A DROP OF THE PATERNAL BLOOD
I
Leila requested Teresina to wait upon her at dinner instead of
Giovanni, and talked to her very pleasantly on several unimportant
matters. The maid, finding her in such good-humour, ventured upon a
delicate subject, and mentioned Siora Bettina, who intended making a
short excursion to Monte Berico. Ah, how Teresina would have liked to
accompany her! Signora Fantuzzo had told her of one of the Fathers
there who was a wonderful confessor. Would not the Signorina herself
like to make this little excursion? Monte Berico was such a beautiful
spot, and Siora Bettina would be a delightful companion. Such a good
creature, poor Siora Bettina! They could start in the morning at six
o'clock, reaching Vicenza at eight, and go directly up to Monte Berico.
If they wished to, they could catch the eleven o'clock train home. But
there was no hurry, for there were plenty of trains back. As Leila made
no remark, Teresina volunteered to suggest this arrangement to Signora
Fantuzzo.
Leila sat with a far-away look on her face that told Teresina nothing.
Still, it was encouraging not to meet with a definite refusal. Giovanni
came in with a telegram, but not even when he had left the room did the
maid venture to press Leila for an immediate answer. The telegram was
from Sior Momi, who had been expected to arrive by the last train, and
now announced that he would not come until the following day. Towards
nine o'clock the archpriest and his chaplain appeared, expecting to
find Sior Momi at home. They entered the drawing-room unannounced, the
archpriest leading the way, with his familiar, drawling greeting, "Con
permesso!"
Leila was playing. It was no longer "Aveu," but some other music she
remembered to have played when Massimo had been there. Greatly annoyed,
she rose from the piano. Over and above her own particular grounds
for disliking the two priests, she loathed the archpriest's tone of
familiarity, his coarse wit, and his want of personal cleanliness.
Neither could she bear the chaplain's mannerisms. Her reception was
glacial. She gave no order for the lamps to be lighted nor for coffee
to be served as usual, and when the archpriest mentioned that his
sister-in-law had been disappointed at not having seen her, she offered
no word of excuse. The chaplain spoke of a poor mother at Lago, whom
he wished the two ladies to visit, and Leila's only response was
to inquire where the woman lived, without saying whether or no she
intended to visit her. Hereupon the archpriest advised her not to
delay their visit, as his sister-in-law was going away very soon, to
be gone a day or perhaps two. Leila showed astonishment. To be gone
two days? Yes, very probably. Don Tita remarked that the chaplain was
going to say Mass at the church of Santa Maria on the morrow, and he
would ask Siora Bettina to be there, that the ladies might then arrange
for their visit. Having brought his little speech to a close he sealed
it with a "Sipo, sipo! Just so, just so!" The archpriest's "just so!"
always meant leave-taking. If he said it in his own house, his visitor
was intended to understand that it was time for him to go. If he said
it in the house of another, gently rubbing his thighs the while, he
intended it as meaning that he himself was about to depart. He had
indeed half risen from his chair when an unexpected question from Leila
made him sit down again. She inquired where his sister-in-law was
going. The archpriest's expression, which had been frosty enough up to
this moment, now thawed into genial warmth, and the chaplain's watery
eyes, which had been roaming aimlessly among the books on a table
near at hand, were quickly raised to Leila's face, and rested there
while the archpriest explained wordily that his sister-in-law had long
wished to perform her devotions at the sanctuary on Monte Berico, that
she furthermore intended going on to Castelletto del Garda to visit
the nuns of the Order of the Holy Family, but that she would have to
give up this part of the excursion unless she could find a travelling
companion.
"I asked," said Leila, "because I think I myself might like to go with
her, at least to Monte Berico."
"Oh!" cried the archpriest in great glee, "nothing could be better!
Nothing could be better!"
Leila hastened to add that she could not promise at present, that
she would think it over, and that, at any rate, she must consult her
father. Having said good-night, the archpriest departed with the
chaplain, voicing his satisfaction in an undertone: "Good! Good!
Splendid!" He had hardly left the room, however, when he came back
again that he might see Leila alone, and confidently assure her that
the inspiration to go to Monte Berico had really been sent by Our Lady
herself, and that, if she went, she must see Father ..., naming the
monk whose praises Signora Fantuzzo had sung to Teresina.
