The carnival had ended and Lent begun with days of heavy and unusual
rain. People who were bent upon sight-seeing were obliged to fall back
upon the galleries and studios, and these were so dark that the general
gloom seemed to have also affected them. One day, five or six people
were wandering through Vertunni's beautiful rooms. There are hangings
of strange colours, damasks, tapestries, draperies over the doors,
priceless bits of glass or bronze, out of the midst of which rich and
soft surroundings the pictures glow. Sometimes it is Italy--the gloom
of the Pontine marshes, the light of Paestum. Sometimes you lose
yourself in a sea-mist were a boat floats between sky and earth;
sometimes meet with Egypt's dusky radiance, or the sweep of the sand on
the desert...
Mrs Leyton was in her element, she went on from room to room, dragging
her husband and the Peningtons after her. She wished Phillis to marry
Mr Penington, but it would have annoyed her very much if she had
absorbed him, which was quite another thing. And Phillis preferred to
linger behind with Bice, who wandered restlessly from picture to
picture. She touched one of the broad and deeply carved black frames
with a slender finger, and went on with what she had been saying:--
"Did you ever know what it was to have a ton-weight lifted off you? But
you needn't answer. To get my sort of ton you must pull it on yourself,
and you couldn't do that. You would never have more than a pound at
most. Only now the feeling is so delightful that it is almost worth all
the past unhappiness to have got it. Everything seems different, even
you!"
Phillis was looking at her curiously. Was not some hope added to this
feeling of relief? The girl, who had told Phillis all her story, went
on:--
"But do you know that I have been afraid to ask questions. How has it
all been managed? Who can have set us free? Poor mamma never could
raise the money, that I know, and therefore somebody has done it, and I
dare not make her tell me. What do you think?"
What could Phillis say? No doubt rested in her own mind as to who it
was had paid the debt, and set the girl free from the last links of that
miserable bondage.
Jack had told her something of the scene which had taken place at the
Palazzo Capponi, and had found it impossible to restrain a certain
satisfaction and triumph over its conclusion. Phillis held her own
opinion that it was he to whom the finishing touch was due, but it was
not an opinion which she would have suggested to Bice for worlds. She
turned her back to look at some Indian hanging of wonderful texture,
hoping that she might not be asked that question again. But Bice
intended to have an answer.
"Why don't you speak?" she said quickly. "What are you thinking about?
Not?"
She paused as if expecting some continuation of this "not." Phillis,
however, took no notice. If Bice guessed she could not help it, but she
would not suggest the name which seemed to her ridiculously palpable.
There was a little pause in which they could hear Mrs Leyton's laugh in
the next room. When Bice began to speak again it was in a slow strained
voice.
"Did you really suppose it was Mr Ibbetson?" she demanded, "and did you
really think that I should take it from him? I tell you I know as well
as if he stood before us, and swore it, that he would not have dared to
offer me such an insult, and sooner than accept it I would--I would
almost marry Oliver Trent."
Phillis was astonished. Perhaps she had not credited the girl with so
much delicacy of feeling, perhaps she thought that of all men, Jack was
the one from whom Bice would have been the most ready to accept an
obligation.
"I beg your pardon," she said with great meekness. "It really was Mr
Ibbetson of whom I had thought, because he had already shown great
interest--"
She stopped. Bice finished the sentence very calmly.
"In Clive, yes. He was very good to Clive. Very good indeed."
Phillis was staring at her. "Clive! He didn't know Clive when he went
to England. Don't you know that he went on purpose to see him? Has he
never so much as told you? He went to see him, but he went on your
account."
While she spoke the girl's face had flushed a soft and delicate colour,
but she still kept her eyes fixed upon Phillis. And when Phillis had
ended she said:--"No, I don't know it, and I don't believe it. If Mr
Ibbetson went on our account, it was because you asked him. Did you not
ask him?"
"I told him," Phillis said, a little bewildered at this view of the
matter which had never before presented itself to her. Bice looked at
her wistfully and smiled.
"Yes, you told him. Are you blind, Phillis? Don't you see that the one
thing which Mr Ibbetson cares about is to do something to please you?"
It was Phillis's turn to colour, and she would have attempted some
disclaimer, but that the rest of the party came back to the room, and
Mrs Leyton made a prompt attack upon them.
"You are disgracefully idle, you two! Come, acknowledge that I am the
most consistent sight-seer of our party. However much I protest
beforehand, when I am dragged to anything I _do_ it."
"I did not imagine that you were ever dragged anywhere, Mrs Leyton,"
said Mr Penington, smiling. "I should have called you a very cheerful
conductor. However, I agree with you that it would be a pity for Miss
Grey to miss those Egyptian pictures. Won't you come and see them?" he
said, addressing her.
