort of life you 
 shall live,' she said, gently. 
 
 So he told her all that he knew, which was 
 little enough ; how he .should live with the 
 Mcrlinos, try to win his sister's love, study hard 
 for his profession, do his best to be a credit to 
 rial(>. 
 
 'And you!"' he asked. 'There will be neW 
 neighbours for you at A' ilia Jhuno, but it is 
 hardly likely that it will be used by another 
 occupant except during the sunnner months.' 
 
 ' Ah I will it be let ? ' asked Franccsca, her 
 eyes filling. ' Well, I hope wo shall not know 
 the people who take it. For the rest, darling, 
 you can picture me as living the old life, going 
 
 vol,. 1. s
 
 258 KNIGIIT-EKKANT. 
 
 into Naples on Sunday, teaching Sibyl, rowing 
 with Florestano. But for this next montli wo 
 are to go for a cruise in the Pihjrim, and perhtips 
 next year I may go to England.' 
 
 ' You would like to be with Clare ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; though I suppose father will not like 
 nie to tell her now of these three weeks, and it 
 will be hard that she should never know. Carlo, 
 why should not you go to see Clare when you arc 
 in Enghin 1 ? ' 
 
 lie shook his head. 
 
 ' She would disapprove too strongly of my 
 change of professions,' he said ; ' and it is not a 
 change that I can explain to all the world. 
 Then, too, she lives in your uncle's house, and, 
 after what has happened, he would hardly care to 
 have me there.' 
 
 ' Uncle George likes you very much,' said 
 Francesca, quickly. 
 
 Cai'lo did not reply, but he thought dif- 
 ferently. It was not then, however, that he 
 could care to discuss so trifling a matter ; time 
 was passing, and he knew that Captain Brittou 
 must already be expecting him to go. The
 
 * PAZIENZA.' 259 
 
 thought broke down all his self-control ; his 
 cabnness gave place to a passionate outburst of 
 love and grief, Avhich recalled to Francesca his 
 sudden change in the belvedere A\lien he had first 
 asked for her love. 
 
 She clung to him now as she had done then, 
 but it was not of love and present bliss which she 
 spoke. 
 
 'Patience, Carlo mio ; patience,' she whis- 
 pered. ' It is, after all, that Avhich wc need.' 
 
 The Avord brought back to him the recollec- 
 tiun of his dying father, and calmed the tumult 
 of feeling. lie held her sweet face between his 
 hands, looked long into those pure eyes, and grew 
 strong once more. 
 
 ' Pazivitza ! ' he murmured, clasping her again 
 in his arms. ' God have you in His keeping.' 
 
 At the gate of Casa iJella Mr. George 
 Britton, much to his dismay, chanced to 
 encounter the owner of Villa liruno, quite the 
 last man he would have chosen to meet. All that 
 he could do was to assvuue that nothing had
 
 260 KNIGHT-ERKANT. 
 
 liappciicd, and to bid him a courteous farewell, 
 lie held out his hand. 
 
 Carlo turned upon him a face which haunted 
 the kindly En<^lislinian for many months to come. 
 But, even in hi.s anguish, he could not be other- 
 wise than courteous ; a look of effort passed on er 
 hi.s deathly features, and, 
 
 ' With pale lij^s 
 That seemed to motion for a smile in vain,' 
 
 he said, as he bowed over the Englishman's hand, 
 * Bnon vi(((j<jio, sifjnor ! A n'rcdcrci ! '
 
 2G1 
 
 CIIAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE M:W BAUITONK. 
 
 ' Small spheres hold small fires. 
 ]iiit he loved largelj', as a man can love 
 Who, hafiled in his love, dares livL> his life, 
 Accept the ends which (Jod loves for his own, 
 And lift a constant asp 'ct.' K. B. Brownixo. 
 
 It was a hot suiumer morning, and two ragged 
 littlo Neapolitans were sanntcring along the 
 Chiaja ; the elder liad flung his arm caressingly 
 round the other's neck, the younger held in his 
 hand a ragged cap full of cherries, from which 
 they were eating contentedly as they walked. A 
 carriage rolled past them, and l)oth boys lookeA 
 up with sharp, eager eyes. 
 
 ' Gntn Bio ! ' cried one. ' Look ! yonder goes 
 Comerio the singer.' 
 
 * 'Tis he himself,' said the other, with a look 
 of interest ; ' and in a vile temper, too : his brow 
 is black as a starless night ! ' 
 
 'They say he beats his wife,' said the elder
 
 262 KNIGIIT-EREANT. 
 
 bo}', witli a laugh, which was only chocked by the 
 offer of a ripe red cherry whicli his brother hild 
 up to his mouth. 
 
 Meanwhile the carriage hal gone by, and 
 Comerio was, before long, set down at tlie 
 entrance to Palazzo Forti. He paid the driver, 
 and then, with no very amiable expression, made 
 his way up the long stone staircase and rang the 
 bell. 
 
 A maid-servant, whom he had tried unsuccess- 
 fully to bribe on former occasicjns, opened the 
 door to him. 
 
 * Is tSignor ;>rei'lino at tlie theatre ? ' he asked, 
 anxious to know whether the coast was clear. 
 
 ' Yes, signer,' replied the girl. ' What mes- 
 sage can I give him ? ' 
 
 ' I will give it to Signora ^lerlino,' said the 
 visitor, preparing to enter. 
 
 The maid showed all her teeth in a merry 
 smile. 
 
 * But the Signora is still at rehearsal.' 
 
 * Orsii ! ' exclaimed Comerio, impatiently, ' I 
 might have known. Well, I will come in then, 
 and wait till they return.'
 
 THE NEW BARITONE. 263 
 
 lie was shown into a little antc-rooni, where 
 for a few minutes he paced to and fi'o, but sud- 
 denly becoming conscious that in the next room 
 someone was raonotonousl}'' humming La doiuut c 
 inohilc, he hastily entered and glanced round. At 
 first nothing was visible, but after a moment f r 
 two lie discovered the singer, a little bro^n- 
 eyed boj' of four 3'cars old, who was perched 
 on tlie window-sill, and half hidden by the 
 curtain. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Gigi,' he said pleasantly. 
 
