Would she have said so had she known that, although Mr. Earnscliffe
_was_ in Venice, all his thoughts were occupied about her?
In proportion as he had been elated and happy with her, so did the next
morning find him depressed and sad. He had given himself up completely
to the enjoyment of that starlight walk. How pleasant he found it to
watch the movements of Flora's little slight figure as she walked by
his side, and every now and then to have some thought or feeling which
he expressed responded to by a look from her soft eyes. But even as he
thought over it all he said to himself, "Yes, it was very delightful;
but will any good come of it? I knew such an evening long ago; then,
too, I walked with one whom I loved and trusted, and she brought me
only misery. Life and hope and faith have been blighted by her. Is it
not worse than folly, then, to believe in a woman again?..."
For the last few days he had cast all doubt from him. He only thought
of how Flora had acted towards Mr. Lyne; of how true she had been
to him; so true that not even an unjust accusation could wring from
her a word implying that he had proposed for her. But now came the
reaction. It was not all at once that Mr. Earnscliffe could divest
himself fully of that distrust of women which for years had been so
rooted in his mind. Then Mary Elton's words and his own dream forced
themselves painfully upon him, and sounded like a warning which said,
"Stop, before it is too late." "But perhaps it is already too late," he
thought. "Could I forget her even now? Have I ever forgotten her since
the first day we met at Frascati? All that time at Capri was I not
thinking of her, although persuading myself that I was not interested
in her personally? How much less, then, could I forget her after
these two happy evenings. Yet, if ever any one had a presentiment of
misfortune in adopting some particular course of action, I have. It is
not possible, of course, to do otherwise than accompany them across the
Brenner, since I offered them my escort; but I need not go to Meran; we
can meet at Botzen. If she is to be banished from my memory, it would
be folly to put myself in the way of sweet associations; of seeing her
constantly; of walking and riding with her; guiding her through all
the lovely excursions about Meran. Then, indeed, I could never help
yielding to the charm of having such a companion--a charm which I have
never known before; for in those fatal days when I fancied myself in
love, I was only caught by a beautiful casket. It was so beautiful that
it dazzled me, and kept me from looking beyond. I took it for granted
that the jewel contained in it must be priceless, until one day the
casket flew open, and showed me that the supposed jewel was a false
one. Now it is just the contrary; the casket boasts of no great beauty
or outward ornament, but may not the jewel within be precious? Yes,
I see it is the lighting up of that jewel which possesses so subtle
a charm now, when no outward brilliancy could win a glance from me.
Were I sure of its intrinsic value, it would be well worth the trial;
yet all kinds of dark forebodings seem to warn me back. But how that
jewel's sparkle would brighten my cold, lonely existence! Shall I,
then, go to Meran, or not?"
Ah! Flora, you little know how important a moment this is for you! Why
are you not in Venice, so that your presence might turn the scale in
your own favour? Will the memory of yesternight's walk suffice for
it? It appears that at least it is sufficient to prevent sentence
from being pronounced against you. The judge is evidently not sure of
himself; not sure that he would have strength to carry it out, and
therefore he wisely defers putting it on record. He will wait and see
what time will do. So you may congratulate yourself on a half triumph,
at all events; and occupy yourself with the sights of Verona and the
different beauties of the route to Meran.
In "fair Verona's" amphitheatre, unmatched save by the giant Coliseum
of Rome, we left the Adairs standing, and when they had wandered up and
down its tiers and given their meed of admiration, they drove to see
the house of the Capulets and the--so-called--tomb of Romeo and Juliet.
On their way Flora told Marie the lovers' sad history, and showed her
how doubly interesting the site is to natives of Great Britain, because
enshrined in their great poet's genius.
An afternoon they found sufficient to "do" the lions of Verona, so the
next morning they started by train for Peschiera, and there took the
steamer to Riva.
