THE BREAKING OF THE STORM.
"You are not afraid?" said Andrea, as we turned on to the Lung' Arno
and came in sight of the house.
"No," I answered in all good faith, a little resenting the question.
After all, what was there to fear? This was the nineteenth century,
when people's marriages were looked upon as their own affairs, and the
paternal blessing--since it had ceased to be a _sine quâ non_--was
never long withheld.
If Andrea's family were disappointed in his choice, and I supposed
that at first such would be the case, it lay with me to turn that
disappointment into satisfaction.
I had but a modest opinion of myself, yet I knew that in making me his
wife Andrea was doing nothing to disgrace himself; his good taste,
perhaps, was at fault, but that was all.
You see, I had been educated in a very primitive and unworldly school
of manners, and must ask you to forgive my ignorance.
Yet I confess my heart did beat rather fast as we made our way up the
steps into the empty hall, and I wished the next few hours well over.
I reminded myself that I was under Andrea's wing, safe from harm,
but looking up at Andrea I was not quite sure of his own unruffled
self-possession. A distant hum of voices greeted us as we entered,
growing louder with every stair we mounted, and when we reached the
landing leading to the gallery, there stood the whole family assembled
like the people in a comedy.
To judge from the sounds we heard, they had been engaged in excited
discussion, every one speaking at once, but at our appearance a dead
and awful silence fell upon the group.
Slowly we advanced, the mark of every eye, then came to a stop well in
front of the group.
It seemed an age, but I believe it was less than a minute, before the
Marchesa stepped forward, looking straight at me and away from her son,
so as not in the least to include him in her condemnation, and said: "I
am truly sorry, Miss Meredith, for I was given to understand that your
mother was a very respectable woman."
"Mother!" cried Andrea, with a pale face and flashing eyes; "be careful
of your words." Then taking my hand, he turned to the old Marchese, who
stood helpless and speechless in the background, and said loudly and
deliberately: "This lady has promised to be my wife."
For an instant no one spoke, but there was no mistaking the meaning of
their silence; then Romeo called out in a voice of suppressed fury: "It
is impossible!"
Andrea, still holding my hand, turned with awful calm upon his brother.
Annunziata's ready tears were flowing, and Bianca gazed open-mouthed
with horror and excitement upon the scene.
"Romeo," said Andrea, tightening his hold of my fingers, "this is no
affair of yours. Once before you tried to interfere in my life; I
should have thought the result had been too discouraging for a second
attempt."
"It is the affair of all of us when you try to bring disgrace on the
family."
"Disgrace! Sir, do you know what word you are using, and in reference
to whom?"
"Oh, the signorina, of course, is charming. I have nothing to say
against her."
He bowed low, and, as our eyes met, I knew he was my enemy.
"Andrea," said his mother, interposing between her sons, "this is
no time and place for discussion. Miss Meredith shall come with me,
and you shall endeavour to explain to your father how it is you have
insulted him."
"My son," said the Marchese, speaking for the first time, with a
certain mournful dignity, "never before has such a thing happened in
our family as that a wife should be brought home to it without the
head of the house being consulted. What am I to think of this want of
confidence, of respect, except that you are ashamed of your choice?"
"Father," answered Andrea, drawing my hand through his arm, "it has
throughout been my intention of asking your consent and your blessing.
Nor has there been any concealment on my part. From the first I have
expressed my admiration of this lady very openly to you all. What is
the result? that she is watched, persecuted like a suspected criminal,
and finally driven away--she a young girl, a stranger in a foreign
land. Can you expect the man who loves her to stand by and see this
without letting her know at the first opportunity that there is one on
whose protection she can at once and always rely?"
"Andrea," said his mother, "we did but try our best to prevent what we
one and all regard as a misfortune. Miss Meredith is no suitable bride
for a son of the house of Brogi. Oh" (as he opened his lips as about to
protest), "I have nothing to say against her, though indeed you cannot
expect me to be lost in admiration of her discretion."
The Marchesa shrugged her shoulders and threw out her hands as she
spoke, with an impatience which she rarely displayed.
Andrea answered very quietly: "My mother, this is no time and place for
such a discussion. With your permission, I will retire with my father,
and Miss Meredith shall withdraw to her own room." He released my hand
very gently from his arm, and stood a moment looking down at me.
"You are not afraid, Elsie?" he whispered in English.
"Yes, I am frightened to death!"
"It will be all right very soon."
"Must you leave me, Andrea?"
"Yes, dear, I must."
He went over to his father and gave him his arm. All this time
Annunziata was weeping like the walrus in "Alice," her loud sobs
echoing dismally throughout the house.
"Elsie," said Andrea, as he prepared to descend with the Marchese, "go
straight to your room."
I turned without a word, and stunned, astonished, unutterably
miserable, fled upstairs without a glance at the hostile group on the
landing.
Once the door safely shut behind me, my pent up feelings found vent,
and I sobbed hysterically.
Was ever such a morning in a woman's life? And I had had no breakfast.
I was not allowed much time in which to indulge my emotions. Very
soon came a knock at the door, and a maid entered with wine, bread,
and chestnuts. With the volubility of Italian servants, she pressed
me to eat and drink, and when she departed with the empty tray I felt
refreshed, and ready to fight my battle to the last. A second knock at
the door was not long in following the first, and this time it was the
Marchesa who responded to my "Come in."
My heart sank considerably as the stately little lady advanced towards
me, and I inwardly reproached Andrea for his desertion.