|Colin and Hiram slept that night under the same roof, at Audouin's
hotel. The wheel of Fate had at last brought the two young enthusiasts
together, and they fraternised at once by mere dint of the similarity
of their tastes and natural circumstances. Their lives had been so
like--and yet so unlike; their fortunes had been so much the same--and
yet so different. It was pleasant to compare notes with one another in
the smoking-room about Wootton Mande ville and Geauga County, about the
deacon and the vicar, Cicolari and Audouin; all things on earth, save
only Gwen and Minna. Even Hiram didn't care to speak about Gwen. Young
men in America are generally far more frank with one another about their
love affairs than we sober, suspicious, unromantic English; they talk
among themselves enthusiastically about their sweethearts, much as girls
talk together in confidence in England. But Hiram in this respect was
not American. His self-contained, self-restraining nature forbade him
to hint a word even of the interest he felt in the beautiful stranger he
had so oddly recognised in Sir Henry's salon.
But he would meet her again--that was something! He knew her name now,
and all about her. As they left Sir Henry's hotel together, Gwen had
turned with one of her gracious smiles to Sam, flooding his soul with
her eyes, and said in that delicious trilling voice of hers: 'I can't
forbear to tell you, Mr. Churchill, that I'd been to see Sir Henry, as
he hinted to you, on the very self-same errand as yourself, almost.
I met your brother in the train coming here, and I learnt from him
accidentally what he'd come for, and how he was coming; and I couldn't
resist going to tell that horrid old man the whole story. It was so
delightful, you know, so very romantic. Of course I thought he'd be only
too delighted to hear it, and admire your brother's pluck and resolution
so much, exactly as I did. I thought he'd say at once “A sculptor!
How magnificent! Then he shan't stay here with me another minute. I'm a
lover of art myself. I know what it must be to feel that divine yearning
within one,” or something of that sort. “I won't allow a born artist to
waste another moment of his precious time upon such useless and unworthy
occupations. Let him go immediately and study his noble profession; I'll
use all my interest to get him the best introductions to the very first
masters in all Italy.” That's what a man of any heart or spirit would
have said on the spur of the moment. Instead of that, the horrid old
creature put up his eyeglass and stared at me so that I was frightened
to death, and swore dreadfully, and said your brother oughtn't to
have engaged himself under the circumstances; and used such shocking
language, that I was just going to leave the room in a perfect state of
terror when you came in and detained me for a minute. And then you saw
yourself the dreadful rage he got into--the old wretch! I should like to
see him put into prison or something. I've no patience with him.'
Hiram felt in his own soul at that moment a certain fierce demon rising
up within him, and goading him on to some desperate vengeance. Was he
alone the only man that Gwen didn't seem to notice or care for in any
way? She was so cordial to Audouin, she was so cordial to Sam, and now
she was so interested in Sam's unknown brother, whom she had only met
casually in a railway carriage, that she had actually faced, alone and
undaunted, this savage old curmudgeon of a British nobleman (Hiram's
views as to the status of English baronets were as vague as those of
the Tichborne Claimant's admirers), in order to release him from the
necessary consequences of an unpleasant arrangement. But him, Hiram, she
had utterly forgotten; and even when reminded of him, she only seemed
to remember his personality in a very humiliating fashion as a sort of
unimportant pendant or corollary to that brilliant Mr. Audouin. To him,
she was all the world of woman; to her, he was evidently nothing
more than an uninteresting young man, who happened to accompany that
delightfully clever American whom she met at the Thousand Islands!
How little we all of us are to some people who are so very, very much to
us!
But when she was leaving them at the door of her own hotel, Gwen handed
Hiram a card with a smile that made amends for everything, and said
so brightly: 'I hope we may see you again, Mr. Winthrop. I haven't
forgotten your delightful picture. I'm so fond of everything at all
artistic. And how nice it is, too, that you've got that charming Mr.
