NIGHT AND FLAMES
I
Having made her hurried entrance into a first-class compartment, Leila
detained the porter on one pretext and another, so that there was no
danger of his running up against Signora Fantuzzo before the train was
clear of the station, should she have come out of the café in search of
her companion. There were four other persons in Leila's compartment--an
old lady with a daughter of about thirty, a young commercial traveller,
and a music-hall _chanteuse_ in shabby finery. Leila was conscious
that her face and neck were crimson, and did not doubt but that her
excitement had been noticed, though in reality no one had as yet paid
the slightest attention to her. The young man went on talking with the
daughter, and the _chanteuse_ went on sucking lemon-drops and sniffing
at a bottle of scent. The train sped along, hastening away from
Vicenza, away from the Montanina, bearing Leila ever nearer to _him_.
Her heart was beating in time with the quick and rhythmic clinking of
the wheels, and she felt as if her thoughts as well as her sight were
muffled in a thick veil. Involuntarily she glanced at her travelling
companions from time to time, observing, as through a hot mist, the
vulgar rivalry that was going on between the two young women for the
attentions of the commercial traveller.
The music-hall singer got out at Verona, and the other two ladies, who
were going to Bergamo, changed at Rovato. As no one else had entered
the carriage Leila was left alone with the commercial traveller.
She did not even notice this circumstance. Since Verona her state
of mind had been undergoing a change, and now doubts and anxieties
forced themselves where before had been nothing but exhilaration
and confidence. During the first hour of her flight Leila had seen
clearly before her in the distant country the main features of the
coming event, meeting of two souls, a delirium of delight, and then
mist and whatever fate might decree. The nearer she drew to the event,
however, the less distinct did her anticipation of it become, while
a host of embarrassing and hitherto unconsidered details loomed ever
more clearly. She feared she would lack courage to show herself at the
right moment, feared lest she had undertaken a task her pride would not
allow her to accomplish, feared he might look upon her as shameless or
cowardly. Meanwhile the train was travelling onward, and its onward
rush seemed to her symbolical of blind forces obeying her will, that
had no longer any restraining power.
It was raining when the train reached Porto Ceresio and there was a
mist over the mountains, so that only their lower slopes showed darkly,
encircling the grey and wrinkled sheet of water. Leila was glad of the
mist. It gave her a feeling of approaching him unseen. She was also
glad that no steamer lay at the pier, that no steamer was yet in sight.
All this made the moment of meeting seem more distant and less real.
When at last a black spot appeared off the promontory on the left, her
heart began to throb as it had done in the train at Vicenza. As she
stepped on board the boat, her breath almost left her, and she stood
for a moment half dazed on the gangway.
There were very few passengers on deck. Leila took a seat astern,
and seemed as if she were intent upon gazing into the water, but she
saw nothing. The dull, mechanical thudding of the pistons and of her
heart was all she was conscious of. The ticket-collector was obliged
to ask twice where she was going. She longed to say "Lugano," but
she stammered "San Mamette" instead, as if compelled to do so by
destiny. She inquired how far it was to San Mamette, and was relieved
to hear that they would not be there for an hour yet, and would touch
at Lugano first. Her gaze wandered off across the water, resting
sometimes upon the quivering network of innumerable circlets that the
rain was stamping upon it, sometimes upon the dark base of the hills.
When the steamer slackened speed near Melide, she thought they had
reached Lugano, but sank back into her state of torpor once more on
learning that Lugano was the next stopping-place, and even failed to
notice when they passed beneath the bridge. Presently the good-natured
ticket-collector came up to point out the direction in which San
Mamette lay--over yonder towards the east, where the lake, blending
with the mist, stretched away like an ocean. Over yonder lay mystery.
Soon the great hotels of Lugano passed before her gaze, followed
by the dripping houses and dusky gardens, sloping upwards into the
mist. One, two, three stopping-places. Passengers coming and going. A
cry of "Gandria, Santa Margherita, Oria, San Mamette, Osteno, Cima,
Porlezza!" Slowly the steamer is pushed off, and the throbbing of the
pistons begins again. They are under way; the boat swings slowly about,
bringing her prow towards the mists of the upper lake; the dripping
houses, the hotels, the gardens of Lugano are left behind, and are soon
lost to sight.