"Not now, thank you," said Phillis hurriedly. He looked disappointed,
and she was sorry; but Bice's words were in her ears, she could scarcely
think of anything else. Vague doubts had haunted her since her last
interview with Jack; she had been really ashamed to own their presence
to herself, but now to have them put into words by another brought a
delicious thrill of happiness.
"Well, good people," said Mrs Leyton, "if this is finished, will you be
kind enough to inform me what we are to do with ourselves? It is so
early in the day that hours upon hours remain on my conscience. Make a
suggestion, everybody, please, and then we can choose."
"I must go home," said Bice. "Suppose you come with me?"
"Suppose we go and look at the Tiber?" suggested Mr Penington. "Do you
know that there are serious fears of an inundation? At any rate I can
assure you that it is worth seeing. The old stream swings along with a
force absolutely amazing, and if you are not afraid of the rain, it
would not take long to get as far as the Ripetta. There you would get a
first-rate view."
He addressed Mrs Leyton, but he looked at Phillis. Captain Leyton, who
was peering into a picture, turned round briskly.
"That's the thing to do, of course. Why didn't we think of it? Come
along."
"Well, perhaps it is nice," said his wife doubtfully. "But we must call
at the hotel and get waterproofs."
"Nothing easier."
"And I won't be led into any danger, mind."
Bice still persisted that she must go back, indeed she was sufficiently
Italian to think with horror of walking in the rain. At the foot of the
stairs young Moroni was waiting, rather to everybody's astonishment; but
he only said simply that he had heard the Signorina Capponi was here,
and had come to see if he could be of any use.
"What does he expect to do?" Bice whispered to Phillis. But she was
smiling.
The four ladies drove to the Alemagna, while the gentlemen walked, and
then Bice went home alone, and the others fitted themselves out for
their little expedition. Just as they came down, ready to start, Jack
Ibbetson, with Cartouche at his heels, turned into the entrance passage.
"The Tiber is rising," he said eagerly. "West tells me the sight out by
the Ponte Molle is very striking. It struck me some of you might like
to go there."
"Well, yes," said Captain Leyton, pulling his whiskers. "We _were_
going to the Ripetta, but I don't know--suppose we make a bolder push.
What do you say, Miss Penington?"
"I think it would be much nicer," she said with great emphasis.
"Then we'll do it."
"You'll come?" said Jack, turning quickly to Phillis.
It seemed to her afterwards as if she had been swept away by some
impetuous force in his voice or manner. Was it the vibration of those
words which she still heard, "Are you so blind? Don't you see that the
one thing he cares for is to please you?" Was it true--at last?
But the arrangement did not at all please Mrs Leyton. She said in an
injured tone:--
"I think you are excessively disagreeable. You know I can't walk all
that way."
"We can drive some distance."
"Oh, I daresay! I should have miles to tramp. And I had made up my
mind to go to the Ripetta. Mr Penington, do you intend to desert me,
also?" What could he say? He said "No," with a good deal of
disappointment in the word. For the last few days it had seemed
impossible to get any special sight or hearing of Phillis, and he had
made this opportunity with the hope of speaking some words on which it
seemed to him that the happiness of his life depended. It was hard to
lose it. But Mrs Leyton had no intention of letting him go with them.
"No, I thought not," she said cheerfully. "And I'm not sure that it
isn't a good plan to separate. One can see things better. We'll meet
by and by, and tell our experiences, if there is anything left of you,
after this mad proceeding. But I predict we shall have the best of it."
"That's all right, then," said Captain Leyton cheerfully. "Penington
will take you, wife, and we four will start at once. Are you ready,
good people?--thick boots, wraps, umbrellas?"
They would not consent so much as to be driven to the Porta del Popolo,
and, indeed, the rain was no longer falling with the persistent force of
the last few days. The sky was still heavy with leaden-looking clouds,
but they were thinner, and in some places so far rent asunder that a
glimmering brightness showed behind them. Coming along the Babuino was
a picturesque file of donkeys of various ages, led by bronzed men in
long blue cloaks; a contadina, also in a blue dress, and a little child,
walked by their side. Presently they met other processions; goats,
ox-carts piled high with household goods; the poor oxen came stumbling
and sliding along over the slippery stones, the people looked dejected,
they were straggling in from the campagna, escaping from the threatened
inundation. Jack spoke to one woman and asked a question. "_Mariaccia,
che tempo_!" she exclaimed, holding up her hands. "Already much has
been swept away. If it goes on, we shall be ruined." The Via Flaminia
was full of these fugitives, but they could not tell them much.
