A HERO
WHEN she had given Maud's message to Mr. Marian, and he had gone to his
daughter, Enid felt sure that Maud would not need her presence for some
time, so she availed herself of the opportunity to take a walk.
Of late she had been in the house far more than was good for her, and
her health had suffered in consequence. She had striven to be cheerful
for her cousin's sake; but the many hours passed in the sick room, and
the extent to which her sympathy and forbearance had been taxed, could
not fail to exert a depressing influence on her. She felt sad and weary
as she stepped into the street.
It was late in the afternoon, and the air was growing fresh. Enid liked
to have a purpose in her walk, and she thought of an errand that would
take her to the Borgo Santo Spirito, at the other side of the city. She
passed along the Via Sistina, and descended the Spanish Steps.
She was crossing the piazza below, when someone uttered her name in a
high, resonant voice, and looking round she found Miss Guy beside her.
Enid was surprised to see her, for this lady had left the "pension"
some weeks earlier, and Enid believed that she had returned to England.
The surprise was hardly an agreeable one, but Enid did her best to
respond cordially to the eagerness with which Miss Guy greeted her.
Just as they were parting, she laid her hand on Enid's arm, and said,
"Has your cousin heard the news about Miss Amory?"
"What news?" replied Enid in surprise.
"Ah! I thought very likely you might not have heard. I only got the
news yesterday in a letter from London. She is engaged to be married."
"Is she really?" said Enid, interested at once. "Do you know to whom
she is engaged? It is no one whom I know, I suppose?"
"Why, of course," said Miss Guy, laughing. "Who should it be but Mr.
Dakin?"
Something like an electric shock seemed to pass through Enid as
she heard the words; but the very extent to which she was startled
prevented her from showing any particular emotion.
"Is it so?" she said, quietly. "Then I hope they will be happy.
Miss Amory is very bright and pretty. But I must really be going
on—good-bye." And she walked quickly away, whilst Miss Guy stood
looking after her with a malicious smile on her face.
Enid had received a painful surprise; but the immediate effect of
the news was to act as a stimulant to both body and mind. She walked
on with a quick, vigorous step, and her head held high. A feeling of
scorn had been awakened within her which gave her a curious sense of
exaltation. She even felt a sort of wonder at herself that she should
have heard such news and be so little affected by it. She thought of
her cousin, and hoped that she would not be seriously disturbed when
she learned what had come to pass. It seemed almost as if the fact had
little interest for her, save as it might affect her cousin in her
weak condition. It caused anxiety on Maud's account, that was all.
Enid smiled to think how brief a time had passed since Julius Dakin
had sought to win her for his wife. Well, the love he had offered then
could not have been worth much. It would be foolish to grieve over the
loss of so light a thing. And uplifted by pride, Enid felt wise and
strong enough to defy this startling event to disturb her serenity of
mind.
She walked on briskly, accomplished her errand, and then, yearning
for a breath of purer air than could be had in the close ill-smelling
streets of the Borgo, she ascended the straight steep street which
leads to the church and convent of St. Onofrio, the home and tomb of
Tasso, on the slopes of the Janiculum. She passed the convent and went
on up the hill, lingering for a few moments at the spot where Tasso was
wont to sit beneath his famous oak, which, crippled and propped, still
lives to put forth leaves in an honoured old age. The view from this
point is very fine, but finer still from the newly-made terrace above,
to which Enid now ascended by a flight of stone steps.
Many times during her stay in Rome had she climbed that hill for the
sake of the view it afforded; yet often as her eyes had been gladdened
by the prospect, it seemed to her that it had never looked so lovely
as now. Yet why did the sight bring tears to her eyes—for tears they
certainly were which shone on the long dark lashes, and in her heart
was a sore sense of bitterness and disappointment?
When Enid reached home, and went to her cousin's room, she found Mrs.
