"HE SAVED MY LIFE."
"I can't bear this any longer!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby. "Here you
are getting into all sorts of difficulties, each one worse than the
other. I'm sure I don't see why you should. You're very quiet, Minnie
dearest, but you have more unpleasant adventures than any person I
ever heard of. You're run away with on horseback, you're shipwrecked,
you're swept down a precipice by an avalanche, and you fall into the
crater of a burning volcano. Every time there is some horrid man who
saves you, and then proposes. As for you, you accept them all with
equal readiness, one after another, and what is worse, you won't give
any of them up. I've asked you explicitly which of them you'll give
up, and you actually refuse to say. My dear child, what are you
thinking of? You can't have them all. You can't have any of them. None
of them are agreeable to your family. They're horrid. What are you
going to do? Oh, how I wish you had dear mamma to take care of you!
But she is in a better world. And here is poor dear papa who can't
come. How shocked he would be if he knew all. What is worst, here is
that dreadful American savage, who is gradually killing me. He
certainly will be my death. What _am_ I to do, dear? Can't you
possibly show a little sense yourself--only a little, dear--and have
some consideration for your poor sister? Even Ethel worries about you,
though she has troubles of her own, poor darling; and aunty is really
quite ill with anxiety. What _are_ we going to do? I know one thing.
_I'm_ not going to put up with it. My mind is made up. I'll leave Rome
at once, and go home and tell papa."
"Well, you needn't scold so," said Minnie. "It's my trouble. I can't
help it. They would come. I'm sure _I_ don't know what to do."
"Well, you needn't be so awfully kind to them all. That's what
encourages them so. It's no use for me to try to keep them away if you
make them all so welcome. Now there's that dreadful Italian. I'm
positive he's going to get up some unpleasant plot. These Italians are
so very revengeful. And he thinks you're so fond of him, and I'm so
opposed. And he's right, too. You always act as if you're fond of him,
and all the rest. As to that terrible American savage, I'm afraid to
think of him; I positively am."
"Well, you needn't be so awfully unkind to him. He saved my life."
"That's no reason why he should deprive me of mine, which he will do
if he goes on so much longer."
"You were very, very rude to him, Kitty," said Minnie, severely, "and
very, very unkind--"
"I intended to be so."
"I really felt like crying, and running out and explaining things."
"I know you did, and ran back and locked the door. Oh, you wretched
little silly goose, what _am_ I _ever_ to do with such a child as you
are! You're really not a bit better than a baby."
This conversation took place on the day following the Baron's last
eventful call. Poor Mrs. Willoughby was driven to desperation, and lay
awake all night, trying to think of some plan to baffle the enemy, but
was unsuccessful; and so she tried once more to have some influence
over Minnie by a remonstrance as sharp as she could give.
"He's an American savage. I believe he's an Indian."
"I'm sure I don't see any thing savage in him. He's as gentle and as
kind as he can be. And he's so awfully fond of me."
"Think how he burst in here, forcing his way in, and taking possession
of the house. And then poor dear aunty! Oh, how she _was_ shocked and
horrified!"
"It's because he is so _awfully_ fond of me, and was so perfectly
_crazy_ to see me."
"And then, just as I was beginning to persuade him to go away quietly,
to think of you coming down!"
"Well, I couldn't bear to have him so sad, when he saved my life, and
so I just thought I'd show myself, so as to put him at ease."
"A pretty way to show yourself--to let a great, horrid man treat you
so."
"Well, that's what they _all_ do," said Minnie, plaintively. "I'm sure
_I_ can't help it."
"Oh dear! was there ever such a child! Why, Minnie darling, you must
know that such things are very, very ill-bred, and very, very
indelicate and unrefined. And then, think how he came forcing himself
upon us when we were driving. Couldn't he see that he wasn't wanted?
No, he's a savage. And then, how he kept giving us all a history of
his life. Every body could hear him, and people stared so that it was
really quite shocking."
"Oh, that's because he is so very, very frank. He has none of the
deceit of society, you know, Kitty darling."
"Deceit of society! I should think not. Only think how he acted
yesterday--forcing his way in and rushing up stairs. Why, it's
actually quite frightful. He's like a madman. We will have to keep all
the doors locked, and send for the police. Why, do you know, Ethel
says that he was here before, running about and shouting in the same
way: 'Min!' 'Min!' 'Min!'--that's what the horrid wretch calls you
--'Min! it's me.' 'Come, Min!'"
At this Minnie burst into a peal of merry, musical laughter, and
laughed on till the tears came to her eyes. Her sister looked more
disgusted than ever.
