MEASURE FOR MEASURE
Silence invested the Villa Ariadne; yet warm and mellow light illumined
many a window or marked short pathways on the blackness of the lawn. Of
the hundred lanterns hanging in the gardens, not a dozen still burned,
and these offered rather a melancholy reminder of joy and laughter
departed. The moon was high in the heavens now, and the shadows cast by
the gloomy cypresses put the little god in the fountain in complete
darkness. A single marble bench stood out with that vividness which only
marble and moonshine can produce. All the carriages, save one, were
gone. A solitary saddle-horse rattled his bit, pawed restively, and
tossed his head worriedly from side to side, as if prescience had
touched him with foretelling.
On the other side of the wall, lurking in the dark niches, was a tall,
lean, grey-haired old man who watched and listened and waited. Whenever
he ventured into the moonlight the expression on his face was exultant
but sinister. He was watching and listening and waiting for the horse.
At the first sound of the animal's prancing hoofs on the stones by the
porter's lodge, the old man was prepared to steal to the self-appointed
place somewhat down the road. What befell there would be wholly in the
hands of God. Seven years! It was a long time. He had not hunted for
this man; he was breaking no promise; their paths had recrossed; it was
destiny. So he waited.
Within the ball-room the candles were sinking in their brass sconces and
little waxen stalactites formed about the rims. The leaving of the
guests had been hurried and noisy and without any particular formality
or directness. In truth, it resembled a disorderly retreat more than
anything else. The denouement was evidently sufficient; they had no
desire to witness the anti-climax, however interesting and instructive
it might be. _Carabinieri_ and tableaux and conjugal reunion; it was too
much to be crowded all into one night. Good-by! During this flight his
Highness the Principi di Monte Bianca, Enrico by name, had taken the
part of an amused spectator; but now that the last of the unwelcome
guests was gone, he assumed the role premeditated. He strode up and down
the floor, his spurs tinkling and his saber rattling harshly. He stopped
before this painting or that, scrutinized the corners to ascertain what
artist had signed it; he paused an interval before the marble faun,
which he recognized as a genuine antique. These things really interested
him, for he had never been inside the Villa Ariadne till this night. And
there was an excellent reason. Occasionally he glanced at the group on
the opposite side of the room. He laughed silently. They were as lively
as so many sticks of wood. Oh, he would enjoy himself to-night; he would
extract every drop of pleasure from this rare and unexpected moment. Had
she been mad, he wondered, to give him out of hand this longed-for
opportunity? A month longer and this scene would have been impossible.
At last he came to a stand in front of La Signorma, who was white and
weary. The two had not yet exchanged a word.
"So," he said, "after five years I find you, my beautiful wife!" With
one hand hipping his saber and the other curling his mustaches, he
smiled at her. "What a devil of a time you have given me! Across oceans
and continents! A hundred times I have passed you without knowing it
till too late. And here, at the very moment when I believed it was all
over, you fling yourself into the loving arms of your adoring husband! I
do not understand."
"Be brief," she replied, the chill of snows in her voice. Her hate for
this man had no empty corners. "I have played foolishly into your hands.
Say what you will and be gone."
"What a welcome!"
"Be quick!"
There was danger in her voice now, and he recognized the tense quality
of it. "I shall telegraph to the attorneys in Rome to partition the
estates, my heart!" mocking her. "The king will not add to his private
purse the riches of Colonel Grosvenor and the Principi di Monte Bianca,
your father and mine, old fools! To tell the truth, I am badly in need
of money, and, head of Bacchus! your appearance here is life to me, my
dear Sonia. Life! I am a rich man. But," with a sudden scowl, dropping
the mask of banter, "I do not understand these companions of yours." He
eyed the group coldly. "What position in my household does this
gentleman occupy?" indicating Hillard and smiling evilly.
"Give no heed," said La Signorina, as Hillard took a step forward.
"So it is all true, then?" he asked despairingly. "You are his wife?"
"Yes. Forgive me, but did I not warn you many times? In the eyes of the
Italian civil law I am this man's wife, but in the eyes of God and the
Church, never, never!"
"What do you mean?"
"In a few days I shall write you; in this letter I promise to explain
everything. And you will forgive me, I know."
"Forgive you? For what? There is nothing to forgive on my side; the gift
is on yours. For I have been a meddler, an unhappy one."
"Will you and Mr. Merrihew go now? I do not wish you two to witness this
scene."
"Leave you alone with this wretch? No!" said Hillard.