 The little fellow flung aside the curtain ; he 
 seemed very glad to see the visitor. 
 
 ' Good-morning, signer,' he said, smiling till 
 his sallow little face looked almost pretty. ' Arc 
 
 there ' he looked longingly, yet hesitatingly, 
 
 in the direction of Comerio's pocket, — * are there 
 any bonbons ?' 
 
 Comerio made a gesture of mock despair. 
 
 ' "Why, Gigi, how can I have forgotten ? I 
 promised you some marrous ylaces, did I not? but, 
 indeed, the bad ncAvs of this morning drove every- 
 thing out of my head.' 
 
 '"What bad news?' said the little boy, with
 
 2G4 KNIGIIT-EHKANT. 
 
 an anxiuiis look tliat sccnicd to l»c Ik-voikI lii.s 
 years. 
 
 ' I am j^uiu^ away, Gi<i;i ; I sliall lu-vcr travfl 
 al)()ut with you any nioro. Thon- will be a new 
 baritone, — one who is not likely to carry manoux 
 (jlaces in his pocket, or to play p;anies with yon, 
 for he sets up for being a saint.' 
 
 *A saint?' said the child. 'What is that? 
 I thought they were things in the sky.' 
 
 ' A saint is one who is fond of keeping other 
 people in order. San Carlo will sp}' out in no 
 time what a naughty little monkey }ou are.' 
 
 ' I wish lie Avasn't coming,' said the child, 
 looking ready to cry. ' I don't sec why saints 
 want to sing in operas ; they should stop in 
 heaven.' 
 
 Comerio laughed. 
 
 ' Quite right, little one, so they should,' he 
 said, patting Gigi's head. * But look, my Gigi, 
 will you do one little thing for your old friend, to 
 please him for the last time ?' 
 
 The boy nodded and looked up with bright, 
 intelligent eyes into the wily face of the 
 baritone,
 
 THE NKAV BARITOXK. 265 
 
 Coinerio drew out ii letter Jiiid placed it in lii.s 
 hands. 
 
 ' "When your mother comes home, run after 
 her into her room, and when j'ou find her alone — 
 quite alone — give this note to her. Do you 
 understand ? It is a secret ; no one else must 
 know — no one at all.' 
 
 * I know, I know ; I can keep a secret ! ' cried 
 Gigi, gleefully. ' ^Mamniu and I often keep 
 secrets from papa, she taught me how, soon as 
 ever I left Salem.' 
 
 Comerio gave a cynical smile. 
 
 * Mind you do,' he said, commandingly. ' I 
 shall find out if you play me false. And look 
 here, little one, here are two lire for you, and you 
 can tell anyone you like that Comerio came to 
 say good-bye to you, and told you to spend that at 
 Caflisch's. There, I must go now. Don't forget 
 me.' 
 
 lie stooped and kissed the little sallow face, 
 then hastily took his departure, having seen that 
 the letter was securely stowed away in the child's 
 pocket. 
 
 Gigi, with a thoughtful look, poked his
 
 2GG KNIGIIT-ERI^ANT. 
 
 closely cropped licad out of tlic window and 
 watched Comerio as lie walked down the street. 
 He was hardly out of sight when a carnage drew 
 up at the door, — a carriage with one gentleman 
 seated in it, and with luggage on the box. Gigi's 
 head was promptly withdrawn, and, in a sudden 
 access of terror, he wrapped himself round in the 
 curtain 
 
 ' I do L'licvc,' he said to himself in English, 
 
 * I do b'lieve it is San Carlo.' 
 
 After a time he heard the door of the ante- 
 room opened and the servant's voice saying that 
 the Signora would soon be back from rehearsal ; 
 then another voice, so clear and sweet that the 
 child almost forgot to be afraid, said in reidy, 
 
 * Very well, I will come in here, then, and 
 wait.' 
 
 The footsteps drew nearer. Gigi shook in his 
 shoes, yet felt a burning curiosity to see the new 
 comer — this dread being who was to be ever on 
 the watch to spy out his faults. 
 
 The stranger seemed to walk up to the piano 
 and to turn over the books lying upon it ; then 
 there was such complete silence that Gigi felt
 
 THE NEW nArxITOXF. 267 
 
 sure ho must be reading, and ventured to peer 
 out from his hiding-place. 
 
 lie saw that the visitor was k\'\ning in an 
 easy attitude over the piano, his licad propped up 
 by his hand, and his eyes bent upon tlie score of 
 some opera. Gigi couhl only see his side face, 
 but that fascinated him, and somehow he did not 
 feel any longer afraid. lie was impatient to 
 attract the stranger's notice, but, though lie 
 moved the curtain, it was of no use, the new- 
 comer seemed quite absorbed in the music he was 
 reading. At last, in despair, Gigi resolved to 
 speak. 
 
 * San Carlo ! ' he said, timidly thrusting his 
 head a little further forward. 
 
 The stranger looked up in surprise, and when 
 he saw the quaint little face peeping out from 
 the curtain, he came forward a few steps, looking 
 very much puzzled. 
 
 * I don't know,' said Gigi, politely, * but I 
 think you arc the new baritone.' 
 
 Something in this address so tickk'd the 
 stranger that he began to laugh. His laugli 
 was a very pleasant one.
 
 268 knigiit-i:tujaxt. 
 
 'You have gucs.srd riglilly,' he said, 'but I 
 am not so clever, and cannot guess your name 
 at all.' 
 
 ' I am Gigi,' said the child, gravely. ' Signor 
 Sardoni laughs at my name and says it is onl}' 
 fit for a pony, but then he is only an Englishman 
 and knows no better; though, after all, I like 
 him, and I like to talk in English, as we did at 
 Salem.' 
 
