It was ten months later when Norvin Blake landed at Messina and took
the morning train westward to Terranova. As he disposed his
travelling-bags in a corner of the compartment, and settled himself for
the short journey, he felt a kind of irrational surprise at the fact
that there had been no changes during his absence. The city was just as
dirty and uninteresting as when he had left, the beggars were just as
ragged and importunate, the street coaches were just as rickety. It
required an effort to realize that ten months is, after all, a very
short time, for it seemed ten years since he had sailed away. It had
been a difficult period for him, one crowded with many changes,
readjustments, and responsibilities. He had gone far, he had done much,
he had been pressed by cares and anxieties on every side, and even at
the last he had willfully abandoned urgent duties, to his own great
loss and to the intense disgust of his friends, in order to come back
according to his promise. His return had been delayed from week to
week, from month to month, in spite of all he could do, and meanwhile
his thoughts had not been in America at all, but in Sicily, causing him
to fret and chafe at the necessities which bound him to his post. Now,
however, the day upon which he had counted had arrived; he had taken
his liberty regardless of consequences, and no dusty pilgrim ever
longed more fiercely for a journey's end. He was glad of the impression
of sameness he had received, for it made him feel that there would be
no great changes in Terranova.
He had learned little from the Countess during the interim, for she had
been slow in answering his frequent letters, while her own had been
brief and non-commital. They contained hardly a suggestion of that
warmth and intimacy which he had known in her presence. Her last
letter, now quite old, had added to this impression of aloofness and
rendered him somewhat timid as the time for meeting her approached. He
re-read it for the hundredth time as the train crawled out of the city--
"MY DEAR FRIEND,--Your good letter was very welcome indeed, and I thank
you for your sympathetic interest in our affairs at Terranova, but
since fate has shown in so many ways that your life lies in Louisiana,
and not in Sicily, I beg of you to let things take their course and
give up any idea of returning here. There is nothing that you can do,
particularly since time has proved your fears for our safety to be
groundless. It is kind and chivalrous of you to persist in offering to
take that long journey from America, but nothing would be gained by it,
absolutely nothing, I assure you, and it would entail a sacrifice on
your part which I cannot permit.
"Very little of interest or of encouragement had occurred here, but I
am working. I shall always work. Some day I shall succeed. Meanwhile we
talk of you and are heartened by your friendship, which seems very
close and real, despite the miles that separate us. We shall cherish it
and the memory of your loyalty to Martel. Meanwhile, you must not feel
bound by your promise to come back, which was not a promise, after all,
but merely an unselfish offer. Once again I repeat, it would do no
good, and might only disappoint you. Besides, I am hoping that you have
seen the woman of whom you told me and that she will need you.
"We are all well. We have made no plans.
"Yours gratefully, MARGHERITA GININI"
It was certainly unsatisfying, but her letters had all been of this
somewhat formal nature. She persisted, too, in referring to that
imaginary woman, and Blake regretted ever having mentioned her. If
Margherita suspected the truth, she could not help feeling his lack of
delicacy, his disloyalty to Martel, in confessing his love while the
Count was still alive; if she really believed him to be in love with
some other woman, it would necessitate sooner or later an explanation
which he dreaded. At all events, he hoped that the surprise of seeing
him unexpectedly, the knowledge that he had really crossed the world to
help her, would tend to dissipate her melancholy and restore her old
responsiveness.
During the months of his absence the girl had never been out of his
mind, and he had striven hard to reconcile his unconquerable love for
her with the sense of his own unworthiness. His unforgivable cowardice
was a haunting shame, and the more he dwelt upon it the more
unspeakably vile he appeared in his own sight; for the Blakes were
honorable people. The family was old and cherished traditions common to
fine Southern houses; the men of his name prided themselves upon an
especially nice sense of honor, which had been conspicuous even in a
country where bravery and chivalrous regard for women are basic ideals.
