II

I cannot describe our finish any better than our start; for our fear

passed away as it had come, without cause. Suddenly I was able to see,

and hear, and cough, and clear my mouth. Looking back, I saw that the

others were stopping too; and, in a short time, we were all together,

though it was long before we could speak, and longer before we dared to.

No one was seriously injured. My poor wife had sprained her ankle,

Leyland had torn one of his nails on a tree trunk, and I myself had

scraped and damaged my ear. I never noticed it till I had stopped.

We were all silent, searching one another's faces. Suddenly Miss Mary

Robinson gave a terrible shriek. "Oh, merciful heavens! where is

Eustace?" And then she would have fallen, if Mr. Sandbach had not caught

her.

"We must go back, we must go back at once," said my Rose, who was quite

the most collected of the party. "But I hope--I feel he is safe."

Such was the cowardice of Leyland, that he objected. But, finding

himself in a minority, and being afraid of being left alone, he gave in.

Rose and I supported my poor wife, Mr. Sandbach and Miss Robinson helped

Miss Mary, and we returned slowly and silently, taking forty minutes to

ascend the path that we had descended in ten.

Our conversation was naturally disjointed, as no one wished to offer an

opinion on what had happened. Rose was the most talkative: she startled

us all by saying that she had very nearly stopped where she was.

"Do you mean to say that you weren't--that you didn't feel compelled to

go?" said Mr. Sandbach.

"Oh, of course, I did feel frightened"--she was the first to use the

word--"but I somehow felt that if I could stop on it would be quite

different, that I shouldn't be frightened at all, so to speak." Rose

never did express herself clearly: still, it is greatly to her credit

that she, the youngest of us, should have held on so long at that

terrible time.

"I should have stopped, I do believe," she continued, "if I had not seen

mamma go."

Rose's experience comforted us a little about Eustace. But a feeling of

terrible foreboding was on us all, as we painfully climbed the

chestnut-covered slopes and neared the little clearing. When we reached

it our tongues broke loose. There, at the further side, were the remains

of our lunch, and close to them, lying motionless on his back, was

Eustace.

With some presence of mind I at once cried out: "Hey, you young monkey!

jump up!" But he made no reply, nor did he answer when his poor aunts

spoke to him. And, to my unspeakable horror, I saw one of those green

lizards dart out from under his shirt-cuff as we approached.

We stood watching him as he lay there so silently, and my ears began to

tingle in expectation of the outbursts of lamentations and tears.

Miss Mary fell on her knees beside him and touched his hand, which was

convulsively entwined in the long grass.

As she did so, he opened his eyes and smiled.

I have often seen that peculiar smile since, both on the possessor's

face and on the photographs of him that are beginning to get into the

illustrated papers. But, till then, Eustace had always worn a peevish,

discontented frown; and we were all unused to this disquieting smile,

which always seemed to be without adequate reason.

His aunts showered kisses on him, which he did not reciprocate, and then

there was an awkward pause, Eustace seemed so natural and undisturbed,

yet, if he had not had astonishing experiences himself, he ought to have

been all the more astonished at our extraordinary behaviour. My wife,

with ready tact, endeavoured to behave as if nothing had happened.

"Well, Mr. Eustace," she said, sitting down as she spoke, to ease her

foot, "how have you been amusing yourself since we have been away?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Tytler, I have been very happy."

"And where have you been?"

"Here."

"And lying down all the time, you idle boy?"

"No, not all the time."

"What were you doing before?"

"Oh; standing or sitting."

"Stood and sat doing nothing! Don't you know the poem 'Satan finds some

mischief still for----'"

"Oh, my dear madam, hush! hush!" Mr. Sandbach's voice broke in; and my

wife, naturally mortified by the interruption, said no more and moved

away. I was surprised to see Rose immediately take her place, and, with

more freedom than she generally displayed, run her fingers through the

boy's tousled hair.

"Eustace! Eustace!" she said, hurriedly, "tell me everything--every

single thing."

Slowly he sat up--till then he had lain on his back.

"Oh, Rose," he whispered, and, my curiosity being aroused, I moved

nearer to hear what he was going to say. As I did so, I caught sight of

some goats' footmarks in the moist earth beneath the trees.

"Apparently you have had a visit from some goats," I observed. "I had no

idea they fed up here."

Eustace laboriously got on to his feet and came to see; and when he saw

the footmarks he lay down and rolled on them, as a dog rolls in dirt.

After that there was a grave silence, broken at length by the solemn

speech of Mr. Sandbach.

"My dear friends," he said, "it is best to confess the truth bravely. I

know that what I am going to say now is what you are all now feeling.

The Evil One has been very near us in bodily form. Time may yet discover

some injury that he has wrought among us. But, at present, for myself at

all events, I wish to offer up thanks for a merciful deliverance."