 As he spoke, the little fellow lifted a pair of 
 beautiful dark eyes to the stranger's face ; his 
 ej'es were his only beauty, they wore wonderfully 
 expressive, and something in their depths was 
 familiar to the new comer. lie came closer and 
 studied the child's face more attentively. 
 
 * Gigi,' he said, ' I think you must be my 
 little nei)hew, though no one has taken the 
 trouble to tell me of your existence.' 
 
 * Oh, no,' said the child — they were talking 
 now in Eiiglisli — ' I have an uncle, but he is not 
 like you ; he is not the new baritone ; he is 
 rich, and lives in a beautiful villa in the 
 country.' 
 
 ' lie lives there no longer ; the villa is to bu
 
 THE NEW BARITONE. 2G9 
 
 let, and lie i.s coining to live with you,' said the 
 [stranger, taking the child on his knee. ' Come, 
 tell me the rest of }'our name, Gigi.' 
 
 ' I have three,' said Gigi, with dignity, 
 * though the}'' all use call me Gigi for short. 
 ]\ly Avhole name is Luigi Bruno Merlino, and I 
 shall be four next month.' 
 
 ' Then there is no doubt tluit I am your 
 uncle,' said Carlo, kissing the child on both 
 cheeks. 
 
 But Gigi, willi a shrewd look much beyond 
 his years, shook his liead emphatically. 
 
 'If you are the new baritone, then you arc 
 San Carlo, and 8aii Carlo could hardlj^ be my 
 uncle. You set up for being a saint, you know, 
 and are fond of keeping other people in order ; 
 and you will never play games, but will alluse 
 know when I do what is Avrong. I badly wished 
 you weren't coming, but somehow you are not 
 quite what I thought.' 
 
 The child's words were so comical that 
 they carried no sting ; Carlo could only smile 
 at th(>m. 
 
 ' I am glad of that,' he said, patting the
 
 270 KNIGIIT-ERRAXT. 
 
 closely- cropped head. * You must have been 
 cxiiecting a regular ogre.' 
 
 ' No, not an ogre, but a suint. It was SIgnor 
 Comcrio that told me about you,' 
 
 * Ah ! * said Carlo, unpleasantly enlightened ; 
 ' you seo, as Signor Conierio and I have never 
 met, he can only have drawn a fancy picture of me.' 
 
 * I am sorry Signor Comerio is going, he was 
 to have given me some marrons glacea, but he 
 gave me two lire instead just now — at least, he 
 said so. It was a bit of paper, but he Siiid I 
 Avas to spend it. In America we alluse have 
 proper money. Do you think tliis paper will 
 really buy mc Diarroiia ghicc'i at Caflisch's ? ' 
 
 He began to grope in his pocket, and drew 
 forth an envelope. Carlo could not help seeing 
 tliat it was addressed to Signora Merlino. A 
 sudden recollection flashed across him of his 
 interview in that veiy room with Sardoni, and 
 of the Englishman's assurance that Merlino 
 matched his wife's correspondence with lyn.\ 
 eyes, and did not scruple to open all lier letters. 
 And Comerio had a^jparently just been to I'alazzo 
 Forti.
 
 THE NEW BARITONE. 271 
 
 ' IIow stupid I arc ! ' said Gigl, thrusting 
 the envelope back again. * Did you see, San 
 Carlo ? ' 
 
 * Yes, I did,' said Carlo, without any com- 
 ment. 
 
 'Signer Comcrio said }'0u would always spy 
 out everything,' said the child, pouting. ' It 
 was a secret, and I promised to keep it ; and ho 
 will be so angry Avhen he finds out.' 
 
 'If you promised to give the letter, you must 
 do so,' said Carlo, gravely. 
 
 'Yes, but no one else was to see it,' said Gigi, 
 beginning to cry. * Oli, dear San Carlo, do 
 promise not to tell, for when Signor Coinerio 
 is angry he looks so fierce, and it does frighten 
 me.' 
 
 ' Xo one shall hurt you,' said Carlo, putting 
 his arm round the child. 'Don't cry, Gigi ; I 
 am very fond of you. No one shall hurt you 
 at all.' 
 
 'And you won't tell papa?' said Gigi, still 
 sobbing. ' You see there are things that must be 
 kept from papa, and mamma taught me how 
 when I came away from Salem.'
 
 272 KNIGIIT-KRRANT. 
 
 Carlo felt sick at heart ; lie remcml)ere(l 
 Low on that Sunday a fortnight ago he 
 had first felt the sensation of coming iniex- 
 pectedly into a network of evil ; now he 
 realised that it was in the very midst of this 
 that he had ordained to live, and he shuddered 
 as the little child composedly described his 
 training in deceit. 
 
 ' AVhy do you sit looking so silent, »San 
 Carlo ? — I mean, looking so grave ? ' said 
 Gigi, drying his eyes. * Are you angry with 
 me?' 
 
 ' No, I am not at all angry ; hut I am very 
 sorry you promised to give that letter and to 
 keep that secret.' 
 
 * Are all secrets wrong r* ' 
 
 ' No, there are some things avc cannot tell to 
 every one, but they must never be things of 
 wliicli we are ashamed. Suppose you had a 
 beautiful diamond, and were travelling along a 
 road where you feared brigands, you would hide 
 your treasure (piite away, and that would 
 be right and wise ; but, if you had stolen 
 a diamond from a shop in the Toledo, and
 
 THE NEW BAKITOXE. 273 
 
 hid it for fear of having it taken from you, that 
 woukl be wrong ; do you sec ? ' 
 
 ' And was Signer Conicrio ashamed of his 
 secret, and afraid tliat it wouhl be found out and 
 taken away from liim ? ' 
 
 * Yes, he was,' said Carlo ; * and that is why I 
 was sorry you had not said " no " when he asked 
 you to help him,' 
 
 * I will say " no " another time,' said Gigi. 
 
 ' That's right,' said Carlo, kissing him, and 
 then he quickly turned the conversation, afraid 
 that the child might question him further, and 
 lose faith in his mother. 
 