Then suddenly a fresh breeze seemed to sweep through Leila's soul. All
her reasons for taking this step asserted themselves imperiously. Alone
and motionless, beneath the fine rain, she looked about her, feeling
happy and secure. It had stopped raining when they reached Gandria.
The lake in front of the steamer showed black beneath the ruffling of
a strong wind, and the mist had begun to climb the hills' wet flanks.
Galbiga, Bisgnago, and the Valsolda dolomites loomed majestically
against the sky, and in the far distance Legnone stood out, a grey
giant among smoke-like clouds.
Soon the boat met the wind. Leila's clothes and veil flew back like
streamers from a flag, but still she did not move. The wind, the dark
lake, the wild black hills, filled her soul with exultation. The wind
was shouting to her: "Are you indeed here?" The silent hills on her
right and left were thinking: "She is here, indeed!" In front of her
the dolomites were revealing all their tragic history, as if to a
watcher who understood.
"Signora," said the ticket-collector, "the next station is San Mamette."
She felt suddenly strong and resolute, and when the steamer drew up at
the landing-stage she stepped ashore with a firm tread. A few peasants
got off also, but owing to the weather, there were no loiterers either
in the _piazza_ or at the wharf. The guard on duty there pointed out
the Valsolda Hotel, near at hand. She entered the narrow vestibule.
It was dark and deserted, and neither hearing nor seeing any one, she
stood waiting, undecided whether to go upstairs or not. At last some
one came down, and catching sight of her, hurried away again, evidently
to summon the proprietor, who soon appeared.
"You wish for----?" the man began.
"A room," said Leila unsteadily.
During the few seconds she had waited the silence of this unfamiliar
place struck her as hostile. It was the first freezing contact with
those harsh realities with which she had failed to reckon while
planning her flight, but which she had vaguely foreseen on the
journey. She did not know how she managed to say "A room." Fortunately,
the proprietor, a kind-hearted little man, saw at once that she was
a lady and evidently embarrassed, and treated her with the utmost
consideration. He told her that the housemaid would show her such rooms
as were vacant--there were, indeed, but few people in the house--and
Leila started upstairs somewhat reassured. Following the maid into a
large corner-room on the second floor, she declared that she would take
that, without looking farther. She asked the girl where she slept,
hoping to have her near, but not liking to say so because she was
ashamed of her timidity. The girl, who slept at some distance, was far
from imagining that the young lady was timid, and inquired if she could
do anything more for her. No, no, nothing more. Did the Signorina wish
to dine? Leila felt that she would be unable to eat, but she ordered a
light supper to be brought to her room, that the girl might be obliged
to return, and thus give her an opportunity to inquire about Dasio. On
finding herself alone for the night she called herself a coward and
a fool, and to hearten herself, allowed her thoughts to dwell on her
father, on the Velo priests, and the schemes and intrigues from which
she had escaped. And at the same time a vision of Donna Fedele came
into her mind. She saw her great dark eyes beneath the lofty brow with
its delicate arch of white hair: she heard the golden voice saying,
"Dear girl! What have you done?" But after all, thought Leila, what was
done was done.
Would it not be well to send him a line before the meeting? She rang
for writing materials and tried to write, sitting for a long time
lost in thought, with the pen between her fingers. But presently the
difficulties of the task appalled her. Might not all be spoiled by a
single ambiguous sentence, a single ill-chosen word, a single even
slightly clumsy phrase, that would escape her notice? After all, it
would be better not to write. Her presence alone must tell everything.
Yes, of course it would! She wondered she had not thought of this
before. But immediately she was filled with terror at the idea of a
chance meeting, and so she remained, torn between doubts, and feeling
perilously near to tears.
Through the open window could be seen, far away, amid the darkness of
the night, a small point of light slowly revolving and flashing over
the surface of the waters and along the coast. Out of the shadow there
would start for an instant white cottages, great boulders, or a wooded
slope, sought out by that light as by a watchful eye passing all things
in careful review. Leila saw the slim cone of light moving slowly
towards her, felt herself and her surroundings enveloped in the white
blaze of the inquisitorial eye, and then all was engulfed in darkness
once more. Far up on the black mountain-side, near the sky that was
hardly less dark, other electric flames shone in a row. She could hear
the noise of the waves, and the whole scene gave her the impression of
a night of enchantment in the wildest, strangest corner of the earth.