"Well?" cried the prince impatiently. He was not inclined toward these
confidences between the American and his wife. "I have asked a question
and nobody replies. I inquire again, what position does he hold?"
"This villa is mine," she answered, the sharpness of her tone giving
hint to the volcano burning in her heart. "However the estates may be
partitioned, this will be mine. I command you to leave it at once, for
your presence here is as unwelcome to me as that of all creeping things.
I find that I do not hate you; I loathe you."
The prince laughed. That she loathed or hated him touched him not in the
quick. Love or hate from this woman who knew him for what he was, a
soulless scoundrel, was nothing. She was simply a sack of gold. But this
was his hour of triumph, and he proposed to make the most of it.
"I could have let the _carabinieri_ take you to prison," he said
urbanely. "A night in a damp cell would have chastened your spirit. But
I preferred to settle this affair as quickly as possible. But this
friend of yours, he annoys me."
"Is it possible?" returned Hillard. "Your Highness has but to say the
word and I will undertake the pleasure of relieving you of this man's
presence."
"Be still," she said. "Will you go?" to the prince.
"Presently. First, I wish to add that your dear friend is both
thick-skulled and cowardly. I offered to slap his face a few nights ago,
but he discreetly declined."
Hillard laughed shortly. He desired to get closer to this gentlemanly
prince.
"For my sake!" whispered La Signorina.
"I am calm," replied Hillard, gently releasing his arm from her grasp.
He approached the prince smiling, but there was murder and despair in
his heart. "Had I known you that night, one of us would not be here
now."
"It is not too late," suggested the prince. "Come, are you in love with
my wife?"
"Yes."
The bluntness of this assertion rather staggered the prince. "You admit
it, then?" his throat swelling with rage.
"There is no reason why I should deny it."
"She is your--"
But the word died with a cough. Hillard, a wild joy in his heart, caught
the prince by the throat and jammed him back against the rose-satin
panel, under a dripping candelabrum. The prince made a violent effort to
draw his sword, but Hillard seized his sword-arm and pinned it to the
panel above his head. The prince was an athlete, but the man holding him
was at this moment made of iron. The struggling man threw out a leg
after the manner of French boxers, but his opponent met it with a knee.
Again and again the prince made desperate attempts to free himself. He
was soon falling in a bad way; he gasped, his lips grew blue and the
whites of his eyes bloodshot. This man was killing him! And so he was;
for Hillard, realizing that he had lost everything in the world worth
living for, was mad for killing.
[Illustration: Again and again the prince made desperate attempts to
free himself]
For a time the others were incapable of action. Merrihew, Kitty, O'Mally
and Smith were in the dark as to what had passed verbally; they could
only surmise. But here was something they all understood. La Signorina
was first to recover. She sprang toward the combatants and grasped
Hillard's hand, the one buried in the prince's throat, and pulled. She
was not strong enough.
"Merrihew, O'Mally, quick! He is killing him!" she cried wildly.
The two, Merrihew and O'Mally, finally succeeded in separating the men,
and none too soon. The prince staggered to a chair and sank heavily into
it. A moment more and he had been a dead man. But he was not grateful to
any one.
La Signorina turned upon Hillard. "And you would have done this thing
before my very eyes!"
"I was mad," he panted, shamed. "I love you better than anything else in
God's world, and this man means that I shall lose you."
"And you would have come to me across his blood?" wrathfully.
"I was not thinking of that. The only thought I had was to kill him. God
knows I'm sorry enough." And he was.
"Ah, what a night!" She swayed and pressed her hand over her eyes. "No,
do not touch me," she said. "I am not the kind of woman who faints."
The prince lurched toward Hillard, but fortunately Merrihew heard the
slithering sound of the saber as it left its scabbard. Kitty screamed
and O'Mally shouted. Merrihew, with a desperate lunge, stopped the blow.
He received a rough cut over the knuckles, but he was not aware of this
till the excitement was past. He flung the saber at O'Mally's feet.
"You speak English," said Merrihew, in an ugly temper, half regretting
that he had interfered with Hillard. "You may send your orderly to the
Hotel Italie to-morrow morning, and your saber will be given to him. You
will not carry it back to Florence to-night. Now, it is time to excuse
yourself. We can get along without you nicely."
The prince tore at his mustaches. He would have put them all to the
sword gladly. Meddlers! To return to Florence without his saber was
dishonor. He cursed them all roundly, after the manner of certain
husbands, and turned to La Signorina.