And as yet they saw nothing of the river.
Ordinarily, indeed, they must have reached the Ponte Molle itself before
they would catch a glimpse of the yellow waters, and the tears sprang
into Phillis's eyes as she remembered how about a month before she had
driven out there with Miss Cartwright, and had stopped on the bridge to
look at the loveliness of the view. Then, under a blue sky, even Tiber
himself had caught all sorts of fair and delicate reflections; that
indescribable golden brown which takes the place of green in a Roman
landscape, lay on the banks and on the stretching campagna; a little
watch-tower rose on a low hill above the river, and all along the line
of distance ran a line of mountains flushed with tender lights of rosy
lilac, and crowned with snow. It was very unlike that day. For now the
mountains were blotted out by the darkness of grey mist, and if for a
moment this was lifted up, it was only a shadowy gloom which grew out of
the greyness; and before they reached the bridge, they could see the
angry and tawny waters rolling towards them, at the very top of the
confining banks--nay, here and there they had already forced a gap and
spread themselves in a turbid sheet over the short grass. People were
standing on the bridge, pointing; but not many, the greater number had
something to do, some danger to avert. For those who looked, the sight
could hardly be forgotten. A fierce purpose seemed to possess the dark
mass of rushing water which rolled with incredible swiftness beneath the
bridge, and every now and then there swirled past a scarcely
distinguishable heap of something which the old river had already seized
upon for his prey--branches of trees, bundles of maize, a struggling
sheep, the spoil of some little farm, the torn ribs of a boat.
Something in the vagueness of these objects, in the suddenness with
which they were swept into and out of sight, in the triumphant might of
the swollen river, had a horrible fascination for the lookers-on. What
might not meet their eye next? They bent over the parapet and looked
down; Cartouche sprang upon it and whined uneasily.
"Some houses must have been washed away, fry the last thing was a
chair," said Miss Penington.
"I can't stand this," said Jack, straightening himself. "Whatever came
down, we couldn't possibly do any good here. I shall go further down
the river. There are one or two places where if anything living were
swept, it might be caught and held. At any rate it won't look quite so
desperate as it does from the bridge. Leyton, you will see them home."
"No, no," said Phillis with great eagerness. "That is quite impossible.
Do you suppose that we should let you go alone? Of course we will all
go. I shall be giddy if I look at this much longer."
And though she was generally the most considerate of companions, she did
not once ask Miss Penington her wishes in the matter. Captain Leyton
looked doubtful.
"I don't know what sort of a path there may be," he said.
"But I do," said Jack with a happy smile. "If you'll really come, I can
take you quite safely; the rain has stopped. Will you and Miss
Penington go in front and I'll direct you."
"I should have thought the shortest plan would have been for you to go
in front yourself," said Captain Leyton; but he fell into Jack's
arrangement, being the most good-natured of men.
"You have thick shoes, I hope?" said Jack to Phillis, as they followed.
"Look!" And she held up a pretty foot well protected. Phillis's
spirits were rising every moment, in spite of the wild scene all about
them. The path was very wet and rough; once or twice he put out his
hand to help her. Perhaps the little action brought back to her mind
another rough road when he had helped, not her, but Bice, for she said
suddenly, "I want to ask you a question; but you needn't answer it
unless you like."
"That is very considerate," said he smiling.
"Do you know the end of Mrs Masters's debts?"
"Yes, I do. That is, I know they've been paid. Do you expect this to
be the end?"
"Oh, well, for the present. But who paid them?" He hesitated. "I
don't believe it's a secret," he said presently, "but of course it's not
a thing to be talked about." Then he suddenly turned and looked down
into her face. "Did you really suppose it was I?"
"Why not?" she persisted. "Why not you as well as another?"
"I think I shall avail myself of your means of escape, and refuse to
answer the question," said Jack with gravity. "I can't afford to lose
my one opportunity of being considered a _preux chevalier_."
"But, Jack!"
"But, Phillis!"
"Was it really not you?"
He did not answer her for a moment. Their path led them so close to the
sweeping current of the river, already brimming over and tearing at the
canes which bordered it, that he was seized with a fear that he had been
mistaken in the strength of the banks, and had, perhaps, brought his
companions into danger. But a short recollection assured him that they
were safe. He pointed out an oozy bog to Phillis that she might avoid
it, and then said:--
"I don't think that Miss Capponi shares your misconception."
"No, she does not," said Phillis frankly. "But she doesn't know where
the money came from."
"Does she not?" Jack lifted his eyebrows with a little incredulity.