Having been reared in such an atmosphere, the young man looked upon his
own behavior with almost as much surprise as chagrin. He had always
taken it for granted that if he should be confronted with peril he
would behave himself like a man. It was inexplicable that he had failed
so miserably, for he had no reason to suspect a heritage of cowardice,
and he was sound in mind and body. He loved Margherita Ginini with all
his heart and his resolution to win her was stronger than ever, but he
felt that sooner or later he would have to prove himself as manly as
Martel had been, and, having lost faith in himself, the prospect
frightened him. If she ever discovered the truth--and such things are
very hard to conceal--she would spurn him: any self-respecting woman
would do the same.
He had forced himself to an unflinching analysis of his case, with the
result that a fresh determination came to him. He resolved to
reconstruct his whole being. If he were indeed a physical coward he
would deliberately uproot the weakness and make himself into a man.
Others had accomplished more difficult tasks, he reasoned; thieves had
made themselves into honest men, criminals had become decent. Why,
then, could not a coward school himself to become brave? It was merely
a question of will power, not so hard, perhaps, as the cure of some
drug habit. He made up his mind to attack the problem coldly,
systematically, and he swore solemnly by all his love for Margherita
that he would make himself over into a person who could not only win
but hold her. As yet there had been no opportunity of putting the plan
into operation, but he had mapped out a course.
Terranova drowsed among the hills just as he had left it, and high up
to the right, among the trees, he saw the white walls of the castello.
As he mounted the road briskly a goat-herd, flat upon his back in the
sun, was piping some haunting air; a tinkle of bells came from the
hillside, the vines were purple with fruit. Women were busy in the
vineyards gathering their burdens and bearing them to the tubs for the
white feet of the girls who trod the vintage.
Nearing his goal, he saw that the house had an unoccupied air, and he
found the big gates closed. Since no one appeared in answer to his
summons, he made his way around to the rear, where he discovered
Aliandro sunning himself.
"Well, Aliandro!" he cried. "This is good weather for rheumatism."
The old man peered up at him uncertainly, muttering:
"The saints in heaven are smiling to-day."
"Where are the Contessa Margherita and her aunt?"
"They are where their business takes them, I dare say. Ma che?"
"Gone to Messina, perhaps?"
"Perhaps."
"Visiting friends?"
"Exactly." Aliandro nodded. "They are visiting friends in Messina."
"I wish I had known; I just came from there. Will they return soon?"
Blake's hopes had been so high, his disappointment was so keen, that he
failed to notice the old man's lack of greeting and his crafty leer as
he answered:
"Si, veramente! Soon, very soon. Within a year--five years, at the
outside."
"What?"
"Oh, they will return so soon as it pleases them." He chuckled as if
delighted at his own secrecy.
Norvin said sharply: "Come, come! Don't jest with me. I have traveled a
long way to see them. I wish to know their whereabouts."
"Then ask some one who knows. If ever I was told, I have forgotten,
Si'or. My memory goes jumping about like a kid. It is the rheumatism."
After an instant more, he queried, "You are perhaps a friend of that
thrice-blessed angel, my padrona?"
With an exclamation of relief Norvin laid a hand upon the old fellow's
shoulder and shook him gently.
"Have your eyes failed you, my good Aliandro?" he cried. "Don't you
recognize the American?--the Signore Blake, who came here with the
Count of Martinello? Look at me and tell me where your mistress has
gone."
Aliandro arose and peered into his visitor's face, wagging his loose
jaws excitedly.
"As God is my judge," he declared, finally, "I believe it is, Che Dio!
Who would have expected to see you? Yes, yes! I remember as if it were
yesterday when you came riding up with that most illustrious gentleman
who now sits in Paradise. It is a miracle that you have crossed the
seas so many times in safety."
"So! Now tell me what I want to know."
"They have gone."
"Where?"
"How do I know? Find Belisario Cardi--may he live a million years in
hell! Find him, and you will find them also."
"You mean--"
"Find Belisario Cardi, that most infamous of assassins. My padrona has
set out to say good morning to him. He may even now be on his way to
purgatory."
Blake stared at the speaker, for he could not credit the words. Once
more he asked:
"But where? Where?"