"He's such a boy," said Minnie; "he's just like a boy. He's so _aw_fully
funny. If I'm a child, he's a big boy, and the awfullest, funniest boy
I ever saw. And then he's _so_ fond of me. Why, he worships me. Oh,
it's awfully nice."
"A boy! A beast, you mean--a horrid savage. What _can_ I do? I must
send for a policeman. I'll certainly have the doors all locked. And
then we'll all be prisoners."
"Well, then, it'll all be your own fault, for _I_ don't want to have
any doors locked."
"Oh dear!" sighed her sister.
"Well, I don't. And I think you're very unkind."
"Why, you silly child, he'd come here some day, carry you off, and
make you marry him."
"Well, I do wish he would," said Minnie, gravely. "I wish somebody
would, for then it would put a stop to all this worry, and I really
don't know what else ever will. Do _you_, now, Kitty darling?"
Mrs. Willoughby turned away with a gesture of despair.
An hour or two after some letters were brought in, one of which was
addressed to
MISS FAY,
_Poste Restante_,
_Roma_.
Minnie opened this, and looked over it with a troubled air. Then she
spoke to her sister, and they both went off to Minnie's room.
"Who do you think this is from?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know! Of course it's some more trouble."
"It's from Captain Kirby."
"Oh, of course! And of course he's here in Rome?"
"No, he isn't."
"What! Not yet?"
"No; but he wrote this from London. He has been to the house, and
learned that we had gone to Italy. He says he has sent off letters to
me, directed to every city in Italy, so that I may be sure to get it.
Isn't that good of him?"
"Well?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, repressing an exclamation of vexation.
"Well, he says that in three days he will leave, and go first to Rome,
as he thinks we will be most likely to be there this season. And so,
you see, he's coming on; and he will be here in three days, you know."
"Minnie," said her sister, after some moments' solemn thought.
"Well, Kitty darling?"
"Do you ever think?"
"I don't know."
"Would you like one of these gentlemen of yours to blow one of the
others' brains out, or stab him, or any thing of that sort?"
"How shocking you are, Kitty dear! What a dreadful question!"
"Well, understand me now. One of them _will_ do that. There will be
trouble, and your name will be associated with it."
"Well," said Minnie, "I know who _won't_ be shot."
"Who?"
"Why, Rufus K. Gunn," said she, in the funny, prim way in which she
always pronounced that name. "If he finds it out, he'll drive all the
others away."
"And would you like that?"
"Well, you know, he's awfully fond of me, and he's so like a boy: and
if I'm such a child, I could do better with a man, you know, that's
like a boy, you know, than--than--"
"Nonsense! He's a madman, and you're a simpleton, you little goose."
"Well, then, we must be well suited to one another," said Minnie.
"Now, child, listen," said Mrs. Willoughby, firmly. "I intend to put a
stop to this. I have made up my mind positively to leave Rome, and
take you home to papa. I'll tell him all about it, put you under his
care, and have no more responsibility with you. I think he'd better
send you back to school. I've been too gentle. You need a firm hand.
I'll be firm for a few days, till you can go to papa. You need not
begin to cry. It's for your own good. If you're indulged any more,
you'll simply go to ruin."
Mrs. Willoughby's tone was different from usual, and Minnie was
impressed by it. She saw that her sister was resolved. So she stole up
to her and twined her arms about her and kissed her.
"There, there," said her sister, kissing her again, "don't look so
sad, Minnie darling. It's for your own good. We must go away, or else
you'll have another of those dreadful people. You must trust to me
now, dearest, and not interfere with me in any way."
"Well, well, you mustn't be unkind to poor Rufus K. Gunn," said
Minnie.
"Unkind? Why, we won't be any thing to him at all."
"And am I never to--to--see him again?"
"No!" said her sister, firmly.
Minnie started, and looked at Mrs. Willoughby, and saw in her face a
fixed resolution.
"No, never!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby. "I am going to take you back to
England. I'm afraid to take any railroad or steamboat. I'll hire a
carriage, and we'll all go in a quiet way to Florence. Then we can
take the railroad to Leghorn, and go home by the way of Marseilles. No
one will know that we've gone away. They'll think we have gone on an
excursion. Now we'll go out driving this morning, and this afternoon
we must keep the outer door locked, and not let any one in. I suppose
there is no danger of meeting him in the morning. He must be on duty
then."
"But mayn't I see him at all before we go?"
"No!"
"Just once--only once?"
"No, not once. You've seen that horrid man for the last time."
Minnie again looked at her sister, and again read her resolution in
her face. She turned away, her head dropped, a sob escaped from her,
and then she burst into tears.
Mrs. Willoughby left the room.