On rejoining his companion, who was waiting for him halfway to the
gate, the archpriest walked rapidly away beside him, with the step of
one who is gratified and full of hope. He asked no more than that the
girl should approach the Sacraments of her own free will. It would
perhaps have been better had the archpriest served God and the Church
more intelligently, with greater wisdom, and with more of the warmth of
the true evangelical spirit, but it could not be denied that he was an
honest and faithful servant. Like many of his fellow-priests, he had
very little true charity for such as erred in matters of faith, and
he would have pitched them cheerfully from the crags of Mea into the
rushing Astico beneath, calling them "poor, unhappy creatures" as he
did so. But for sins of any other description he had a rough tolerance
and a forgiving heart, for to do him justice he took a broader view of
the world and conduct than from the standpoint of the rigid dogmatist.
His conviction was that Leila was a wayward girl, ignorant in matters
of religion, and quite capable of committing blunders both in conduct
and practice; but that, after all, if she would but set herself right
with the Church, one might safely rely on the indulgence of Him who
had seen fit to give her the nature of an unbroken colt. In his secret
soul he laughed at Don Emanuele for hoping to make a nun of her. To
Don Emanuele, the pilgrimage to Monte Berico was but a first step, and
he dared not rejoice overmuch, when he considered the influence Donna
Fedele was continuously wielding over the girl. He was, moreover, in
possession of a piece of alarming information, which, should it reach
Leila's ears, would certainly cause her to turn ever more eagerly
to the Villino delle Rose. Carolina Gorlago was not at Cantù, but
at Padua, hiding in Camin's house. This intrigue which had not been
dropped, which was reprehensible in itself, and doubly so because
it was boldly incautious, might throw discredit upon the culprit's
ecclesiastical friends. And who would profit by this if not Donna
Fedele? She was undoubtedly working to bring about the Camin-Alberti
marriage. Fortunately, however, Leila shrank from this union, as her
attempted suicide proved clearly enough, and, fortunately also, Donna
Fedele would be compelled to be away for some time. This fact was also
known at the parsonage. Don Emanuele would not allow himself to hope
for anything worse than an operation and a long convalescence. He
was even willing to assume that she would recover, although this was
more than she deserved, for the probability justified him in adopting
decisive measures during her absence in Turin. The first step to be
taken was to turn the girl's thoughts towards God, and to discover a
means of once more arousing within her that rebellious contempt for
the world that had moved her to attempt to take her life. Then the
prospect of peace and safety in a religious life must be skilfully
held out to her, but it must be a religious life carefully suited to
her. Castelletto del Garda would not do at all. That was foolish Siora
Bettina's idea. Leila was not fitted by Nature to teach or to nurse
the sick. She must enter a contemplative order. Thus did Don Emanuele,
trotting towards Velo beside the archpriest, ruminate upon all these
considerations, but he carefully kept them to himself.
* * * * *
As Leila returned to the piano she thought: "After all, perhaps I have
a drop of my father's blood in my veins!"
She would not allow the lamps to be lighted, and going to her room
presently, stationed herself at the window. The east was bright with
countless stars, and above the great crest of black, majestic forest
the sharp mountain edge fretted the clear sky. Leila saw neither the
sky, the crest of forest, nor the peaks of Summano. Her mind was
centred upon a fixed purpose, and her unseeing glance rested upon the
encompassing shadows, while her slender frame trembled and quivered
with the wild beating of her heart.
II
On the following morning Don Emanuele came to say Mass at Santa Maria
at half-past seven, half an hour earlier than was his wont. Siora
Bettina, who had arrived before him, informed him that Leila was out.
The maid Teresina believed she had gone to Villino delle Rose, but,
in reality, she had climbed up to the rhododendron patch once more.
Don Emanuele, putting on his look of extreme godliness, considered for
a moment, and then begged Siora Bettina to wait for him after Mass.
