During the next few days Norvin Blake saw much of the Countess
Margherita, for every afternoon he and Martel rode to Terranova. The
preparations for the wedding neared completion and the consciousness of
a coming celebration had penetrated the countryside. Among all who
looked forward to the big event, perhaps the one who watched the hours
fly with the greatest degree of suspense was the American. He had half
faced the truth on that night after his first meeting with the girl,
and the succeeding days enforced the conviction he would have been glad
to escape. He could no longer doubt that he was in love, madly
infatuated with his best friend's fiancee, and the knowledge came like
some crushing misfortune. It could scarcely be called a love at first
sight, for he felt that he had always known and always loved this girl.
He had never believed in these sudden obsessions, and more than once
had been amused at Martel's ability to fall violently in love at a
moment's notice, and to fall as quickly out again, but in spite of his
coolest reasoning and sternest self-reproach he found the spell too
strong for him. Every decent instinct commanded him to uproot this
passion; every impetuous impulse burst into sudden flame and consumed
his better sense, his judgment, and his loyalty, leaving him shaken and
doubtful. Although this was his first serious soul conflict, he
possessed more than average self-control, and he managed to conceal his
feelings so well that Martel, who was the embodiment of loyalty and
generosity, never for a moment suspected the truth. As for the girl,
she was too full of her own happiness to see anything amiss. She took
her lover's comrade into her heart with that odd unrestraint which
characterized her, and, recognizing the bond which united the two young
men, she strove to widen it sufficiently to include herself. It spoke
well for her that she felt no jealousy of that love which a man bears
for his life's best friend, but rather strove to encourage it. Her
intense desire to be a part of her lover and share all his affections
led her to strive earnestly for a third place in the union, with the
result that Blake saw even more of her than did Savigno. She
deliberately set herself the task of winning the American, a task
already more than accomplished, had she but known it, and, although for
some women such a course would have been neither easy nor safe, with
her a misconception of motive was impossible.
She had an ardent, almost reckless manner of attacking problems; she
was as intense and yet as changeful as a flame. Blake watched her
varying moods with the same fascination with which one regards a
wind-blown blaze, recognizing, even in her moments of repression, that
she was ready to burst forth anew at the slightest breath. She was the
sort of woman to dominate men, to inspire them with tremendous
enthusiasm for good or for evil as they chanced to lean toward the one
or the other. While she seemed wholly admirable, she exercised a
damnable effect upon Norvin. He was tortured by a thousand devils, he
was possessed by dreams and fancies hitherto strange and unrecognized.
The nervous strain began to tell in time; he slept little, he grew
weary of the struggle, things became unreal and distorted. He longed to
end it all by fleeing from Sicily, and had there been more time he
would have arranged for a summons to America. His mother had not been
well for a long time, and he was tempted to use this fact as an excuse
for immediate departure, but the thought that Martel needed him acted
as an effective restraint. The vague menace of La Mafia still hung over
the Count and was not lessened by the receipt of a second threatening
letter a few days after Blake's arrival.
Cardi wrote again, demanding instant compliance with the terms
contained in his first communication. Savigno was directed to send
Ricardo Ferara at a given hour to a certain crossroads above San
Sebastiano with ten thousand lire. In that case candles would be burned
and masses said for the soul of the murdered Galli, so the writer
promised. The letter put no penalty upon a failure to comply with these
demands, beyond a vague prediction of evil. It was short and
business-like and very much to the point.
As this was the first document of the kind Norvin had ever seen, he was
greatly interested in it.
"Don't you think it may be the work of this fellow Narcone?" he
inquired. "I understand he is the brother-in-law of Galli."
"Narcone would scarcely undertake so bold a piece of blackmail," the
Count declared. "I knew him slightly before he gave himself to the
campagna. He was a butcher; he was brutal and domineering, but he was a
coward."
"It is not from Narcone," Ricardo pronounced, positively--they had
called in the overseer for the discussion--"he is grossolano. He can
neither read nor write. This letter is well spelled and well written."
"Then you think it is really from Cardi?"
Ricardo shrugged his square shoulders. "Who knows? Some say there is no
such person, others declare he went to America years ago."
"What is your belief?"
"I know a man who has seen him."
"Who?"
"Aliandro."
"Bah! Aliandro is such a liar!" exclaimed Savigno.
"However that may be, he has seen things in his time. He says that
Cardi is not what people suppose him to be--a brigand--except when it
suits his desires. That is why he comes and goes and the carabinieri
can never trace him. That is why he is at home in all parts of Sicily;
that is why he uses men like Narcone when he chooses."
