learned men which is the leaven of England met the two strangers
heartily; but, as Schlichter had foretold, nothing very remarkable or
very dazzling occurred to them, though, to be sure, the elder man kept a
jealous eye on his young friend, as if he had fears or expectations of
something happening. But Emilio calmly came and went, studied and saw
sights, went to quiet family gatherings or to large parties which the
uninitiated could not have distinguished from those of the charmed
uppermost circle, and yet no one of the many girls he saw seemed to
dwell in his thoughts more than courtesy required while he was in their
presence. One day Schlichter told him that a friend of his had
recommended him to a mine-owner as general overseer and agent of his
underground property, and that he probably would have nothing to do but
to step into the place. “You would rather have been tacked on at the
tail of some South American expedition or Central African survey, I dare
say,” he said; “but you had better take this and be thankful, Carpeggio.
The country is wild and picturesque, I believe—Monmouthshire, just on
the Welsh border—and you will be pretty much your own master. It only
depends on you to go up higher; but still I would not have you forget
the practical altogether. One must live, even if one does not run after
money for its own sake, which you, at all events, are not likely to do.”
So Emilio was left alone in England, in a responsible if not very
brilliant position, and faithfully did his work so as to gain his
employer’s whole confidence and respect. The local society decidedly
flattered the grave young overseer, whose title had over women the vague
charm it always awakens in romantic or speculating Englishwomen, and was
even not obnoxious to the men, whose practical minds forgave the
“foreign bosh” for the sake of the man’s good English and modest,
hard-working life. He was popular among the miners, and altogether, in
his little sphere, supreme. But parties and picnics sadly wearied him,
and he feared he was growing misanthropic (so he wrote to Schlichter),
when his employer took a new turn and began to court the notice of
guests for one of his newest mines, of which he made a pet and a show.
Whenever he had people to see him he arranged a party for going to see
the mine and its new improvements; it was to be a model, the machinery
was carefully chosen on improved principles—in fact, the place became a
local show. Strangers came, and the country people began to take pride
in it, so that Carpeggio often had to escort fat dowagers, experienced
flirts, fast young men, and statesmen on a short holiday, down the mine.
The contrast between this and his old home among the vineyards of Umbria
often made itself felt with strange vividness as he sat by these people
in the large cage or basket, swinging up or down between the dark, damp,
unfragrant walls of the shaft, he shouting one steady word to the men
who held the ropes, and then quieting the half-sham tremors of a young
lady, or smiling at the equally assumed carelessness of another whose
part in the play was the reverse of the old-fashioned ingénue.[7]
It was the contrast between his old life in Germany, so true and still,
and this English one, so full of froth and shifting scenes, that kept
him from feeling the fascination of his new surroundings. Graver and
graver he grew, as the wonder in his mind grew also, concerning the
effect that all this whirl of unreality must have, in its different
degrees, upon its victims. Were they all willing or passive ones? Did no
one ever rebel against the mould? Did no woman’s heart and woman’s hopes
strive against those worldly calculations which seemed to hedge in every
family, from that of the half-starving village solicitor, and even that
of the hard-working vicar, to that of his employer, and no doubt also of
the squires and the marquis, whose two daughters had just been presented
at court? Report said that one of these was very beautiful; it also
added, wilful. But that probably meant only a spoilt child, not a woman
with an individuality of her own.
One day Emilio was in the mine, making a sketch by the light of a
lantern for an improvement that had just occurred to him, when he heard
a noise not far off, and knew it to be the basket coming down the shaft.
He was putting his papers together to go and see who had come, when he
was met by one of the men smiling covertly, who told him that two young
ladies had insisted on coming down with him as he returned from an
ascent with a load of ore. They were alone, he said, and wore gray
waterproof cloaks and rubber boots, which they said they had put on on
purpose, meaning to go down the mine. He had begged them to wait till he
brought the overseer to do them the honors. “As pretty as pictures,”
said the man as Carpeggio moved off, “but evidently strangers to the
place.” A solution at once darted to the young man’s mind, but he said
nothing, and, when he got to the opening, he saw before him the great,
dirty basket, and two laughing, fresh faces still inside, as the girls
clung with ungloved hands to the ropes and peered out into the darkness
beyond them.
“Allow me,” he said, as he offered one of them his hand. “I am afraid
you will be disappointed in the very little there is to see, but I shall
be happy to show you over the place.” The two girls seemed suddenly
confused and answered only by letting him help them down. He led them
on, and here and there explained something which was Greek to them.
Presently one whispered to the other: “Why, Kate! he is a gentleman.”
