In Rome, on a bright sunny morning in the month of March, 186-, two
ladies were seated in a drawing-room, the windows of which looked upon
the Corso. Mother and daughter they evidently were; and, as they play
a prominent part in this story, we may be permitted to devote a short
time to describing them.
As a mark of respect to age, we shall give the elder lady precedence.
Although she was dressed in black, and seated at a table working,
one could judge that her figure was tall and elegant. In her youth
she had been a great beauty; yet it could not be said that strong
traces of that beauty still lingered over those thin, worn features,
for "sorrows, nor few, nor light," had set their mark upon them. But
neither time nor grief had destroyed the calm, gentle expression of
that countenance, ever ready to light up with a cheerful smile and
look happy in the happiness of others. Her character may be expressed
in a single word--devotedness. As daughter, sister, wife, and mother,
her whole life had been one almost unbroken act of self-sacrifice. Most
of those whom she loved had been taken from her while she was still in
the bloom of life; her children alone remained. The two elder--a son
and a daughter--were married, and therefore, in some degree, lost to
her, so that Flora, her second daughter, was the only one really left;
and in this, her youngest child, was centred Mrs. Adair's every hope
and thought. Their affection was mutual: Flora Adair believed herself
to be blessed indeed in her mother.
And now let us turn to the young lady. We are obliged to confess that,
although she is considered to be like her mother, it is a resemblance
not boasting of much physical beauty. A sad drawback this, doubtless,
to a heroine; but, according to the old saying, "what can't be cured
must be endured." Her figure, however, was really good; she was about
the middle height, with tiny hands and feet, a broad forehead, blue
eyes--fairly large and dark--a small but well-formed nose, round
cheeks, a large mouth, with a tolerably good, but an over-crowded,
range of teeth; a complexion far from bright or clear, and a profusion
of dark brown hair brushed off her forehead, and twisted round the
back of her head in thick plaits. Such is our heroine's picture--not a
very attractive one, it may be said, and of this no one was more fully
conscious than Flora Adair herself.
As to her character, she was generally looked upon as cold, and
somewhat haughty, yet she was really rather indifferent than haughty;
but how often is indifference of manner called haughtiness in the
world! Her seeming coldness in a great measure came from a shrinking
dread of forcing herself upon others. It is true she cared but little
for society, and found a young lady's life weary and objectless; her
constant thought was how to make the hours go faster. Had any one asked
her why she found them so long, she would probably have borrowed her
answer from Shakespeare, and have said--
"Not having that, which, having, makes them short."
Something of all this could be seen in her listless air, as she sat
there near the window, not reading, but with a book in her hand, gazing
out vacantly, as if to ask, "How shall I get through to-day? Will it be
anything more interesting than usual?" Better, perhaps, had it not been
so, some would say--better had the blank been left unfilled, as she
was now but negatively unhappy, the unhappiness arising from her own
disposition, ever yearning for something more, something deeper, than
she had yet known; and also because she had not yet learned that "the
first principle of wisdom is to be satisfied with that which is;" or
"in the state in which she was therewith to be content."
Which is the better lot:--a short spell of deep happiness and after
misery, or an even life, unmarked by great joy or great sorrow? Flora
Adair would answer, "Give me, were it only for a short time, intense
happiness, at any cost; no price is too great for it, or it would be
worth nothing!" So that had the choice been offered to her she would
have taken the very lot which was destined for her.
There was another member of their little circle, a young lady of about
Flora's age, named Lucy Martin, who was travelling with the Adairs, and
who was absent for a few days on a visit to some friends at Albano: as
she shortly afterwards returned home, it is needless to describe her
more fully.
Mrs. Adair looked at her watch, and said, "Half-past ten, Flora; and
the Eltons are to call for us at eleven. We had better get ready."
Flora followed her mother out of the room, letting her book fall,
rather than placing it, upon the table.
Soon after, the carriage came, and away they drove with their
friends to Frascati, where they were to have a croquet match, and an
_al-fresco_ dinner given by Mrs. Elton. Their party now consisted of
that lady herself, her son and younger daughter, and the Adairs. At the
place of rendezvous--the Villa Torlonia--they were to meet the rest of
their friends.
It was a soft, balmy day, such as, in the middle of March, can only
be enjoyed in Italy; the hot, bright sun tempered by the fresh breeze
of early spring, and the air perfumed by the fragrance of the wild
flowers, which so abound in southern lands. Out of the Porta San
Giovanni and along the Via Tusculum lies the road to Frascati, bounded
on one side by the Alban hills, and on the other by the desert Campagna.