With that he knelt down, and, as the others knelt, I knelt too, though I

do not believe in the Devil being allowed to assail us in visible form,

as I told Mr. Sandbach afterwards. Eustace came too, and knelt quietly

enough between his aunts after they had beckoned to him. But when it was

over he at once got up, and began hunting for something.

"Why! Someone has cut my whistle in two," he said. (I had seen Leyland

with an open knife in his hand--a superstitious act which I could hardly

approve.)

"Well, it doesn't matter," he continued.

"And why doesn't it matter?" said Mr. Sandbach, who has ever since tried

to entrap Eustace into an account of that mysterious hour.

"Because I don't want it any more."

"Why?"

At that he smiled; and, as no one seemed to have anything more to say, I

set off as fast as I could through the wood, and hauled up a donkey to

carry my poor wife home. Nothing occurred in my absence, except that

Rose had again asked Eustace to tell her what had happened; and he, this

time, had turned away his head, and had not answered her a single word.

As soon as I returned, we all set off. Eustace walked with difficulty,

almost with pain, so that, when we reached the other donkeys, his aunts

wished him to mount one of them and ride all the way home. I make it a

rule never to interfere between relatives, but I put my foot down at

this. As it turned out, I was perfectly right, for the healthy exercise,

I suppose, began to thaw Eustace's sluggish blood and loosen his

stiffened muscles. He stepped out manfully, for the first time in his

life, holding his head up and taking deep draughts of air into his

chest. I observed with satisfaction to Miss Mary Robinson, that Eustace

was at last taking some pride in his personal appearance.

Mr. Sandbach sighed, and said that Eustace must be carefully watched,

for we none of us understood him yet. Miss Mary Robinson being very

much--over much, I think--guided by him, sighed too.

"Come, come. Miss Robinson," I said, "there's nothing wrong with

Eustace. Our experiences are mysterious, not his. He was astonished at

our sudden departure, that's why he was so strange when we returned. He's

right enough--improved, if anything."

"And is the worship of athletics, the cult of insensate activity, to be

counted as an improvement?" put in Leyland, fixing a large, sorrowful

eye on Eustace, who had stopped to scramble on to a rock to pick some

cyclamen. "The passionate desire to rend from Nature the few beauties

that have been still left her--that is to be counted as an improvement

too?"

It is mere waste of time to reply to such remarks, especially when they

come from an unsuccessful artist, suffering from a damaged finger. I

changed the conversation by asking what we should say at the hotel.

After some discussion, it was agreed that we should say nothing, either

there or in our letters home. Importunate truth-telling, which brings

only bewilderment and discomfort to the hearers, is, in my opinion, a

mistake; and, after a long discussion, I managed to make Mr. Sandbach

acquiesce in my view.

Eustace did not share in our conversation. He was racing about, like a

real boy, in the wood to the right. A strange feeling of shame;

prevented us from openly mentioning our fright to him. Indeed, it seemed

almost reasonable to conclude that it had made but little impression on

him. So it disconcerted us when he bounded back with an armful of

flowering acanthus, calling out:

"Do you suppose Gennaro'll be there when we get back?"

Gennaro was the stop-gap waiter, a clumsy, impertinent fisher-lad, who

had been had up from Minori in the absence of the nice English-speaking

Emmanuele. It was to him that we owed our scrappy lunch; and I could not

conceive why Eustace desired to see him, unless it was to make mock with

him of our behaviour.

"Yes, of course he will be there," said Miss Robinson. "Why do you ask,

dear?"

"Oh, I thought I'd like to see him."

"And why?" snapped Mr. Sandbach.

"Because, because I do, I do; because, because I do." He danced away

into the darkening wood to the rhythm of his words.

"This is very extraordinary," said Mr. Sandbach. "Did he like Gennaro

before?"

"Gennaro has only been here two days," said Rose, "and I know that they

haven't spoken to each other a dozen times."

Each time Eustace returned from the wood his spirits were higher. Once

he came whooping down on us as a wild Indian, and another time he made

believe to be a dog. The last time he came back with a poor dazed hare,

too frightened to move, sitting on his arm. He was getting too

uproarious, I thought; and we were all glad to leave the wood, and start

upon the steep staircase path that leads down into Ravello. It was late

and turning dark; and we made all the speed we could, Eustace scurrying

in front of us like a goat.

Just where the staircase path debouches on the white high road, the next

extraordinary incident of this extraordinary day occurred. Three old

women were standing by the wayside. They, like ourselves, had come down

from the woods, and they were resting their heavy bundles of fuel on the

low parapet of the road. Eustace stopped in front of them, and, after a

moment's deliberation, stepped forward and--kissed the left-hand one on

the cheek!

"My good fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Sandbach, "are you quite crazy?"

Eustace said nothing, but offered the old woman some of his flowers, and

then hurried on. I looked back; and the old woman's companions seemed as

much astonished at the proceeding as we were. But she herself had put

the flowers in her bosom, and was murmuring blessings.