"It would please me to capture the wretch," said Martel.
"Let's try it," Norvin suggested, and accordingly a trap was laid.
Four carabinieri were sent to the appointed place, ahead of time, with
directions to conceal themselves, and Ferara carried out his part of
the programme. But no one came to meet him, he encountered no one
coming or going to the crossroads, and returned greatly disgusted.
However, at his suggestion Colonel Neri stationed the four soldier
policemen at the castello to prevent any demonstration and to profit by
any development which might occur.
The young men did not permit this diversion to interrupt their daily
trips to Terranova, although as a matter of precaution they added
Ippolito to their party. He was delighted at the change of duty,
because, as Norvin discovered, it brought him to the side of Lucrezia
Ferara. Thus it happened that Martel had reason to regret the choice of
his bodyguard, for on the very first visit Ippolito began to strut and
swagger before the girl and allowed the secret to escape him, whereupon
it was carried to the Countess.
She appealed to Martel to leave San Sebastiano for the time being, to
postpone the wedding, or at least to go to Messina for it; but of
course he refused and tried to laugh down her misgivings, and of course
she appealed privately to Blake for assistance.
"You must use your influence to change his mind," she said, earnestly.
"He declares he will not be overawed by these ruffians. He says that to
pay them the least attention would be to encourage them to another
attempt when we return, but--he does not know the Mafia as I know it.
You will do this for me?"
"Of course, if you wish it, although I agree with Martel, and I'm sure
he won't listen to me. He can't play the coward. The wedding is only
two days off now. Why, to-morrow is the gala-day! How could he notify
the whole district, when all his preparations have been completed? What
excuse could he give without confessing his fear and making himself
liable to a later and stronger attack?"
"The country people need not know anything about it. Let them come and
make merry. He can leave now, tonight. We will join him at Messina."
Norvin shook his head. "I'll do what I can, since you wish it, but I'm
sure he won't consent to any change of plan. I'm sure, also, that you
are needlessly troubled."
"Perhaps," she acknowledged, doubtfully. "And yet Martel's father--"
"Yes, yes. But conditions are not what they were fifteen years ago.
This is merely a blackmailing scheme, and if he ignores it he'll
probably never hear of it again. On the other hand, if he allows it to
drive him away it will be repeated upon his return."
She searched his face with her eyes, and his wits reeled at her earnest
gaze. He was conscious of a single wild desire that such anxiety might
be for him. How gladly he would yield to her wishes--how gladly he
would yield to any wish of hers! He was a foreigner; he hated this
island and its people, for the most part, and yet if he stood in
Martel's place he would willingly change his life to correspond with
hers. He would become Sicilian in body and soul. She had the power to
dissolve his habits, his likes and dislikes, and reconstruct him
through and through.
"I hope you are right," she said at last. "And yet--it is said that no
one escapes the Mafia."
"This isn't the Mafia. It is the work of some brigand--"
"What is the difference? The one merges into the other. Blood has been
spilled; the forces are at work."
Suddenly she seized him by the arm, and her eyes blazed. "Look you,"
she cried, "if Martel should be injured, if these men should dare--all
Sicily would not hold them. No power could save them, no hiding-place
could be so secret, no lies so cunning, that I would not know. You
understand?"
Blake saw that the girl was at last aroused to that intensity of
feeling which he had recognized as latent in her. Love had caused her
to glow, but it had required this breath of fear to fan the fire into
full strength. He was deeply moved and answered simply: "I understand.
I--never knew how much you loved him."
Her humor changed, and she smiled.
"One is foolish, perhaps, to be so frank, but that is my nature. You
would not have me change it?"
"You couldn't if you tried."
"Martel has always known I loved him. I could never conceal it. I never
wished to. If he had not seen it I would have told him. Just now, when
I heard he was threatened--well, you see."
"Ippolito had no business to mention the matter. I suppose his tongue
ran away with him. Tongues have a way of doing such things when their
owners are in love."
"He is not for Lucrezia."
"Why? He's a fine fellow."
"Oh, but Lucrezia is superior. I have taught her a great many things.
She is more like a sister to me than a servant, and I could not see her
married to a farm-hand. She can do much better than to marry Ippolito."
"Love goes where it pleases," said the American with so much feeling
that Margherita's eyes leaped to his.
"You know? Ah, my good friend, then you have loved?"