The desultory conversation which was carried on during the drive
consisted of the usual subjects talked of among strangers in Rome,
and during Lent:--"How do you like Rome? What have you seen? Have you
obtained tickets for all the ceremonies of Holy Week?" The horrors of
crushing at these ceremonies--histories told of ladies having had their
veils torn off, their prayer-books dashed from their hands, and, as a
climax, fainting--as, on a memorable occasion, when a stalwart English
lady called out to the crowd ruthlessly pressing upon a falling victim,
"Take her up--take her up! for if she is killed we shall all be shut
out from the Cena!"
In the course of the drive, Helena Elton said suddenly to Flora, "Have
you happened to meet with a Mr. Earnscliffe who is here now?"
"No. What of him? Is he anything out of the common?"
"Rather," rejoined Miss Helena, who slightly indulged in mild slang,
and generally answered in a prolonged, emphasised manner, "rather,"
when she meant to say "very much," "exceedingly," &c.
"Then tell me something of him. What is he like?" asked Flora.
"Like something very tall, strong, handsome, and aristocratic
in appearance; in manner, proud and distant, certainly not a
lady-worshipper."
"And very rich," interposed Mrs. Elton. "I knew his parents most
intimately, but they both died when he was quite a child, and I had
lost sight of the family altogether, until by chance we met him abroad
a short time ago. Earnscliffe Court is a magnificent place."
"A capital speculation, Helena," said Flora, with a smile. "Do you
enter the lists? As you seem to think the conquest a difficult one, it
might be worth a struggle."
"Oh! he is not in my line at all--I should be afraid of him; but if you
think so much of the prize you should enter the lists yourself."
"No, no, Helena, I am not so foolish as to risk a defeat for what I do
not value; besides, I am neither pretty nor fascinating. How, then,
could I catch this modern Childe Harold, as you describe him? Moreover,
I hate a _bon parti_. I shall never marry, unless I meet with one whom
I can admire and love beyond all the world!"
The conversation did not seem to please Mrs. Elton, who cut it short by
saying, "It is all very well to read about desperate love in novels;
but, believe me--and I have seen a great deal of the world--marriages
based upon calm respect and affection are far happier than your ardent
love matches. You will understand this, dear child, when you are a
little older."
Helena shrugged her shoulders, and murmured in an under tone, meant
only for Flora's ear, "Oh, have I not heard enough of all this!"
"Well, Mrs. Elton," replied Flora, "I am not such a child after all!
I am more than one-and-twenty, and can vouch for it that _I_ will
never have anything to say to a marriage based upon 'calm respect and
affection!'"
Mrs. Adair--who had remained silent, quietly amused at this animated
discussion--now thought that it was going a little too far, and managed
to change the conversation.
Shortly afterwards they arrived at the entrance to the Villa Torlonia,
where they alighted, and the coachman drove to the hotel in Frascati to
await their order to return.
The villa is but a stone's-throw from the town: a magnificent terrace
leads to the large, rambling, white building, in which one could well
imagine half-a-dozen families living with separate households. The view
from the front is grand indeed. Beneath the windows, and across the
high road before them, is the Casino, with its pretty gardens; beyond
this, and far below, stretches out the great Campagna, and Rome, with
her countless domes and steeples gleaming in the sun.
The grounds of the villa are, in their style, very beautiful and
extensive, although to our English eyes somewhat stiff and formal,
cut up as they are by broad avenues, with their majestic lines of
trees. Across the centre, and leading from the grand terrace, a wide
opening shows an artificial grotto, cascade, and basin; a flight of
covered steps on either side of the abundant stream of falling water
winds under this cascade, and leads to a terrace above, from behind
which spreads out a beautiful bosquet, the bounds of which are
entirely hidden by thick foliage. The outer walls of these steps are so
overgrown by luxuriant vegetation as to be completely masked, so that,
on approaching, these apertures look like entrances to subterranean
caverns.
This picturesque cascade was the place of rendezvous; towards it,
therefore, our friends were proceeding, when Charles Elton, who had
for a moment or two been watching a figure moving among the trees,
exclaimed, "By Jove, there's Earnscliffe!"
"How delightful!" rejoined Mrs. Elton. "Now he cannot avoid making one
of our party. Go quickly, Charles, and overtake him: we will follow."
Charles soon captured the retreating Mr. Earnscliffe, who had just seen
the Eltons, and was making a desperate, but vain, effort to escape. He
could not pretend that he did not hear Charles, so with a tolerably
good grace he turned and surrendered.
