THE BARON'S WOES.
Dacres was not the only excited visitor that Hawbury had that day.
Before its close another made his appearance in the person of the
Baron.
"Well, my noble friend," cried Hawbury--"my Baron bold--how goes it?
But, by Jove! what's the matter, my boy? Your brow deep scars of
thunder have intrenched, and care sits on your faded cheek. Pour forth
the mournful tale. I'll sympathize."
"I swear it's too almighty bad!" cried the Baron.
"What?"
"The way I'm getting humbugged."
"Humbugged! Who's been humbugging you?"
"Darn me if I know; and that's the worst of it by a thundering sight."
"Well, my dear fellow, if I can help you, you'd better let me know
what it's all about."
"Why, Minnie; that's the row. There ain't another thing on this green
earth that would trouble me for five seconds."
"Minnie? Oh! And what has happened--a lover's quarrel?"
"Not a quarrel. _She's_ all right."
"What is it, then?"
"Why, she's disappeared."
"Disappeared! What do you mean by that?"
"Darn me if I know. I only know this, that they keep their place
bolted and barred, and they've muffled the bell, and there's no
servant to be seen, and I can't find out any thing about them. And
it's too almighty bad. Now isn't it?"
"It's deuced odd, too--queer, by Jove! I don't understand. Are you
sure they're all locked up?"
"Course I am."
"And no servants?"
"Not a darned servant."
"Did you ask the concierge?"
"Course I did; and crossed his palm, too. But he didn't give me any
satisfaction."
"What did he say?"
"Why, he said they were at home, for they had been out in the morning,
and had got back again. Well, after that I went back and nearly
knocked the door down. And that was no good; I didn't get a word. The
concierge swore they were in, and they wouldn't so much as answer me.
Now I call that too almighty hard, and I'd like to know what in
thunder they all mean by it."
"By Jove! odd, too."
"Well, you know, I thought after a while that it would be all
explained the next day; so I went home and waited, and came back the
next afternoon. I tried it over again. Same result. I spoke to the
concierge again, and he swore again that they were all in. They had
been out in the morning, he said, and looked well. They had come home
by noon, and had gone to their rooms. Well, I really did start the
door that time, but didn't get any answer for my pains."
"By Jove!"
"Well, I was pretty hard up, I tell you. But I wasn't going to give
up. So I staid there, and began a siege. I crossed the concierge's
palm again, and was in and out all night. Toward morning I took a nap
in his chair. He thought it was some government business or other, and
assisted me all he could. I didn't see any thing at all though, except
an infernal Italian--a fellow that came calling the first day I was
there, and worked himself in between me and Min. He was prowling about
there, with another fellow, and stared hard at me. I watched him, and
said nothing, for I wanted to find out his little game. He's up to
something, I swear. When he saw I was on the ground, though, he beat a
retreat.
"Well, I staid all night, and the next morning watched again. I didn't
knock. It wasn't a bit of use--not a darned bit.
"Well, about nine o'clock the door opened, and I saw some one looking
out very cautiously. In a minute I was standing before her, and held
out my hand to shake hers. It was the old lady. But she didn't shake
hands. She looked at me quite coolly.
"'Good-morning, ma'am,' said I, in quite a winning voice.
'Good-morning, ma'am.'
"'Good-morning,' she said.
"'I come to see Minnie,' said I.
"'To see Minnie!' said she: and then she told me she wasn't up.
"'Ain't up?' said I; 'and it so bright and early! Why, what's got her?
Well, you just go and tell her _I'm_ here, and I'll just step inside
and wait till she comes down,' said I.
"But the old lady didn't budge.
"'I'm not a servant,' she said, very stiff; 'I'm her aunt, and her
guardian, and I allow no messages to pass between her and strange
gentlemen.'
"'Strange gentlemen!' I cried. 'Why, ain't I engaged to her?'
"'I don't know you,' says she.
"'Wasn't I introduced to you?' says I.
"'No,' says she; 'I don't know you.'
[Illustration: "BUT I SAVED HER LIFE."]
"'But I'm engaged to Minnie,' says I.
"'I don't recognize you,' says she. 'The family know nothing about
you; and my niece is a silly girl, who is going back to her father,
who will probably send her to school.'
"'But I saved her life,' says I.
"'That's very possible,' says she; 'many persons have done so; yet
that gives you no right to annoy her; and you shall _not_ annoy her.
Your engagement is an absurdity. The child herself is an absurdity.
_You_ are an absurdity. Was it not you who was creating such a
frightful disturbance here yesterday? Let me inform you, Sir, that if
you repeat it, you will be handed over to the police. The police would
certainly have been called yesterday had we not wished to avoid
hurting your feelings. We now find that you have no feelings to hurt.'
"'Very well, ma'am,' says I; 'these are your views; but as you are not
Minnie, I don't accept them. I won't retire from the field till I hear
a command to that effect from Minnie herself. I allow no relatives to
stand between me and my love. Show me Minnie, and let me hear what she
has to say. That's all I ask, and that's fair and square.'
