McTaggart glanced at his watch.
"Ten minutes more. Are you very tired?"
"Not a bit." Jill turned with a bright face from the window in the
corridor where she stood, gazing out. "It's all so lovely. Look at
that hill rising up like a fir cone, against the sky. And _isn't_ it
blue! I never saw such colouring. Those silvery trees!--Olives, did
you say they were? Fancy seeing olives grow!--and oranges and lemons
too. It sounds like the game we used to play in our nursery days."
In a low voice, sweet as a thrush:
"Oranges and lemons
Said the bells of St. Clement's,
I owe you four farthings
Said the bells of St. Martin's..."
Jill sang happily.
"Can't say much for the rhymes." McTaggart smiled.
But the girl had turned to the window again. "It's beautiful." She
slipped a hand through his arm. "As long as I live I'll never forget
those vines with their early Autumn tints--blood red; and the little
towns perched on the hills like Robber Castles ... Peter!--what's
that?" She broke off excitedly, pointing out.
McTaggart followed the line of her hand.
"Siena, I think--I can't be sure. You know, it was dark when I got
here before. Why, Jill!--Whatever's the matter?"
For the girl's face had suddenly changed. Fear and amazement were
written there. She could not take her eyes away, as, on the steep hill
to the south, a cluster of slender towers rose up, ivory-white, against
the sky.
"My dream!" she gasped. The hand on his arm clutched him. "It can't
be! ... Yes, it _is_. The 'dream city' I told you about. Peter! It's
all coming true. There--don't you see? _Do_ look, darling! With one
tower taller than the rest ... and a little cap..."
Speech failed her. She leaned out, breathlessly.
A memory returned to McTaggart. "By Jove!--the 'Torre del Mangia.' Is
that really your old dream, Jill? And you said it felt like 'coming
home!'" He was almost as moved as herself.
Jill drew back with dazzled eyes. Her hair, disordered by the wind,
framed her excited, awe-struck face.
"Isn't it wonderful!" she cried--"my dream city ... my very own! D'you
think we've lived there before, Peter? You and I--in another life?"
"I hope so. But, anyhow, it can't be half as good as this!"
He drew her gently through the door of their coupe. "There's a tunnel
coming. We're nearly there. Sit down a minute. I'll roll up the
rugs. You'd better get into your coat, ready."
"I shan't want it. It's so hot." Mechanically, she straightened her
hat, her gray eyes still wide with wonder. She caught sight of herself
in the glass. "I am untidy! Won't it be nice to have a bath and feel
clean again."
A "toob"--Peter smiled to himself as the train bolted into the dark.
He reached up for his hat on the peg.
"Now then!--we're coming out. Give me a kiss, quick!--There's a dear."
Sudden dazzling light again; the grind of brakes; the toot of a horn.
Then a deep voice, shouting clearly:
"Siena ... Si-e-na!" The train had stopped.
Mario came running up. McTaggart hurried Jill out and into a cab.
Purposely, he had "forgotten" to order the carriage.
They wound up the dusty road, glaring white in the morning sun, and
through the great frowning wall that clips the city like a girdle.
Jill was too excited to talk, her eyes darting right and left as the
high houses closed about them with the menace of their ancient strength.
McTaggart pointed out to her the Grey Wolf on its column, suckling the
fabulous Twins.
"Romulus and Remus!" she gasped, with a clutch at Ancient History.
"That's it! The Son of Remus founded the place--so the legend
runs--'Senius.' He gave his name to the city--hence 'Siena.'"
Down the one-time "Strada Romana," past the Palezzo Tolomei, they
clattered, to the crack of the whip.
"See those lions?" he touched her arm. "Thirteenth Century." She
stared--"That's the 'Balzana,' the shield of the Commune, black and
white. I'll tell you why. When Senius offered sacrifice to his gods,
on his arrival here, from the altar of Diana rose a pure white smoke,
and from that of Apollo a dense black one--and ever since it's been on
the shields of the city. Makes one think, doesn't it? All those
centuries ago."
"It's wonderful!"
On they went, through shadowy streets, the deep blue sky overhead cut
by castellated walls and pierced by towers, dark with age.
Then, with a final "Ee ... ah!" from the driver, a last flourish of
whip, they swerved aside through the frowning arch of the palace into
the vast courtyard.
Here the sun had found its way, bathing one side in golden light. The
fountain leaped in a dazzling cloud; the delicate marble stairs curved
up, fairy-like, to the gallery; and about them was the beat of wings...
"_Look_ at the pigeons!"--Jill cried. "Where are we?"
The carriage stopped. He helped her down and hurried her on, up the
shining silvery steps.
"Peter! What is this?" Jill asked. But McTaggart only smiled to
himself.
"Come along"--he grasped her arm--"this way..." Narrow shafts of light
through the twisted columns made a path, like striped satin under their
feet.
Dark doors were swung wide, and they stood in the dim tapestried hall,
the inquisitive sunshine following them and playing among the crystal
lustres.
Jill, dazed, saw servants stand, bowing before her, heard a hum of
respectful greetings rise and fall as McTaggart swept her, ever on,
down a corridor lined with statues, and into a room, endlessly long,
with a painted ceiling and polished floor.
"Now!" said Peter. He laughed aloud, throwing a challenge to the
walls, where on every side faces peered, measuring them with liquid
eyes.
"Here we are, Jill--at home." He closed the doors as he spoke.
"Home?" Jill stared at him. "Peter--I _don't_ understand."
A shade of temper was in her voice as she looked up in his laughing
eyes.
"It's the Maramonte palace"--he cried--"Mine!--and yours now, my
darling. Where my mother lived ... And all these"--he waved his
hand--"are my people."