"Where on earth were you going so fast?" said Charles, nearly out of
breath. "Here is my mother, who is determined on making you join our
party!"
"Indeed!" accompanied by anything but a look of pleasure.
Mrs. Elton advanced to meet him with outstretched hands. "How charming
to find you here, Mr. Earnscliffe; you cannot well refuse to join us,
see the croquet, and partake of a cold dinner. I would have written to
invite you, but that I so feared a refusal, feeling certain that you
would not think our croquet party worth the loss of a day from Rome's
immortal ruins. I do so wish I could prevail upon you to accompany us
to some of them; how delightful it would be to have _such_ a guide!"
"Pray be undeceived, Mrs. Elton; I should be but a very poor guide for
you; believe me, 'Murray' would be much more instructive, and would
enable you to talk far more learnedly about those things than I could."
Was there not a covert sneer in those words? The lady, however, did
not see it, or appeared not to do so. As a possible husband for one of
her daughters, many things must be pardoned in him which would not be
passed over in a poor younger son. She replied with a smile, "Well, we
can arrange that at some other time; for the present, having caught you
here, we may of course count upon your remaining with us." Taking his
answer for granted, she continued, "Allow me to present my friends,
Mrs. and Miss Adair." Mr. Earnscliffe bowed to the Adairs, shook hands
with Helena, and then walked on with Mrs. Elton towards the cascade.
Mrs. Elton opened the conversation with that very original question,
"How do you like Rome, Mr. Earnscliffe?"
"In what way do you mean?--as she was once, the mistress of the world,
and her people a nation of kings; or as she is now, the decrepid
representative of all the superstitions of bygone ages?"
Mrs. Elton laughed approvingly; but Flora, who was walking close
behind with Charles Elton, said, in a slightly subdued tone, "See what
prejudice will do! I _do_ wonder how persons, otherwise noble and
generous, can say such things simply for the pleasure of abusing what
they do not understand, and therefore dislike!"
"Oh! Miss Adair, he might have heard you," exclaimed Charles Elton.
"_N'importe!_" said Flora, with an impatient shrug of her shoulders.
Almost at the same moment, Mr. Earnscliffe, who, notwithstanding Mrs.
Elton's efforts to drown Flora's voice, had heard every word, turned
and bowed to her, saying, with rather a scornful smile, "Bravo, Miss
Adair, you are quite an apostle, and I, according to you, am something
very like a simpleton!"
"I did not say that," she answered, blushing; "it would have been rude
and untrue; but, were you to think of it, I am sure you will admit that
what I _did_ say is true."
He smiled, returned to Mrs. Elton, and said, "Adair!--a Scotch name?"
"An Irish name, also; my friends are Irish."
"Indeed, one might have guessed it, from the spirit of the young lady's
observations."
"Mamma," interrupted Helena, "there they are all at the cascade waiting
for us; and I see Thomas, too, with the croquet boxes."
"Well, my dear, we are going to them; don't be impatient."
This injunction was given in vain. Helena had already darted off to her
friends at the cascade. They consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Penton,--both
young; the lady, tall, slight, and dark,--very elegant, but apparently
haughty, and evidently accustomed to be admired; the gentleman, a
large and rather an unwieldy figure, with a sandy complexion, and a
heavy, although good expression of countenance; Mary Elton, Helena's
sister, and somewhat like her, but in manner as grave and sedate as the
other was gay and thoughtless; Mr. Mainwaring, and Mr. Caulfield,--the
latter, a good-looking, bright, laughing Irishman; the former, an
Englishman, and particularly grave and solemn.
Helena was received with marked pleasure. Her great liveliness made
her a general favourite. She was soon in deep conversation with Mary
and the gentlemen about the selection of the croquet ground, while the
Pentons turned to greet the others who had just come up.
Mrs. Elton announced, in a delighted tone, that they had been fortunate
enough to meet and capture Mr. Earnscliffe. "What an addition to our
party, is it not, Mary?" turning to her eldest daughter.
"Yes," Mary replied, quickly; "we are all, I am sure, very happy to see
Mr. Earnscliffe. Does he condescend to play croquet?"
"I have never played," said he; "but I have seen people knocking
balls about with things like long-handled mallets. That is croquet, I
believe?"
"Oh, Mr. Earnscliffe," exclaimed Helena, "what a description to give of
playing croquet! But whatever you may think of it, I find it very jolly
fun, and mean to lose no time before setting to work."
"To play, you mean, Miss Elton!" said a voice behind her; and on
turning round she found that Mr. Caulfield was the corrector, whereupon
she at once gaily attacked him.