Marian seated, knitting in hand, by Maud's side, whilst the face of the
invalid wore a more tranquil expression than Enid had seen on it for
some time. She looked at her cousin with a meaning smile which seemed
to say, "You see I have done all that could be expected of me, and am
trying to make the best of it."
But when presently Mrs. Marian went out and left them alone, Maud had
little to say about what had passed.
"I have done my duty, Enid," was all she remarked; "but I won't pretend
that I liked doing it, or that I feel wonderfully happy now it is done."
"But you will feel happier, though," said Enid.
Maud made no reply. Enid asked no questions. She felt that the less
that was said about experiences so mortifying to Maud's pride the
better. The strong prejudice Maud had conceived towards her father's
wife could not be overcome in a day. Enid believed that in the end Mrs.
Marian's gentle, loving disposition would win for her the affection of
her stepdaughter; but this must be the work of time.
Meanwhile, in the days that followed, Enid watched anxiously the
intercourse between the two, fearing lest anything should occur to
check the slow growth of mutual esteem.
But Mrs. Marian was a model of discretion. She understood the character
with which she had to deal, and she did not attempt to overstep the
limits which Maud's manner tacitly imposed. She was careful not to
give the young lady too much of her company, nor to annoy her with
fussy attentions. Yet in many ways, Maud was made to feel the worth of
Mrs. Marian's kind thoughtfulness, and her perfect comprehension of an
invalid's needs.
Perhaps it was well that they were not together long at this time.
Whether she were happier or not in consequence of having obeyed the
voice of conscience, Maud's health improved from that day with rapid
strides. Her recovery seemed now assured. She was strong enough to
bear a short journey, and by the recommendation of the medical man,
apartments were taken for her at Frascati, a charming summer resort on
one of the slopes of the Alban Hills.
Mr. Marian thought that when he had seen his daughter settled at
Frascati, he might return to the business which now urgently required
his presence. Naturally he wished to take his bride with him. They had
passed a strange honeymoon, but perhaps the hours of painful suspense
and anxiety they had spent together had drawn their hearts closer to
each other than they would have come in hours of mere pleasure-seeking.
It hardly seemed right to leave with Enid the sole charge of the
invalid. But when Maud received a hint of the difficulty, she at once
made a suggestion which removed it.
"Let us ask Miss Strutt to go with us to Frascati," she said. "She
knows the place well, and has often spent weeks there making sketches
of the scenery. You need have no fear for us if she consents, for she
is the most prudent old Scotch-woman you could find anywhere. And Enid
likes her. It would please Enid, and she deserves to be considered, for
she has had a sad time with me of late. She little thought what she was
taking upon herself when she agreed to come abroad with me."
To the satisfaction of everyone concerned, Miss Strutt willingly
consented to accompany the girls to Frascati. Enid had now to busy
herself with preparations for their departure. The studio had to be
dismantled, and its pretty things packed away in boxes. This was
melancholy work. Maud had desired that her treasures should be so
packed that they might easily be forwarded to her in London.
"For I shall never come back to work at the Studio Mariano," she said
with a sigh.
"You think so now," Enid had replied, "but you will feel differently
when you are strong again. There is no reason why you should not come
back."
"I know; but I shall not do so," Maud said. "It has all been such a
failure somehow."
Enid understood, and said no more.
One afternoon when Enid returned from spending some time at the studio,
Maud asked her if she had seen Miss Strutt.
"No," said Enid. "I knocked at her door, but she was out."
"She has been here. She did not know that you were at the studio. She
hoped she might meet you on the way back. Only think, Enid; she says
that Mrs. Dakin and Julius came home last night."
"Indeed!" Enid bent hastily to inhale the perfume of a pot of
heliotrope which stood near the window.
"Are not you glad, Enid?"
Enid ignored the question, and said, "Did Miss Strutt tell you any news
of Julius Dakin?"
"No, indeed. What news should she tell me?"
"Oh, I did not know if you had heard. I was told the other day that he
was engaged to Miss Amory."
"Who told you that?"
"It was Miss Guy."