 They were still sitting in the window when 
 Anita returned from rehearsal. She gave a little 
 cry of astonishment when she saw her brother, 
 and came forward quickly to greet him. 
 
 * Carlino ! ' she exclaimed, in her excitement 
 returning to his old childish name. ' Are you 
 come already ? My husband has only to-day 
 told me of your decision.' She drew him a little 
 away from the child, and the tears rose to her 
 eyes as she said, with more solicitude than she 
 had ever shown for him, * Dear Carlo, do you 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 KNIGIIT-ERRAXT. 
 
 realise what j'ou undertake ? I know you want 
 to help me — I understood it in a moment — but do 
 you know what this life is ? It is no play-work, 
 OS some people think ; a public singer leads the 
 life of a cart-horse.' 
 
 ' Plenty of work is ^^•hat I shall like best,' 
 said Carlo, kissing her. ' If onlj^ I can shield 
 you, Nita, I shall be well content.' 
 
 She shivered a little, and went on in an 
 undertone, — 
 
 * I saw him for a moment at the theatre, after 
 he knew he was to leave the troujje ; his face 
 terrifies me to remember, for I know he under- 
 stands why it is you have taken his place. But 
 Merlino suspects nothing — that is the one great 
 comfort.' 
 
 At this moment Gigi trotted up rather shyly. 
 
 * Mamma,' he said, pulling at her dress, * I 
 promised Signer Conicrio I would give you this 
 when you were ahmo, but I forgot, and pulled it 
 out of my i:ockot just now, and San Carlo saw it ; 
 so I may as well give it you now, directly.' 
 
 The colour rusliel into Nita's face ; she 
 made as though she would tear tlie letter in
 
 THE NEW BARITONE. 275 
 
 pieces without opening it, but Carlo elieckccl 
 licr. 
 
 'lleturn it just as it is,' he suggested. 'Direct 
 it to him yourself, and I will sec that it reaches 
 him safely.' 
 
 Nita hastily crossed the room, and enclosed 
 the letter in an envelope ; she knew that Comerio 
 would recognise her writing in a moment, 
 and directed it hastily, perhaps hardly con- 
 sidering that by doing so she had crossed the 
 Rubicon. 
 
 But Carlo luiderstood, and knew well that 
 only by showing her all possible love and tender- 
 ness could he hope to fill this blank in her 
 life. 
 
 'You never told mo of this little man's 
 existence,' he said, glancing at Gigi, when she 
 had handed him the letter and he had put it 
 away in his pocket. * You should ha^'e brought 
 him with you to Villa Bruno.' 
 
 * lie had the chicken-pox,' said Nita, indif- 
 ferently. * I suppose he took it on board the 
 steamer — indeed, I always thought it a great 
 inistakc to bring him away from America, but
 
 276 KNIGHT- ERRANT. 
 
 Morlino was set upon havin{> him ; he is very 
 fond of the child' 
 
 Carlo felt discouraged ; it was quite dear that 
 Nita did not even pretend to care much for her 
 little son. She went on in a complaining voice, — 
 
 * He vras happy enough at Salem, and, indeed, 
 is always hegging to go hack again. The people 
 there had brought him up, for, of course, I 
 couldn't drag a hahy all over the States with 
 me.' 
 
 * It was a farmhouse,' put in Gigi, * and I 
 alluse went out with the pigs every day. I wish 
 there was pigs here.' 
 
 Carlo smiled, hut thought Gigi deserved 
 better companionship. 
 
 * Merlino knew that we should be in America 
 again in another year,' continued Anita, ' but he 
 had some foolish feeling against leaving the child 
 60 far off, and so I suppose we shall have to take 
 him about with us for the present. Men don't 
 realise what trouble a child gives. Merlino likes 
 to play with him now and then for ten minutes, 
 but he would never be bothered with him, and he 
 won't let me have a nurse even. It is absurd to
 
 THE NEW BARITONE. 277 
 
 expect mc to see to him when already I am ahnost 
 worked to death.' 
 
 Carlo thought there was some truth in this, 
 though he was sorry she seemed to have so little 
 motherly feeling ; but that her life was very hard 
 he coidd well believe, and she looked delicate and 
 orerwrought. 
 
 * How do you manage ? ' he said. ' Is there 
 no one to help you with him ? ' 
 
 ' The stewardess was kind to him when we 
 crossed, and then, when he was ill, the servant 
 saw to him; but really, poor girl, the landlady 
 leads her such a life that she can't spare time to 
 make him look respectable. He hasn't been out 
 since we came to Naples ; I couldn't take such a 
 little scarecrow with me.' 
 
 * Maria doesn't do anything for me now,' 
 put in Gigi. 'I can dress myself, mamma, 
 quite well, and I haven't been washed at all just 
 lately.' 
 
 ' You would have been far better with your 
 pigs at Salem,' said Nita, laughing a littl(\ wliile 
 Carlo, though perhaps not quite so much di.s- 
 gusted as an Englishman would have been,
 
 278 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 began to revolve .schemes for tubbing liis small 
 nephew. 
 
 * Then you have really made up your mind to 
 stop here as long as we arc at Naples?' asked 
 Nita. ' You will find it a contrast to Axilla Bruno.' 
 
 * Pialc will prefer to have me close at hand,' 
 said Carlo. ' And, indeed, I think it will be 
 better every way. Is there a room for me here ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, you can have the room where Gigi was 
 ill ; there is no need for him to have a room all to 
 himself now that he is well again ; he can sleep 
 on the sofa in the ante-room.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't turn him out,' said Carlo, and the 
 matter ended in a small bed being extemporised 
 for Gigi in a corner, much to his contentment. 
 
 ' For you know,' he said, trotting after his 
 undo, ' when it is all dark, I feel so alone ; and 
 last night I rcaUij think there was a cow muler 
 my bed.' 
 