"'You shall not see her at all,' says the old lady, quite mild; 'not
at all. You must not come again, for you will not be admitted. Police
will be here to put you out if you attempt to force an entrance as you
did before.'
"'Force an entrance!' I cried.
"'Yes,' she said, 'force an entrance. You did so, and you filled the
whole house with your shouts. Is that to be borne? Not by us, Sir. And
now go, and don't disturb us any more.'
"Well, I'll be darned if I ever felt so cut up in my life. The old
lady was perfectly calm and cool; wasn't a bit scared--though there
was no reason why she should be. She just gave it to me that way. But
when she accused me of forcing an entrance and kicking up a row, I was
struck all of a heap and couldn't say a word. _Me_ force an entrance!
_Me_ kick up a row! And in Minnie's house! Why, the old woman's mad!
"Well, the old lady shut the door in my face, and I walked off; and
I've been ever since trying to understand it, but I'll be darned if I
can make head or tail of it. The only thing I see is that they're all
keeping Minnie locked up away from me. They don't like me, though why
they don't I can't see; for I'm as good as any body, and I've been
particular about being civil to all of them. Still they don't like me,
and they see that Minnie does, and they're trying to break up the
engagement. But by the living jingo!" and the Baron clinched a
good-sized and very sinewy fist, which he brought down hard on the
table--"by the living jingo, they'll find they can't come it over
_me_! No, _Sir_!"
"Is she fond of you--Miss Fay, I mean?"
"Fond! Course she is. She dotes on me."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure! As sure as I am of my own existence. Why, the way she looks at
me is enough! She has a look of helpless trust, an innocent
confidence, a tender, child-like faith and love, and a beseeching,
pleading, imploring way that tells me she is mine through and
through."
Hawbury was a little surprised. He thought he had heard something like
that before.
"Oh, well," said he, "that's the chief thing, you know. If you're sure
of the girl's affections, the battle's half won."
"Half won! Ain't it all won?"
"Well, not exactly. You see, with us English, there are ever so many
considerations."
"But with us Americans there is only one consideration, and that is,
Do you love me? Still, if her relatives are particular about dollars,
I can foot up as many thousands as her old man, I dare say; and then,
if they care for rank, why, I'm a Baron!"
"And what's more, old boy," said Hawbury, earnestly, "if they wanted a
valiant, stout, true, honest, loyal soul, they needn't go further than
Rufus K. Gunn, Baron de Atramonte."
The Baron's face flushed.
"Hawbury," said he, "that's good in you. We've tried one another,
haven't we? You're a brick! And I don't need _you_ to tell _me_ what
you think of me. But if you could get a word into the ear of that
cantankerous old lady, and just let her know what _you_ know about me,
it might move her. You see you're after her style, and I'm not; and
she can't see any thing but a man's manner, which, after all, varies
in all countries. Now if you could speak a word for me, Hawbury--"
"By Jove! my dear fellow, I'd be glad to do so--I swear I would; but
you don't appear to know that I won't have the chance. They're all
going to leave Rome to-morrow morning."
The Baron started as though he had been shot.
"What!" he cried, hoarsely. "What's that? Leave Rome?"
"Yes."
"And to-morrow morning?"
"Yes; Miss Fay told me herself--"
"Miss Fay told you herself! By Heaven! What do they mean by that?" And
the Baron sat trembling with excitement.
"Well, the holy week's over."
"Darn it all, that's got nothing to do with it! It's me! They're
trying to get her from me! How are they going? Do you know?"
"They are going in a carriage by the way of Civita Castellana."
"In a carriage by the way of Civita Castellana! Darn that old idiot of
a woman! what's she up to now? If she's running away from me, she'll
wish herself back before she gets far on that road. Why, there's an
infernal nest of brigands there that call themselves Garibaldians;
and, by thunder, the woman's crazy! They'll be seized and held to
ransom--perhaps worse. Heavens! I'll go mad! I'll run and tell them.
But no; they won't see me. What'll I do? And Minnie! I can't give her
up. She can't give me up. She's a poor, trembling little creature; her
whole life hangs on mine. Separation from me would kill her. Poor
little girl! Separation! By thunder, they shall never separate us!
What devil makes the old woman go by that infernal road? Brigands all
the way! But I'll go after them; I'll follow them. They'll find it
almighty hard work to keep her from me! I'll see her, by thunder! and
I'll get her out of their clutches! I swear I will! I'll bring her
back here to Rome, and I'll get the Pope himself to bind her to me
with a knot that all the old women under heaven can never loosen!"
"What! You're going? By Jove! that's odd, for I'm going with a friend
on the same road."
"Good again! Three cheers! And you'll see the old woman, and speak a
good word for me?"
"If I see her and get a chance, I certainly will, by Jove!"