He said Mass with profound devotion, and then, bending low over his
kneeling-stool in the sacristy, with his head in his hands, he prayed
at great length, that the Lord would grant him strength and guidance
in his struggle against the demon who was seeking to frustrate the
plans for Leila's salvation, by raising up two of his own handmaidens
against them, one a creature of pride, Donna Fedele, the other a
creature of lust, Carolina Gorlago. He prayed on and on with all the
confidence of the inferior who is on terms of comparative familiarity
with his superior, terms established in part through long intercourse,
in part by services rendered by the suppliant. While a rivulet of pious
Latin still flowed from his lips, he passed unconsciously from mental
prayer to thoughts that clustered about a further anxiety concerning
possibilities that were troubling him most seriously, and that were
incessantly appearing, disappearing, and flashing forth again before
his mental vision. One consideration would become entangled in another,
and Don Emanuele could neither see the end of the tangle nor did he
know where to look for it. At such moments of anxiety the rivulet of
Latin would cease to flow from his tight lips. At last, however, he
discovered the right end to pull in order to loosen the very heart
of the tangle. He pulled and pulled, and the cord ran out straight
and easily as if Providence had planned this snare for Don Emanuele's
especial benefit, that this fisher of souls might have the merit
of finding the right way, and go on unwinding until he should have
demonstrated that all this tangle of knots, loops, and twists could be
straightened out into one divine length of cord, for the manufacturing
of his own net. Such, at least, was the fisher's honest conviction.
Meanwhile Siora Bettina was asking herself if she had not better peep
in at the door of the sacristy, for she had been waiting a long time
seated in front of the altar, and her devotions were exhausted. She had
found it difficult to keep her mind from wandering off to the splashing
of the fountain in the vestibule, in preventing herself from wondering
where the water came from, where it went to, and whether it were cold
and pure. Then there was a spot on the green carpet that covered the
steps leading to the altar, to which, all too often, her eyes would
revert, and which excited her curiosity as to whether it were a grease
spot of long standing or the result of a recent wetting. No, it would
not do to look into the sacristy, so she sought to cast off the
temptations of fountain and spot, by meditating for her own edification
on Don Emanuele's sanctity and on the state of mystic abstraction that
was detaining him so long.
He rose from his knees at last, but his expression was no brighter than
when he had first knelt down. Requesting the altar-boy to go and see if
Leila had returned, he followed him out of the sacristy, and signed to
Siora Bettina to join him in the little porch. The boy soon returned
and reported that the Signorina was still absent.
Don Emanuele now addressed himself to Signora Fantuzzo, and related
the conversation that had taken place between Leila and the
archpriest on the preceding evening. Siora Bettina, who had not seen
her brother-in-law since the conversation in question, received
the impression from the chaplain's recital that Don Tita's and Don
Emanuele's prayers had been graciously answered, her own humble
petitions having perhaps helped somewhat. She asked what she was to do
next. First of all she must wait for Leila and tell her that she had
been informed by the archpriest that Leila was thinking of accompanying
her to the sanctuary at Monte Berico, and perhaps also to Castelletto
del Garda. Siora Bettina hastened to correct what she took to be a slip
of the tongue. She had not had her information from the archpriest, but
from Don Emanuele himself. The chaplain, however, requested her to keep
back his name, and to mention the archpriest only. "To tell the truth,"
Siora Bettina ventured timidly, "my brother-in-law has not.... Never
mind!" Don Emanuele broke in. "The Lord wishes you to speak as I shall
instruct you," and Siora Bettina in all humility and good faith bowed
to his superior knowledge of the Divine intentions.
But his edifying instructions did not end here. Probably the Signorina
would tell her, as she had told the archpriest, that she must first
obtain her father's permission. Now, this permission must be made to
extend to Castelletto del Garda also. Siora Bettina brightened visibly.
She was longing to go to Castelletto, but would never dare to go so far
alone. A different companion, Teresina for instance, would have been
more acceptable to her, but out of devotion to her spiritual guide, she
gladly accepted the slight drawback of Leila's company. She was also
pleased on her brother-in-law's account. He had already formed a scheme
for placing these sisters of the Order of the Holy Family in charge
of some charitable institution in his future diocese, and was anxious
to obtain some necessary information direct from them. Observing her
satisfaction, Don Emanuele reflected for a moment, and then proposed
that they should continue their conversation while they walked along
the Lago road. Bettina became vaguely aware that he had something still
more important to impart, and that he wished to make his disclosure
in a spot less exposed to interruptions. In fact, as soon as they
had reached the shade of the great chestnuts on the Lago road, Don
Emanuele, his eyes now fixed upon the ground, now glancing around to
see that no one was in sight, began with a preamble on the absolute
necessity that Siora Bettina should keep silent concerning what he had
decided to communicate to her. Without mentioning him directly, he
made her understand that the archpriest was to be kept in ignorance.