"I am in the way here," he said, controlling his passion with
difficulty. "But listen attentively to what I say: you shall remain my
wife so long as both of us live. I had intended arranging your freedom,
once the estate and moneys were divided, but not now. You shall read my
wife till the end of the book; for unless I meet you half-way, the
marriage contract can not be broken. In the old days it was your
conscience. The still small voice seems no longer to trouble you,"
turning suggestively to Hillard. "You are stopping at the Hotel Italie?"
"I am. You will find me there," returned Hillard, with good
understanding.
"Good! Your Highness, to-morrow night I shall have the extreme pleasure
of running your lover through the throat." He picked up his cap, which
lay on one of the chairs, put it on cavalierly, and took his princely
presence out of their immediate vicinity.
"It will do my soul good to stand before that scoundrel," said Hillard,
stretching out his hands and closing them with crushing force. "He has
felt the power of my hand to-night. I will kill him."
La Signorina laid a hand on his arm. "No, Mr. Hillard, you will fight no
duel."
"And why not? I do not see how it can be avoided."
"You have told me that you love me. As it stands I may sometimes see
you, but if you kill him, never."
"He is far more likely to kill me," said Hillard morosely. "And perhaps
it would be a kind service."
"Shame!" she cried. "Have you no courage? Can you not accept the
inevitable manfully? Think of me. I can fight no duels; I must live on
and on, tied legally to this man. And it is you who will add misery to
my unhappiness? You will not fight him," with the assurance of one who
has offered a complete argument.
"Very well. To be called a coward by a man like that is nothing. I shall
not fight him."
"Thank you." And she gave him her hand impulsively.
"I love you," he murmured as he bent to kiss the hand; "and it is not
dishonorable for you to hear me say so."
"I forbid you to say that!" But the longing of the world was in her eyes
as she looked down at his head. She released her hand. "My friends,
to-morrow our little play comes to an end. This is no longer Eden. We
must go."
"This is what comes of American girls marrying these blamed foreigners,"
growled the tender-hearted O'Mally. "Why did you do it?"
"I am almost Italian, Mr. O'Mally. I had no choice in the matter; the
affair was prearranged by our parents, after the continental fashion."
"I'm sorry I spoke like that," O'Mally said contritely.
"No apologies, if you please. It is only just that you should know
something of the case, considering the manner in which I imposed upon
you all."
"I'll punch Worth's head when I run across him." O'Mally clenched his
fists.
"That would change nothing. He was a part of destiny; he has served his
little turn and has gone. Were we not a happy family together for
weeks?" La Signorina smiled wanly. "To-morrow I am going to write Mr.
Hillard; I am going to tell him the story. From your point of view you
may write me down a silly fool, but one's angle of vision is not
immutable."
"You're the finest woman in the world," declared O'Mally; "and whatever
you have done has been right, I know."
Then Kitty ran up to La Signorina and embraced her; and the eyes of both
of them swam in tears.
"You will be happy, at any rate, Kitty."
"Poor girl!" cried Kitty. Princesses were mortal like other people. "How
I love you! Come back with us to America."
"I must live out the puzzle over here."
When Hillard and La Signorina were at length alone, he asked: "When
shall I see you again?"
"Who knows? Some day, perhaps, when time has softened the sharp edges of
this moment, the second bitterest I have ever known. To-morrow I shall
write, or very soon. Now, give me your promise that you will no more
seek me till I send for you."
"You will send for me?" with eagerness and hope.
"Why not?" proudly. "There is nothing wrong in our friendship, and I
prize it. Promise."
"I promise. Good-by! If I remain any longer I shall be making mad,
regrettable proposals. For a little while I have lived in paradise.
Wherever I may be, at the world's end, you have but to call me; in a
month, in a year, a decade, I shall come. Good-by!" Without looking at
her again, he rushed away.
She remained standing there as motionless as a statue. It seemed to her
that all animation was suspended, and that she could not have moved if
she had tried. By and by she gazed round the room, fast dimming; at the
guttering candles, at the empty chairs, at the vacant doors and hollow
windows.... He had not asked her if she loved him, and that was well.
But there was not at that moment in all the length and breadth of Italy
a lonelier woman than her Highness the Principessa di Monte Bianca.