What a lovely sail it is across the Lago di Garda, with its boundary of
castle-capp'd mountains and the little villages at their base, half
buried in groves of lemon and orange tress! And, for lovers of classic
memory, there are the ruins of the house where Catullus dictated his
ballads. In the days of Virgil the lake was celebrated for looking like
a little sea, foaming beneath the lash of the mountain winds, which
seldom left it unruffled; and to-day it did not belie its reputation,
as its blue waters tossed about in miniature fury, the white-crested
waves rolling one over the other and dashing their spray afar. Riva
itself is a charming little place; and then the drive to Trent--a
drive which shows one of Tyrol's greatest charms, that of uniting
something of the wildness and grandeur of Switzerland with the soft,
fresh beauty of our home scenery.... Now we see an isolated lake, so
shut in by snowy mountains that the only egress from its shores seems
to be a winding, giddy mountain path, to which we almost fear to trust
ourselves; but if we venture and ascend it for a time, we find that
it leads down, on the other side, into a smiling valley, with emerald
green fields stretching far away in gentle undulations, and watered
by little rivulets flowing between flowery banks and shady trees. Or
we come suddenly upon two rocky points spanned by a single plank, and
at such a height that, looking at it from below, it appears as If it
were suspended in the air; and beneath, a rushing torrent dashes over
its rugged bed, gurgling and foaming at each attempted interruption
to its headlong course. Let us climb down from this wild spot, and we
come upon an almost English scene of comfort and neatness; there is a
pretty cottage with its shelving wooden roof and carved cross in front;
the sheep and cows are grazing at a distance, and the shepherd boy is
lying in the grass pulling the wild flowers which grow around him.
The character of Tyrol's inhabitants partakes too of all this; they
have the open independent bearing of mountaineers, combined with rare
simplicity and softness. There is not a spot in all Tyrol without its
own beauty, and we should travel far indeed before we met so fine a
race of people; not only in their general character, but also in their
outward appearance.
The Adairs slept that night at Trent, and before leaving the next day
they visited its churches, particularly the one where the great Council
was held, and there they saw a painting of it which contains portraits
of several of the prelates who assisted thereat. Towards evening they
arrived at Botzen, just as the last rays of the sun were lighting up
the Calvarienberg, as the mountain close to the entrance of the town
is called, on account of the stations of the Cross which lead up to
the Calvary on its summit. With one accord they all exclaimed, "How
beautiful!" But in Tyrol this is an exclamation which is called forth
at every turn, and words are indeed too weak to express the different
degrees of its loveliness.
How glad Flora felt at the prospect of getting to Meran to-morrow! It
would be the fourth day since they had left Venice, the day upon which
Mr. Earnscliffe had promised to meet them; and she looked forward
anxiously to that meeting. Once before she had parted from him in the
utmost friendliness, and when next she saw him he scarcely spoke to
her--would it be so now? These were her thoughts as they drove along
the hill and castle-bordered route which leads from Botzen to Meran.
No familiar face greeted them at the Post Hotel. The day waned, and
Flora stood leaning listlessly against one of the front windows,
gazing down the road which they had traversed that morning, and sadly
she thought: "So he is not coming--I suppose he will wait until the
exact time when he thinks we shall want to cross the Brenner; but, at
least, he might have written to say so. It is rude of him thus to break
the appointment without a word of apology. How slowly the days will
now pass, even here in beautiful Meran! Beauty and pleasure are only
accessories; they cannot give a particle of the happiness which we
may feel, even in toil and trouble, when endured for one whom we love.
Moore was right when he said--
'Life is a waste of wearisome hours,
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns.'"
But stay: Flora's listless attitude changes; she bends eagerly forward
over the window sill, then draws back and throws herself into an
armchair beside it. Her colour is bright and her eyes are dancing.
Whence this sudden change? We have only to look along the Botzen road,
and an approaching carriage with a single occupant will tell us the
cause of it.
Flora Adair's eyes had not deceived her. Its occupant was Mr.
Earnscliffe. We remember, that day when the Adairs left Venice,
how he hesitated about joining them at Meran; yet here he comes,
although it would be difficult to say what had turned the balance in
Flora's favour. They started on Tuesday, and that day and the next
Mr. Earnscliffe spent in visiting different galleries with dogged
perseverance, although they did not seem to afford him any great
pleasure. He also went to see some Italian artists and literary men
with whom he was acquainted, and for the remainder of the time he made
a feint of reading, whilst in reality he was pondering on the Meran
question. Thursday came, and he half determined to be wise and stay
away. If he were to do so, however, he felt that he must write to Mrs.
