"THE BITTER SPRINGS OF ANGER AND FEAR"
"Margharita!"
She had found her way into a lonely corner of the villa grounds, and,
with her head resting upon her hands, she was gazing across the blue
sunlit waters of the bay. Below, hidden by the thickly-growing shrubs,
was the white, dusty road, and the voice which disturbed her thoughts
seemed to come from it. She pushed the white flowering rhododendrons on
one side, and peered through.
"Leonardo!" she exclaimed. "Leonardo!"
She seemed surprised to see him standing there, pale, dusty, and with a
great weariness shining out of his black eyes, and it did not occur to
her to offer him any greeting. She could not say that she was glad to
see him, and yet her heart ached when she looked into his pale,
sorrowful face. So she was silent.
"Are you alone?" he asked.
"Yes. Adrienne is in the house, I believe."
"Then I am coming in."
She looked troubled, but she could not send him away. He clambered over
the low paling, and, pushing back the boughs of the shrubs which grew
between them, made his way up the bank to her side.
"Have you been away?" she asked.
"Yes, I have been home. Home," he repeated bitterly. "I have wandered
through the woods, and I have climbed the hills where we spent our
childhood. I have looked upon the old scenes, and my heart is broken."
Her eyes filled with tears. For a moment her thoughts, too, went back to
the days when they had been children together, and he had been her hero
brother. How time had changed them both, and how far apart they had
drifted. They could never be the same again. She knew it quite well.
There had grown up a great barrier between them. She could not even
pretend to sympathize with him, although her heart was still full of
pity.
"Leonardo, I am sorry," she whispered. "How is it, I wonder, that all
through life you seem to have set your heart upon things which are
impossible."
"It is fate!"
"Fate! But you are a man, and man should control fate."
"Have I not tried?" he answered bitterly. "Tell me, do I so easily
relinquish my great desire? Why am I here? Because I have said to myself
that I will not be denied. Adrienne shall be mine!"
She looked at him steadily.
"We have not met, Leonardo, since the night after the concert. Do you
know that we had an adventure on the way home?"
"Tell me about it," he answered, looking away.
"Is there any need, Leonardo?"
A faint tinge of color stole into his olive cheek.
"You guessed then," he said. "Tell me, does she know? Has she any idea?"
"None."
"She does not suspect me at all?"
"No; she thinks that it was an ordinary attack by robbers, and that the
carriage was to take us a little way into the interior, so that they
might hold us and demand a ransom. It was her own idea; I said nothing.
I feel as though I were deceiving her, but I cannot tell her. She would
never look upon your face again, Leonardo."
"You must not tell her," he muttered. "Swear that you will not!"
She shook her head.
"There is no need. I am not anxious to denounce my own brother as a
would-be abductor."
"Margharita, I was desperate," he cried passionately. "And that cursed
Englishman, he has become my evil genius. It was a miserable chance that
enabled him to become your preserver."
"It was a very fortunate one for you, Leonardo."
"What do you mean?" he cried sharply. "Tell me, has he been here?"
"Yes."
He seemed to calm himself with a great effort. He was on the threshold
of what he had come to know. He must keep cool, or she would tell him
nothing.
"Margharita," he said slowly, "the time is fast coming when I shall have
no more favors to ask you. Will you remember that you are my sister, and
grant me a great one now?"
"If I can, Leonardo."
"It is good. I shall not ask you anything impossible or unreasonable.
Tell me the truth about Adrienne and this Englishman, Tell me how you
have spent your days since this affair, and how often he has been here.
Then tell me what you yourself think. Tell me whether she cares for him;
and he for her. Let me hear the whole truth, so that I may know how to
act."
There was a moment's silence. A yellow-breasted bird flew between them,
and a shower of rhododendron blossoms fell at their feet. The lazy
murmur of insects floated upon the heavy afternoon air, so faint and
breathless that the leaves which grew thick around them scarcely
rustled. A clump of pink and white hyacinths grew out of the wall, the
waxy heads bent with the weight of their heavy, bell-shaped petals. She
snapped off a white blossom, and toyed with it in her fingers for a
moment. The lazy joy of the hot afternoon seemed to grate upon her when
she looked into that white, strained face, deep lined and suffering.
What right had nature to put forth all her sweet sights and perfumes, to
be so peaceful and joyous, while man, her master, could feel such agony?
It was mockery, it was not right or fair.
She thrust the flower into his hand.
"Leonardo," she whispered, "remember our watchword, 'Endurance.' I will
tell you everything. Lord St. Maurice came on the day after our
adventure. He stayed till evening, and we walked with him on the Marina.
The next day we went yachting with him. Yesterday and to-day he has
spent nearly the whole of his time here. I believe that he is in love
with Adrienne, and as for her, if she does not love him already, I
believe that she soon will. You have asked for the truth, my brother,
and it is best that you should have it. Forgive me for the pain it must
cause you."
He passed his arm round the gnarled branch of a small chestnut tree, and
then, turning round, hid his face. There was a great lump rising in her
throat, but she dared not attempt to console him. She knew that he was
angry with her--that he blamed her for his fruitless love, and despised
her for the lover she had chosen. In the days of their youth they had
both been dreamers. He had been faithful to the proud, romantic
patriotism which had been the keynote of their idealism; she, in his
eyes at any rate, had been utterly faithless. Only her affection had
remained steadfast, and even that he had commenced to doubt.
Presently he turned and faced her. His face was ghastly white, but his
eyes were hot and red.
"Where is she?" he asked. "I am going to her. I am going to see with my
own eyes, and hear with my own ears, whether this story of yours be
true. Where is she?"
She looked at him doubtfully.
"Leonardo," she said, "forgive me; but you will frighten her if you go
as you are now. Your clothes are all dusty and ragged, and you look as
though you were on the threshold of a fever. Besides, she is asleep. Go
down to the hotel and change your clothes, and then ride up here to
call. Somehow or other I will manage that she shall see you then."
He looked down at himself and smiled bitterly.
"It is true," he said, "I look but a sorry lover. Remember, Margharita,
that I hold you to your promise. In an hour I shall return."
He left the grounds, and walked down the hill, with bent shoulders, and
never a glance to the right or the left.