"Where, indeed? If I had known in time where this Cardi lived I would
have knocked at his door some evening with the hilt of a knife. But he
was never twice in the same place. He has the ears of a fox. So long as
the soldiers went tramping back and forth he laughed. Then he must have
heard something--perhaps it was Aliandro whetting his blade--at any
rate he was gone in an hour, in a moment, in a second. Now I know
nothing more."
"She took the Donna Teresa with her?"
"Yes, squealing like a cat. She is too old to be of use, but the
Contessa could not leave her behind, I suppose."
Norvin felt some relief at this intelligence, reflecting that
Margherita would hardly draw her aunt into an enterprise which promised
to be dangerous. As he considered the matter further he began to doubt
the truth of Aliandro's story, for the old fellow seemed half daft.
Perhaps the Countess and her aunt were merely traveling and Aliandro
had construed their trip into a journey of vengeance. He had doubtless
spent all his time meditating upon the murder of his friend and
benefactor, and that was a subject which might easily unbalance a
stronger mind. Ten months had worked a change in Blake's viewpoint.
When he left Sicily the idea of a girl's devoting her life to the
pursuit of her lover's assassins had seemed to him extravagant, yet not
wholly unnatural. Now it struck him as beyond belief that Margherita
should really do this. Aliandro was continuing:
"It is work for young hands, Excellency. Old people grow weary and
forget, especially women. Now that Lucrezia, she is a fine child; she
can hate like the devil himself and she is as silent as a Mafioso. It
was two months ago that they went away, and that angel of gold, that
sweetest of ladies whom the saints are quarreling over, she left me
sufficient money for the balance of my days. But I will tell you
something, Excellency--a scandal to make your blood boil. She left that
money with the notary. And now, what do you think? He gives me scarcely
enough for tobacco! Once a week, sometimes oftener, I go down to the
village and whine like a beggar for what is mine. A fine man to trust,
eh? May he lie unburied! Sometimes I think I shall have to kill him, he
is so hard-hearted, but--I cannot see well enough. If you should find
him kicking in the road, however, you will know that he brought it upon
himself. You are shocked? No wonder. He is a greater scoundrel than
that Judas. Perhaps you--you are a great friend of the family--perhaps
you might force the wolf to disgorge. Eh? What do you say? A word would
do it. You will save his life in all probability."
"Very well, I'll speak to him, and meanwhile here is something to
please you." Norvin handed the old ruffian a gold coin, greatly to his
delight. "They have been gone two months and you have had no word?"
"Not a whisper. Once a week the notary comes up from the village to see
that all is well with the house. Many people have asked me the same
questions you asked. Some of them know me, and I know some who think I
do not. They would like to trick me into betraying the whereabouts of
the Contessa, but I lie like a lawyer and tell them first one thing,
then another. Body of Christ! I am no fool."
When Norvin had put himself in possession of all that Aliandro knew he
retraced his steps to the village, where the notary confirmed
practically all the old man had said, but declared positively that the
Countess and her admirable aunt were traveling for pleasure.
"What else would take them abroad?" he inquired. "Nothing! I have the
honor to look after the castello during their absence and the rents
from the land are placed in the bank at Messina."
"When do you expect them to return?"
"Privately, Signore, I do not expect them to return at all. That
shocking tragedy preyed upon the poor child's mind until she could no
longer endure Terranova. She is highly sensitive, you know; everything
spoke of Martel Savigno. What more natural than for her to wish never
to see it again? She consulted me once regarding a sale of all the
lands, and only last week some men came with a letter from the bank at
Messina. They were Englishmen, I believe, or perhaps Germans--I can
never tell the difference, if indeed there is any. I showed them
through the house. It would be a great loss to the village, however,
yes, and to the whole countryside, if they purchased Terranova, for the
Countess was like a ray of sunshine, like an angel's smile. And so
generous!"
"Tell me--Cardi was never found?"
The notary shrugged his shoulders. "As for me, I have never believed
there was such a person. Gian Narcone, yes. We all knew him, but he has
not been heard from since that terrible night which we both remember.
Now this Cardi, well, he is imaginary. If he were flesh and blood the
carabinieri would certainly have caught him--there were enough of them.
Per Baccho! You never saw the like of it. They were thicker than flies."