The very thought of hiding anything from the archpriest sent the blood
coursing painfully through her veins, but as Don Emanuele, in a tone of
honest conviction and lofty authority, was now speaking of a path that
Providence Itself had pointed out to him for the saving of two souls,
she concluded that the path was too narrow for three to walk abreast,
and waited for the Word, in the pleased consciousness of having been
chosen as an instrument. The Word was to the following effect. As
Signorina Leila had alluded to the necessity of obtaining the paternal
consent, Siora Bettina could now dispense with consulting the girl
herself. She must interview Sior Momi instead, who would return from
Padua at one o'clock, and ask his permission (in the archpriest's name
as well) to propose the pilgrimage to Monte Berico and Castelletto del
Garda to his daughter. Then she must proceed to make this proposal and
to fix the day. "To-morrow is too soon," said Don Emanuele. "Arrange
for the day after." Had he himself been an all-powerful Providence, he
could not have mapped out the future with greater assurance and more
calmly settled the affairs of other people.
"At Monte Berico," he went on, "you will closely observe the
Signorina's bearing on approaching the Sacraments. After Mass, go
directly to the station. When you get there, tell your companion that
you are not feeling well, and have decided not to go on to Castelletto,
but to hear a Mass at the church of the _Santo_ instead. You will then
take the eleven o'clock train to Padua. After Mass suggest to the
Signorina that, out of respect to her father, it would be fitting for
her to pay a visit to his apartment, where there might be letters,
papers, or cards for him. Now that apartment harbours a person who has
no right to be there, for it was publicly given out here that she was
going into Lombardy, and was separating definitely from Signor Camin.
Signorina Leila must meet this person. It is necessary that she should
meet her. I believe I have nothing further to add."
Poor Siora Bettina was so horrified that she stopped short.
"Good Lord! Good Lord, Don Emanuele!" she cried. She could put up with
the disappointment of not going to Castelletto, she could put up with
the many falsehoods, but the scene that would be sure to follow this
meeting! She had a vague idea of the nature of the relations existing
between Sior Momi and Carolina, but her scrupulous conscience had
never allowed her to dwell on the subject, and now that Don Emanuele
had opened her eyes, the prospect of meeting the woman filled her
with horror. She asked anxiously whether she must indeed do this. The
priest gave her a silent answer, bending his head and joining his hands
piously, as if in humble submission to the Higher Will, which they were
both bound to obey.
"You may say I am ignorant, Don Emanuele! You may say I am stupid,
but----" Poor Siora Bettina did not dare to go beyond this pathetic
admission, and confess that she failed to grasp the reason for all
these tactics. Don Emanuele understood well enough, but did not
enlighten her. His plan was based on certain fragile chances, too
slight for definition, and he was not going to imperil his scheme by
an explanation. He relied upon the impression which contact with what
was degrading should make upon Leila. Should it induce her to take
refuge in a religious life, an important result would follow ... the
Trento fortune would not be swallowed up by her father's depravities.
Thus was poor Sior Momi secretly cast overboard by his ally the
chaplain, who, however, continued piously to hope that the scandal in
Padua might result in much good to Momi's soul.
Instead of satisfying Siora Bettina's anxiety, he inquired blandly if
she proposed to turn back or to walk on by way of Lago and Sant'Ubaldo.
"I myself am going to read my office," he announced, bringing out his
breviary.
Siora Bettina knew that Don Emanuele always avoided showing himself in
public in the company of women. She chose the Lago--Sant' Ubaldo route,
fearing to meet Leila on her way home from the Villino, for, as she
had been instructed to see Sior Momi first, such a meeting would have
proved embarrassing. The chaplain had believed she would choose the
other and shorter way, and as he himself had no desire to meet Leila
there was nothing left for him save to stop where he was, open his
breviary, and say:
"Well, then----"
And although Siora Bettina longed to implore him to relieve her of the
obligation he had forced upon her, she could only murmur a melancholy
farewell and start on her way to Lago.
Don Emanuele did not move until she was out of sight; then he went
slowly onward. On reaching the first legitimate break in his devotions
he closed the book and pocketed it again. He had just passed through
the rows of Lago cottages and was walking along the road that skirts
the base of the hill upon which stands the little church of Sant'
Ubaldo. He was thinking of Don Aurelio and of the power that he, Don
Emanuele, had exercised in that priest's affairs. It was he who had
sent almost daily information to Rome concerning the doings, sayings,
and omissions of the suspected priest, colouring all things in
accordance with what he suspected and not what he saw. The archpriest's
future bishopric was of his promoting also. It was he who had spoken
to his uncle the Cardinal concerning Don Tita, who had set forth his
fearless ecclesiasticism, his veneration for tradition, his merry
good-nature and affability, which could not fail to render him popular.