Jill suddenly caught her breath.
"D'you mean to say"--her voice was tense--"You _live_ here?--that it's
... the house?"
"Yes..." he caught her in his arms. "Aren't you pleased?--It's my
'surprise!'"
But she pushed him away nervously. Wide-eyed she gazed around her.
Then, still silent, she crossed the floor, and gazed out of the nearest
window.
He followed her, a shade anxious. Surely, she could not be upset?
"Forgive me, Jill ... I ought to have thought..."
But suddenly her face changed.
"The tower"--she whispered--"the tower of my dream ... Peter, tell
me--it _is_ true? It won't go ... fade away..." She clung to him like
a frightened child.
"No--I swear it." A swift remorse moved him as he saw the tears well
up in the eyes he loved. "Jill!--don't cry--for Heaven's sake. I
meant it to be such a lovely surprise!--Why, my darling..."
She buried her face in his coat, struggling for control.
"It is!"--she sobbed--"it's _too_ lovely! What a baby I am...!" she
broke away--"It's ... the _beauty_--can't you understand?" She wiped
her eyes defiantly.
"But--who are _you_?" she added slowly--"I don't see yet why it's
yours."
"I'm the Marquis Maramonte," he said, "and you are my very dear liege
lady."
For a moment she stared at him, amazed. Then, like a sunlit April
shower, laughter stole into her eyes, still shining with her tears.
She clapped her hands. She danced for joy.
"Oh! what a gorgeous sell for Stephen!"
McTaggart caught her outstretched hands, laughing aloud.
"Isn't it?" Relief at her change of mood, delight at the way she took
her new honours: her simple child-like fearlessness, made him exult in
his bride.
"He'll have to 'kow-tow' to you now, old lady. He won't like
that--Master Stephen!--I expect he will, though"--he veered
round--"he'll be trying to borrow no end of money!"
"He won't get it," Jill cried gayly. "He can come and smash my windows
first." She hardly knew what she was saying, for the reaction had set
in, the excitement of this great adventure.
"He'd find it hard..." said McTaggart grimly. "This place has stood
many a siege. They had a playful way, you know, of slinging donkeys in
by catapults!"
"Well"--Jill giggled--"why not Stephen?" Then her face grew thoughtful
again. "It's wonderful!..." She glanced down the long walls hung with
pictures. Men in armour, half concealed by sumptuous cloaks; red-robed
prelates; court beauties, smiling proudly; stern old age, reckless
youth!
"These made history," said Jill and paused, sobered by the thought...
"_Your_ people." She looked at her husband, full of honest pride for
him.
"Yes." McTaggart smiled back. "Splendid chaps, some of them. That's
the hero of Montaperti, Giordano Maramonte. And that frivolous-looking
boy charged through and broke the Standard--the great white lilies of
Florence--off from the famous 'Carroccio.'
"I don't fancy any of these won their honours our way--the modern way
in old England--a fat subscription to 'Secret Funds'! They were rather
a bad lot, all the same..."
"I don't doubt it," Jill laughed, mischief in her mocking glance.
"Perhaps they all had 'double hearts'--it seems to lead to a lot of
trouble! Look at those lovely pearls there--on the lady in the satin
gown--and the single drop on her forehead! You could pick it up--it
looks so real."
"So you shall. We've got it still. Safe in my Roman bank--for
_you_!--And all sorts of other jewels--an emerald ring that belonged to
a Pope. You're going to be a little queen!--have every mortal thing
you want. And you're worth it, you dearest child. You're the
loveliest woman in the world!"
"Hush!" she smiled--"I want to think..."
But a new idea had struck McTaggart.
Absently she let him lead her to where two great gilded chairs stood on
a dais, under a canopy.
"Sit there," he commanded.
She settled herself easily, her slim shape swallowed up between the
great carved arms, beneath the shield of the Maramonte. He stood back
to look at her, as she went on, thoughtfully:
"We're rich, then, Peter?--ever so rich."
"Yes," he nodded his head gravely. "What are you puzzling out now?"
"I was thinking of Roddy," she confessed--"Of all that this may
mean--to him."
"He's to be your Court Painter, my queen"--McTaggart's eyes never left
her--"Won't he love Italy? And Aunt Elizabeth?--She knows!--I told her
the whole story, Jill. She's been a brick to keep the secret."
Then he mounted the dais--impatiently--as she still dreamed on.
"I say, Jill. You've never thanked me! This is my wedding present,
you see."
Jill gave a little start. Impulsively she opened her arms.
"Oh, Peter!--do forgive me." But he slipped down at her feet.
For a moment he knelt there, arms about her, his face pressed against
her knees.
She could feel, through her dress, his burning cheeks, the wave of
longing that swept across him ... Then, slowly, he lifted his head.
His eyes, blue as the heavens beyond, drank their fill. He whispered
her name.
"Jill ... my darling little wife!"
THE END
NOVELS BY MURIEL HINE
APRIL PANHASARD
"As delightful a love-story as summer readers can pray for."--_New York
World_.
"An excellent novel with a delightful atmosphere and a plot that the
reader will follow with interest."--_New York Herald_.
EARTH
"A sincere and clever piece of work that should find an appreciative
public."--_Westminster Gazette_.
"An admirably written story which will take high rank in contemporary
fiction."--_Rochester Post-Express_.
HALF IN EARNEST
"The author knows and sees much and can write it both intelligently and
pleasantly."--_Sketch_ (_London_).
"A well-built, well-written tale."--_Washington Evening Star_.
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
End of Project Gutenberg's The Man with the Double Heart, by Muriel Hine