IN THE HUT OF ORIO
“It was almost dark in the little forest of pines when Ugo jumped from
his horse and knocked upon the door of the hut of Orio. The shepherd
himself gave answer, coming out with a lantern in his hand and a pack
upon his back. He and the lad were friends of the old time; and that
spirit of mutuality which is the finest spirit of the poor, excellency,
had led him to rejoice in the opportunity of so small a service.
“‘_Olà_, Ugo, is it thou? I have been waiting for thee since the
Angelus. _Cospetto_, it should be a swift horse that carries a bride.
Look, now, I am going to lie the night at Duka. What, thou wouldst have
my company?--out on thee for a rogue!’
“Such was his hearty greeting; and when he had kissed the bride on both
cheeks he lifted her from the saddle and showed her all that he had
done to make ready for them. And this, out of his exceeding poverty,
was not a little. The poor love the poor; and this man, who lived upon
maize bread and ate meat only at the feasts, had spread upon his table
a supper from which a noble would not have turned. Fresh sweet fruits,
crisp loaves, a steaming dish of meat dressed with garlic, a dainty
confection, a bottle of Chianti--these were the treasures he spread
before their astonished eyes.
“‘Nay, Ugo, it is nothing,’ he answered to their words of wonder;
‘there is only one day in a man’s life when a fast comes ill--and this
is thy day. Let thy wife eat and drink before there is sleep in her
eyes. To-morrow she may run through the woods with thee; and the day
after I will come again. If there is any talk of thee then, trust that
I will carry it. But he will have a keen nose who follows to the hut of
Orio. Surely, thy pretty words will lie snug here, my son.’
“The shepherd took his lantern, excellency, and when he had lighted it
he set out upon the road to Duka. He was a merry fellow, whole-hearted
and kindly, and they could hear his song rising up, faintly and still
more faintly, from the thickets and the gorge below them. Only when
the note had died away in the whispers of the wind did Ugo turn to
Christine, and feel, for the first time since the priest had married
them, that she had become a wife to him. She stood there before him,
pale, her eyes wan with fatigue, her hair blown awry by the wind,
her feet weary, her little Greek cap, which was his present to her,
powdered with the dust of the stony road. Yet was she the child of his
hopes, the little one whose face he had kissed in his dreams, the one
living creature in all the world whose touch was an ecstasy to him.
“‘_Carissima, anima mia_,’ he cried, ‘now art thou surely my wife!
Thou dost not fear my touch, Christine--nay, thou wilt lie in my arms
always, for I love thee, I love thee. Oh, there was never love like
mine, beloved, and never a wife like thee. Come close to my heart,
that I may hear thine beating. My lips burn upon thy face and arms,
Christine--sweet wife, dost thou not kiss me?’
“Lovers’ words they were, whispered as sacred messages, while he
pressed her to him and his breath was hot upon her cheek. She had
been all his hope--this little vagrant of the hills; and now she was
his own, to lie warm against his heart, to look love to him with her
wondrous eyes. His was Southern blood--the blood of a man nurtured upon
the sunlight and the breezes of the woods. He would have killed men
for Christine, excellency--but that night--the night of his life--no
other thoughts but those of his love were with him when his arms were
about the child, and her cheek pressed hot on his. He told himself that
she had come to him--would be with him evermore. All his world was in
the hut which the forest hid, all the joy of years rolled into one
long-drawn day.
“‘Dost thou not kiss me?’ for the second time he asked; and looking up
to him, she touched him lightly upon the forehead with her lips.
“‘Ugo,’ she said, ‘I am tired; thy arms hurt me; let me rest, and then
I will speak.’
“‘My arms hurt thee--thou sayest so--nay, that is the word of
yesterday. I know that thou lovest me, Christine, sweet wife!’
“‘I love thee, Ugo; have I not told thee often? What wouldst thou
that I should say? There is sleep in my eyes, and my limbs tremble.
To-morrow I will tell thee.’
“She drew back from his embrace, and sinking upon the rough couch
of skins which Orio had spread for her, she rested her head upon her
hands, and tears sprang to her eyes. The long day’s journey had brought
at its end nothing but this sense of homelessness and fatigue which now
weighed upon her to complete subjection. She prayed bitterly that some
power might carry her back to the island she had left--to the people
who had cried upon her, and the desolation of her home. The stillness
of the mountains frightened her; she began to remember that she had
stood before the altar with the man. Hour by hour that vision of a
childish friendship, of a journey upon halcyon days through flowery
walks and shady woods, grew dimmer and less pleasing. The flame of a
candle in a rude lantern cast a ghostly light upon the face of him she
must now call husband, and upon all things in that gloomy hut. Her
limbs ached with the labours of the journey; there was mist before her
eyes; she was one hungering for love--the love that is sympathy and
strength, and the foe to sorrow. She asked, though she knew it not,
for a father’s hands, that she might kneel to them and cling to them,
and shed unchecked the tears which now fell in burning drops upon her
scalded cheeks.
“‘Thou art tired, Christine--aye, surely thou art tired,’ cried Ugo
when he had watched her awhile, helpless to stem the tide of her gloom.
‘The road was long, and there is dust on the hills; _diamine_, thou
mayest well feel thy limbs tremble! And I have brought thee here to
fast when there is wine upon the table, and the meat which Orio cooked.
_Accidente_, that thou shouldst shed tears on such a night!’
