"But, my dear Signorina, think what that means. They are of a class
with which you can have no contact. They are the dregs; there is the
Mafia to reckon with. How will you go about it?"
"I will become one of them, if necessary."
He answered her in a shocked voice. "No, no! You are mad to think of
it. If you were a man you might have some chance for success, but
you--a girl, a gentlewoman!"
"I am a Sicilian. I am rich, too. I have resources." She took him by
the arm as she had done that first time when the thought of Martel's
danger had roused her. "I told you no power could save them; no
hiding-place could be so secret, no lies so cunning that I would not
know. Well! Those soldiers have failed and will continue to fail. But
you see they did not love Martel. I shall live for this thing."
"I won't allow you to dwell on the subject; it isn't natural, and it
isn't good for you. The desire to see justice done is commendable and
proper, but the desire for revenge isn't. You must not sacrifice your
life to it. There is a law of compensation; those men will be
apprehended."
"Where is my compensation? What had Martel done to warrant this?"
He fell silent, and she shook her head as if to indicate the
hopelessness of answering her. After a moment of meditation he began
again, gravely:
"If you feel that way, I shall make you an offer. Give up your idea of
taking an active personal part in this quest, and I will assume your
place. We will work together, but you will direct while I face the
risks."
"You are a stranger. We would be sure to fail. I thank you, but my mind
is made up."
"If it becomes known, you will be in great danger. Think! Life is
before you, and all its possibilities. Please let other hands do this."
"It is useless to argue," she said, firmly. "I am like rock. I have
begun already and I have accomplished more than Colonel Neri and his
carbineers. I see Aliandro coming now, and I think he has news. He
knows many things of which the soldiers do not dream, for he is one of
the people. You will excuse me?"
"Of course, but--I can't let you undertake so dangerous a task without
a protest. I shall come back, if I may."
He rose as the old man shuffled down the path, and went in search of
the Donna Teresa, for he was determined to offer every discouragement
in his power to what struck him as an extremely rash and perilous
course. Men like Belisario Cardi, or Narcone the Butcher, would
hesitate no more in attacking a woman than a man. He knew the whole
Sicilian country to be a web of intrigue and secret understandings,
sensitive to the slightest touch and possessed of many means of
communication. It was a great ear which heard the slightest stir, and
its unfailing efficiency was shown by the ease with which the bandits
had forestalled every effort of the authorities.
In the hall of the manor house he encountered Lucrezia and stopped to
speak to her.
"You would do a great deal to protect the Countess, would you not?" he
asked.
"Yes, Signore. She has been both a sister and a mother to me. But what
do you mean?"
Ferara's daughter was a robust girl of considerable physical charm, but
although her training at Terranova had done much for her, it was still
evident that she was a country woman. She had nursed her grief with all
the sullen fierceness of a peasant, and even now her face and eyes were
swollen from weeping.
Blake explained briefly his concern, but when he had finished, the girl
surprised him by breaking forth into a furious denunciation of the
assassins. She surrendered to her passion with complete abandon, and
began to curse the names of Cardi and Gian Narcone horribly.
"We demand blood to wash our blood," she cried. "I curse them and their
souls, living and dead, in the name of God who made my father, in the
name of Christ who died for him, in the name of the holy saints who
could not save him. In the name of the whole world I curse them. May
they pray and not be heard. May they repent unforgiven and lie
unburied. May every living thing that bears their names die in agony
before their eyes. May their women and unborn children be afflicted
with every unclean thing until they pray for death at my hands--"
"Lucrezia!" He seized her roughly and clapped his hand over her mouth,
for her voice was rising steadily and threatened to rouse the whole
household. Her cheeks were white, she was shaking with long, tearless
sobs. She would have broken out again when he released her had he not
commanded her to be silent. He tried to explain that this work of
vengeance was not for her or for the Countess, and to point out the
ruin that was sure to follow any attempt on their part to take up the
work of the carabinieri, but she shook her head, declaring stubbornly:
"We have sworn it."
The more he argued the more obstinate she became, until, seeing the
ineffectiveness of his pleas, he gave up any further effort to move
her, sorry that he had raised such a storm. He went on in search of
Madam Fazello, with Lucrezia's parting words ringing ominously in his
ears:
"If we die, we shall be buried; if we live, we shall give them to the
hangman."
From Margherita's aunt he got but little comfort or hope of assistance.
"Oh, my dear boy, I agree with your every word," the old lady said.
"But what can I do? I know better than you what it will lead to, but
Margherita is like iron--there is no reasoning with her. She would
sacrifice herself, Lucrezia, even me, to see Martel avenged, and if she
does not have her way she will burn herself to ashes. As for Lucrezia,
she is demented, and they do nothing all day but scheme and plan with
Aliandro, who is himself as bad as any bandit. I have no voice with
them; they do with me as they will." She hid her face in her trembling
fingers and wept softly. "And to think--we were all so happy with
Martel!"
"Nevertheless, somebody must dissuade them from this enterprise. It is
no matter for two girls and an old man to undertake."
"I pray hourly for guidance, but I am frightened, so frightened! When
Margherita talks to me, when I see her high resolve, I am ready to
follow; then when I am alone I become like water again."
"What are her plans?"