“Hush,” said the other in sudden alarm: “he will hear you.” And she
immediately asked a question of their guide. When she found out that
there was a lower level than the one they were on, she asked to go down
at once, but Carpeggio gravely declined, on the plea of their being
alone and his not wishing to take the responsibility if they should get
wet through.
“No one need know,” said one of them. “We ran away on purpose, and there
is just time to go down and get home for tea. Luncheon does not matter.”
“Forgive me, madam,” said the young man with a smile, “but I would
rather not, and you can easily come again, with any one authorized to
let you have your own way. I cannot in conscience allow it while you are
alone.”
“It is no fun coming with a lot of old fogies, and in a carriage, and
one’s best behavior, and so on,” said the spokeswoman; “is it, Kate?”
The other blushed and hesitated, and at last said she thought it was
best to give up the lower level and go home; yet she seemed just as full
of life and fun as her companion, and had evidently enjoyed the escapade
just as much. Carpeggio looked at her for a moment and led the way
towards the basket. He went up with them and courteously bade them
good-by at the mouth of the shaft. The younger one held out her hand and
said: “You will tell us whom we have to thank, I hope?”
“Oh!” he said confusedly, glancing at the other and only seeing the
outstretched hand just in time not to seem rude, “I am only the
overseer.”
The other girl suddenly looked up and held out her hand to him, saying:
“Thank you; I am sure you were right about going further down. And now
we must say good-by.”
Carpeggio went down again to his interrupted drawing, but the face and
name of “Kate” came between him and his work. He saw neither of the
girls again for weeks, and carefully forbore to make any inquiries; the
gossip of the men did not reach the society which might have twitted him
with the visit of those unexpected explorers, and he kept his surmises
to himself.
Yet the door had been opened, and he was no longer the same, though to
outsiders no change was visible. Two months later there was a public
ball in the county town—an occasion on which many persons meet
officially on terms that are hardly kept up all the year round, but
which yet offer opportunities of social glorification “warranted to
keep” till the same time next year. This ball was to be followed the
next night by another, given by the regiment; and though this was “by
invitation,” it was practically nearly as public as the other. These
gayeties greatly excited the small world of the mining district, and for
the first time became of interest to Emilio, though he was angry and
ashamed to acknowledge it to himself. His work was the only thing that
did not suffer; as to his studies, they were interrupted, and even his
calm gravity became absent-mindedness. He was one of the earliest guests
present at the county ball, and watched the door eagerly for an hour at
least before he was rewarded. Then came a large party, to whom the
appointed ushers paid unusual attention, though the head of it seemed
but a kindly middle-aged man, remarkable only for his geniality. Every
one, however, knew the marquis by sight; Carpeggio, who did not, felt it
was he before even the deference paid to him told him so. By his side
were the two girls he had first seen in the mine-basket, now dressed in
white ball-dresses, airy and commonplace, just the same society uniform
as the three co-heiresses, the daughters of his own employer, but to him
how different, how tender, how sacred! That is to say, Lady Katharine’s;
for her pretty sister seemed an ordinary woman beside her.
And now began all the sweet, old-fashioned, foolish tumult of which
bards and romancers weave their webs; the trembling and fear and joy and
jealousy which Carpeggio had read of, but thought impossible in this
century of sham excitements and masqueraded lives. He thought that she
looked much more beautiful in her gray cloak and drooping black hat; but
still “Kate” in any dress was a vision of heaven rather than a common
mortal. As she came into the room, she looked anxiously around and saw
him at once. She had expected to meet him here, then—both were conscious
of it in that one look, and it seemed as if this blissful understanding
between them were enough. The youth turned to do his duty by his
employer’s three daughters and all the rest of his acquaintances, to
whom, in the character of a “dancing man” as well as a good match, he
was interesting; he spun off little courteous speeches, not untrue but
commonplace, until he felt that he had satisfied natural expectations,
and then he allowed himself a respite and gazed at the marquis’ youngest
daughter. Towards supper time Carpeggio’s employer, proud of the great
man’s courteous notice of him, suddenly bethought himself that an
“Italian nobleman” in his wake might make the marquis respect his
all-powerful purse the more, so he introduced his young overseer to the
marquis with a flourish very unpleasant to the former and rather amusing
to the latter. Emilio was struck with dumbness or confusion; his new
acquaintance took compassion on him and led him up to his daughters,
whose eyes had been for some time fixed upon him with breathless
interest. As he shook hands with them the second time he was in an
awkward bewilderment whether or no to allude to their former meeting; in
fact, his usual indifference was wholly upset. Lady Katharine was
equally silent; whether she shared his embarrassment he could not tell;
but the other, Lady Anne, skilfully and with a latent, suppressed gleam
of mischief in her eye, talked so as to cover his confusion and clear
away the thorns that seemed to grow up between him and her sister. At
last he had the courage to ask each of the girls for a dance, and this,
together with a word in the cloak-room as he escorted them to their
carriage, and the certainty of meeting them again at the military ball
next night, was all that happened to feed the flame of a feeling he knew
to be already beyond the bounds of reason.