“He was awake to her condition now, and pouring out a cup of the wine
which the shepherd had left, he knelt at her side, compelling her to
drink, and stroking her cheeks with his hand as he would have stroked
the cheeks of some dumb animal. It was not to be hidden from him any
longer that her fatigue was akin to illness; for when he pressed close
to her he could feel the tremble of her body, and her hands lay icily
cold in his. But she drank of the wine he offered her; and anon, when
she had rested her head upon his shoulder a little while, he found
that she had sunk into a deep sleep; and with a tenderness beyond his
state he laid her gently, as one would lay the most sacred thing in
the world, upon the bed, and covered her with the wolf skins which the
shepherd had prepared. And until midnight, excellency, he watched at
her side, forgetful of his own hunger and fatigue; glad that his should
be the eyes to watch her thus, his the arms to make a pillow for her
head.
“Until midnight he watched, and sleep was still far from his eyes. Nay,
his lips were touching the girl’s forehead and his cheek was warm on
hers when the sound of a footstep in the wood without called him from
his reverie. No longer fearful that Christine would awaken, startled as
a hunted deer, he sat up to listen, and knew that he heard the step of
man. A moment later there was a knock upon the door of the cottage.
“‘Ugo, dost thou hear? It is I, Orio. Put out thy lantern and open to
me.’
“Excellency, the lad’s heart quaked as he heard the words and hastened
to obey them. He knew that Orio would not have returned thus unless
danger was abroad in the hills; and that danger should have come at
such a moment was a bitter thought. Yet his was not the courage to be
blown away by the first whisper of warning; and silently, quickly, he
answered the summons.
“‘Is it thou, Orio?’ he cried, as the door was pressed back upon him
and the wind swept into the hut; ‘then surely thou hast news for me?’
“‘Aye, news indeed, my son,’ said the shepherd, stepping out of the
darkness and holding up his hand that the other might hush his voice.
‘There are soldiers now leaving Duka to search for thee. I have the
word that they beat this wood on their road to Jajce. Thou hast not a
moment to lose--unless thou wouldst feel the teeth of the Austrian dog.
_Maria santissima_--what a word to bring thee!’
“‘Sayest thou that they will first search thy hut, Orio? Then who has
spoken of me?’
“‘That will time tell. Think not of it now, but look to the things
while I get thy horse. The morrow must find thee in the woods of the
Verbas--nay, thou hast not an hour. They are abroad in the pass like
dogs in a thicket. Does thy wife sleep?’
“‘God have mercy, she sleeps heavy with cold and sickness. I have
tried to awaken her twice within the hour, and she has not answered
me. See for thyself how she is able to cross the mountains. They must
take me here, Orio. _Madonna mia_, that it should have come to-night! I
cannot leave her--you see that I cannot leave her.’
“The shepherd did not answer the lad at the moment, but struck a match
and lighted his lantern. The feeble yellow rays fell upon the face of
the sleeping girl, and added to the pallor of it. Though a flush of red
suffused the cheeks, there were heavy rings about the eyes, and the
hands which before had been cold now burnt with the rising fever. A
rapid, irregular breathing, a low moaning, an ever-changing attitude,
betrayed the penalties of fatigue and sickness. It was plain that he
who carried little Christine from the hut that night would carry her to
her death.
“‘God help thee, Ugo; thou sayest well,’ cried Orio, when he had held
his hand for a moment upon the child’s temples; ‘she is in the sweat
of the fever, and will travel no road to-night. _Accidente_, that thou
must leave her----’
“Ugo, wringing his hands with the trouble and the danger, turned upon
the shepherd a look of withering scorn.
“‘That I must leave her--you say that? And you are my friend, Orio!’
“‘My son,’ said the shepherd, quietly, ‘if you do not leave her before
the clock strikes again, you will wake to-morrow in the prison at the
fort. How then will you watch her? Oh, surely you have no choice!
Either the hills or the whip of the corporal--a hard ride to-night or
a cell in the city. And look now--I will guide you to a place in the
thickets of Glamoch, where all the soldiers in Austria will not find
you; but to-morrow before dawn I will be here again, and my wife shall
come, and we will do what we can for the little one. _Corpo dell’ anima
tua_, would I leave such as her to the wolves?’
“Ugo listened to his words like one distracted, bending often to kiss
the burning face of his wife, or protesting again and again that he
would never leave the hut. Misfortune had come upon him so quickly, he
had been so near to happiness, that passion and grief together blinded
him, and shut his ears to reason. He declared that the soldiers might
take him where he stood; that they should come to find his body by that
of his wife. Tears sprang to his eyes as he knelt at the bedside and
pressed close to her by whom this suffering had come. He cursed the day
when first he had seen her, the day when she was born.
“‘Thou wilt come again, Orio--aye surely--to find her dead. Let them
take me where I am. I will not leave her. She is all I have. Oh! thou
knowest that I love her, and she will wake at dawn and hold her arms
out to me and call my name, and there will be none to answer. You
cannot wish it--you, my friend?’
“Excellency, the shepherd did not respond to this passionate cry. He
had opened the door and put out the lantern even while the lad was
speaking; and now he held up his hand and stood to listen.
“‘Hark! dost thou hear any sound, Ugo?’
“‘I hear the breaking of branches in the wood.’
“‘Then get thy horse, lad, and God be with us. The troopers are coming
up the glen.’
“Ugo argued no more. Love of the woman had given way for the moment to
hate of the Austrian and fear of the prison. With one passionate kiss
upon the burning lips of the child, he followed the shepherd through
the thicket. And little Christine was still sleeping when the woods
echoed to the rattle of rifles, and the shepherd Orio fell dead upon
the hillside. For the men had delayed too long, excellency, and the
troopers met them face to face as they debouched from the sheltering
glade.”