"I do not know. I have begged her to take her sorrow to God. The bishop
who came from Messina to marry Martel and remained to bury him has
joined me. There is a convent at Palermo--"
"No, no!" Blake cried, vehemently. "Not that! That life is not for her.
She must do nothing at all until her grief has had time to moderate."
"It will never be less. You do not know her. But you are the one to
reason with her."
Realizing that the old lady was powerless, he returned to the garden
and tried once more to weaken the girl's resolution, but without
success. It was with a very troubled mind that he took the train back
to San Sebastiano that afternoon.
The more he thought it over, the more certain he became that it was his
duty to remain in Sicily until Margherita had reached her right senses.
Martel had put a trust in him, and what could be more important than to
prevent her from carrying out this fantastic enterprise? He would take
up the search for the assassins in her place, allowing her to work
through him and in that way satisfying her determination. What she
needed above all things was distraction, occupation. If she remained
persistent they would work side by side until justice had been done,
and meanwhile he would become a part of her life. He might make himself
necessary to her. At least he would prevent her from doing anything
rash and perhaps fatal. In time he would prevail upon her to travel, to
seek recreation, and then her youth would be bound to tell. That would
be the work of a friend indeed, that would remove at least a part of
the obligation which rested upon him. Some day, he reasoned, the
Countess might even marry and be happy in spite of what had occurred.
As he contemplated the idea, it began to seem less improbable. What if
she should come to care for him? He would still be true to Martel, for
how could he protect her better than by making her his wife? His heart
leaped at the thought, but then his old self-disgust returned,
reminding him that he had yet to prove himself a man.
As he stepped down from the train at San Sebastiano the station master
met him with a telegram. Even before he opened it he guessed its
contents, and his spirits sank. Was he never to escape these maddening
questions of duty--never to be free to pursue his heart's desire?
It was a cablegram, and read:
"Come quickly.
"KENEAR."
He regarded it gravely for a moment, striving to balance his duty to
Martel and the girl against his duty to his mother, but his hesitation
was brief. He stepped into the little telegraph office with the
mandarin-tree peering in at the open window and wrote his answer. He
did not try to deceive himself; the mere fact that Dr. Kenear had been
summoned from New Orleans showed as plainly as the message itself that
his mother's condition was more serious than he had supposed. She was
alone with many responsibilities upon her frail shoulders, and she was
calling for her son. There was but one thing to do.
He stopped at the barracks to explain the necessity for his immediate
departure to Colonel Neri, who was most sympathetic. "You are not
needed here," the soldier assured him, "and you would have to go, even
though you were. You made your statement at the inquest; there is
nothing further for you to do until we accomplish the capture of
somebody. Even then I doubt if you could identify any one of those
bandits."
"I think I should know Narcone anywhere."
The Colonel shrugged. "Narcone has been swallowed by the earth. As for
Cardi and the rest, they have become thin smoke and the wind has
carried them away. We are precisely where we were at the start. Perhaps
it is fortunate for you that you have not been called upon to testify
against any of the band, for even the fact that you are a foreigner
might not save you from--unpleasant results."
Norvin reasoned silently that if this were indeed true it more than
confirmed his fears for the Countess, and after a brief hesitation he
told the soldier what he had learned at his visit to Terranova. Neri
rose and paced the room in agitation.
"Oh! She is mad indeed!" he exclaimed. "What can she do that we have
not already done? Aliandro? Bah! He is a doddering old reprobate who
will spread news instead of gather it. He has a bad record, and
although he loved Martel and doubtless loves Margherita, I have no
confidence in him whatever. She will accomplish nothing but her own
undoing."
"I am afraid so, too. That is why I shall return to Sicily as soon as
possible."
"Indeed? Then you plan to come back? Martel was fortunate to have so
good a friend as you, Signore. We must both do all we can to prevent
this folly on the part of his sweetheart. You may rest assured that I
shall make every effort in your absence." The Colonel extended his
hand, and Norvin took it, feeling some relief in the knowledge that
there was at least one man close to the girl upon whose caution he
could rely and upon whose good offices he could count. He had grown to
like the soldier during their brief acquaintance, and the fact that
Neri knew and appreciated the situation helped to reconcile him to the
thought of going away.
He was not ready to leave Sicily, however, without one final appeal,
and accordingly he stopped at Terranova on the following morning on his
way to Messina, where a boat was sailing for Naples that night. But he
found no change in the Countess; on the contrary, she told him gently
but firmly that she had made up her mind once for all and that she
would resent any further efforts at dissuasion.
"Won't you even wait until I return?" he inquired.
She shook her head and smiled sadly.
"Do not let us deceive ourselves, amico mio; you will not return."
"On the contrary, I shall. You make it necessary for me to return
whether I wish to or not."
"The ocean is wide, the world moves. You are a foreigner and you will
forget. It is only in Sicily that people remember."
"Will you give me time to prove you wrong?"
"I could not allow it. You have your own life to live; you have a
multitude of duties. Martel, you see, was only your friend. But with me
it is different. He was my lover; my life was a part of his and my duty
will not let me sleep."
"You have no reason to say I will forget."
"It is the way of the world. Then, too, there is the other woman. You
will see her. You will find a way, perhaps."