The idea of now winning a precious and imperilled soul for the convent
sent the blood coursing joyously through his veins. Instead of raising
his face to the breeze, and delighting in his own valour, he bowed
his head before God, like a faithful servant upon whom his astonished
master heaps praise for some great service rendered. Then, forgetting
to be humble, he allowed himself to triumph gently over Donna Fedele,
identifying himself, as it were, with the Providence who had decreed
this illness in order that it might become more difficult for her to
hinder his pious plans, and that, through suffering, she might be
brought to recognise her evildoing. The road he was following as he
thus mused had been Don Aurelio's daily walk, and at such times Nature
had spoken in her myriad voices to that pure and humble soul, who with
St. Francis welcomed all things as his brothers. But poor Don Emanuele,
never doubting the worth of his appreciation of St. Francis, passed
along with no strange, mystical sense of a life in natural things,
without even a glance at flower or leaf. The only God he knew spoke in
those false imaginings of his own mind--he saw no other light but that
narrow one within his own soul.
III
When Giovanni announced Siora Bettina, Sior Momi was busy writing to
Carolina, from whom he had parted during a quarrel that had arisen
between them on account of the woman's jealousy of Teresina. He was
now informing her that this same Teresina had not only left his room
in disorder, but had as yet failed to show her face, and he added
that he really feared he should die in this stupid hole without his
precious Moma. Siora Bettina followed Giovanni into the room before
he had finished announcing her, thus giving Sior Momi barely time to
turn over the sheet and display the whiteness of an immaculate page. He
started to his feet, much embarrassed by the disordered state of his
garments, and overwhelmed his visitor with excuses and his servant with
reproaches. "For mercy's sake! Oh, Giovanni, Giovanni! In this state,
my dear madam!" As he was minus both waistcoat and cravat, he hastily
buttoned his frock-coat and turned up the collar. At sight of his bare
neck and voluminous expanse of shirtfront, Siora Bettina had felt most
uncomfortable, but the upturned collar and snugly-buttoned coat having
transformed him into a sort of symbolic statue of up-to-date modesty,
the good lady regained her composure somewhat, confessed that it had
been all her fault, and that she had followed at the footman's heels
so closely because, as she must speak to Sior Momi in private, she had
wished him to receive her in the study.
Signora Fantuzzo began by saying timidly that she had come to ask
a great favour. Sior Momi blinked rapidly, wondering what tiresome
subject she was going to broach.
"Anything I can do for you ..." he said, without enthusiasm.
Siora Bettina smiled, forcing herself to be friendly, and stated that
for many reasons she had long desired to undertake a certain short
journey, for which the right moment appeared to have arrived, for it
would accommodate her brother-in-law the archpriest to have her go now;
but that there was an obstacle in the way of her carrying out her plan.
Here she paused, fixed her eyes on Sior Momi, and smiled with a meaning
that she believed was rapidly being made clear to him.
"Money?" Momi wondered. "Can it be money?" and he grew very red.
"I am all alone," Siora Bettina went on. "And, you see ... it is so
unpleasant to travel alone!"
"Upon my soul!" the amazed Momi exclaimed to himself, as it suddenly
struck him that she was going to ask him to accompany her.
"I am very sorry," he began, "but----" Here he stopped, his mouth open,
and his face wearing an expression so eloquent that Siora Bettina could
not help understanding. Her outraged modesty made her shrink into
herself, and she sought vainly to hide her scandalised face behind
the handle of her parasol. The fear betrayed on that red-and-yellow
countenance was so monstrous that she was as incapable of protesting
against it as she would have been of pronouncing an improper word.
"My only hope is in Signorina Leila!" she hastened to say. "I have come
to ask your permission to take her with me if she would like to go."
Sior Momi, who was greatly relieved, again repeated, "I am sorry,"
adapting his tone as well as he could to the altered circumstances.
"I am sorry, but I have no idea whether she would care to go." He
then inquired where Signora Fantuzzo was going, and by what route.