"Then I really think I ought to give you a hint to be used for her
special benefit. But it seems to me that the blindness of the world is
one of its chief wonders. Why, Phillis, can't you see that young Moroni
would think all he had well thrown away if he could get her?"
"Young Moroni! I fancied that was quite a hopeless devotion."
"Not so hopeless now, I imagine. He had hard work to bring his father
to his way of thinking, then he came here and found Trent to the fore;
but now--"
"When did he make you this confidant?" asked Phillis quickly.
"On the day of the great blow up: I acted as interpreter, and then had
to hear all his hopes and fears. And I wish him full success."
Jack had leapt across a little running stream, and held out his hand to
Phillis, looking into her eyes as he did so. What did he read there?
What new happiness trembled in their brown depths, what deep and tender
faithfulness did he discover? Was this the moment at last for which he
had longed and hoped?
"Ibbetson! Ibbetson, for Heaven's sake, what's that?"
The cry came from Captain Leyton, who was running back and pointing
eagerly towards the river. "Where?" shouted Jack, eager in his turn.
"There! Caught by that great tree."
There is a point where the higher part of the bank juts out a little
towards the river. Ordinarily this does not reach or interfere with the
course of the water, only breaking into the line of pebbly reaches and
of almost a thicket of bushes between them. But now the rage and
fulness of the river swept high above bushes and reaches, and rushed
along the inner bank which yet formed a barricade to its force, so that
this little outpost was exposed to the full fury of the stream. Already
it had been so battered and weakened, that more than half had been
washed away, but still it formed a little natural breakwater, and, as
the current apparently set in its direction, it followed that some of
those things, which Tiber had relentlessly wrenched from the land, now
and then caught on its point and lingered for perhaps a minute or two
before they were again whirled away to their doom. But now a larger
object had been driven against it, and was making a more obstinate
resistance. A great uprooted tree, tossed wildly along by the turbulent
stream, had probably been swept against this barrier with such force as
to become partially embedded in it. For the moment it remained there,
and its long network of boughs, broken and battered as they were,
stretched themselves out across the waters with what looked like
despairing efforts against its destroyer. They could not last. The
tawny river leapt and foamed, seizing branch and twig, and tearing them
off with a violence which was rapidly undermining the little promontory
itself, and would soon sweep it and all that clung to it away.
Meanwhile the branches caught at other spoil, wisps of poor drowned hay
wrapped themselves round them, a contadino's hat with the gay ribbons
all dank and draggled was tossed on to a splintered bough; and Captain
Leyton and his companion, watching the strange medley and the signs of
ruined homestead which the flood was sweeping down, had seen another
object which struck them with horror, and made them cry out to Jack.
For caught in its narrow end by the branches into which it had been
jammed, with the other end swung violently from side to side by the
yellow surging waves which claimed their prey, was a wooden cradle; and
although they could not be sure--owing to the tossing unrest of the
waters--whether it was or was not empty, it seemed to them, every now
and then, as though they caught sight of a little dark head, a darker
shadow under the shadow of the cover. Jack was on the alert in a
moment.
"We must get hold of it somehow."
"If we can," said Captain Leyton doubtfully. "But think of the force of
that current!"
Jack nodded, but by this time was already standing without coat or boots
on the spot where the little promontory curved out from the bank.
They all knew something of the danger. At his quietest Tiber is no
ordinary river, very rarely do you see a boat upon his surface, and the
ferries have ropes stretched across, by which to bear up against the
slow but mighty force of the old river.
And now he had done all this mischief higher up, and was within an ace
of flooding Rome. What could live in those sweeping and turbulent
eddies?
"For Heaven's sake don't be so mad, Ibbetson!" said Captain Leyton,
laying a hand on his arm. "It's hopeless to attempt to save the poor
little beggar--utterly hopeless! If anything could be done, I wouldn't
say a word, but this is only throwing away life. Don't, my dear fellow,
don't!"
Miss Penington broke into terrified appeals. Phillis, pale as death,
was standing by Jack's side, looking into his face, but not attempting
to dissuade him. Perhaps he did not hear Captain Leyton; he was looking
coolly and thoughtfully at the river as if to take in all the chances.
A wave dashed up over their feet. Then he suddenly stooped down and
kissed Phillis, held her, and gazed into her eyes for a moment. "God
bless you, Phillis," he said. Afterwards he did not look back.