She forgot her own doubts and fears for the moment and followed the
movements of the electric flash along the wooded base of the mountains
and across the ruffled waters, in search of groups of houses. One of
those groups might be Dasio. Again the white light flashed upon her,
and trembled an instant on either hand before leaving her entirely. She
sprang backwards into the room.
Weary at last, she flung herself upon the bed without undressing.
It was a long, never-ending night. From time to time the flashlight
flooded the room, and Leila was glad of this, for it seemed as if the
luminous eye were keeping a vigil in her stead. Just before dawn she
fell asleep, but awoke again almost immediately, grieved at having
slept despite her resolution not to do so. Later she rose with numbed
limbs, and closed the windows. The flashlight and the other lights
along the mountain's brow were no longer to be seen. Beneath her window
she saw a _pergola_, a muddy courtyard, some narrow grass-plots, and,
a few yards beyond, the slumbering lake reflecting the heavy, unbroken
masses of cloud. She lay down on the bed again. Day was coming, and she
would soon know her fate.
II
Leila rose and dressed at six o'clock. In washing herself she flooded
the room, but nevertheless rang the bell for more water. The maid saw
at once that the Signorina had not turned back the bedclothes, and
glanced wonderingly from her to the bed. Leila blushed, but did not
offer any explanation. Having apologised for the state of the floor,
she inquired, half unconscious of hypocrisy, if it were far to Puria.
She knew well enough from Massimo's letter that one could walk there
from Dasio in twenty minutes. The girl replied that it took less than
an hour to go to Puria, and upon Leila's request, promised to find a
boy to accompany her, and act as guide.
"At what time will you start?" she inquired.
"At seven."
Exhausted by her long fast and long hours of sleeplessness, Leila ate
her breakfast with a good appetite. She inquired about the lights she
had seen in the night, and was informed that a torpedo-boat bearing a
powerful searchlight was always on duty and that the flames upon the
hillside were the electric lights along the funicular railway of Santa
Margherita and at the Hotel Belvedere. At seven she started with her
guide, astonished at her own calmness and resolution.
The guide was a lad of about twelve, with sparkling eyes and
obstinately silent lips. Leila could get nothing out of him save
monosyllables, but, indeed, all she desired to know was that he knew
the way to Puria and Dasio. As they walked towards Loggio she looked
neither to right nor left, for the higher she climbed the faster did
her heart throb, partly from fatigue, partly because her resolution
was weakening. At the first turning of the steps above the oratory of
San Carlo she was obliged to stop and rest. The sun was not shining,
but the air was sultry. A party of young people, all laughing merrily,
passed her. The girls were teasing the men for not daring to gather
some clusters of cyclamen growing on the brink of a precipice above
a mountain torrent. With the agility of a squirrel the little guide
suddenly scampered away, returning presently with a bunch of cyclamen,
which he silently presented to Leila. She placed the flowers upon her
breast, reflecting that fate had sent them to her for _him_, and that
she would not have dared to gather them with her own hand. On reaching
the top of the hill, where the path turns to the left, and leads down
to the Campo region, she stopped to rest once more. Here the whole of
upper Valsolda lay stretched beneath her. In the centre, high above
everything, lay Dasio, its campanile and a few roofs alone stretching
upwards out of its nest of verdure. Seated on the grass Leila inquired
the names of all the villages, and then let her glance fall upon the
small yellow-white campanile beneath the mighty rocks. From the tower
she raised her eyes to the heights above it, seeking for the point that
had reminded Massimo of the one he had gazed upon at the Montanina,
while she played "Aveu." She fixed upon one that was surrounded by
mist, towards the centre of the group that slopes downward from the
highest summit on the east. Her heart swelled at the memory of the
music.
Again, she seemed to hear triumphant voices about her as she had done
on first entering Valsolda waters, and rising to her feet, struggling
with her emotion, she started onwards. On the Dasio road, beyond Puria,
she ordered the boy, who was walking in front of her, to tell her
should he see any one coming towards them. They met a charcoal-burner,
a Customs guard, and a woman with a basket of mushrooms. Leila
reflected that she might ask for Dr. Alberti, but she lacked the
courage to do so. Below the last hill, shaded by chestnut-trees, upon
the little bridge close to a chapel, she leaned against the handrail,
exhausted and trembling, and almost despairing of being able to go on.