He was glad that Monte Berico was on the programme, and remarked
that he himself had made a pilgrimage there years ago, as a member
of a religious association. Of Castelletto he had never even heard,
but on learning of the monastery, and noticing Siora Bettina's
embarrassment--for as a matter of fact she was not in the habit of
deceiving, and took no pleasure in so doing--he interpreted her very
obvious nervousness as a sign that this little journey was part of the
pious scheme friend Molesin had communicated to him. Assuming his most
idiotic expression, he gurgled, with a short laugh:
"A very good opportunity--aho, aho!" happily conscious that the giggle
and the words might mean anything--approval, irony, or laughing
scepticism.
Presently he inquired if Leila had been consulted. No, not yet, but
if Sior Momi felt inclined to allow.... Here Momi acquiesced with a
bow. Perhaps, then, it would be well to see the Signorina at once.
The archpriest himself was anxious that she should avail herself of
this opportunity of going to the sanctuary on Monte Berico, and he
would like her to decide immediately, without first consulting certain
dangerous persons.
"Quite right!" said Sior Momi. "Quite right, I am sure!"
Having thus elliptically expressed his agreement with Siora Bettina's
and the archpriest's opinion of "certain dangerous persons," he
rang the bell and ordered Giovanni to show the visitor into the
drawing-room, and to call the Signorina.
"Arrange everything yourself," he said, on taking leave of Signora
Fantuzzo. "It will be all quite right, quite right, I am sure."
As soon as he was alone once more he rang for Teresina. He had long
since become aware of her devotion to Leila, and now he talked to her
of his daughter as if he had been talking into a gramophone.
He began by telling her of Siora Bettina's plans, adding that he
had refrained from raising any difficulties because it was not his
intention to force his authority upon his daughter in any way, but
that he greatly feared they were trying to push her in a direction
of which he distinctly disapproved. His one wish was to find a good
husband for Leila. Having accomplished this, he would turn the property
over to him, and return to his old life in Padua. But he must know the
girl's inclinations. This Signora Fantuzzo seemed a good creature, and
the archpriest was a holy man. If Leila were really destined to lead
a life of devotion, why, of course, he must bow to the will of the
Lord, but if, on the other hand, she were destined to remain in the
world, his duty as a father made it imperative for him to safeguard her
against these pilgrimages and these visits to nunneries.
"Do you catch my meaning?" Sior Momi concluded. He had been blinking
fast while delivering his cunning speech, but had never dropped the
idiotic expression he was wont to assume when conversing with his
equals.
"Mark my words!" said Teresina. "You can safely let Signorina Leila
visit a hundred nunneries. There is not the slightest danger. And if
she performs her religious duties at Monte Berico to-morrow, it will be
a very good thing!"
* * * * *
"Well done!" she exclaimed later, on learning that Leila had promised
to start with Siora Bettina on the day after the morrow for Monte
Berico and Castelletto. Sior Momi, who also seemed astonished, sent
to invite the archpriest, the chaplain, and Siora Bettina to dinner
on the next day. That same evening, before going to bed, he begged
Leila to allow him a few moments' conversation. He addressed her in
an undertone, in a half-serious, half-joking manner, and gave her to
understand that he had an idea the Velo priests and Siora Bettina
had some designs upon her, and that he felt it his duty to put her
on her guard. With a great show of gravity he added that he himself
disapproved of those designs, and that it would give him great pain
should she allow them to be carried out. Leila listened in icy silence.
"Is there anything more?" she inquired, when he had finished speaking.
"Thank you," she said, and left him.
IV
The archpriest had been summoned to Vicenza by the Bishop to receive
the official communication of his appointment, and so could not attend
Sior Momi's dinner-party, but the chaplain and Siora Bettina came.
Bettina, who was some hundred yards in front of the priest, suddenly
came to a standstill by the steps of the little church. Thereupon the
chaplain stopped too. Siora Bettina, looking behind her to see if he
were coming, made a sign that conveyed nothing to him, and then, to his
utter amazement and great indignation, actually started to meet him. It
had just struck the poor woman that, after all, she had not made the
precise purpose of their pilgrimage to Monte Berico clear to Leila. She
had indeed mentioned one of the monks who was an admirable confessor,
but the girl had said nothing from which they might conclude that she
intended to avail herself of his ministrations. It would be too late to
discuss this to-morrow on the journey. What should she do? There was
nothing for it but to consult the oracle.
"Go, go all the same," was the oracle's reply. "Don't worry, don't be
anxious."