"I never heard of such audacity, Mr. Caulfield; you, a Hibernian, to
venture to correct me, a true Briton, in the use of my own language!
Take care that you don't get a defeat at croquet for this!"
"I am sure it will not be _your_ fault, Miss Elton, if I do not"--in
an aside, meant only for her ear--"But have you not conquered already,
though not, perhaps, at croquet?"
She got a little red, and said quickly, "This is all waste of time!
Mary, you said you had seen a place that would do beautifully for us;
so, lead on. I will go and see that Thomas has all the things right."
Mary did as she was desired, while her sprightly sister, followed by
Mr. Caulfield, ran back to the servant to see that all was in order.
Helena and her companion were enjoying themselves greatly, if
loud laughter is a sign of enjoyment. At length they came running
after the others to a broad grassy alley, bordered and overhung by
wide-spreading trees. This was the place which Mary had spoken of, and,
fortunately, it met with Helena's approval. "Oh, yes, Mary, this will
do, capitally," she said; "and there is shade, too, under these trees.
Mark out the ground, place the arches and the balls, and give me a
croquet-stick!"
"Yes, miss," replied Thomas, who seemed quite an adept at arranging the
playground. Having done this to his young mistress's satisfaction, he
approached Mrs. Elton and asked where the dinner was to be laid.
"It is true, we have not chosen where we shall dine. Caroline," to Mrs.
Adair, "will you come with me and seek a nice place for our repast,
while the young people begin their game? We can trust them to Mrs.
Penton's chaperoning for a few moments, although she is too young and
too pretty for such a post."
Mrs. Penton laughed, and said, "You may very safely trust them to me,
and I will give you a good account of my stewardship when you return.
So you may go in peace."
Mr. Caulfield, who helped Helena to arrange the game, now struck his
"mallet," as Mr. Earnscliffe had named it, three times on one of the
balls in order to attract attention; and called out, "Who will play?
Will you, Mrs. Penton?"
"Not just yet. I will sit down and look on for the present; later,
perhaps, I may take a turn."
"Then the players are, the Misses Elton, Miss Adair, Penton,
Mainwaring, Elton?"
"Nay," interrupted Charles, "I am quite unable to play to-day."
"Mr. Earnscliffe?" continued Mr. Caulfield, inquiringly.
"I know nothing of the game, and I should not like to make my first
essay among such proficients as, I presume, you all are."
"Then there only remains my humble self to make up the party. Now for
the division; you ladies should draw lots for choosing sides."
"I dare say Flora is as willing as I am to yield this to Helena," said
Mary. "If so, we need not take the trouble of drawing lots."
Flora smiled assent, when Helena exclaimed, "Very green of you both.
However, it is your affair, not mine; and as I am decidedly the gainer
by it, I ought not to object. First, then, I choose Flora; secondly,
Mr. Mainwaring. I leave Mary to manage Mr. Penton and Mr. Caulfield; no
easy matter, I can answer for it, with regard to the latter gentleman."
"How cruel not to choose me as one of your subjects," he said in a
light tone, yet looking a little annoyed.
"Choose you for a subject! Not for worlds. I shall delight in
croqueting you; and this, of course, I could not do if you were on my
side. But as my enemy, you shall be well croqueted!" and as her foot
rested upon one of the balls near her, she looked laughingly at him,
and struck the ball lightly with her "mallet."
The elder ladies now returned; the gentlemen placed stools for them
near to Mrs. Penton; and, after some jesting about the conduct of her
charge during their absence, the game commenced.
For a considerable time the contest continued with varied success,
Helena and Mr. Caulfield seeming to think more of croqueting each other
than of anything else, so that they were frequently called to order by
their respective sides. Flora had become quite animated, and intent on
victory, if only to disappoint Mr. Penton, who said, when they were
beginning, "Oh! our party is certain to win, two gentlemen and a lady
against two ladies and one gentleman. I really think we might give
them odds!" a suggestion which was indignantly spurned by the players
of the opposite side, who declared that skill and not strength was the
thing required, and, therefore, they had not the slightest fear of
losing. Flora devoted all her energies to making good the boast, and
she was well seconded by Mr. Mainwaring, whose steady, cautious game
counteracted Helena's wild, though at times brilliant, play.
Towards the end of the game the excitement grew very great; four had
gained the goal, and all now turned on Mr. Caulfield and Helena; she
had only the last arch to make, and he had two arches, but it was his
turn to play; so, if he could manage to send his ball straight through
the two arches, and on to the starting-point, the game would be his.