 Nita retired before lung for her siesta, and 
 Carlo, with the assistance of Gigi, took possession 
 of his new quarters, and unpacked his worldly 
 goods. When all was done, he flung himself 
 back in an arm-chair to rest, und Gio-i curled
 
 THE NEW BAKITOXE. 279 
 
 himself up like a little clog at his feet. For a 
 time there was silence, then Carlo was struck by 
 a happy idea. 
 
 * Gig-i/ he said, * would you like to coine and 
 walk with me in the Villa ? ' 
 
 ' What's the Villa ? ' asked the child. ' Do 
 you mean Villa Binino ? ' 
 
 * No, I meant the Villa Nazionale, — a garden, 
 you knoM', with beautiful trees. Would you 
 like to come with me?' 
 
 * Oh, yes ! ' cried Gigi, with a beaming face ; 
 
 * it will be almost like being at Salem again.' 
 
 * With the pigs,' put in Carlo, laughingly, 
 
 * But look, before I take you we must make you 
 tidy and clean ; don't you think ? ' 
 
 * Perhaps,' said Gigi, with a sigh. 
 
 * Arc there any baths here ? ' 
 
 ' Signer Sardoni has one ; he is English, you 
 know, and takes it cold every morning, — quite 
 cold ; he asked yesterday whether he should 
 lend it to me, but I guess he was only in fun.' 
 
 ' Run and ask biin, with my compliments, 
 if he will really do so,' said Carlo, much 
 amased.
 
 280 KNIGIIT-ERRANT 
 
 There was an interval in wLicli he dozed a 
 little; presently back came the child, dragging 
 after hira an indiarubber travelling -bath, and 
 followed by Maria, whom he had induced to 
 bring a can of hot water, fearful lest San Carlo 
 should expect him to plunge into cold like the 
 English. 
 
 Maria, with a broad smile, suggested that 
 he had better have clean clothes as well, and 
 managed to find some for him ; she might even 
 have oifered to tub him had not the padrona's 
 voice been heard calling her impatiently, and, 
 with a saucy retort to her mistress, she ran off, 
 leaving Carlo and his \ictini to manage as they 
 could. 
 
 Very slowly and reluctantly the tiny fellow 
 divested himself of his clothes, and stood 
 shivering on the brink ; Carlo, had he been 
 of an introspective nature, would have been 
 amused at the thought that his first piece of 
 work in his new career was to scrub a grubby 
 little child ; being not at all introspective, but 
 extremely practical, lie only wondered how in the 
 world he was to do it, and where he was to begin.
 
 THE NEW BARITONE. 281 
 
 * Come, Gigi,' lie said, encouragingly, ' I shall 
 pretend you arc a pony, as Signor Sardoni says 
 you ought to be ; get in quickly and I will 
 groom you.' 
 
 Gigi was imaginative, and this notion suited 
 him very well ; he began to kick and prance, 
 but no longer objected to the soap and water, 
 indeed, after the first shock he rather liked 
 them ; and the scrubbing Avas at any rate 
 satisfactory work — more promptly visible in its 
 effects than any of Carlo's other work was 
 likely to be. Gigi, Avho had gone in grim 
 and shivering, came out a beautiful, white, 
 wet, little mortal, with sleek, shining skin, and 
 cheeks glowing like ruddy apples. 
 
 * I like it,' he said proudly, * I like it very 
 much. If I'm good, San Carlo, will you groom 
 me again some day ? ' 
 
 ' Every day, till you can do it yourself,' 
 said Carlo promptly, at which Gigi clapped 
 his hands. 
 
 ' At Salem,' he said, ' we only had Saturday 
 for tub night, and it Avas so cold in the back- 
 kitchen.'
 
 282 KNIGUT-ERRANT. 
 
 Curio, after tlii.s remark, thought tliat what- 
 ever the drawbacks of travelling in Merlino's 
 company, the child was better off than in the 
 l)rimitivc farm-house with his foui'-footcd 
 friends.
 
 283 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 
 
 * Next ... I betook ine among those lofty fables 
 and romances Avliich recount in solemn cantos the deeds of 
 knighthood. . . . There I read it in the oath of every 
 knight that he should defend to the expense of his best 
 blood-, or of his life, if it so befel him, the honour and 
 chastity of virgin or matron. From whence even then I 
 learnt what a noble virtue chastity ever must be, to the 
 defence of which so many worthies by such a dear adven- 
 ture of themselves had sworn. . . . Oulj' this my mind 
 gave me, that every free and gentle spirit without that 
 oath ought to be born a knight, nor needed to expect the 
 gilt spur, or the laying of a sword upon his shoulder, to 
 stir him up, both by his counsel and his arm to serve and 
 protect the weakness of any attempted chastity .' 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Gig I, much pleased with his appearance, and 
 with the novel feeling of cleanliness, capered 
 aAvay to the mla to relate his experiences to 
 ►Sardoni. Carlo followed him, and found Merlino 
 just awake after his siesta, and looking rather 
 more like a surly bear than usual as he yawned 
 and stretched himself. He roused himself, how- 
 ever, to introduce his brother-in-law to the
 
 284 KNIGHT-ERRANT. 
 
 tenor, not knowing that the two had met before ; 
 and they thought it best not to explain, but 
 bowed ceremoniously to each other. 
 
 'Papa,* said Gigi, gleefully, 'San Carlo is 
 going to take me to walk in the Villa ! ' 
 
 ' San Carlo ! what do you mean, child ? ' 
 said Merlino, his voice softening as he patted 
 his son's head. 
 
 '"Why /t/w,' said Gigi, with an expressive 
 gesture ; ' Signer Comerio told me he was San 
 Carlo, and I wondered what saints wanted with 
 operas ; but he is oh ! ever so much nicer than 
 Comerio said.' 
 
 The three men laughed involuntarily. 
 
 ' Comerio did not at all like getting his 
 conge' said Merlino. 'This is just a little 
 display of spite on his part. AVhcn did you 
 see him, child ? ' 
 
 'lie came in to say good-bye to me this 
 morning while you were at rehearsal, and he 
 gave me this to spend. Oh, dear, San Carlo, 
 might we go to Caflisch's now ? ' 
 
 ' You must not call your uncle by that name,' 
 said Merlino ; ' it is rude.'
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 285 
 
 * Why, I tbouglit it was a kind of politeness,' 
 said Gigi, witli a puzzled face ; ' and that it was 
 only for the very best things.' 
 