There was an old woman gathering nuts near by, and Leila sent the boy
to inquire if she knew Dr. Alberti. The old woman, who was deaf and
half imbecile, did not understand. Leila straightened herself with an
effort, and glanced into the chapel as she passed, but its gaudiness
repelled her. She felt that had there been naught else than the
Crucifix there she would have flung herself on her knees in prayer. But
as it was, she passed on.
On reaching the narrow, steep path to Drano, two minutes' walk below
Dasio, she sat down on the lowest step, and ordered the boy to go on
to the hotel. He was simply to inquire if Dr. Alberti was at home, and
then return to her with the answer. The reply, for which she waited in
feverish agitation, was that the doctor was out.
She remained for some time, her face hidden in her hands, thinking and
feeling herself utterly alone. Uncovering her face at last, she fixed
her eyes, as if in appeal, upon the clustering verdure that clothed the
opposite bank of the valley. All was peace and indifference. She sent
the boy back to ask some one from the hotel to come and speak with her.
A pleasant-mannered girl soon appeared. It was no easy task for Leila
to inquire for Alberti, but as she could not avoid doing so, she
preferred to do it in this way, rather than at the hotel and in the
presence of any number of inquisitive strangers. She learned that the
doctor had been summoned to Muzzaglio two hours before. On setting out
he had said that he would be back by ten o'clock, and now the clock was
about to strike nine. If the Signorina wished to go and meet him, she
could not possibly miss him. She must go by Pian di Nava and San Rocco.
"You can stop at Pian di Nava, not a quarter of an hour's walk from
here. He is sure to pass that way."
Hereupon the girl tried to explain the way to the little guide, who
was unfamiliar with the region, but as he did not seem to understand,
she herself offered to act as guide, and led Leila upwards through the
poor but clean village, as far as the public washing-place, where she
pointed out the path that turned westwards from there.
"That is the path," she said. "You will reach Pian di Nava in about
five minutes."
Leila paid the boy, dismissed him, and started on alone. She left the
path at a point where it crossed a field, and sat down to wait beneath
the trees shading one side of it, whence she could see all the windings
of the path in front of her.
III
That morning Massimo had risen at dawn, having slept hardly at all. On
the preceding day he had been to Lugano to hire the boat that would
bring Benedetto's remains from Porto Ceresio to Oria. And now that
this was arranged, he had only to wait for the summons to take part in
the sad ceremony, but meanwhile he was passing through great mental
anguish. The memory of Maironi was still dear and sacred to him, and
he would have been happy to render private homage to his master, but
this public homage signified participation in beliefs and ideas which
were no longer his own. To refuse it would amount to an insult, to
grant it would amount almost to hypocrisy. Benedetto represented the
Catholic Creed in its entirety, imperishable faith in the Church, meek
and humble obedience to authority. Massimo had ceased to believe. He
had begun by separating himself from Rome intellectually, by persuading
himself that Roman Catholicism was doomed to perish; then, rapidly,
had come the separation from the Divine and risen Christ. But despite
the apparent suddenness of the change, the old faith died hard, and
his outlook on life was still coloured by the traditional beliefs
of Christianity. The first step, the freedom from Rome, would have
been sweet to him, had the breaking away from Rome not meant also the
breaking away from his own past as a champion of the Catholic Faith.
