he is so good!" cried Violante, as she ran to meet her sister and threw
herself into her arms. Timid as the southern maiden might be she had
none of the proud, reticent "shamefastness" that would have led an
English girl to conceal her joy even from herself. It was all right and
natural; and as Rosa, aghast, dropped into a chair she knelt beside her,
her sweet, pathetic eyes and lips transfigured as a flower by the sun.
"What did he say to you?" exclaimed Rosa.
"He loves me--he is coming back again. He does not mind about my
singing--Ah, I cannot tell you," and the bright face drooped with sudden
bashfulness.
"Oh!" cried Rosa, passionately, as she pulled off her hat and fanned
herself with it; "what a foolish world this is! What has he said? what
has he done?" she repeated, almost fiercely.
"He asked me to marry him," said Violante, with a sort of dignity.
"Oh, dear! he is a very foolish young man. What is to come of it?--what
_can_ come of it? Nothing but trouble."
Violante gazed at her, mute and frightened; then her face brightened
with an incredulous smile.
"Oh, if you had never seen him!"
"Rosa!" cried Violante, springing to her feet, "rather than that, I
would be miserable for ever--rather than _that_, I would die."
"Because you are as silly as the rest! Oh, you unlucky child! don't you
see that it is impossible? Either he will go back to his own people and
they will talk him out of it, or he will marry you in spite of them.
But no, he shall never do that!"
"But he said it would be right," said Violante; then, as Rosa laughed
bitterly, she went on, pleadingly: "Oh, Rosa mia, it is you who are
silly. _He_ will make it right. Indeed, I am happy; but I cannot bear
to see you cry. I will act, I shall not care now, and you must keep
father from being vexed." There was much in Violante's speech of the
unconscious selfishness of one to whom the part of comforter was a
strange reversion of ordinary life; but her caresses were very sweet to
Rosa, who, recovering herself with an effort, said:
"Well, Violante, you can't expect me to believe in him as you do! I
never thought it would come to this!"
"But, Rosa, you will not try to stop it?" Rosa hesitated. Even
supposing Hugh entirely faithful, what doubtful happiness lay before her
sister; and, if not, what a blank of disappointment, what hopeless
injury, what misery how unendurable to the girl who shrank and trembled
at a harsh word!
Rosa sat upright and gazed straight before her, while Violante watched,
unable to understand her face.
"No!" at length she exclaimed, "you must take your chance with the rest
of us. How can I or anyone help it? But--but--I'll never stop anyone's
love--oh, my little darling, my little darling!" and Rosa broke down
into tears, hiding her face in the girl's soft hair.
"Rosa, you think I could not bear any trouble; but I could--for him."
There was a new fervour in her voice, and Rosa yielded to it. "Oh, I
hope you will be happy," she said.
"Why, you see I am happy!" said Violante, with a childish laugh.
"Father is late; let us have some coffee--you are so hot and tired, I
will get it. There is no terrible opera to-night. Maddalena!
Maddalena!"
"Ah! signorina, _I_ know who nearly broke the china bowl."
"Why, _I_ did, Maddalena! _I_ threw it down," said Violante, as she
tripped about after the old woman, whose gold hair-pins were quivering
with sly triumph. "But it is quite safe--not a crack in it."
The coffee was finished; the bright, hot sun went down; and the sisters
sat long by the open window in the warm, pleasant twilight. Violante
fell into dreamy silence; Rosa also. But there was a great gulf between
their meditations, though they were thinking of the same subject and,
partly, of the same person.
"There's father!" cried Violante, as a step sounded. "Oh, I will run
away, and you shall tell him."
"No, no, you little coward; he will be sure to ask for you--stay a
minute."
Violante leant back against the window-sill, her eyes drooping, her
breast heaving, and yet her face flushing and dimpling,--the new
confidence almost conquering the old fear. Rosa looked far the more
frightened of the two. Signor Mattei's step came up the great staircase
quick as a boy's; he seemed almost to skate across the polished floor,
so instantaneously did he bear down on his daughters. In a moment his
roll of music was cast aside in one direction, his great white umbrella
in another; and, with accents rising every moment into higher
indignation, he exclaimed: "Violante, what folly is this that I hear?
Is this what all your idleness and obstinacy mean? I'll not hear a word
of it. A lover, indeed! Never let me hear of it again!"
Violante stood breathless, but Rosa interposed:
"Has Mr Crichton been talking to you, father?"