 * In that case you had better not uncanoniso 
 Signer Donati,' said Sardoni, who had watched 
 the scene witli a sort of careless amusement. ' If 
 you'll allow me, Gigi, I will also come with )'0u.* 
 
 Carlo looked pleased ; he could not have 
 explained why Sardoni attracted him, but already 
 he felt that the Englishman would be his friend. 
 His discovery of Gigi that morning had broken 
 the blank desolateness which for the last four- 
 and- twenty hours had overwhelmed him, and 
 the sight of Sardoni somehow cheered him yet 
 more. Possibly the mere fact that the tenor 
 was Francesca's fellow-countryman prejudiced 
 him in his favour; and then, although the 
 Englishman's careless, witty-looking face was 
 perhaps not of the very highest type, yet there 
 was something winning about it, — something 
 which interested Carlo and took him out of 
 himself and his own cares. 
 
 ' So you have changed your mind since I 
 saw you the other day,* said Sardoni, as they
 
 286 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 walked down the Toledo. * You think stage life 
 may, after all, bear coniparison with private 
 life ? ' 
 
 ' I ara going to try ray fortune as a singer,' 
 said Carlo lightly, but revealing in his face all 
 that he strove to banish from his tone. Sardoni 
 drew his own conclusions, but had too much 
 tact to ask any questions. 
 
 ' I was never more astounded than when 
 Merlino told me tlic news,' he remarked ; ' and 
 I think seldom more pleased : the Company will 
 be M-ell rid of Conierio, who is a double-dyed 
 villain such as one seldom meets.' 
 
 *I must own that in looks he gives one the 
 impression of being less of a brute than Merlino 
 himself,' said Carlo, lowering his voice cautiously. 
 
 * Looks are not everything,' said Sardoni ; 
 * there arc some faces — yours for in-stuuce — 
 which can be read in an instant ; but there are 
 others which baffle one altogether. Merlino is 
 not so bad as he seems ; at any rate while he is 
 a brute the other is a fiend.' 
 
 ' How did lie take his dismissal?' asked Carlo. 
 
 * I heard very little about it, but apparently
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURK. 287 
 
 ho Las taken good care not to quarrel with 
 Merlino, No doubt he'll move licavcn and earth 
 to get into the troupe again, ]io is not a man 
 wlio will stand being beaten.' 
 
 ' Yet Merlino would never have us both, I 
 suppose ? ' 
 
 ' No ; so it will now be to Comerio's interest 
 to oust you. Don't think me a brute to speak 
 out plainly, but when I caught sight of Comerio's 
 face as he left the theatre I thought I wouldn't 
 be in your shoes for a million of money. That 
 fellow is your encni}", and lie may nurse his 
 revenge for years, but, sooner or later, lie'll 
 have it,' 
 
 A feeling of vague discomfort crept o^•er 
 Carlo ; for a minute he was silent, then, witli a 
 look on his face which startled Sardoni, he said 
 cheerfully, — 
 
 ' I owe you a great deal ; it was through you 
 that I first knew there was a chance of helping 
 my sister in this way, and now you have taken 
 the trouble to warn me of a danger. One must 
 not dwell on such things, though perhaps it is 
 well to know of them.'
 
 288 KNIGIIT-EKPANT. 
 
 ' I should have thought,' said Sardoni, smiling, 
 ' that you would be more likely to curse me 
 than to bless me for having first put into your 
 head a notion that must have cost you dear.' 
 
 Carlo gave a quick glance at his companion, 
 wcr.dering whether he had the least conception 
 how great the cost had been. Perhaps he was 
 glad to be spared any direct answer to the remark 
 by their arrival at Caflisch's, and the necessity of 
 helping Gigi to lay out his two lire to the best 
 advantage. 
 
 Afterwards, they strolled on to the Villa, and, 
 while Gigi played about happily, the two men 
 sat under the trees, Sardoni finding a sort of idle 
 pleasure in studying his new companion. 
 
 * Do 3'ou mean to sing under your own name ?' 
 he asked, after a time. 
 
 * Yes,' replied Carlo ; * I have no object in 
 taking a nom de (jucrrc ; with an English name, of 
 course, it is different — you were almost bound to 
 do so.' 
 
 Sardoni gave a sarcastic smile. 
 ' It was most necessary,' he remarked, drily. 
 * Did my own people know how I gained my
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 289 
 
 livelihood they would be even more ashamed of 
 me than they are already.' 
 
 Carlo looked surprised, even a little anxious. 
 His interest in Sardoni grew deeper. 
 
 ' They do not then know where you are ?' 
 he asked. * That is surely very hard on them.' 
 
 The tenor gave a short laugh. 
 
 * Not at all ; I am silent purely out of regard 
 for their feelings. Do you know what the old 
 Puritans used to call actors ? They called them 
 " caterpillars of the Commonwealth " and " vaga- 
 bonds." ' 
 
 * That may be, but family feeling must in the 
 end be stronger than such prejudice.' 
 
 ' You judge others by yourself,' said Sardoni. 
 'All families are not so devoted as yoiu's seem 
 to be.' Then, his brow contracting sharply, 
 'Besides, did I not tell you when we first met 
 that, in my own country, men would no longer 
 trust my word as blindly as you seem inclined 
 to do?' 
 
 ' "Why will you always force that upon me P ' 
 said Carlo, looking full into his companion's eyea. 
 * Do you Mish to make mc doubt you ? That is 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 290 KNIGHT- ERRANT. 
 
 hardly a friendly act, since you arc the one light 
 just now in my dark sky.' 
 
 The words sounded strangely in Sardoni's 
 car, the simile was so un-English, hut the tone 
 touched him more than he would lune cared to 
 own. 
 