But his horror of a subsequent sinking towards agnosticism was so
great, and filled him with such intense despair, that he was at times
assailed by violent and fleeting paroxysms of reaction. That very night
as he thought of the state of his own conscience and of Benedetto, he
had lighted the candle in a spasm of pain and hope, and had knelt on
his bed before the picture of the meeting of the Saviour and Peter upon
the waters. Groaning with misery, he had prayed for faith, faith, and
again for faith! But soon the flame that had illumined his soul died
down once more. The silent surroundings had seemed to scoff at him as
he had scoffed at himself. When he had put out the light he crushed
his face into his pillow, his heart calling out to Leila. Again he
scoffed at himself for his foolish cowardice, and angrily repelled the
image that would not be driven from his heart, and did but bend before
these violent outbursts, as a reed before the wind, only to rise again
immediately. He forced himself to think of the sick man at Muzzaglio he
must visit on the morrow, whose unhappy marriage had brought him to
drink, and who had become half imbecile, living in a foul hovel with
four goats and a black sheep. He never came down to Castello or to
Puria save to exchange milk for spirits. The birth of a kid or lamb was
the signal for a series of orgies, and the man was known throughout the
countryside as the "savage." At the present moment he was recovering
from pneumonia, and Massimo was making every effort to raise him out of
his state of abject misery. With the aid of two kind women from Dasio
he had got him decently clean and had removed him to an empty stable
(for Muzzaglio consisted entirely of stables), and placed him upon a
couch fit for a human being. Every morning the doctor himself carried
him eggs, broth, and the small quantity of wine the man could not do
without. He had made up his mind to see his patient's wife and persuade
her to take her husband back into the house from which she had driven
him because he was a drunkard. He must also make her promise not to
sell the black sheep which she hated, this hatred of hers filling the
sick man with childish terror whenever reconciliation and reunion were
mentioned. "She will sell the sheep!" he would cry. "She will sell the
sheep!"
Massimo left the hotel before seven o'clock, went to see a sick child,
and then returned for the basket with the eggs, the broth, and the
wine. On reaching Muzzaglio he found the convalescent sitting up, and
after listening patiently to the endless chatter of the two old women
who were nursing him, once more turned back to Dasio. A herd of cows
was grazing among the pastures of San Rocco, and the ceaseless tinkling
of the bells rose above the sound of the river below. He dropped upon
the grass and sat listening to the river, fancying that he was back in
his room at the Montanina listening to the voice of the Posina, and the
old heartache seized him. He walked on, slowly, pausing for a moment in
the wood to notice a cluster of cyclamen, in gazing at which he sought
to banish the thought of Leila, and then, keeping mechanically onward,
he reached the level stretch of Pian di Nava.
Then it was that he saw, not two hundred yards away, a lady in a light
summer dress, seated on the upper edge of the field in front of him. He
paid no further attention to her, for almost every day visitors from
Loggio or San Mamette came up to Dasio. The lady was seated beyond the
path and some twenty yards towards the right. As Massimo approached,
walking slowly, she rose to her feet. Her movement made him glance
carelessly in her direction, but he did not recognise her, and turning
his face towards the path once more, kept on his way. She started,
swayed forward, and then checked herself. Thereupon he also stopped and
once more looked at her. She was so pale and her face was so agitated
that he would not have recognised her even now had not her eyes been
fixed upon him in a glassy stare. He hesitated, trembled, and felt his
being turned to stone. She bowed her head, and, staggering, leaned
against the tree under which she had been sitting. Massimo stopped
short. He saw it was Leila, but could not believe his own eyes, and
raised his hat stupidly, unconscious of his own movement. She lifted
her pale, tear-stained face to him imploringly, and her lips moved. He
was forced to conclude that she stood in need of some slight service,
though to seek his help was clearly embarrassing to her. At the same
instant an idea flashed across his mind.
"You are here with Donna Fedele?" he asked, quickly putting himself
on the defensive. Evidently Donna Fedele had brought this about, had
persuaded the girl to consent, or had coerced her into so doing. It
seemed the only possible explanation of Leila's presence. But Leila
shook her head and looked down.
"Are you with your father, then?" the young man asked, more astonished
than ever. Again Leila shook her head.
Then at last her humble, shrinking attitude conveyed an inkling of the
truth to Massimo, and he began to understand. But not even now did he
venture to utter a word, to make a movement that should betray his
consciousness of the sweet truth. Leaning towards her, half blind with
emotion and with a beating heart, he murmured:
"Are you alone?"
Leila hid her face in her hands without answering. The young man
seized her hands, and felt them steadily but slowly yielding, in a
wave of self-abandonment such as no spoken word could have expressed.
He murmured incoherent words and offered her his arm, feeling that she
would shrink from being led by the hand here, where at any moment some
one might pass, but still unwilling to relinquish his hold of her.
Aflame with happiness, Leila had once more become mistress of herself,
while Massimo, whose head reeled, did not know which direction to take.
He turned towards Dasio. Leila did not speak, but the arm he held
guided him gently in the opposite direction, towards the woods. Once
among the trees, he put his arm round her and they kissed for the first
time, yet not passionately, but almost reverently. Then Leila dropped
her face upon Massimo's breast.