"Then I don't believe it is true," said Maud.
"Oh yes, I think it is true," returned Enid nervously.
"Why should you? You know we have not always found Miss Guy's
statements trustworthy."
Enid was silent. It had never occurred to her to doubt the accuracy of
the intelligence given by Miss Guy.
"Do you hope that it is not true, Maud?" she asked presently.
"For some reasons I do," replied her cousin quietly.
Enid was still giving her attention to the flowers. She had not
ventured to look at her cousin, but now as Maud spoke, she stole a
glance at her. It was not as she had feared. Maud's face did indeed
wear a thoughtful expression as she leaned back upon her cushions; but
was hardly a troubled look. She had not grown pale, nor did she show
any sign of excessive agitation. And when Enid looked again, Maud was
actually smiling.
"When did Miss Guy tell you this?" she asked.
"More than a week ago," said Enid. "I met her in the Piazza di Spagna,
as I was going for a walk."
"And you never told me—you never said a word of it till now. You
naughty Enid! I know why you kept it from me. You thought, did you not,
that it would hurt me to hear of Julius Dakin's engagement?"
Enid coloured guiltily, and could say nothing.
"I thought so," said Maud, laughing. "Well, I will be frank with you.
Some time ago it might have disturbed me to hear such news. I believe
I was silly enough to think that I—I cared for Julius Dakin. But I was
cured of that folly when I heard the way in which he spoke of me that
day in the studio. I don't know whether it was my heart or my vanity
that felt the wound, but it was a wound. I could never feel the same
towards Julius Dakin afterwards."
"It was very wrong of him to say what he did," said Enid.
"And yet he was right. The truth in his words made them sting the more.
I was a joke as an artist—I can see that now."
"You were not, Maud," replied Enid; "you have a genuine love for
everything that is beautiful; you have fine taste; you have the
instincts of an artist."
"Without the power," observed Maud, drily. "Well, we will not discuss
that. I am thinking about Miss Amory. I never liked the idea of Julius'
marrying her, even after I had ceased to have silly fancies about
myself; but now I really do not care whether he marries her or not. It
is wonderful the change in one that an illness like mine makes. I feel
quite another being, and my past life, with all its hopes and fears,
seems a long, long way off, and so dreamlike—the experience of some
one else rather than my own. Still, I am surprised at Julius Dakin.
He always used to laugh so at Miss Amory; I never thought he could
really care for her. But she is very rich, and men are incomprehensible
beings."
"They are indeed," said Enid.
"There is one man, though, whom I thoroughly believe in," said Maud,
with sudden energy, "and that is my dreadful friend and mentor, Sidney
Althorp. Do you know that he is to be my father's partner? Father has
been telling me about it this morning."
"I thought it would be so," replied Enid, "and I am very glad."
"I need not have distressed myself," she thought, as she went away to
her own room. "I need not have feared that Maud would break her heart
for Julius Dakin's sake. What a difference it would have made to me
if I had known the truth before! But I am thankful—oh yes!—I am most
thankful that I acted as I did."
Enid locked the door of the Studio Mariano and drew out the key. The
action was familiar enough, but to-day it had for her a peculiar
significance, for she said to herself that it was the last time.
Maud's possessions had already been removed to a place of security.
Nothing remained in the apartment except what was the property of the
"padrone," and Enid was about to return to him the key.
She paused for a moment on the landing. All was still in the house, for
the season was now far advanced, and most of the artists who worked
there in the winter had already taken their departure. Enid and her
cousin, with Miss Strutt, were to leave Rome on the morrow.
"So," said Enid to herself; half aloud, "it is all over."
There was something so melancholy in the thought, it was so painful
to recall all that had happened since the last hours of work and chat
which had been spent in that room, that Enid suddenly turned and
hurried down the stairs, as if anxious to escape from the place, gave
up the key, and was thankful to find herself in the street.
She was passing along the Via Sistina when an alarming thing occurred.