"Ay, and a fine story he brought me. Talking of promises, indeed! How
dare she dream of making promises? And you--what have you been doing?
Taking care of your sister? No! No! Encouraging her in disobedience
and deceit!"
Now Signor Mattei was wont, on all occasions of domestic disturbance, to
relieve his feelings by the most voluble scoldings that the Italian
temperament could suggest and the Italian tongue express. Had Violante
broken the china bowl she would probably have heard nearly as many
reproaches; but no amount of experience ever accustomed her to these
outbreaks; and, though practically she had never been ill-treated, she
feared her father far more than: he guessed; while Rosa usually answered
him back more promptly than respectfully, and, loving him better than
Violante did, often ended by having her own way. Now she said:
"Why are you angry with Violante, father? She has done nothing wrong.
Is it her fault if Mr Crichton loves her and has asked her to marry
him?"
"Asked her--asked _her_! How dared he ask _her_? Now, most undutiful,
most ungrateful child, how long has this conspiracy lasted?"
"He came to-day," stammered Violante.
"To-day? You tell me this folly has begun to-day! You, who have been
secretly sighing for this stranger, sighing for him instead of singing!
Ah--shame on you!--tell me--tell me--_tell me_!" in a rapid _crescendo_,
as he seized her wrist and pulled her towards him.
Violante burst into tears.
"Father! how can you speak to her so?" cried Rosa. "Let her go--and I
will tell you. Mr Crichton never said a word to her till to-day. Why
will you not consent to their encasement?"
"Because I know my duty as a father better. But it is all over. Do you
hear, Violante? I have ended it for ever!"
"Oh, father," cried Violante, holding out her hands imploringly, "I will
not neglect my singing, I will practise all day long; but you would
break my heart--oh, dear father, I love him;" and the poor child, with
unwonted courage, went up to her father and put her arms round his neck
with a look and gesture that, could she have called them up at will,
would have settled her stage difficulties for ever.
"No, Violante!" Signor Mattei said. "You know what my wish has been.
You were not free to promise yourself; and to-day I have made my
arrangements with Signor Vasari and have promised you to him."
"Father, father, I would kill myself first!" cried Violante, dropping on
her knees and hiding her face. "Oh, Rosa--Rosa--help me!"
"Hugh, hush, my child. Stand up and control yourself," said Rosa, with
English dislike to a scene--a kind of self-consciousness shared by
neither father nor sister. "Go away--go into our room. I will talk to
father first."
Violante rushed away with her hands over her face, and then the other
two prepared for war.
Signor Mattei divested himself of his neck-tie, rubbed his hands through
his hair, marched up and down the room, and said:
"Now, Rosa, be reasonable, be dutiful, and hear what I have to say."
Rosa sat down by the table, with a red spot on each cheek, and took up
her knitting.
"Yes, father, that is just what I wish. I want to know what has
happened."
"Am I a cruel father? Do I beat or starve you, or do I work all day for
my ungrateful children?"
"I think you were cruel to Violante, father, when you called her
deceitful."
"Violante is a little fool. Now, once for all, Rosa, I will have no
disputes. This very day I have promised her to Vasari."
"Father!" cried Rosa, in high indignation. "It is one thing to forbid
her engagement to Mr Crichton, and quite another to insist on her
marrying Vasari. _I_ would not stand it."
"But you, figlia mia, have the sense to decide for yourself," said
Signor Mattei, with a little flattery inexpressibly provoking to the
downright Rosa. "Your sister is a child, and cannot judge. Consider.
This young Englishman goes home. The proud ladies of his house would
see him mouldering in his grave before they blessed his betrothal."
"I don't believe they would be so ridiculous! And he is quite
independent. But I agree with you, father, that it would be a very
unfortunate thing if he married her without his friends' consent, and
what we could not agree to. But he speaks confidently of being able to
gain it."
"He speaks!" echoed Signor Mattei, with scorn. "He speaks! He goes
home--he sees his folly. Flattered by the flowers of his own
aristocracy will he remember Violante?"
"I don't believe he has anything to do with the aristocracy! Of course,
father, I see _all_ the risks--they are fearful ones; but the other way
is such certain misery," said Rosa, faltering. "How will she bear it!"
"Rosa, I am surprised at you. Can you not see the benefits of this
marriage?"
"Yes, I know all that," said Rosa, sturdily. "I know, _if_ she could
make up her mind to it, it would be a very good thing for her and for
all of us. But, father, married or single, she will never make an
actress, it will kill her; and she _hates_ Vasari."