Audouin still with you. You must be sure to bring him to see us here, or
rather, I must send papa to call upon you. And, Mr. Churchill, as soon
as your brother sets up a studio--I suppose he will now--we won't forget
to drop in and see him at it. I'm so very much interested in anything
like sculpture.'
Poor Hiram's heart sank again like a barometer to Very Stormy. She only
wanted to see him again, then, because he'd got Audouin with him! Hiram
was too profoundly loyal to feel angry, even in his own heart, with
his best friend and benefactor; but he couldn't help feeling terribly
grieved and saddened and downcast, as he walked along silently the rest
of the way through those novel crowded streets of Rome towards the
Hôtel de Russie. He felt sure he should cordially hate this horrid,
interesting, interloping fellow, Sam's brother.
Sam had left a little note at the Allemagne to be given to Mr. Colin
Churchill--Sir Henry's valet--as soon as ever he came back. In the note
he told Colin he was to call round at once, without speaking to Sir
Henry, for a very particular purpose, at the Hôtel de Russie. The letter
was duly signed: 'Your affectionate brother, Sam Churchill.' Colin took
it up and looked at it again and again. Yes, there was no denying it; it
was Sam's handwriting, But how on earth had Sam got to Rome, and what on
earth was Sam doing there? It was certainly all most mysterious. Still,
the words 'without speaking to that old fool Sir Henry' were trebly
underlined, and Colin felt sure there must be some sufficient reason for
them, especially as the arrangement of epithets was at once so correct
and so forcible. So he turned hastily to the Hôtel de Russie, filled
with amazement at this singular adventure.
In Colin's mind, the Sam of his boyish memory was a Dorsetshire labourer
clad in Dorsetshire country clothes, a trifle loutish (if the truth must
be told), and with the easy, slouching, lounging gait of the ordinary
English agricultural workman. When he called at the Russie, he was
ushered up into a room where he saw three men sitting on a red velvet
sofa, all alike American in face, dress, and action, and all alike, at
first sight, complete strangers to him. When one of the three, a tall,
handsome, middle-aged man, with a long brown moustache, and a faultless
New Yorker tourist suit, rose hastily from the sofa, and came forward to
greet him with a cry of 'Colin!' he could hardly make his eyes believe
there was any relic of the original Sam about this flourishing and
eminently respectable American citizen.
'Well, Colin,' his brother said kindly, but with such an unexpected
Yankee accent, 'I surmise you ain't likely to recognise me, anyhow;
that's so, ain't it? You were only such a little chap when I first went
away across the millpond.'
When one sees a member of one's own family after a separation of many
years, one judges of him as one judges of a stranger; and Colin was
certainly pleased with the first glimpse of this resurrected and
wholly transfigured Sam--he seemed such a good-humoured, easygoing,
kindly-confidential sort of fellow, that Colin's heart warmed to him
immediately. They fell to talking at once about old times at Wootton
Mandeville, and Sam told Colin the whole story of how he came to cross
the Atlantic again, and what reception he had met with that morning from
Sir Henry Wilberforce. Hiram and Audouin went out while the two brothers
discussed their family affairs and future prospects, ostensibly to see
something of the sights of Rome, but really to let them have their talk
out in peace and quietness.
'And now, Colin,' Sam said in a blunt, straightforward, friendly
fashion, 'of course you mustn't see this Wilberforce man again, whatever
happens. It's no use exposing yourself to a scene with him, all for
nothing. You've just got to go back to the Hôtel d'Allamain on the
quiet, pack up your things without saying a word to him, and walk it.
I've written a note to him that'll settle everything, and I've put in
two bills.'
'Two what?' Colin asked doubtfully.