Without the least warning a loud report rent the air—so loud, so near,
that everyone in the street was painfully startled, and turned with one
accord in the direction whence the sound came.
On the other side of the Piazza Barberini a cloud of smoke, or dust
could be seen rising.
"A house has fallen!" was the cry.
Such events are not unknown in the history of modern Rome, where tall
houses of barrack-like ugliness are being rapidly constructed with
little regard to their safety or sanitation, whilst the beauty of the
old city is recklessly sacrificed to the supposed necessities of modern
life.
[Illustration]
Enid found herself borne along in the stream of persons who quickly
gathered together from houses and street corners, and made for the
scene of the disaster. But mid-way in the piazza they were met by
a number of persons hurrying from the spot, and the excitement was
increased by the tidings which these brought.
Enid turned to a man standing near, and learned from him that part of
an old house, which was being rebuilt, had fallen, and it was feared
that several workmen were buried under the "débris."
"Ah, poor fellows!" she exclaimed, sickening with horror at the thought
of their suffering. "They will surely be killed."
The man shrugged his shoulders, not unfeelingly, but by way of
expressing his sense of their small chance of escape.
Enid waited some minutes longer, but could learn no more. The crowd
was increasing at every instant; but the police had mustered too, and
were forcibly preventing the people from approaching dangerously near
to the wrecked house. As the pressure grew uncomfortable, Enid was glad
to extricate herself from the crowd, and returned home by some of the
quieter back streets.
Maud had begun to throw off her invalid habits, and was now well enough
to receive visitors. When Enid entered her room, she found Mrs. Dakin
with her. That lady greeted Enid very warmly.
"Well, Enid," she said, "I little thought to find you still in Rome on
my return; but this has been a sad illness of Maud's. However, it is
over now, so we will not speak of it. I tell her she is prettier than
ever, with her short baby locks and delicate bloom. But you are not
looking well, Enid. I declare you have given your roses to your cousin."
"I never had any to give," said Enid rather bluntly—she disliked the
least approach to flattery. "My colour was never anything but a good
serviceable brown."
"Well, whatever it was—we will not quarrel as to the shade—you have
lost it altogether now."
"I have been rather frightened," said Enid. "Did you hear the noise of
that house falling?"
"Indeed we did," said Maud. "It startled me dreadfully. I could
not think what it meant till the servant came and told us what had
happened. Have you heard any particulars?"
Enid told all she knew. They discussed the accident for some minutes.
Then Maud asked Mrs. Dakin if Miss Amory were with her.
"No, indeed," was the reply. "She is not likely to bestow her company
on me just now. She is visiting some of the relatives of her 'fiancé.'"
Then, seeing the girls' astonished looks, Mrs. Dakin added quickly—
"Oh, surely you have not heard and believed that ridiculous report?"
"We were told," said Maud, "that there was a prospect of Miss Amory's
becoming your daughter-in-law."
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Dakin in a tone of quiet exasperation. "I should
like to know who has spreading that story amongst my acquaintance. And
yet perhaps it is only a natural mistake, for Blanche 'is' going to
marry a Mr. Dakin, a cousin of my husband."
"Indeed! How strange that is!" said Maud, highly interested. "It has
come about very quickly, has it not?"
"With quite marvellous celerity," said Mrs. Dakin, her brows slightly
contracted. Evidently the match was not entirely to her mind.
"Is he nice?" asked Maud.
"He is very rich," said Mrs. Dakin drily, "but otherwise, not the sort
of man I should have imagined Blanche Amory would choose."
Enid heard all in silence. She felt convinced that Miss Guy had
purposely misled her with respect to Miss Amory's engagement, but it
hardly seemed worth while to be angry now. She was half ashamed of the
change wrought in her feelings by this explanation of the true state
of affairs. It was as if a great weight were lifted off her heart. She
dared not look at her cousin—not that she had any fear of what she
would see on Maud's countenance, but because she dreaded lest Maud
should read her own too truly.