Then Signor Mattei's patience fairly gave way.
"Hates him! Don't tell me of anything so absurd. How many girls, do
you think, have hated their suitors and been happy enough! _That_ is no
reason."
In spite of Rosa's English breeding she had seen instances enough of the
truth of this remark not to have an instant contradiction ready. It
_might_ turn out well; which was all that could be said in favour of
Hugh Crichton; and yet Rosa felt that, had she been Violante, she would
have willingly risked her all in favour of that one glorious
possibility. "But it doesn't always pay," she thought, and while she
hesitated, thinking how such a risk had once been run and run in vain,
her father spoke again.
"Now, Rosa, listen. Mild as a lamb in daily life, in emergencies I am a
lion; and my will is law, you cannot change it. Violante shall be
Vasari's wife. I have promised, I will perform." Here Signor Mattei
struck his hand on the table in a highly effective manner. "She will be
raised above all the uncertainties of our profession, need not work
beyond her strength, and we shall share in her success. To this she
must agree, and if you will not promise to see that she does so I shall
send her to Madame Cellini's."
Madame Cellini was a fine old opera-singer who had married and settled
in Civita Bella. She had shown much kindness to the motherless girls
and had not been an injudicious friend to them; but her contempt for
Violante's fears and her strenuous efforts to rouse her to a sense of
her privileges had rendered her instructions and herself an object of
dread; and Rosa answered, after a pause:
"I will promise to remain neutral. If Violante can be happy without
Hugh Crichton I had far rather she did not marry him. But if she is
sent away or too much coerced she will be utterly unable to act. Let
her alone, and I don't suppose she will hold out very long."
"You will send no letters or messages?"
"No," said Rosa; "I promise that I will not. I shall leave her to
herself."
To herself! To her weak will and her cowardly spirit! How long would
they hold out?
Rosa went in search of her; and, as Violante sprang towards her
exclaiming,--
"Oh, Rosa, you will help me!" she held her back.
"No, Violante, I cannot help and I will not hinder you. Father is
determined, and you must do it, if do it you will, all yourself. If I
move a finger, you will be sent away from me; but I will not try to
persuade you either way."
Violante stood still, with despair in her face. How could she resist
her father for an hour? She crept away to bed, at Rosa's suggestion;
received her kisses with passive absence of offence; and, as she hid her
face on her pillow, thought not of self-support but of the only help
left to her. "_He_ will come again to-morrow--they will listen to
_him_."
PART TWO, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
LEFT TO HERSELF.
"As we have met, we shall not meet again
For ever, child, for ever!"
Left to herself! In the early morning Violante's senses awoke from the
confusion of disturbed and dreamy sleep; and, with burning eyes and
throbbing temples, she sat upright and tried to think "for herself."
"_He_ will come and persuade father." She repeated this watchword over
and over again to herself; but the new confidence could hardly combat
the old experience, and she could not realise that "father" would be
over-persuaded--even by her lover. Childish as Violante was she had
grown up too much in the constant discussion of ways and means not to be
quite aware of the worldly advantages of Signor Vasari's offer. Those
attaching to Hugh Crichton's were like a dim and distant dream, scarcely
to be realised; nor had she, in the abstract, any sense that she would
be unfairly treated by being deprived of her right of choice. Perhaps
no creature ever entered on a conflict with less hope of success. She
felt so sure that neither prayers nor tears would move her father that
she never thought of trying their effect; while Signor Vasari seemed
still more inexorable. If Hugh did not somehow set it right for her
what remained but submission? "I had rather die; but I shall be so
frightened, I shall say yes," she thought. "They have always made me do
what they wish. I could not help it! There's no one to help me--no
one!" Her cowardice and weakness had been so often cast in the poor
child's teeth that she had lost every scrap of confidence in her own
powers. Her father said, "You _shall_ give in," Rosa said, "You cannot
hold out;" and Violante knew nothing of a Strength not her own, of a
Hand that would hold hers more firmly than sister's or lover's. Her
love was the strongest thing about her: would it hold her up? She
thought with a kind of ardour of resisting and refusing, of holding out
and dying rather than yielding. But all the time she knew that she
should yield; that she could not act and sing between the two fires of
father and suitor; that the long days of conflict would not kill her all
at once, but would each one be very miserable and hard to endure, and
would each one wear out a little of her strength. For Violante had some
experience of troublous times, and knew very well what it meant to be
unhappy and in disgrace.