"And yet they didn't catch Narcone, and he's real enough."
"True," acknowledged the notary, thoughtfully. "I never thought of it
in that light. Perhaps there is such a person, after all. But why has
no one ever seen him?"
"Where is Colonel Neri?"
"He is stationed at Messina. Perhaps he could tell you more than I."
Dismayed, yet not entirely discouraged, by what he had learned, Blake
caught the first train back to Messina and that evening found him at
Neri's rooms. The Colonel was delighted to see him, but could tell him
little more than Aliandro or the notary.
"Do you really believe the Countess left Sicily to travel?" Blake asked
him.
"To you I will confess that I do not. We know better than that, you and
I. She was working constantly from the time you left for America until
her own departure, but I never knew what she discovered. That she
learned more than we did I am certain, and it is my opinion that she
found the trail of Cardi."
"Then you're not like the others. You still believe there is such a
person?"
"Whether he calls himself Cardi or something else makes no difference;
there has been an intelligence of a high order at work among the
Mafiosi and the banditti of this neighborhood for many years. We
learned things after you left; we were many times upon the verge of
important discoveries; but invariably we were thwarted at the last
moment by that Sicilian trait of secrecy and by some very potent
terror. We tried our best to get to the bottom of this fear I mention,
but we could not. It was more than the customary distrust and dislike
of the law; It was a lively personal dread of some man or body of men,
The fact that we have been working nearly a year now without result
would indicate that the person at the head of the organization is no
common fellow. No one dares betray him, even at the price of a fortune.
I believe him to be some man of affairs, some well-fed and respected
merchant, or banker, perhaps, the knowledge of whose identity would
cause a commotion such as Etna causes when she turns over in her sleep."
"That was Ricardo's belief, you remember."
"Yes. I have many reasons for thinking he was right, but I have no
proof. Cardi may still be in Sicily, although I doubt it. Gian Narcone
has fled; that much I know."
"Indeed?"
"Yes! The pursuit became hot; we did not rest! I do not see, even yet,
how we failed to capture him. We apprehended a number whom we know were
in the band, although we have no evidence connecting them with that
particular outrage. I think we will convict them for something or
other, however; at any rate, we have broken up this gang, even though
we have lost the two men we most desired. Narcone went to Naples. He
may be there now, he may be in any part of Italy, or he may even be in
your own America, for all I know. And this mysterious Cardi is probably
with him. It is my hope that we have frightened them off the island for
all time."
"And sent them to my country! Thanks! We're having trouble enough with
our own Italians, as it is."
"You at least have more room than we. But now, before we go further,
you must tell me about yourself, about your mother--"
Norvin shook his head gravely. "I arrived in time to see her, to be
with her at the last, that is all."
"I am indeed full of sympathy," said Neri. "It is no wonder you could
not return to Sicily as soon as you had planned."
"Everything conspired to hold me back. There were many things that
needed attention, for her affairs had become badly mixed and required a
strong hand to straighten them out. Yet all the time I knew I was
needed here; I knew the Countess was in want of some one to lean upon.
I came at the first opportunity, but--it seems I am too late. I am
afraid, Neri--afraid for her. God knows what she may do."
"God knows!" agreed the soldier. "I pleaded with her; I tried to argue."
"But surely she can't absolutely disappear in this fashion. She will
have to make herself known sooner or later."
"I'm not so certain. Her affairs are in good shape and Terranova is for
sale."
"Doesn't the bank know her whereabouts?"
"If so, she has instructed them to conceal it."
"Nevertheless I shall go there in the morning and also to her cousins.
Will you help me?"
"Of course!" Neri regarded the young man curiously for an instant, then
said, "You will pardon this question, I hope, but since she has taken
such pains to conceal herself, do you think it wise to--to--"
"To force myself upon her? I don't know whether it is wise or foolish;
all I know is that I must find her. I must!" Blake met the older man's
eyes and his own were filled with a great trouble. "You told me once
that revenge and hatred are bad companions for a woman and that it
would be a great pity if Margherita Ginini did not allow herself to
love and be loved. I think you were right. I'm afraid to let her follow
this quest of hers; it may lead her into something--very bad, for she
has unlimited capabilities for good or evil. I had hoped to--to show
her that God had willed her to be happy. You see, Neri, I loved her
even when Martel was alive."