His ball was badly placed, however, in a diagonal line from the first
arch, so that it would require great skill to make it pass through
that and go straight to the other; yet he sometimes made very skilful
hits, and it was a moment of intense interest to his adversaries. He
struck the ball; but, instead of sending it through the first arch,
it grazed the side of it and stopped short. This gave Helena a fair
opportunity for trying to croquet him; the safe play was not to do it,
but to make the last arch at once and ensure the game, yet it was a
strong temptation--how charming for Helena to send his ball far away
and distance him! On the other hand, it was of course possible that she
might not croquet him well, and then the chances were that he would
win. She looked at her partners as if to ask permission to risk the
game.
"Very well," said Flora, smiling; "on your head be it if we lose!"
"How can you give your sanction to such recklessness, Miss Adair?"
exclaimed Mr. Mainwaring. "Pray, Miss Elton, consider for a moment; if
you will play rationally we are sure to win, but if you persist in
croqueting we shall probably lose--at least we should deserve it."
"Just the contrary! 'Nothing venture nothing win.' Oh! how can a _man_
be so cautious? It is a blessing for you, Mr. Mainwaring, that you are
not a lover of mine, or I should play such pranks to rouse you into
something like rashness as would 'make the angels weep.' Hurrah, then,
for daring and a good croquet! Now, Mr. Caulfield!" and with an ominous
shake of the head she raised her "mallet" to strike, amidst much
laughter at her attack upon poor Mr. Mainwaring, who, although he did
his best to join in the merriment at his own expense, evidently winced
under it. Down came the mallet with a sharp ring upon her own ball, on
which her foot was firmly planted, and away bounded the other to the
very end of the last line of arches.
"Bravo! bravo, Miss Elton!" arose from all sides, as she stood looking
triumphantly at Mr. Mainwaring, and saying, "Now, Mr. Caution, I shall
not only win the game for you, but distance one of our adversaries!"
"Not so fast, if you please, Miss Helena," interposed Mr. Caulfield. "I
might save my distance yet."
"Might! but you are not equal to it, fair sir; only _do_ play quickly,
I am all impatience to hear our side proclaimed victorious, after Mr.
Penton's contemptuous boast that _his_ side could afford to give us
odds, because, forsooth, it numbers two of the precious male sex, and
ours has only one of them! But, to the proof; we are losing time!"
Mr. Caulfield made a good attempt at saving his distance, but he
failed; so Helena came in in full triumph, amidst loud acclamations.
Mrs. Elton immediately proposed that they should take a stroll before
their repast, which was ordered for two o'clock. If they were to drive
back by Grotto Ferrata, she said, they must start, at latest, by four.
"But," objected Helena, "we have had but one game of croquet; and Mrs.
Penton and Mr. Earnscliffe have not played at all! Poor Charles cannot;
so it is not a matter of any interest for him."
"As for me, Helena, foregoing a game will not render me _tout à fait
desolée_; and I think I may answer too for Mr. Earnscliffe." He bowed,
and Mrs. Penton continued, "So it would be a pity to lose the beautiful
drive by Grotto Ferrata for the sake of another round of croquet. It is
much better to follow Mrs. Elton's suggestion."
The young lady saw that there was nothing to be done but to submit,
whilst her mother said, "Come, Helena, let Thomas carry away those
things. We are going to walk." And they all went on, excepting Helena,
Flora, and Mr. Caulfield; the two latter waiting for Helena, as she
lingered, looking, with an expression of comic resignation, at Thomas
"bagging the balls," as she expressed it; then, turning away, she said
with a sigh, "It is too bad not to give poor crestfallen Mr. Caulfield
a chance of revenge!"
"Shure and niver mind, cushla machree," he answered, imitating the
brogue of the Irish peasantry. "I'll have it some other time. Whin did
you iver know an Irishman be bate in ginerosity?"
"May I ask, Mr. Caulfield, if you Irish call revenge 'ginerosity?'" she
exclaimed in a mocking tone; then she added, more seriously, "Please
to let us get on quickly, or we shall lose our friends; and oh, Flora,
what a lecture we should get for separating ourselves from the rest!"
The party was soon overtaken; and Flora observed, to her great
amusement, that Mrs. Elton had succeeded in getting Mary and Mr.
Earnscliffe together.
For about half-an-hour they wandered about the grounds, when Mrs. Elton
led the way to their _al fresco_ banqueting-hall--a grassy plateau, so
surrounded by trees as to be shaded from the afternoon sun; and here
the servants had laid out the dinner.