 *I force this upon you because I like you,' he 
 said, with some effort. * You are the first man I 
 have seen whose friendship I could have wished. 
 But I will be friends with no man who does not 
 know the truth about me ; and whoever knew the 
 truth would not care to be my friend.' 
 
 * I should care,' said Carlo, quickly. 
 
 The Englishman shook his head. Then, sud- 
 denly resuming his usual reckless, nonchalant 
 manner, he said with a laugh, * Few men, I 
 fancy, have managed to sustain their nom de 
 {/itcrre so completely ; Merlino himself has not 
 even a notion of my time sui*name.' 
 
 'What induced you to take the name of 
 Sardoni ?' asked Carlo. 
 
 ' Well, according to the character of my 
 questioner I have two replies,' said Sardoni. 
 ' Matter of fact : It occurred to me one mornine:
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 291 
 
 while I was breakfasting off sardines. Poetic : I 
 assumed it in a sardonic mood, while contem- 
 plating a journey to Sardinia. We have some 
 funny improvements on names among us.' 
 'Are they chiefly Italians in the Company?' 
 ' Oh ! we are a very mixed multitude,' said 
 Sardoni. * I'll prepare you for your future lot and 
 give you a faithful description of the "happy 
 band of pilgrims." Let us be more courteous 
 than the playbills, and take the ladies first. Top 
 of the list stands Madauie Merlino, who needs no 
 description. Next comes Mile. Elise de Caisne, 
 a little Frencli flirt. Then the two mezzos, Mile. 
 Lauri^ton, ditto, ditto, and Miss Robinson, who 
 hails from ]N^ew York, but sings under the name of 
 Duroc : she is an average American girl, and can 
 be pleasant enough, also — which speaks well for 
 her — she is hand in glove with Domcnica Borelli. 
 The Borelli is a Maltese lady, in reality Borg — 
 everyone is a Borg in Malta. She is a contralto 
 with a wonderful compass, a real good pains- 
 taking artist, the joy of Marioni's heart ; there 
 exists between them a platonic friendship. Next 
 we come to the tenors.'
 
 292 knight-i:ri{ANT. 
 
 * Headed by Signer tSardoni,' put in Carlo, 
 with a smile. 
 
 ' And close on my heels,' continued the 
 Englishman, ' follow my two rivals, Crevelli and 
 CafReri — awfully jealous of me — awfully ; not of 
 each other, that's the odd part ; but then they 
 are so mucli alike that it's always a case of 
 " Which is which ?" and when one is praised the 
 other thinks it was a mistake and really meant 
 for him ; those two are bond fde Italians, and as 
 like as two peas, — broad forehead, straight, black 
 hair, correct profile, big moustache, great expanse 
 of cheek. You'll find some trouble in knowing 
 them apart, but at last I've induced Crevelli to 
 keep his hair an inch longer than the other's, 
 just for convenience' sake. 
 
 'That brings us to the basses, and to your 
 brother-in-law ; we won't discuss him : you'll 
 find that he gets well treated because they all 
 live in mortal terror of him. Then, Gomez. 
 Gomez has raven hair and a sad cast of counte- 
 nance, he hails from Seville and stands much on 
 his dignity. Tannini, alias Joshua C. Tanner, is 
 a jolly Yankee, and has a keen eye to the main
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 293 
 
 chance. A very practical man is Tanner ; he'll 
 
 soon be "calc'lating that he can't understand 
 
 such a knight - errant " as 3'ou. Next comes 
 
 Bauer — a good solid lump of humanity, always 
 
 in at dinner-time and to be found at odd hours 
 
 tuclcing in, regardless of the coming opera. He 
 
 reminds me of an old nursery song of ours, 
 
 about — 
 
 " A cluck, Avho had got such a habit of stuffing, 
 That all the day long it was panting and puiling." 
 
 Bauer's often out of breath on the stage, you'll 
 find. Then there is Donati, the baritone, whoso 
 character I have not yet fathomed ; and Fasola, 
 a miserable stick, capable only of third-rate parts, 
 but supposed to be your under-study ; and, finally, 
 our little conductor, Marioni, who wears himself 
 to fiddlestrings, all out of devotion to the muse, 
 and tears his hair — you'll see presently how 
 ragged it is — because he can't get things done as 
 he would wish.' 
 
 ' I have heard Piale speak very highly of 
 him,* said Carlo, and then he sat silent for a 
 minute or two, musing over Sardoni's odd de- 
 scription of liis future companions, and won- 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 294 KNIGHT-ERRAXT. 
 
 derlng what this strange new life would ho 
 like. 
 
 'Was Comorio a favourite?* he asked at length. 
 
 * lie was hated hy some and liked hv others ; 
 Domenica Borelli, for instance, was not on speak- 
 ing terms with him.' 
 
 'And yet travelled in the same Company ?* 
 
 * Oh, that is perfectl)' possible ! I don't think 
 she has spoken to him since we were at San 
 Francisco, a year ago, yet of course they had to 
 act together. The Borelli is extremely fasti- 
 dious, she will highly approve of the change of 
 baritones. But Gomez will hate you, for he is 
 Comerio's friend ; I shouldn't be surprised if he 
 got up a cabal against you.' 
 
 Again Carlo was silent, he looked down the 
 long, shady walk with its sombre Uex-trees ; the 
 prospect of his new life had never before seemed 
 so distasteful to him, and it was with a sense of 
 relief that he caught sight of Enrico E-itter 
 coming towards them with his usual long, im- 
 perturbable stride. Enrico seemed his last link 
 with the past, and he was glad to bo able to 
 introduce him to Sardoni.
 
 A DEAR ADVEXTURE. 295 
 
 ' I have just met your uncle,' said Enrico, 
 abruptly', as he took the vacant place beside Carlo. 
 'Then, of course, you know all?' 
 ' Yes, and I find it hard to forgive you,' said 
 Enrico. 
 
 * To forgive?' echoed Carlo, questioningly. 
 