'Bills,' Sam repeated with a hasty emphasis. 'Notes I think you call 'em
in England; bank-notes to cover all expenses of your journey, don't you
see, and baggage, and so forth. No, never you mind thanking me like that
about a trifle, Colin, but just sit there quietly like a sensible fellow
and listen to what I've got to say to you. It's a long time since I left
the old country, you know, my boy; and I've kind o' forgotten a good
deal about it. I've forgotten that you were likely to be so hard up for
money as you were, Colin, or else I'd have sent you over a few hundred
dollars long ago to pay your expenses. When you wrote to me that you
were working with a sculptor in London, I took it for granted, anyhow,
that you were making a pretty tidy thing out of it; and when you wrote
that you were going to Rome to continue your studies, I thought I'd
bring Hiram Winthrop along just to keep you company. But I never
imagined you'd come over as I find you have done. Why, when that
Sickolary man told me you'd gone as a valet, I was so ashamed I couldn't
look Mr. Audouin straight in the face again for half-an-hour. And what
I want to know now's just this, Who's the very best sculptor, should you
say, in all Rome, this very minute?'
'There's only one really great sculptor in Rome at all, at present, that
I know of,' Colin answered without a moment's hesitation.
'Nicola Maragliano.'
'Well,' Sam continued in a business-like fashion; 'I suppose he takes
pupils?'
'I should doubt it very much, Sam, unless they were very specially
recommended.'
'What, really? At least, we'll try, Colin. We'll see what Mr.
Maragliano's terms are, any way.'
'But, my dear fellow, whatever his terms are, I can't afford them. I
must work for my livelihood one way or another.'
'Nonsense,' Sam answered energetically. 'You just leave this business
alone. I've got to manage it my own way, and don't you go and interfere
with it. I pay, you work; do you see, Colin?'
Colin looked back at his brother with a look half incredulity, half
pride. 'Oh, Sam,' he said, 'I can't let you. I really can't let you. You
mustn't do it. It's too kind of you, too kind of you altogether.'
'In America,' Sam answered, taking a cigar from his pocket and lighting
a vesuvian, 'we're a busy people. We haven't got time for thanks and
that sort of thing, Colin; we just take what we get, and say nothing
about it. I'm going out now, to have a look after one of their Vaticans,
or Colosseums, or triumphal arches, or something; you'd better go and
pack up your traps meanwhile at this Wilberforce creature's. You'll
sleep here tonight; I'll bespeak a room for you; then you and Hiram can
talk things over and arrange all comfortable. They have dinner here at
the wrong end of the day--seven o'clock; mind you're back for it. Now,
good-bye for the present. I'm off to hunt up some of these ancient Roman
ruins.'
Sam put on his hat before Colin could thank him any further, and in half
an hour more, he was meditating, with the aid of his cigar, among the
big gloomy arches of the Colosseum.
So Colin took the proffered freedom, with an apologetic note to poor old
Sir Henry, whom he didn't wish to treat badly; and that evening he and
Hiram met to make one another's acquaintance in earnest. Hiram's spleen
against the young Englishman who had had the audacity to attract Gwen's
favourable attention didn't long outlast their introduction. To say the
truth, both young men were too simple and too transparent not to take a
sincere liking for one another almost immediately. Sam and Audouin
were both delighted at the success of their scheme for bringing them
together; and Sam was really very proud of his brother's drawings and
designs which Colin brought down for their inspection after dinner. He
had enough, of Colin's leaven in him to be able at least to recognise a
true and beautiful work of art when it was set before him.
'I shall just wait a bit here in Rome so as to fix up Colin with this
man Maragliano, Mr. Audouin,' Sam said, after the two younger men had
retired, as they sat talking over the prospect in the billiard-room of
the hotel; 'and then I shall run back to England to pay a visit to the
old folk, before I return to work at Syracuse.'
'And I,' said Audouin, 'will stop the winter so as to set Hiram fairly
on the right way, and let him get free play for his natural talents.
He's going to be the greatest American painter ever started, Mr.
Churchill; and I'm going to see that he has room and scope to work in.'
But all that night, Hiram dreamt of Chattawauga Lake, and Gwen, and the
Thousand Islands, and the green fields he had seen in England. And when
he woke to look out on the broad sunshine flooding the neighbourhood of
the Piazza del Popolo, his heart was sad within him.