Yet he did nothing to check this feeling; are not all lovers fatalists
for the time being? Of course it was hopeless, insane, impossible—he
could see it with the eyes of the world; but he also knew that it was
true love, the ideal and pure love of Arcadia, the one thing which,
whether realized or not, lifts men above conventional life and turns
gold to dross. He also fancied that this love might be returned, and did
not care to inquire further just now, when to be blind to details was to
be happy. Besides, these were the first girls he had seen that had not
lost their naturalness, and he wanted to watch and see if they could
keep it in the atmosphere in which they lived. This was not quite an
excuse; for the young cynic had really got to be a sharp observer of
human nature, and had, like most such observers when young, hastily
concocted one or two theories which he was now becoming anxious to test.
Nothing happened at the military ball more than the most uninterested
spectator might see at any ball; and yet much happened, for Carpeggio
met Kate and danced with her, and both, as if by mutual understanding,
were very silent. Her sister, however, made up for this by chattering in
the most meaningly meaningless way, and delighting the lovers by her
tacit abetment of anything they might choose to think, say, or do. After
these balls there was for a long time no more opportunity for meetings,
and Emilio chafed against his fate, using the leisure time he had before
spent in study for long walks to the marquis’ house—that is, as near as
he dared go without danger of trespassing. Once or twice he was lucky
enough to meet the girls on the highroad outside the park, and this he
enjoyed indeed; the progress was quicker, though as silent as in the
ball-room. Then once he met them out driving with their father, and on
another occasion came upon them at a neighboring squire’s, where they
were on a state visit. But all this made little outward difference,
though he felt as if he no longer needed anything but a solemn pledge to
change the inner certainty into an acknowledged fact. Lady Anne was
evidently a thorough partisan, and her sister’s silence and looks told
him all he wanted to know; yet he refrained from saying the word, and
knew that she understood why he did so. The fact was, he trusted to
Providence and his own power of shaping any opportunity sent him. The
whole thing seemed to him wonderful and mysterious; and as it had begun,
so doubtless would it be guided to a happy end.
One day his employer told him with much importance that he was going to
bring a “very distinguished” party to see the mine, and afterwards to go
through the works and see the melted ore pouring out from the furnaces,
“as that always amused young people so.” The marquis was coming with his
daughters and his only son from Eton, and a young friend, a cousin of
his, Lord Ashley; then he would have one or two of the “best people”
from the immediate neighborhood, and his own daughters, besides the son
of a friend out in Australia, a Mr. Lawrence, whom Carpeggio had heard
rumor speak of as a not unwelcome son-in-law in the eyes of the rich
mine-owner. He wondered whether Lord Ashley might be destined by her
father as a suitor for Kate; but the elder daughter would be more likely
to be thought of first, besides being the prettier.
The day came, and with it the party, who arrived in the afternoon,
picnicked in the adjoining woods, and then sauntered over to the shaft,
where Emilio met them. Kate wore the same gray-water proof, and, as he
took her hand to help her into the basket, he gave it the slightest
pressure, with a look that spoke volumes. She was almost as grave as
himself. I cannot describe all that went on during the inspection, which
to all, save Mr. Lawrence and the marquis, was a pleasure party in
disguise; for the former knew something of the subject from Australian
experiences, and the latter was considering the question of renting, or
himself working, a mine lately found on his own property. Technical
questions, explanations, and discussions, between these two visitors and
the owner and overseer took up the time, while the young ladies, Lord
Ashley, and the jolly Eton boy, who was a counterpart of his livelier
sister, laughed and joked like a mixed school in play-time. Carpeggio,
however, kept his eye on Kate the whole time, and was comforted; for
there was no fear of that nature being spoiled, though he thought with
sorrow that it might be bruised and crushed. Suddenly, in the midst of a
discussion, his ear caught an unaccustomed sound, and he turned pale for
a moment, then bent forward composedly and whispered in his employer’s
ear. The latter, after an almost imperceptible start, said briskly to
his guests: “As it is near the hour for the furnaces to show off at
their best, I think we had better be moving,” and led the way rather
quickly to the shaft. Carpeggio contrived to get near Kate, whose
silence showed how glad she was of the companionship, but he was
preoccupied and anxious and spoke a few words absently. A loud noise was
heard, seemingly not far away, and the visitors asked, “What is that?”
while the master hurriedly said, “Oh! it is only a blast, but we must
not be late for the furnaces; come,” and tried to marshal his guests
closely together. Instinctively they obeyed and hurried forward; the
marquis looked round for his children. Anne and the boy were near him,
but Kate not to be seen. There was a corner to be turned, and she was
just behind it, when another noise overhead was heard and Carpeggio
rushed like the wind from behind the angle, carrying the girl in his
arms. It was the work of a second; for as he set her on her feet by her
father’s side, and almost against the basket, down came a huge fragment
and all but blocked up the gallery behind them, falling on the spot
where she might have been had she lingered another moment. Whether or
not she had heard his passionate whisper, “My own,” as he gathered her
suddenly in his arms and took that breathless rush, he could hardly
tell, for she was dazed and half-unconscious when he set her down again.