They had spread a tablecloth, fastened down by pegs; in the centre were
baskets of flowers and fruits, surrounded by tempting sweet dishes, and
next by the more substantial delicacies. Mrs. Elton had planned this
pic-nic, priding herself justly on her catering for these occasions.
In this case her task was comparatively an easy one, as Spillman--the
Gunter of Rome--had a branch establishment at Frascati, whence the
feast was supplied.
"Really this is quite a banquet of pleasure!" said Mrs. Penton; "all
the delicacies of a grand dinner, without its heat, boredom, and
ceremony. We certainly owe you a vote of thanks, Mrs. Elton!"
"Well," replied Mrs. Elton, with a complacent smile, "I do think that
Spillman has carried out my orders very fairly; and the most acceptable
vote of thanks you can award me is to let me see you do justice to the
repast; so let us begin at once; the ground must serve for seats. I
told Thomas to bring all the shawls from the carriages in case any one
should like to make cushions of them."
For some time the principal sound to be heard was the clatter of
knives and forks. Gradually this grew fainter, and was succeeded by
the clatter of tongues. Champagne was freely quaffed, healths were
drunk, and much laughter was excited by Mr. Caulfield, who rose and
made a speech,--such as only an Irishman could make, with credit to
himself--concluding it by asserting that his highest ambition was to
be permitted the honour of proposing a toast to Miss Helena Elton, as
the queen of croquet players, and by expressing a hope that she would
return thanks for the toast herself. He remained standing, with his
glass in his hand; and when the laughter had subsided a little, Helena,
looking round the table, said, "I appeal to you all: can a gentleman
refuse to act as a lady's deputy in returning thanks, if she requests
him to do so for her?"
The answer was unanimous: "Certainly not?"
"Then, Mr. Caulfield," said she, with a graceful bow to him, "I hope
you will do me the favour to return thanks for the toast which is about
to be drunk in my honour!"
With one accord the gentlemen rose, applauding her, and claiming
the toast. Mr. Caulfield made a profound inclination to Helena, and
after a few more flowery words, proposed the toast, proclaiming her
"the queen of croquet players and repartee." It was drunk with great
enthusiasm; and all sat down, not excepting Mr. Caulfield, who seemed
quite unconscious of the wondering looks directed towards him. After a
few moments, however, he stood up again, and commenced with the utmost
gravity:--
"Ladies and gentlemen,--I rise to return thanks to the gentleman who
gave the last toast, which we all drank with such unusual pleasure.
Miss Helena Elton has done me the honour of calling upon me to act as
her deputy on this occasion, an honour I so highly appreciate that I
consider myself more favoured by fortune than any gentleman in this
worshipful company, save the one who had the happiness of proposing a
toast so admirably adapted to my fair client." He was interrupted by
calls of "hear, hear," "bravo," and much laughter; and after continuing
for some time in an amusing strain, he sat down "amidst loud applause."
To Mrs. Elton it seemed as if the hilarity would never end. At length
she said, "I am very sorry to interrupt your enjoyment, but we must
think of getting home. And see how the day has changed! I do not think
it will be wise to extend our drive by Grotto Ferrata."
But the younger portion of the company would not hear of any danger
from change of weather; true, there was a black cloud in the direction
of the town, but it would probably drift away, they said, and, at all
events, there would only be a shower, which, as Helena (who was in wild
spirits) declared, would but add to the beauty of their drive through
the fine old wood of Grotto Ferrata. The green of the trees would look
so bright and fresh, sparkling with rain-drops. She could not conceive
any necessity for haste, or for shortening their drive home. Mrs. Elton
persisted in thinking that there was immediate danger of rain, and
suggested that they should seek refuge in the cascade steps, where, at
least, they would find shelter. In this, too, she was over-ruled; all
consented, however, to have the carriages ordered. There was a little
more drinking of wine, eating of fruit, laughing, and merry talk, when,
suddenly, a large drop of rain fell upon the table-cloth, followed by
another and another, dropping slowly and heavily,
"One by one,
Like the first of a thunder-shower."
The gentlemen started to their feet, helped up the ladies, urging them
to run quickly to the cascade steps, as it was evident that there was
heavy rain approaching.
Helena looked a little discomfited as she caught her mother's
reproachful glance fixed upon her; but she carried it off with a laugh,
and "Well! it will only be a shower. You'll see that I shall be right
after all!"