"He will come; he will help me." She pushed aside the thought of what
was to follow and resolved to please her father as much as possible, in
the hope of protracting matters till Hugh should have time to interfere.
So, to Rosa's surprise, she appeared in a clean muslin dress and a pink
ribbon and sat down to sing her scales, instead of lying in bed and
crying, as inclination would have prompted. Nay, she carried her father
his cup of chocolate, and kept her hand from trembling as he took it
from her. Signor Mattei viewed all this as betokening intended
submission: Rosa was puzzled. For the first time she could not
understand Violante.
The morning hours wore away; there was, fortunately, no rehearsal.
Violante sat in the window with some knitting in her lap. She did not
say one word to Rosa of her fears or her intentions. Steps came up the
stairs and across the corridor, and Signor Mattei ushered in the great
Vasari himself. Rosa started up and came forward to receive him.
Violante shrank into her corner; she grew white and cold, but she set
her mouth, and under her long eyelashes her eyes looked hard and
strange.
"Signor," said Signor Mattei, "here is my daughter. I give her to you
with profound pleasure, and assure you that she is sensible of the
honour of your choice."
Violante spoke not a word. She rose up, obedient to her father's eye,
and, perhaps, somewhat urged by the long habit of obedience to the
manager. She dared not utter the refusal on her lips. What would they
do to her; what would they say? It was better to submit--to submit till
_he_ came. Signor Vasari took her by the hand, bowed profoundly, and
offered to her a handsome diamond cross and chain of pearls.
"Permit me, Signorina; they were the jewels of a princess."
He fastened it on her neck, and then, putting his arm around her, drew
her towards him as he had done before now--on the stage. Violante
started and lifted her eyes. There stood Hugh Crichton within the door,
his eyes fixed on her, his face as pale as hers.
"Signor Mattei, you were right, and I thank you," he said in English,
and in a hard, fierce voice. Then he turned and was gone, before anyone
spoke a word.
Suddenly Violante wrenched herself out of Vasari's grasp. She pulled
the cross off her neck, scattering the pearls far and wide as she threw
it on the floor.
"I hate you!" she said, "I hate you! And if you marry me I will kill
you."
"Signorina!" ejaculated the astonished manager.
"Violante, Violante!" cried Rosa.
"I hate, you!" she repeated, and then she threw herself on her knees.
"Father, father, father, kill me, kill me first."
"Ungrateful, wicked child, you are driving a dagger into my breast!"
cried Signor Mattei.
"I am deceived, I am deceived, but I will have my rival's blood!"
exclaimed Vasari.
"Signor Vasari, you are treading on that cross and spoiling it," said
Rosa. "Violante, for shame! You don't know what you say."
"I do know," said Violante; but the quick reaction was coming, and she
let Rosa lift her up and cowered into her arms, trembling and shivering.
Her defiance was over, and had come, like the actions of most cowards,
five minutes too late.
"Signor Vasari," said Rosa, "I think you had better leave us and--and--
come again when my sister is more herself. I will pick up the pearls,
and--and, father, isn't that best?"
"La Signorina has no lack of passion when it suits her turn," said
Vasari, with a sneer. "Yes, I will go--but, as to coming again, that is
another matter."
Then Signor Mattei broke out into a perfect storm of invective and
adjuration, calling the Saints to witness his own honest dealing, and
speaking of and to Violante in terms of such anger and contempt as were
hardly calculated to excuse her to her lover. Violante shook like a
leaf, but made no attempt at an answer, and Rosa at last pulled her away
from the room, leaving her father still in the full flow of his
eloquence and Signor Vasari stiff and upright with offended dignity, yet
casting involuntary and half-unconscious glances at his scattered
pearls.
Hugh Crichton, on the other hand, had suffered since his interview with
Signor Mattei, from a kind of doubt, not unnatural to a man treading on
unknown ground. He would have had far more confidence in Violante had
she been the Miss Katie Clinton whose cause his mother advocated, little
as he would have believed anyone who had echoed the sentiment; and when
Mr Tollemache came in before dinner and said that all the world was
talking of Mademoiselle Mattei's great good luck in her encasement to
Signor Vasari, Hugh turned visibly pale, and James said:
"Is it a fact or a rumour, Mr Tollemache?"
"A fact, I believe. I had it from young Contarini, who haunts the
musical world; and he said Vasari had told him of it himself." Neither
looked at Hugh, who sat still for a moment and then got up and went
away. James could not help a look of consternation, and Mr Tollemache
said:
"I assure you, Crichton, I had no notion anything serious was going on.