But the talk went on, and apparently neither of the other two observed
Enid's silence. Mrs. Dakin had much to relate concerning her visit to
London. Tea was brought in, and Enid roused herself, and began to take
part in the conversation. The visitor seemed in no hurry to depart, and
as she was a charming companion, the girls tried to detain her as long
as possible. She had been there nearly an hour when at last she rose to
go.
"I shall hope to see you again before long," she said, as she bade Maud
good-bye. "Julius must drive me out to Frascati some day. I hope to
remain at home till the end of June, if the heat is not too dreadful."
Enid accompanied her to the outer door. As they were saying a final
good-bye, another loud report shook the house and jarred all the
windows.
Mrs. Dakin uttered a nervous scream. "This is dreadful!" she said.
"Another wall must have fallen. It is shameful that such things should
occur in Rome! Someone must be very much to blame."
"Oh, I do hope there are no more lives lost," said Enid, pale with
dread.
At that moment, Mr. Marian came up the stairs.
"Ah, you have been frightened—and no wonder!" he said, approaching
the ladies. "But I think you need not fear that any more persons are
injured. They were expecting another portion of the house to fall when
I was there just now, and the police were doing their utmost to keep
everyone at a safe distance."
"Have they been able to extricate those poor workmen?" asked Enid
anxiously.
"Yes; I believe they have got them all out. One poor fellow was killed,
and another was so injured that his recovery seems almost impossible.
Four of them have been removed to the hospital. The King has been
there, superintending the efforts of the rescuers, and even working
himself, at considerable risk, in the hope of saving the poor men."
"That is just like him!" exclaimed Mrs. Dakin enthusiastically. "What a
noble man he is!"
"Yes, indeed," echoed Enid; "he is a true hero. Rome has some living
ones still, though most of her heroes are dead and gone."
"They have passed from earth," said Mr. Marian, "but in a sense they
are neither dead nor gone. The spirit of a grand heroic life lives on
after the human life is ended, and has its influence on succeeding
generations."
Enid hastened away to see if her cousin had been greatly disturbed
by the second shock, and Mr. Marian conducted Mrs. Dakin down to her
carriage.
Since Maud's illness, and the arrival of Mr. Marian and his wife at
the "pension," Enid had not dined at the common table. Mr. Marian had
engaged a private sitting-room for his party, and their meals were
served to them there. Enid thus missed hearing the eager discussion
of the day's alarming incident which went on at Signora Grassi's
dinner-table.
Mr. Marian, seeing that all the ladies were excited and perturbed by
what had happened, resolutely talked of other things. For Maud's sake,
Enid seconded his efforts, but her thoughts continually reverted to the
accident. It had produced on her mind a strange sense of foreboding,
for which it was impossible to account. She tried hard to appear
unmoved, and succeeded, though in truth her nerves were more shaken by
the event than were Maud's.
After dinner, Enid went to her room to finish her packing, but
presently a restless desire for further news led her into the corridor,
and she passed along it till she gained the door of the dining-room.
The dinner was over, but some few ladies still sat at the table
trifling with the dessert, and talking with much eagerness. Enid heard
their words clearly as she lingered in the shadow of the doorway.
"Poor fellow!" said one. "I should be grieved if he is really
dangerously hurt. They say his courage was splendid. He was warned that
it was not safe to linger another moment, but he was intent upon saving
the man, and would not think of himself."
"What man? I do not understand," said another voice.
"Why, did you not hear what Mr. Archer was telling us about it? It
seems that there was a man in a doorway, pinned in by a mass of brick,
but almost unhurt. They were working frantically to set him free, and
had all but released him, when there was a shout that the wall above
was tottering to its fall. Everyone ran back except Mr. Julius Dakin.
He 'would' not till he had torn away the last stone and set the man
free. Then both ran; but the falling wall caught Mr. Dakin and felled
him to the ground."
"Oh, how dreadful! Was he very much hurt?"