For a few steps he walked along the top of the bank, sinking each
instant into its yielding surface, until, as the water swept over it
more and more, he let himself down by its inner side, and half swimming,
half clinging, gained a little ground, though slowly. This was the
easiest part of all, but one danger at least was as great here as
elsewhere. Every instant added to the insecurity of the bank. Every
moment it seemed almost a miracle that it should be left. So terrific,
indeed, was the force of the current that it swept Ibbetson backwards
and forwards against it like a battering ram, and these very blows were
an additional peril. Still he was able to battle on, those on the bank
watching with agonising anxiety; Cartouche running backwards and
forwards, whining uneasily, looking in their faces, looking at the
water.
"He has reached the tree," Captain Leyton said in a breathless whisper.
It was the second stage. With it began the worst dangers of all, those
of the undercurrents which naturally the bank had checked. He was
obliged now to trust altogether to swimming, using the boughs as a
support. Without them he must inevitably have been swept away, but
their help was of the most frail and treacherous nature--tossed by the
waters, swayed to and fro, twisted off and whirled into the centre of
the flood, at any moment liable to be altogether detached from the bank,
or with it to share a common destruction. Jack did not know it, but his
face was bleeding from the twigs which whipped continually against it.
Still the cradle was there, so near that it almost seemed to those on
shore that he could have reached it, ignorant as they were of the
terrible forces against which he was battling, or worst of all, of the
feeling each moment that he must be sucked under in a resistless eddy.
Were they moments or hours that passed? Phillis, on the shore, fell
down on her knees and held up her hands, but never for an instant did
her eyes let go that spot in the yellow waters where he was fighting for
life. Presently Captain Leyton drew a long breath, and spoke again.
"He has got the cradle. He is pushing it back."
Then there was silence, that strained, intense silence, which is almost
awful in its weight. Inch by inch, as it were, and only inch by inch,
he came towards them, bruised, bleeding, hampered with the cradle. Once
or twice it seemed as if he had disappeared. And, at last, just as he
reached the point where the bank--by this time yet feebler--began, they
heard--with an agony which to Phillis in her helpnessness was like that
of death--his cry for help.
That moment Captain Leyton was in the water. How he got there he never
knew, but before him there was another friend at least as faithful.
Cartouche, at his master's cry, had plunged in, and, swimming bravely,
had seized the cradle and turned back to land. With a tremendous
struggle he managed to bring it to the spot where Phillis was standing,
disregarding the water which washed up round her, and when she had
lifted it out, the brave dog turned round and fought his way again to
his master.
Help was indeed needed, for Jack's failure did not altogether arise from
exhaustion, but from, if possible, a more serious cause. His foot had
become entangled in some of the small submerged branches, and not having
sufficient strength to extricate himself, he could only manage to keep
himself afloat by clutching at a bough. But the support was too slender
to avail him long, against the dreadful power of the undercurrents, even
if the tree itself were not--as would surely be the case in a few
minutes--swept down the stream. Captain Leyton, although he had bravely
plunged in, was too inexperienced a swimmer to give any help, indeed his
own situation was full of danger before he had so much as reached the
tree, and only by clutching at some projection in the bank with the
despair of a drowning man could he keep his head above water.
But Cartouche? Through the tossing waters the dog, with a faithfulness
which never faltered, struggled slowly back to his master. Beaten by
the waves, with safety close behind within his reach, he needed no call
to keep him resolute to his purpose. To Jack, with the river hissing in
his ears, with the angry dash of foam blinding his eyes, the sight of
that black and curly head coming steadily towards him seemed to give
hope and power once more. As the dog reached him he bent his head down,
and Cartouche by a great effort licked his face. Then Jack called all
his failing strength together; the tree itself swayed violently, he felt
that he was free. Free, but could he reach the shore? The horror of
that frightful imprisonment was so strong, that he dared not trust to
the help of the branches, and the struggle was almost superhuman.
Cartouche swam close to him, swam round him, more than once when he
thought he must give up, the gaze of those faithful eyes, the touch of
the dog's body, brought back the hope which had all but deserted him--
and now, he had just cleared the roots of the tree, was just venturing
in towards the bank, when, caught in some tremendous eddy, the tree
swung completely round, and with its bare branches tossing wildly
upwards, the old river whirled away its prey in triumph.
A few moments sooner and Jack must have been drawn into the whirlpool.
He had just escaped it, was just able to reach Captain Leyton, to give
him help, to let the river, more merciful at the last, fling him where
even a woman's hands could succour. The two men were saved; when Jack
opened his eyes, the woman he loved was bending over him, her eyes
looked into his with an unutterable gladness. God had given him back,
and with his life had given him Phillis.
But Cartouche?
He had been a little behind his master; a bough had struck him down as
it swept round, a fierce current drew him under, a moment did it all.
The faithfulness which never once had failed him, had not failed him
now; Jack was safe, but Cartouche had died in the saving.