And he, no longer bewildered, his face bent low into her sweet hair,
murmured:
"It is for ever?"
Her only answer was to press her head closer to his breast. They heard
women's voices in the wood, and Leila, raising her head, started
forward in front of Massimo, turning often to glance at him. On passing
the cluster of cyclamen that Massimo had noticed but a short time
before, he gathered one for her and smiled. She kissed the hand that
held out the flower, and then spoke for the first time:
"Why do you smile?"
The low, familiar voice thrilled him. He was more sure than ever now
that he was not dreaming, and more than ever did reality appear as
a dream. That voice had been familiar to him only in coldness, in
scorn, and in anger. These words, trivial in themselves, were the
sweet and solemn notes of an unknown chord of love. For some minutes
its sweetness so overcame Massimo that he could not speak to tell her,
as he did at last, how the sound of the river had reminded him of the
Montanina, and how he had stood gazing upon the cyclamen, forcing
himself to banish her image that was scorching his heart. The old fire
burned again in Leila's eyes at the story of his past suffering, and
betrayed the remorse she felt for her long injustice.
"You are the one who have much to forgive," said he, tenderly, thinking
of his own unjust thoughts of her. But the past came back to each with
such overwhelming force that neither could speak, in protest or in
exclamation. They walked on in silence as far as the open pasture-lands
of San Rocco, where the river thundered its greeting to them.
"Listen," said Massimo.
Leila closed her eyes, for the difference in the landscape prevented
this deep voice from awakening in her memories of the Posina. The sharp
mountain air and the tinkling of bells from the pastures reminded her
only of the wild slope where the rhododendrons grew, and where love had
conquered.
Exhausted with emotion and fatigue, the colour suddenly fled from her
face, and she told Massimo that she must rest. Anxious and alarmed, he
placed her on the grass, and, taking her hands in his, began stroking
and caressing them. She sat looking earnestly into his face, her eyes
shining with tenderness and love. She would not let him go to fetch
water for her from the river, and presently, becoming more composed,
she took one of Massimo's hands in hers and murmured:
"How could you forgive me so soon?"
"Oh, as to that ..." he cried, and the question he had been withholding
ever since she had confessed that she was alone now fell from his lips:
"But you yourself...?"
She understood at once, and told him she felt unable to explain in
words, but that, if he wished it, she would do so in writing. In answer
to a further question, he learned that she had arrived the night
before and had taken a room at San Mamette. Only one other question
did Massimo venture to ask: Did her father know? Leila assured him
that Donna Fedele alone had been told, but not until after her own
departure. A troubled silence followed; then Massimo proposed that they
should return to Dasio, where she would be able to rest and refresh
herself; and she agreed immediately, as if it were her part not to
acquiesce but simply to obey.
They started slowly, she leaning on his arm in silence. He was
beginning to be uneasy concerning the comments her presence might give
rise to at the hotel. He thought he saw a look of pain in her eyes, as
if she wondered at his silence. He dropped her arm, and, placing his
own round her, drew her lovingly to him. She murmured anxiously:
"Have I done wrong?"
Massimo held her closer.
"My wife!" he said.
She laid her head upon his shoulder.
"I have always, always loved you!" she whispered.
At the entrance to the wood they met the women whose voices they had
heard some time before. The peasants saluted, and looked curiously at
the Signorina. Massimo felt it would be a mistake to feign overmuch, to
exert overmuch caution in order to avoid arousing suspicion. When the
women had disappeared, he told Leila that he should present her to the
hotel people as his future wife.
"Yes, yes! But for your sake, not for mine! It was for your sake
before!" she said.
She wanted him to understand that if the presence of strangers had made
her cautious in her demonstrations of affection, it was out of regard
for his reputation rather than for her own. She asked him, eager to
hear him declare the contrary, whether he would not repent later having
presented her as his future wife. Meanwhile they had reached the narrow
valley that sweeps down from Pian di Nava to Terra Morta and the little
cemetery. Leila paused on catching sight of the church and houses of
Dasio nestling amidst the verdure, beneath the two colossal masses
of dolomite, one facing south and the other west, that meet at right
angles and form the Passo Stretto.