Adair and say that he could not leave Venice for some days, but would
meet them at Botzen a week hence, and have everything arranged for
crossing the pass at once, if he did not send an apology, he must of
course fulfil his promise to join them at Meran; however, it would be
time enough to write in the afternoon. He dawdled away the morning over
some books which had been lent to him, and then prepared to go out; but
just as he was about to do so, in came an Italian who asked him to make
one of a party of five or six, himself included, who were going by the
next train to Treviso to see the paintings of Titian and Domenichino,
in the fine but yet unfinished cathedral, and also the Villa Manfrino;
they would dine at Treviso and return to Venice in the evening.
The Italian named those who were to be of the party. Mr. Earnscliffe
knew them all to be more or less well-informed, agreeable men, and
among them were two excellent musicians and improvisatori; so at least
the proposal held out to him the prospect of hearing some good singing,
of which he was particularly fond; besides, it would spend the day for
him, and if he were candid with himself he would acknowledge that he
felt rather at a loss for something to do. Accordingly he accepted the
invitation and went off with his friend, without ever thinking of the
note to Mrs. Adair.
The day passed quickly away, and the dinner was excellent; the
champagne abundant; the singing of the best; the conversation flowing
and animated--Mr. Earnscliffe sustaining a prominent part in it. He
spoke Italian with perfect ease, and entering into the spirit of the
hour, he showed how brilliant, without being shallow, were his powers
of conversation, when he once cast off his habitual reserve. They only
returned to Venice by the last train, which arrived about eleven, and
Mr. Earnscliffe, having wished his friends good-night and thanked them
for the pleasant day which they had afforded him, got into a gondola
and soon landed at his hotel, the "Victoria."
The night was as lovely as the one upon which he had parted from Flora
Adair. The memory of that night now rose up vividly before him, and
as it did so, he remembered with pleasure that he had _not_ written
to Mrs. Adair, and that now it was too late to hesitate any longer;
go he must. If he started by the first train in the morning, he could
reach Meran the same evening, and so keep his appointment, and this he
determined to do; so as soon as he got into his room he rang for his
servant, and told him that he was to have everything ready for them to
leave Venice by the six a.m. train next morning. The servant looked
rather dismayed at this intelligence, but retired without making any
remonstrance; for he knew that his master must be obeyed to the letter,
and unhesitatingly too.
As the door closed Mr. Earnscliffe exclaimed, "So for good or evil it
is decided that I go to Meran. Perhaps it is as well that it should be
so. I shall have an opportunity of knowing Flora Adair thoroughly. If
she is all that I have dreamed of, and if I can win her love, it will
be worth having suffered, even as I have done, in order to taste such
unexpected bliss; and if she is not, it will be only one pang more, and
what signifies that in such a life as mine? Not to go would be to throw
away a chance of possible happiness through fear of possible pain; and
that at best would be more of cowardice than prudence. I am glad that I
am going in spite of all my presentiments."
On the following day Mr. Earnscliffe reached Botzen about four. He
dined there, and set out afterwards in an open carriage for Meran,
where we have seen him drive up to the hotel. He left his servant at
Botzen to make inquiries about the carriage and ascertain where was
the best place for getting really good horses, and then he was to
follow him to Meran.
Mrs. Adair and Marie met Mr. Earnscliffe just as he got out of the
carriage. They were returning from the Friday evening devotions in the
church, at which they had been present. Flora did not accompany them,
for she felt that even if she did go she would be only corporally in
the church, that her mind and heart would be fixed on the Botzen road
and not on prayer; so she remained at home watching the setting sun,
and with it fell her hopes of that longed-for arrival.
The sun sank, but her hope rose and broke into bright certainty.
Marie ran into her room, crying, "Flore, _Monsieur Earnscliffe est
arrivé!_"
The waning light and the shadow which the curtain threw over Flora
prevented the blush and conscious smile from being seen, as she
answered, "Indeed, then he has been punctual to his word, I see."
"And we take tea downstairs with him, Flore, Madame Adair has told me
to tell you. Are you ready?"
"I shall be before you, Mignonne, for I have only to brush my hair
and wash my hands, and you have, besides all this, to take off your
out-of-door things; but surely there is not any hurry if we are to
wait for Mr. Earnscliffe,--he must have time to shake off the dust of
the journey before he appears for the evening."