Her father thanked him by an emphatic shake of the hand and a look he
treasured up in his soul; but there was no time for more, as the basket
was hastily loaded with the girls and drawn up. As the signal came down
that they were safe, the owner’s tongue was loosed, and he explained
rapidly that something had happened on the second level (they were on
the third) and shaken the rock below; he trusted nothing more would
happen, but he must beg his guests to visit the works alone, as he must
stop to see to the damage.
“No,” said the overseer, “think of your daughters’ anxiety, my dear sir;
there is probably nothing very serious, and it is nearly time for the
men to come up. I shall do very well alone.”
The marquis looked at him admiringly; he could not advise him to leave
without doing his duty, yet he felt suddenly loath to have anything
happen to the preserver of his daughter. After a short altercation the
master consented to go up, provided Carpeggio would send for him, if
necessary; and the basket came down again. As they reached the next
level, where the overseer got out, they heard uncomfortable rumblings at
intervals; and when they got out at the mouth of the shaft, where they
met a good many of the men who had come up by another opening, they were
very unlike a gala party. Kate was still there; they had wanted her,
said the girls, to go in and rest in a cottage near by, but she insisted
on waiting; and when she saw all but Carpeggio she only turned away in a
hopeless, silent way that concerned her sister, who alone knew the
cause. Anne immediately put questions that brought out the facts of the
case; and as their host tried hard to put the party at their ease again
by hastening to the furnaces under the sheds, she whispered: “Kate, do
keep up, or there will be such a fuss.”
“Never fear,” said the girl; “and try and make them stay till we hear
what has happened, Anne; I do not want to go home without knowing.”
It was nervous work for the master and the men who were tending the
molten ore to conceal their anxiety. The beautiful white iron, flowing
like etherealized lava, rushing out from the dark, oven-like furnaces
and spreading into the little canals made ready for it, gave one a
better idea of pure light than anything could do. The heat was intense,
and the men opened the doors with immense long poles tipped with iron;
the gradual darkening of the evening threw shadows about the place, and
the streams of living light, that looked as the atmosphere of God’s
throne might look, settled into their moulds, hardening and darkening
into long, heavy, unlovely bars. A suppressed excitement was at work;
groups of men came up every minute with contradictory reports as to the
accident; women and children met them with wild questions or equally
wild recognition; and the master repeatedly sent messages to the mouth
of the shaft. At last, throwing by all pretence, he begged his guests to
wait for news, and with Lawrence went back to the mine. More men were
coming up—the last but five, he was told—and Mr. Carpeggio had said he
thought he and his four mates could do all that was needed and come up
before any mischief happened to them. The soil was loosening under the
action of water, and to save the ore accumulated below, and which could
not be hauled up in time, they had built a sort of wall across the
gallery as well as the circumstances and the time would allow; Mr.
Carpeggio had sent the men away as fast as he could spare them, and kept
only four with him to finish, which was the most dangerous part of the
business, as the water threatened them more and more.
“He sent all the married men up first, and asked the rest to volunteer
as to who among them should stay, as he only wanted four,” said one of
the men; “and I thought they would all have insisted upon staying, but
he grew angry and said there was no time; so they agreed to draw lots.”
Another quarter of an hour’s suspense, and then a low, muttering sound
that spread horror among the whispering multitude gathered at the mouth
of the shaft. Some men went down to the first level, and soon came up
with blank faces and whispered to the master: no sound but that of water
was to be heard below, and fears for the safety of the workers were too
confidently expressed. Nothing remained but to give orders for affording
relief; the only comfort was that there had been no sign of the air
becoming vitiated. Here the master’s experience was at fault, and he had
to rely on that of some of the older men. “If Carpeggio had been here,
he would have got the men out in two hours,” he asserted confidently;
“but he must go and get himself mewed up there, and leave me no one to
direct things—though I believe he can get himself out as quick as any of
us can dig him out,” he said, with a half-laugh; and one of the men
whispered to his neighbor:
“I do not wonder he sets such store by him; I had rather be down there
myself than have him killed.”