Meanwhile the prince, raging and out of joint with the world, mounted
his horse. He would have revenge for this empty scabbard, or he would
resign his commission. His throat still ached and pointed lights danced
before his eyes. Eh, well! This time to-morrow night the American should
pay dearly for it. His short laugh had an ugly sound. This American was
just the kind of chivalric fool to accept a challenge. But could he
handle foils? Could he fight? Could any of these damned American
heretics fight, save with their fists? It was the other man's lookout,
not his. He put the duel out of his mind as a thing accomplished.
Shortly he would have compensation commensurate for all these five
years' chagrin. To elude him all this time, to laugh in his face, to
defy him, and then to step deliberately into his power! He never could
understand this woman. The little prude! But for her fool's conscience
he would not have been riding the beggar's horse to-day. She was now too
self-reliant, too intelligent, too cunning; she was her father over
again, soldier and diplomat. Well, the mystery of her actions remained,
but he was no longer the broken noble. So why should he puzzle over the
whys and wherefores of her motives? Ah! and would he not dig his hands
deep into the dusty sacks of gold and silver? Life again, such as he
craved; good cigars and good wine and pretty women who were no ardent
followers of Minerva. To jam part of this money down the throats of his
yelping creditors, to tear up his paper and fling it into the faces of
the greedy Jews! Ha, this would be to live! Paris, or Vienna, or London,
where he willed; for what hold had the army now?
He was an expert horseman, but, like all Italians, he was by nature
cruel. As he passed the gates the horse slid and stumbled to his knees;
he was up instantly, only to receive a hard stroke between the ears.
This unexpected treatment caused the animal to rear and waltz. This was
not the stolid-going campaign mount, but his best Irish hunter, on which
he had won prizes in many a gymkhana. There was a brief struggle, during
which the man became master both of himself and the horse. They were
just passing the confines of the villa when a man darted out suddenly
from the shadows and seized the bridle.
"At last, my prince!"
"Giovanni?"
Instinctively the prince reached for his saber, knowing that he had need
of it, but the scabbard was empty. He cursed the folly which had made
him lose it. This encounter promised to be a bad one. What mouth of hell
had opened to cast this beggar, of all men, in his path? Oddly enough
his thought ran swiftly back to the little _casa_ in the Sabine
Hills.... Bah! Full of courage, knowing that one or the other would not
leave this spot alive, he struck his horse with purpose this time, to
run his man down. But Giovanni did not lose his hold; hate and the
nearness of revenge made him strong.
"No, no!" he laughed. "She is dead, my prince. And I, I was not going to
seek _you_; I was going to let hell claim you in its own time. But you
rode by me to-night. This is the end."
"Let go, fool!" roared the prince, slashing Giovanni across the face
with the heavy crop.
Giovanni laughed again and drew his knife. "I shall not miss you this
time!"
The prince, a trained soldier, shifted the reins to his teeth, buried
his knees in the barrel of the horse, unhooked his scabbard and swung it
aloft, deftly catching the reins again in his left hand. But Giovanni
was fully prepared. He released the bridle, his arm went back and the
knife spun through the air. Yet in that instant in which Giovanni's arm
was poised for the cast, the prince lifted his horse on its haunches.
The knife gashed the animal deeply in the neck. Still on its haunches it
backed, wild with the unaccustomed pain. The lip of the road, at this
spot rotten and unprotected, gave way. The prince saw the danger and
tried to urge the horse forward. It was too late. The hind-quarters
sank, the horse whinnied in terror, and the prince tried in vain to slip
from the saddle. There came a grating crash, a muffled cry, and horse
and rider went pounding down the rock-bound gorge.
Giovanni listened. He heard the light, metallic clatter of the empty
scabbard as it struck projecting boulders; he heard it strangely above
the duller, heavier sound. Then the hush of silence out of which came
the faint mutter of the stream. Giovanni trembled and the sweat on his
body grew cold: less from reaction than from the thought that actual
murder had been snatched from his hands. For several minutes he waited,
dreading, but there was no further sound. He searched mechanically for
his knife, recovered it, and then crept down the abrupt side of the
gorge till he found them. They were both dead. A cloud swept over the
benign moon.
"Holy Father, thou hast waited seven years too long!" Giovanni crossed
himself.
He gazed up at the ledge where the tragedy had begun. The cloud passed
and revealed the shining muskets of two _carabinieri_, doubtless
attracted by the untoward sounds. Giovanni, agile and muscular as a
wolf, stole over the stream and disappeared into the blackness beyond.
But there was an expression of horror on his face which could not have
been intensified had Dante and Vergil and all the shades of the Inferno
trooped at his heels.