"No one knows yet. He was taken up insensible. I should think myself
such a blow might be his death."
Enid felt as if she were turning to stone as she listened. She clung
to the wall for support, conscious of nothing save a sense of pain and
blankness and despair. Suddenly Signora Grassi came along the passage.
Enid sprang forward and grasped her with both hands.
"Oh, signora, is it true?"
"Is what true, 'carina?'" she asked, startled by her agitated manner.
"What they are saying about Mr. Dakin? Is he really so seriously hurt?"
"It is true that he has met with an injury. Let us hope it is not so
very bad. My dear child, I am sorry you have learned this so suddenly.
I forgot that he was a friend of yours."
"Oh, it does not matter about me," said Enid faintly, "only I wanted to
know."
She controlled herself with an effort, turned, and walked slowly down
the passage. She entered her room again, and sat down on the side of
her bed, strewn with articles that she had been about to put into her
trunk. Opposite her, gaping open, stood the half-filled trunk. Enid
gazed at it with vacant eyes.
"Yes," she said to herself, half aloud, "there are still heroes in the
world. He is one too. I always knew there was good in him. But oh! If
this should be his—" She could not utter the word death.
Suddenly a mist seemed to float before her eyes. The trunk at which she
was gazing swelled mysteriously to vast proportions, and rose towards
the ceiling. The room appeared to be turning round. Enid grasped the
bedclothes to save herself from falling, then sank backwards till her
head rested amongst the dainty collars and cuffs spread out upon the
coverlet.
When she came to herself, she was lying at full length upon the bed,
from which the things which littered it had been removed. Someone held
a bottle of strong smelling-salts to her nostrils, and with the other
hand waved over her a palm-leaf fan. Enid looked up, and met the kind,
anxious gaze of Mrs. Marian.
"Ah, she is better—she is coming round!" she observed in a low voice.
"What is it?" asked Enid, trying to raise herself. "Why—why, I must
have fainted. I never did it before."
"And you must never do it again," said Mrs. Marian smiling. "I am
grieved to think that we have let you come to this. We have been
thinking so much of Maud that we have forgotten to take proper care of
you, my poor child."
"Oh no, indeed; it is not that—it is not your fault at all," said Enid
faintly.
"I fear it is; I blame myself very much," replied Mrs. Marian. "How
your mother would reproach me if she knew!"
The mention of her mother was too much for Enid at that moment. "Oh, I
wish mother were here!" she said, and began to sob.
"Now, don't cry, there's a good child, but drink this, and you'll feel
better directly!" said a brisk voice on the other side of her.
And there, to Enid's surprise, stood Miss Strutt with a glass, which
she at once held to the patient's lips in a decided fashion it was
impossible to resist. Enid drank the cordial, and felt better. She even
made a feeble effort to rise, but Miss Strutt at once put her back upon
her pillow, saying—
"No, indeed; you will do nothing of the kind. You will please to lie
perfectly still whilst I finish your packing. I think I know how to
pack as well as you do."
"A great deal better, I have no doubt," said Enid. "But, Miss Strutt—"
She grasped her friend's hand, and drew her close to her, then
whispered—"You have heard what has happened?"
"Yes, my dear child, I have heard, and I understand. Oh, you need not
mind me. You must not grieve yet, Enid, for I hope it is not so bad as
you fear. I have been to the house, and they say that the doctor speaks
hopefully. He was stunned, and is still unconscious, and his arm is
broken; but they hope there is no more serious injury."
But Enid grew so white as she heard this, that Miss Strutt hastened
to add, in a rallying tone, "Come Enid, you must not let a broken arm
frighten you! Think what a hero he has shown himself; and remember
that a man cannot be a hero for nothing. You ought to be proud of your
friend."
A faint flush appeared on Enid's face as her heart thrilled in response
to Miss Strutt's words.
"Yes, I am proud of him," she thought, whilst glad tears came to her
eyes, and her heart found courage to hope that all would yet be well.