She went on ahead again, somewhat downcast and mortified, and in the
little porch she met Teresina, who found an excuse for detaining her
until the chaplain had passed, walking very stiffly and soberly. When
he was some distance away the maid, who had a weight upon her mind,
proceeded to relieve her feelings. Where was this Castelletto? How far
away? How many days did Siora Bettina intend to remain there? Signora
Fantuzzo grew very red, and stammered somewhat as she assured Teresina
that she intended to pay the nuns only a short visit. As she answered
she saw herself on her knees in the confessional at the sanctuary of
Monte Berico. Should she or should she not confess the lie she had been
ordered to tell? Absorbed in this consideration, she paid little heed
to the beginning of Teresina's speech. The maid was extremely uneasy,
and declared she could make nothing of what was going on, because,
although the Signorina talked of a speedy return, she had made her
put a good deal of linen into the portmanteau, together with several
religious books and some holy pictures that had always been in the
house, but to which Leila had hitherto been perfectly indifferent. Her
very expression seemed changed since this journey had been decided
upon. She had got hold of a railway time-table, and did nothing but
study it. That very morning, while Teresina was brushing her hair, she
had looked up from the time-table to inquire abruptly, "Teresina, would
you be sorry if my hair were cut off?" The woman had answered that of
course she would, and added, "But why should you talk about cutting
it off?" "Oh, you know, it sometimes happens that hair is cut off by
thieves." And presently she had asked, "Teresina, did you ever want to
become a nun?"
"Just think of that!" the maid concluded. "This is either madness or
fever. For the love of Heaven don't make any mistake, don't imagine she
has a vocation! She has not, I tell you--not in the slightest degree!"
"Gèsummaria!" thought Signora Fantuzzo, paying but little heed to
Teresina's scepticism. And they were not really going to Castelletto
after all! And Don Emanuele was in ignorance of all this! She could not
suppress a groan, and, her legs almost giving way beneath her, she sank
upon a beam that had been left there to serve as a bench. "Oh, oh, oh!"
she moaned, but Teresina did not understand the true meaning of these
lamentations.
"Never mind," she said. "Only you must insist on bringing her home with
you."
"Yes, indeed!" poor Bettina assured her, but she could not keep back
another pitiful groan. She rose at last, however, and started up the
path. Leila came out to meet her, and inquired with eager interest if
she had thought to let the nuns at Castelletto know they were coming.
Poor Bettina had so completely lost her head, and the infection of
the first lie had spread so rapidly, that she now told an unnecessary
falsehood, and declared she had announced their arrival. She had not
finished speaking, however, before she longed to recall her words, but
she lacked the courage, and was altogether so dazed and bewildered that
she hardly knew where she was.
During dinner she never opened her lips either to speak or to eat,
notwithstanding Sior Momi's respectful encouragement and the noisy
attentions of the new curate of Lago, a fat and florid young man,
overflowing with good-humour and banter, which, by reason of its
flippancy and frequent impropriety, was most distasteful to Don
Emanuele. The merits of his Excellency Don Tita formed the first
subject of conversation, and were discussed at length. His promotion
was now a matter of public knowledge, and Don Emanuele--who made sure
of being appointed secretary to his Excellency, but who was destined
to be unceremoniously cut adrift by that same cunning prelate, who had
flattered him even while longing for the opportunity of ridding himself
of him--Don Emanuele, with unctuous solemnity, took upon himself to
deliver a very, panegyric of the new bishop, whom, in his secret soul,
he looked upon as a poor creature, and a superior whom it would be easy
to lead by the nose. As it happened, however, it was often really the
chaplain's nose that was held firmly between the episcopal thumb and
finger. Don Emanuele did not praise Don Tita for the virtues he really
possessed--for the purity of his life, the firmness of his faith, the
number of his charities--but precisely for those attributes which he
lacked, such as learning and eloquence. Siora Bettina sat watching him
with sad and anxious eyes that said plainly enough, "I _must_ tell you
something!" Don Emanuele, believing she wished to reopen the discussion
he had warded off on their way to the house, paid no attention to her
mute appeal.