 ' Yes, to forgive. You have falsified my pet 
 theory,' said the egoist. 'Here, give me one of 
 your cards and I'll tell you in two words what I 
 think of you.' 
 
 Carlo, not without a pang, as he remembered 
 how at first sight of those copper-plate Avords, 
 'Avvocato Carlo Poerio Donati,' he had felt himself 
 the happiest man in Naples, handed the card to his 
 friend, and Enrico, crossing out the 'Avvocato,' 
 scribbled above it the words, * Knight-Errant.' 
 
 Sardoni glanced at it with a smile. 
 
 * You couldn't have put the case more tersely,' 
 he said, rising to go, because he thought the two 
 friends would rather talk out the matter alone. 
 But before he turned he glanced searchingly at 
 Carlo, and again surprised on his face the look 
 which had perplexed him before. 
 
 'Does the fellow actually take pleasure in
 
 296 KXIttllT-ERRANT. 
 
 giving up his life to the service of that chit ? * he 
 thought to himself as he walked away. ' If ever 
 there was a commonplace, uninteresting woman 
 in the world, it is Anita Merlino ; she'll not even 
 have the grace to be grateful to him.' 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the following day, 
 Carlo, returning from a long lesson with Piale, 
 happened to meet, in the Piazza Munieipio, a 
 handsome English sailor whose face seemed 
 familiar to him. He glanced hastily at the name 
 embroidered on his jersey, and read the word 
 Piign'ni. "With a great hunger in his heart to 
 know Francesca's whereabouts, he turned and 
 accosted the man, 
 
 * »So the Pilgrim is still here,' he said, 
 courteously. ' "When does she leave ? ' 
 
 ' To-night, sir,' said the sailor, looking pleased 
 at the recognition. * Captain Britton and the 
 young ladies came on board an hour ago, and we 
 are only waiting now for the caterer ; and there 
 he comes yonder.' 
 
 Carlo, glancing round, saw another of the 
 yacht's crew, a bluff-looking, elderlj' man, whose 
 duty was to buy the food for his mates.
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 297 
 
 * AVe shall sail now as soon us wc get on 
 board, sir,' said the coxswain. ' Can I take any 
 message for you ? ' 
 
 'None, thank you,' said Carlo, and bidding 
 the man a courteous farewell, he turned quickly 
 away. Hurriedly he walked, towards the Strada 
 Nuova, and looked across the blue Avaters of the 
 bay. There was the Pihjrim, anchored to the 
 Military Mole, her beautiful white sails all set, 
 and only waiting for the return of the dinghy to 
 raise anchor. Carlo saw the little boat tlircading 
 its way between the vessels in the harbour, saw 
 it round the yacht and disappear, then descried 
 Oxenberry's lithe figure springing on board. 
 For a few minutes all seemed haste and con- 
 fusion ; he could hear the rattling of chains, and 
 could even make out the figure of the steward, 
 seated on the capstan with his conccrtma, while 
 the sailors heaved up the anchor, swinging 
 merrily round to the familiar strains of the 
 * Shanty.' Their hearty voices reached him even 
 at that distance, and he remembered how as a 
 child Francesca had proudly taught him to sing 
 the 'Shanty' with a proper English accent.
 
 298 KXIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 Fragments of the words seemed now to float 
 across to liim, and the tears started to his eyes. 
 
 ' Hurrah, my lads ! we're liomeward bound, 
 "We're liomeward bound for riyniouth Sound ; 
 Up with the sail, and off goes she. 
 Ilurrali, my lads ! hurrah I liurrahl' 
 
 The cheerful old tune seemed to him now like 
 a dirge, — the dirge for his old life which was 
 passed and over, the dirge for his betrothal so 
 swiftly ended. 
 
 All at once his heart began to throb wildly, 
 for he saw a slim, dark figure come on deck with 
 a white shawl wrapped about the head and 
 shoulders. Franccsca stood with her face turned 
 towards him, looking to the shore and away from 
 the blithe sailors, whose merry song, perhaj)s, 
 brought to her mind the very thoughts it had 
 suggested to Carlo. He gazed on, hardly know- 
 ing whether the sight comforted or tortured him, 
 but, in any case, miable to move, unable for one 
 instant to relax the strain. 
 
 At last the song ceased, the chain rattled no 
 more, the yacht began to move, and Francesca 
 shifted her position a little, but still kept aloof
 
 A DEAR ADVENTURE. 299 
 
 from the rest, still gazed shore wards. And thus 
 she remained while the summer wind filled the 
 white sails, and the Pil(jriin glided out of the 
 harbour, gently, proudly, but relentlessly, mo-sing 
 out seawards. 
 
 To the very last, his eyes rested on lier till 
 the slim, black figure became a mere speck in the 
 distance, and finally was lost to sight. lie 
 lingered still for the last glimpse of the Pilgyiiit's 
 sails, on which the afternoon sun glinted with 
 dazzling brightness ; then, when those, too, had 
 disappeared, he became conscious of a creeping 
 chilliness, which obliged him to grope his way to 
 one of the seats and wait till he had recovered his 
 seK-control. 
 
 It was a vision of Piule's reproachful face 
 which finally roused him. "What would be the 
 Maestro's horror could he see his pupil sitting 
 there regardless of the dangerous hour of sunset, 
 which was fast approaching ? lie drew himself 
 together and walked slowly back to the Palazzo 
 Forti through the narrow, picturesque streets, so 
 familiar, but now so desolate to him. Never in 
 his life had he felt so hopelessly lonely as when
 
 300 KNIGIIT-ERRANT. 
 
 he mounted the dirty stairs and reached the suite 
 of rooms which, for the time being, made his 
 home. 
 
 In the ante-room Gigi was crying pitcously ; 
 in the sala Merlino, in one of his worst tempers, 
 was arguing with Anita ; while Gomez, who had 
 just arrived from Seville, stood glowering darkly 
 at the new baritone. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PrinUd by SinAicoEWA^B i Sons, Tower Street, Vppcr St. Martiii'ii Lsa*.