"Come, come," called out Mr. Penton; "you ladies must wrap yourselves
up in whatever shawls there are, and get to shelter as fast as
possible, or you will be drenched with rain. In the meantime, I will go
to the hotel and send any other wrappings that I can find. You will be
sure to take cold if you sit there upon those damp steps."
"Why can't you send one of Spillman's men, George?" said his wife.
"My dear, don't you see that they have already as much as they can
possibly do to get those things away before the storm comes on?"
"Oh, as you like, my dear George; I only wished to save you trouble,"
languidly replied Mrs. Penton.
As they hastened to the cascade, the large drops fell faster
and faster; then they suddenly ceased. The quickness with which
thunder-storms come on in southern climes is proverbial. Less than an
hour before, the sun was shining brightly in an azure sky, and a light
breeze gave freshness to the air. Now, that azure sky was all overcast;
the air was heavy and sultry; there was a dead stillness all around;
and the very leaves of the trees seemed to be weighed down, drooping
under some unseen pressure. It was indeed the lull before the storm.
Hardly had they got into shelter, and Mr. Penton, accompanied by
Charles Elton, had started for the hotel, when there arose a hurricane
of wind,--whistling, tearing through the trees, waving the largest and
strongest of them in its wild grasp, like the merest reeds; whirling
into clouds the gravel of the walks, and rushing with unchecked fury
through the covered passages wherein our party had taken refuge. Then,
back again it came with unabated vigour; and across the black, lowering
sky darted a vivid flash of lightning, followed almost instantaneously
by a clap of thunder which seemed to burst over the cascade.
It is curious to watch how differently a violent thunder-storm affects
people, and ladies in particular. Many make themselves quite foolish on
such occasions, indulging in the most silly demonstrations of terror,
clinging to each other, hiding their faces, uttering little shrieks
to manifest their fears; others, although evidently frightened, have
the good sense to remain quiet, and, if they are pious, begin to pray;
others, again, seem to take delight in it,--it excites them,--they
watch its course with riveted attention, and become lost, so to say,
in admiration of its grand yet awful beauty; looking as if they would
fain say, with the poet,
"Let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,
A portion of the tempest and of thee!"
Among our friends there were examples of the three classes. Mrs. Penton
and Helena were of the first; Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Adair, and Mary, of the
second; and Flora, of the third. She left the rest, and mounted to the
opening at the top, where she stood leaning against the wall, watching
the storm. The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled and burst over
her, and there she stood alone for some time, until she was startled by
a voice close behind her, saying--
"Miss Adair is, I see, not only an apostle, but also a braver of
storms; quite free from feminine weakness both in speech and action."
She looked round and saw Mr. Earnscliffe, whose words seemed to jar
upon her ear; yet there was nothing in them at which she could take
offence, so she answered--
"I do not think I am a coward in any sense of the word, and I would
brave the storm were there any reason for doing so; but now there is
none, and standing here is not braving it. Why you say 'braver of
storms,' I know not. I merely came here because it is pleasanter to
feel the wind blowing against one and see the vivid lightning than
to sit below on a damp step in a dark passage, listening to senseless
exclamations of fear."
"In which you do not share?"
"Certainly not."
"Well then, was I not right in calling you a braver of storms?"
At this moment the sky opened and sent forth a bright forked streak of
light, which darted in a serpent-like form through the air, and struck
straight into the ground beneath them; with it came the deafening
thunder, and, as it died away rumbling in the distance, he said,
looking fixedly at her--
"Are you still quite free from fear?"
"From fear--yes; but it was a grand, a solemn sight,--one that none
could witness without feeling their own littleness and helplessness;
yet we know that no harm can reach us without the consent of Him who
rules the storms."
"Yet these storms are very dangerous!" he replied.
"Visible danger does but bring the idea of death more forcibly
before us, therefore it always seems to me that all should preserve
their calmness in moments like these; not Christians only, but even
fatalists,--those because they know that they must submit to the will
of God and should make the only preparation then in their power; these,
because they think it vain to cry out against fate. It is said that
every one finds it difficult to part with life, but I do not believe
it. I am sure it is often more difficult to be resigned to live than to
be resigned to die!"
"It is!" was the emphatic answer; but as Flora turned to look at him,
she saw his lip curling with the same contemptuous smile which she had
seen in the morning, and, getting very red, she said--
"Now you are ridiculing me; how foolish it was of me to speak in this
way, and to a man! We never know when you are talking seriously, or
only drawing us out in order to laugh at us."