The Colonel nodded. "I guessed as much. All men love her, and there
lies her danger. I love her, also, Signore. I have always loved her,
even though I am old enough to be her father, and I would give my life
to see her--well, to see her your wife. You understand me? I would help
you find her if I could, but I am a soldier. I am chained to my post. I
am poor."
"Jove! You're mighty decent," said the American with an odd
breathlessness. "But do you think she could ever forget Martel?"
"She is not yet twenty."
"Do you think there is any possibility of my winning her? I thought so
once, but lately I have been terribly doubtful."
"I should say it will depend largely upon your finding her. We are not
the only good men who will love her. They sailed from here to Naples on
the trail of Narcone; that much I believe is reasonably certain. I will
give you a letter to the police there, and they will help you. It is
possible that we excite ourselves unduly; perhaps you will have no
difficulty whatever in locating her, but in the mean time we will do
well to talk with her relatives and with the officials of the bank. I
look for little help from those quarters, however."
Colonel Neri's misgivings were well founded, as the following day
proved. At the bank nothing definite was known as to the whereabouts of
the Countess. She had left instructions for the rents to be collected
until Terranova was sold and then for all moneys to be held until she
advised further. Her cousins were under the impression that she had
taken her aunt to northern Italy for a change of climate and believed
that she could be found in the mountains somewhere. Blake was not long
in discovering that while the relations between the two branches of the
family were maintained with an outward show of cordiality they were
really not of the closest. Neri told him, as a matter of fact, that
Margherita had always considered these people covetous and
untrustworthy.
Having exhausted the clues at Messina, Norvin hastened to Naples and
there took up his inquiry. He presented his letter, but the police
could find no trace of the women and finally told him that they must
have passed through the city without stopping, perhaps on their way to
Rome. So to Rome he went, and there met a similar discouragement. By
now he was growing alarmed, for it seemed incredible that a woman so
conspicuous and so well known as the Countess of Terranova should be so
hard to find unless she had taken unusual pains to hide her identity.
If such were the case the search promised many difficulties.
Nevertheless, he set about it energetically, sparing no expense and yet
preserving a certain caution in order not to embarrass the Countess. He
reasoned that if Cardi and Narcone had fled their own island they would
be unlikely to seek an utterly foreign land, but would probably go
where their own tongue was spoken; hence the Countess was doubtless in
one of the Italian cities. When several weeks had been spent without
result the young man widened the scope of his efforts and appealed to
the police of all the principal cities of southern Europe.
Two months had crept by before word came from Colonel Neri which put an
end to his futile campaign. The bank, it seemed, had received a letter
from the Countess written in New York. It was merely a request to
perform certain duties and contained no return address, but it sent
Norvin Blake homeward on the first ship. Now that he knew that the girl
was in his own country he felt his hopes revive. It seemed very
natural, after all, that she should be there instead of in Europe, for
Cardi and his lieutenant, having found Sicily too hot to hold them, had
doubtless joined the tide of Italian emigration to America, that land
of freedom and riches whither all the scum of Europe was floating. Why
should they turn to Italy, the mother country, when the criminals of
Europe were flocking across the westward ocean to a richer field which
offered little chance of identification? It seemed certain now that
Margherita had taken up the work in earnest; nothing less would have
drawn her to the United States. Blake gave up his last lingering doubt
regarding her intentions, but he vowed that if her resolve were firm,
his should be firmer; if her life held nothing but thoughts of Martel,
his held nothing but thoughts of her; if she were determined to hide
herself, he was equally determined to find her, and he would keep
searching until he had done so. The hunt began to obsess him; he obeyed
but one idea, beheld but one image; and he cherished the illusion that
once he had overtaken her his task would be completed. Only upon rare
occasions did he realize that the girl was still unwon--perhaps beyond
his power to win. He chose to trust his heart rather than his reason,
and in truth something deep within him gave assurance that she was
waiting, that she needed him and would welcome his coming.