Dinner over, Sior Momi, having consulted Leila by a humble glance,
invited his guests to repair to the terrace in front of the villa for
coffee. Siora Bettina continued to look appealingly at Don Emanuele,
and at last, feeling sure of the cause of her insistence, and having
completely lost his patience, he asked Leila's permission to give her
a message from his Excellency. He made it clear that he wished to
speak to her apart, but was careful not to withdraw quite out of Siora
Bettina's hearing, as he handed to Leila a rosary that had been duly
blessed, and recommended, in becoming language, that she should hold
it in her hand on approaching the Sacraments on the following morning.
Leila thanked him, and took the rosary.
Sior Momi himself led the conversation towards the nuns of Castelletto.
Steering his bark cautiously between the filial Scylla and the
ecclesiastical Charybdis, he declared his satisfaction that his Leila
should have the opportunity of visiting them. The facetious priest, who
had but slight regard for nuns in general, and was unacquainted with
this particular order, mumbled: "They are probably just like all the
rest! They are all alike!" Don Emanuele cut him short; Sior Momi gave
his modest support to this reproof, and then, turning to his daughter,
trotted out the pious relative whom Molesin had so highly praised. "My
aunt, you know! My aunt the nun," said he, speaking in his idiotically
jerky style. The facetious priest, who knew something about the real
Sior Momi, could not help exclaiming to himself: "Fiol de na pipa!--Oh,
you son of a pipe!" but aloud he declared that he had simply meant
to say that all nuns were good and holy women. Don Emanuele, who had
also heard Molesin's praises of the pious aunt, congratulated Momi
on the loving remembrance in which he still held her. "You see," he
proclaimed, "what a blessing the memory of such a relative is to a
family. It is like the protecting wing of an angel, spread above all
its members."
Beneath this imaginary wing, Sior Momi assumed a fitting expression of
humility.
* * * * *
Don Emanuele did not walk back to Velo with Siora Bettina, but went
round by Lago with the new curate. She was waiting for him, however,
at the door of the parsonage, and wearing an air of stern resolution,
for her heart was full of what Teresina had told her. Breathlessly the
poor woman poured it all out upon the impassive chaplain, on whom it
appeared to make no more impression than water poured upon marble.
"It is all the more necessary that you should go to Padua," said he.
"After that, you can make further plans. If you see that the girl is
really anxious to visit Castelletto, go there from Padua."
The dialogue was here interrupted and definitely brought to a close by
the clanging of the bells that announced his Excellency's return, and
summoned the people to the Seghe station to welcome him home.
V
On reaching her room Leila wrote a short note to Donna Fedele and
placed it in her silver chain-bag. Then she opened the portmanteau that
Teresina had helped her to pack earlier in the day, removed the books
of devotion and the sacred pictures, locked them in a drawer in her
writing-desk, and packed some of the rhododendrons and the precious
volume of Schumann in the portmanteau in their place. Having drawn an
easy-chair before the long mirror in the wardrobe, she sank into it and
fell to contemplating her own face in the glass, which was but half lit
by the electric lamp, suspended at some distance.
There came a gentle knock at the door. It was her father who desired
admittance, and who, having opened the door half way, now poked his
head in, stretching his neck to the utmost.
"Money? Do you need money? You are sure you don't? You still have those
five hundred lire?"
She was on the point of declaring that she had spent or lost part of
the money, that she might ask for more, but suddenly a shudder of
loathing seized her. Her veins might contain one drop of her father's
blood, but they certainly did not hold two. She answered that she
needed nothing. Momi withdrew his head, but presently poked it in
again, and said softly:
"You do not intend to take so much money with you, I suppose? Shall I
keep it for you? Well, well, no, no!" and seeing the expression of his
daughter's face, he vanished into the outer darkness of the corridor,
and closed the door. Presently she heard his voice saying humbly:
"We shall see each other in the morning, any way."
Then silence once more encompassed her. She began to undress very
slowly, trembling, and with a beating heart. Suddenly, when she was but
half undressed, she felt her strength deserting her, and, sinking upon
the edge of the bed, she half gave up for an instant the plans she had
secretly made. It was a moment of weakness that she quickly recognised,
and the mere recognition made her start like the cut of a whip. Oh,
no! There should be no cowardice. She would go to him as a slave, as
something that was his by right, without thought of the morrow, without
thought of anything save of her voluntary submission to his will.
Rapidly undressing, she crept into bed and turned out the light.
Feverish visions of the flight she had planned excited and tormented
her. She put up both hands and drew down the rhododendrons that hung
above her pillow, seeking in them visions of love that should banish
all her fears.