This salutation of the old lady was the first example of Eustace's

strange behaviour, and we were both surprised and alarmed. It was

useless talking to him, for he either made silly replies, or else

bounded away without replying at all.

He made no reference on the way home to Gennaro, and I hoped that that

was forgotten. But, when we came to the Piazza, in front of the

Cathedral, he screamed out: "Gennaro! Gennaro!" at the top of his voice,

and began running up the little alley that led to the hotel. Sure

enough, there was Gennaro at the end of it, with his arms and legs

sticking out of the nice little English-speaking waiter's dress suit,

and a dirty fisherman's cap on his head--for, as the poor landlady truly

said, however much she superintended his toilette, he always managed to

introduce something incongruous into it before he had done.

Eustace sprang to meet him, and leapt right up into his arms, and put

his own arms round his neck. And this in the presence, not only of us,

but also of the landlady, the chambermaid, the facchino, and of two

American ladies who were coming for a few days' visit to the little

hotel.

I always make a point of behaving pleasantly to Italians, however little

they may deserve it; but this habit of promiscuous intimacy was

perfectly intolerable and could only lead to familiarity and

mortification for all. Taking Miss Robinson aside, I asked her

permission to speak seriously to Eustace on the subject of intercourse

with social inferiors. She granted it; but I determined to wait till the

absurd boy had calmed down a little from the excitement of the day.

Meanwhile, Gennaro, instead of attending to the wants of the two new

ladies, carried Eustace into the house, as if it was the most natural

thing in the world.

"Ho capito," I heard him say as he passed me. 'Ho capito' is the Italian

for 'I have understood'; but, as Eustace had not spoken to him, I could

not see the force of the remark. It served to increase our bewilderment,

and, by the time we sat down at the dinner-table, our imaginations and

our tongues were alike exhausted.

I omit from this account the various comments that were made, as few of

them seem worthy of being recorded. But, for three or four hours, seven

of us were pouring forth our bewilderment in a stream of appropriate and

inappropriate exclamations. Some traced a connection between our

behaviour in the afternoon and the behaviour of Eustace now. Others saw

no connexion at all. Mr. Sandbach still held to the possibility of

infernal influences, and also said that he ought to have a doctor.

Leyland only saw the development of "that unspeakable Philistine, the

boy." Rose maintained, to my surprise, that everything was excusable;

while I began to see that the young gentleman wanted a sound thrashing.

The poor Miss Robinsons swayed helplessly about between these diverse

opinions; inclining now to careful supervision, now to acquiescence, now

to corporal chastisement, now to Eno's Fruit Salt.

Dinner passed off fairly well, though Eustace was terribly fidgety,

Gennaro as usual dropping the knives and spoons, and hawking and

clearing his throat. He only knew a few words of English, and we were

all reduced to Italian for making known our wants. Eustace, who had

picked up a little somehow, asked for some oranges. To my annoyance,

Gennaro, in his answer made use of the second person singular--a form

only used when addressing those who are both intimates and equals.

Eustace had brought it on himself; but an impertinence of this kind was

an affront to us all, and I was determined to speak, and to speak at

once.

When I heard him clearing the table I went in, and, summoning up my

Italian, or rather Neapolitan--the Southern dialects are execrable--I

said, "Gennaro! I heard you address Signor Eustace with 'Tu.'"

"It is true."

"You are not right. You must use 'Lei' or 'Voi'--more polite forms. And

remember that, though Signor Eustace is sometimes silly and

foolish--this afternoon for example--yet you must always behave

respectfully to him; for he is a young English gentleman, and you are a

poor Italian fisher-boy."

I know that speech sounds terribly snobbish, but in Italian one can say

things that one would never dream of saying in English. Besides, it is

no good speaking delicately to persons of that class. Unless you put

things plainly, they take a vicious pleasure in misunderstanding you.

An honest English fisherman would have landed me one in the eye in a

minute for such a remark, but the wretched down-trodden Italians have no

pride. Gennaro only sighed, and said: "It is true."

"Quite so," I said, and turned to go. To my indignation I heard him add:

"But sometimes it is not important."

"What do you mean?" I shouted.

He came close up to me with horrid gesticulating fingers.

"Signor Tytler, I wish to say this. If Eustazio asks me to call him

'Voi,' I will call him 'Voi.' Otherwise, no."

With that he seized up a tray of dinner things, and fled from the room

with them; and I heard two more wine-glasses go on the court-yard floor.

I was now fairly angry, and strode out to interview Eustace. But he had

gone to bed, and the landlady, to whom I also wished to speak, was

engaged. After more vague wonderings, obscurely expressed owing to the

presence of Janet and the two American ladies, we all went to bed, too,

after a harassing and most extraordinary day.