THE ITALIAN VILLA.
Within sight of the library window, and down upon the sloping grounds
that rolled in broken hollows to the sea, Catharine had noticed the
building of a pretty Italian villa, that for a month or two of the
spring had been throwing out some new wing or cornice through the trees
that were to embower it. Even the workmen’s hammers could now and then
be heard in the stillness of the morning, when nothing but the birds and
those who toil for their daily bread are abroad.
In a still life like hers, everything has its interest. From almost
unconsciously watching the progress of such portions of the building as
the irregularities of the ground made visible, Catharine began to wonder
who this pretty residence was for, and how its inmates might hereafter
affect her own singular life. It was the only dwelling in sight, and
threatened to encroach somewhat upon the isolation of her home. Thus the
subject became one of peculiar interest to her; while the old people now
and then wondered who was building a house so near them, and if their
close neighborhood to strangers might not interfere with the entire
freedom which poor Elsie now enjoyed.
Elsie herself heard the conversation regarding this new house, with wild
attention. It seemed to startle her, and she murmured some vague
comments as the others conversed, which betrayed a degree of unrest and
excitement, that filled the good old people with fresh anxiety.
At length, in the month of June, just when the roses were in their
richest flush of beauty, the workmen seemed to have completed their
task. No more sounds came on the wind to remind the family that human
life was so near. The glaring freshness of unpainted wood was toned down
into a warm, gray tint, scarcely visible beyond the tall elms and fruit
thickets that covered the intervening grounds. From any effect it had
upon Catharine’s life, the house might never have existed; it was a
pretty object in the distance, nothing more; and yet it always gave her
a faint pang when she looked that way. The same strange sensation
occasioned by her husband’s picture seemed in some way associated with
this house; yet it was perfectly new, and had no possible connection
with her or hers more than the forest-trees that had supplied the
timbers.
One afternoon the family were all gathered in the common sitting-room,
loitering about the tea-table, till twilight stole on, and the air was
heavy with falling dew. Elsie was sitting as usual at her mother’s feet,
looking vaguely up to her face, and smiling that wan, hollow smile, that
had neither intelligence nor warmth, and yet was so grateful to the
gentle old mother.
Mr. Ford had been dreamingly reading the religious paper, which brought
his weekly allowance of literature; but as the golden dusk stole on, he
laid the venerated sheet upon the table, and was serenely reflecting
over its contents.
Catharine sat by the window, restless, and with a vague feeling of
expectation, the more remarkable because no guests were ever invited to
the lone dwelling, and because her reason told her that this impulsive
feeling, that some one interested in her was coming, must be perfectly
groundless. Still she sat wistfully gazing out into the dusk. Every
sound, if but the fluttering of a bird upon its nest, made her start.
She went forth in imagination into the world again, and mixed in the
great drama of life, from which she had so long absented herself.
As she sat thus, leaning upon the window-sill, there came up through the
evening mist two figures, a lady and a child, moving onward softly like
shadows gliding over the grass.
Catharine held her breath and gazed upon them in silence. Were these the
persons whom she had been unconsciously expecting? Who were they? And
why did they creep so noiselessly across the sward?
The lady was in mourning, not the heavy black which shrouds the person
as in a midnight of despair; but her garments were of soft, pale gray,
that floated around her like a mist, leaving her gentle face in relief,
dim but beautiful.
The child moved like a tropical bird beside his companion; his dress was
of crimson, rich with the most delicate embroidery, that lay upon its
borders like the plumage on the neck of a flamingo. The light was too
dim for more than a general view of the strangers; but as they came
slowly house ward, her heart beat fast, and she felt a sudden warmth
mount into her cheek, as if something kindred and pleasant were stirring
her spirit to its depths.
Impelled by a sudden impulse, at once urgent and unaccountable, the
young woman arose and went out upon the front door-steps, as one who
receives an expected guest.
The lady and the child paused,—they had not intended to enter the house,
but, lured on by the quietness and lovely glimpses of scenery that
surrounded it, they had been led unconsciously in front.
“Look, look, mamma. See that beautiful lady! She is coming to speak with
you; come!”
As the child spoke, he drew eagerly upon the hand which led him; and
Catharine, impelled by the same influence that had brought her to the
door, descended the steps and met them.
The lady smiled.
“My little boy is so delighted with the fruit-trees and flowers, that I
cannot keep him off your grounds,” she said, mistaking Catharine for the
mistress of the house. “It is an intrusion, I fear?”
Catharine did not answer. She was looking downward, with a sort of
fascination, into the beautiful eyes of the boy, who neither smiled nor
spoke, but returned her look so earnestly that his face grew sad, and he
seemed ready to burst into tears.
“We will retire at once!” said the lady, hurt by her silence; “I am sure
it is an intrusion.”
Catharine lifted her eyes from the child, and cast a wistful, inquiring
glance upon the mother, as if the words of this excuse, so sweetly
uttered, had fallen upon her ear, but not upon her sense.
“He is yours!” she said, with a strange smile; “dear soul, he is yours!”
Again her eyes were turned on the boy, who met them with a steady,
earnest gaze, half tearful, half smiling.
The young widow gave a troubled assent, and turning slowly, appeared
about to retrace her steps.
“Do not go yet!” pleaded Catharine, catching her breath, and for the
first time realizing her position and the strangeness of her conduct.
“The grounds are pleasant always at sunset, and so little disturbed,
that you can find the charm of a wild wood almost in them. I should like
to show you some of the finest views.”
The lady smiled, and bent her head in acceptance of this kind offer.