Hugh's the last fellow I should have suspected of--of--"
"Making such a fool of himself?" said James. "Well--you see he never
could take things in moderation."
"He's well out of the scrape, in my opinion."
"Yes, poor old boy, I suppose he is. The rest of us are, at any rate."
Dinner passed, of course, with no reference to the subject; nor did Hugh
mention it till the next morning, when, alone with Jem, he said, with a
nervous laugh but an odd twitch in his voice:
"Jem, you profess to understand young women. Which should you have said
was the favoured one?"
Jem was driven into a corner. He certainly had thought that Violante
had favoured Hugh. He thought so still, and felt pretty sure that she
was not a free agent; but he did not wish to say so, and yet he could
not but be touched by the eager wistful look with which Hugh regarded
him.
"Well," he said, "I thought she looked graciously on you; but you see
the--"
"If so," interrupted Hugh, "I'd marry her to-morrow, spite of them all."
"Good heavens, Hugh!" cried Jem. "Don't think of such a thing! I don't
believe Tollemache would consent. It's impossible!"
"Tollemache?"
"British Consul, you know. You _can't_ get married out here as if it
was Gretna Green; and I won't have a hand in it; I declare, Hugh, I
won't," cried Jem. "It's all very well, but I won't, you know; and
there's an end of it."
"I did not ask you," said Hugh, coldly, but becoming conscious that to
marry Violante without the consent of her friends or his was, under the
circumstances, utterly impossible.
He said no more to James, but resolved to see Violante once again at all
hazards. How he saw her, and what effect the scene he beheld had on a
mind already full of doubts and suspicions, has been already told.
Anger, intensified by the recollection of how he had once before been
treated, swallowed up every other feeling. He went back to the
Consulate and met his brother on the stairs.
"I shall go home, Jem," he said. "I cannot stay here. You can explain
and follow when you like. Yes, it's all at an end. Never speak of it
any more."
James could obtain no word of explanation--no single particular--as he
tried to help Hugh to pack up his things and to arrange some decent sort
of leave-taking. Hugh was too desperate to care who was surprised at
his proceedings. The ladies were out, and he wrote three lines of
courteous thanks to Mrs Tollemache, but wished her son good-bye without
any reason given, and never gave his brother a chance of sympathising
with or restraining him.
"I am going straight home," he said, as he went away.
"Well!" exclaimed Mr Tollemache, "who could have expected such a
tornado?"
"Oh," said Jem, "Hugh never could take circumstances into consideration.
I believe the poor little thing was as much in love with him as she
knew how. How could he expect her to tell the truth about the manager?
Of course she liked Hugh, and of course she told fibs, and now she will
cry her eyes out, and then marry Vasari after all. What else can she
do, poor little victim? And then there's Hugh, who won't dance four
times with a girl for fear of `exciting false expectations,' has gone
and broken her heart--if hearts ever are broken. Much he knows about
the tricks girls will play to avoid an uproar! Poor little, pretty
thing!"
"I don't care for the girl," said Mr Tollemache, "but it's no joke
about Hugh."
"Poor old fellow, no; but those things pass off, you know; and, after
all, anything's better than that he should have married her."
"Undoubtedly," said Mr Tollemache.
"Poor little child!" repeated Jem, with a not unkindly pity, but which
yet made small account of Violante beside the other interests involved.
And so Hugh Crichton went away from Civita Bella, and Violante was left
behind him.
PART THREE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
ARTHUR'S STORY.
"I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need--by sun and candle-light."
PART THREE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
MYSIE.
"Oh, happy spirit, wisely gay!"
"What are you doing, Mysie?" said Florence Venning, as she came one
afternoon into the Redhurst drawing-room.
"I am sewing a button on Arthur's glove," returned Mysie, who was
sitting by herself on a low chair in the window with a smart little
work-basket by her side. "Do you know, Floss, Hugh is coming back
to-night? Aunt Lily had a line from him from Paris."
"Dear me! And do you want to get the button sewn on before he comes?"
Mysie shook her head, smiling, while Flossy went on: "Seriously, Mysie,
aren't you in a great fright?"
"No!" answered Mysie, "I cannot see why I should be in a fright. You
know, Flossy, I have never been at all afraid of Hugh. I know he always
does what he thinks right. And he knows what _is_ right, too."
"Well, but suppose he says you are too young?"