"This is not half so difficult for you as it is for us to know when
women are true or false," he retorted quickly; but, seeing her look of
wonder, he at once added--
"Pardon me. I did not mean to offend you; experience teaches us hard
lessons! Still I will try to believe with Byron,
"That two, or one, are almost what they seem,
That goodness is no dream, and happiness no name."
"We have got into rather a gloomy train of conversation," said Flora.
"Let us change it to something else, or to silence if you prefer it."
He _did_ remain silent, but the expression of his face was so changed,
so softened, that Flora wondered why she had ever thought it stern.
The storm appeared to be abating; the rain had almost ceased, but there
were still occasional flashes of lightning, and the thunder murmured
in the distance; it was evident that the weather was not settled. Mary
came up to say that they were to go at once, as the carriages were
ready and it was thought better to make no delay, for heavy rain would
probably come on again.
Mr. Earnscliffe awoke from his fit of abstraction and said--
"Quite right, the sooner we start the better; but first come out and
look at the cascade; all is so bright and fresh. It is very delightful
after the oppressive sultriness which preceded the storm. We can cross
over and go down by the opposite flight of steps."
The girls followed him and stood for a moment looking at the waters
falling into the basin underneath. As they were turning away Flora's
foot slipped upon the wet moss, and she would have fallen had she not
caught hold of Mary's arm, who exclaimed--
"I hope you are not hurt, Flora!"
"What is it?" asked Mr. Earnscliffe, turning back quickly.
"I slipped," replied Flora, "and my ankle pains me slightly. I dare say
it will be over in a moment."
"Not a sprain, I hope, Miss Adair," he said, looking anxiously at her;
"if so, how shall I forgive myself for being the cause of it? I see you
are in pain; pray take my arm, it will give you more support than Miss
Elton's."
"There is nothing to forgive or to be annoyed about" (taking his arm);
"even if my ankle should be sprained, it is not your fault. I might
have slipped anywhere else!"
"Nay, had it not been for me you would not have walked upon stones
covered with wet moss; I cannot avoid blaming myself!"
Helena's voice was now heard calling, "Mary! Flora! what can you be
about? Mamma is so impatient to be off; we are going, come on quickly!"
Mary turned to Flora: "Can you get down? or will you wait a little, and
I or Mr. Earnscliffe will go and tell them?"
"I would rather go at once; and, with Mr. Earnscliffe's kind help, I
shall get down the steps very well."
"Then let me really be of some assistance to you; lean heavily on me."
And with the greatest care he helped her down the steps.
"Thank you," she said, as they reached the flat ground below; "it was
so kind of you to let me lean on you as I did; now, I think, I can get
on alone, and need not encumber you any longer." She drew away her arm
from his.
"It was anything but an encumbrance, Miss Adair," and he smiled as she
had scarcely thought he could smile; "to help you was a most pleasing
reparation for the mischief I have caused. Do take my arm again!"
"Yes, I will do so, though not to give you a means of making
reparation, since there is nothing to do that for, but because I find
that I cannot walk as well as I thought I could. And now let us try to
overtake the others."
As soon as they reached the party Helena exclaimed, "Flora, what is the
matter? You look so pale!"
"I have sprained my ankle, I believe, and it hurts me a little."
"_Quel malheur!_ Then you will not be able to dance to-night. A loss
to you gentlemen, I can tell you. Flora was pronounced to be the best
dancer at the Wiltons' ball!"
"We are all aware of Miss Adair's superior dancing," rejoined Mr.
Caulfield, "except perhaps Mr. Earnscliffe; and, being her countryman,
as the painter before a celebrated masterpiece said, '_anch' io son
pittore!_' I can say, 'I, too, am Irish!'"
"But," said Flora, laughing, "there is a slight difference between the
two arts. One of my mistresses at school remarked, on hearing dancing
praised, 'Yes, dancing is certainly a great accomplishment; dogs can be
taught to do it so well!' We have yet to learn that dogs can be taught
to paint."
To poor Flora's great comfort, the gate and the carriages beyond it
now came in sight. Mrs. Adair and Mrs. Elton were already seated. As
the former saw Flora limping and leaning on Mr. Earnscliffe's arm,
she said, "My child, what has happened?" Flora answered that she had
hurt her ankle a little, and then she got into the carriage, kindly
and skilfully helped by Mr. Earnscliffe, who, as he shook hands with
Mrs. Adair, asked permission to call on the next day to inquire after
the invalid, which request was of course granted. Mrs. Elton pressed
him to come to them in the evening; he refused politely, but firmly;
accepting, however, Mrs. Penton's offer of a seat in their carriage
back to Rome.
And so ended the croquet party at Frascati.