"Not yet," said she. But she quickly regretted her words, as if they
had meant disobedience; and she would have gone on, despite her
dread of the hotel and her desire to make this sweet hour as long as
possible. Massimo allowed her to rest for a few minutes--for a few
minutes only, because she was so pale! The sky was still overcast, and
mist rested upon the grey heights. The unbroken verdure, the ashen
tints of the landscape, seemed in silent sympathy with those two souls
that were so full of each other.
"Ah!" Leila cried, enraptured, at last, "if only we could live here
always!" And she closed her eyes. Massimo was silent. It would be a
dream of delight indeed. But did Leila realise what it meant to live at
Dasio? He concluded it would be wiser not to answer, but his silence
made the young girl wonder.
"No?" said she, and smiled.
"Yes," he made answer, "but it would be well to try it first--to try
living here for a few days first."
She stared at him. Her longing glance said: "Can I live here with you
for a few days now?" Feeling that perhaps he had spoken imprudently, he
took advantage of the fine rain that was beginning to fall to suggest
that they should go on again.
Thoughts of the future, called forth by Leila's words as to their
living together at Dasio, had roused them to a sense of reality. They
were silent, each trying to escape from the delirious present and to
deal calmly with the problem of the future. An impulse of true love had
brought her here. She had taken no thought for the morrow. To be sure
Massimo had said "For ever!" and had called her "wife!" but what then?
She would not have allowed thought of the morrow to trouble her had she
not seen that it was troubling him. She would have taken up her abode
at Dasio without hesitation. She was quite indifferent to what people
might say, but her anxiety was to do or say nothing of which he might
disapprove. She gazed into his face, seeking anxiously to read his
thoughts. He was silently struggling against this ecstasy of happiness,
struggling to be a man and not a headstrong youth, that he might wisely
and firmly control, not only his own actions but also those of the
woman who was to become his wife. Now the fever of joy would prevail,
and he would look at Leila, this incredible reality, in a way that made
her smile; now his manly resolution would assert itself and cast a
shadow across his brow.
"And Donna Fedele!" he cried suddenly. "What do you suppose she thinks?"
Leila could imagine easily enough what she thought. "There is only one
person in the world capable of such madness!" Leila did not wish to say
this, however, and stooped to read an inscription carved upon a stone
in a low wall facing the path.
To GIUSEPPINA LORIO
_Who perished here by the hand of an assassin._
Leila shuddered as she pictured to herself a tragedy of passion, a
heart as fiery as her own pierced by steel or lead.
"I would not be murdered," she said; "but to die now, suddenly, would
be joy indeed!"
Massimo spoke no word, but he looked reprovingly at her.
"No, no!" Leila murmured. "I wish to live, to live, to live!"
They entered the village, and for his sake she became more cautious
even than he was, not even turning to look at him until they had
reached the threshold of the hotel, when she flung him a burning
glance. Massimo asked the proprietress to show the Signorina, who
was going to stay a few hours, to a room and take her orders for
luncheon, which she would take in her own room. While he was speaking,
a messenger from San Mamette arrived with Donna Fedele's telegram. He
read it and put it in his pocket without comment, and said goodbye to
Leila, saying that he must pay some visits at Puria; but before going
he went to his room to write a few lines to Donna Fedele.
"DEAR MOTHER FEDELE,--Leila is here. Perhaps I did not deserve that you
should remind me of my duty as a gentleman. I beg you to ask Signor da
Camin for his daughter's hand on my behalf.
"Your
"MASSIMO."
He gave the letter to the messenger and hastened away to Puria.
Meanwhile the proprietress had been singing Massimo's praises to Leila,
hoping thus to pave the way to further exploration. She spoke of his
kindness, of his skill, and of her own hope that he might be appointed
parish doctor to the Valley.
"Perhaps you are a relative of his?" she ventured at last.
Instead of answering, Leila asked for writing materials.
Massimo did not return from Puria until two hours later. He had gone
there in feverish haste, but had walked home slowly, and without even
remembering to glance at the friendly peak of dolomite. He felt as if
his reason must weaken, such was the tumult of thoughts and sentiments
within him. He had asked for the hand of an heiress without thought for
her wealth, but he might easily be suspected of having enticed Leila to
Valsolda in order to oblige her father to consent to a union between
them. He was so appalled by this reflection that he asked himself
whether it would not be better to sacrifice his happiness rather than
submit to such a suspicion. Now he determined to speak to Leila of
this matter, now he was terrified by the thought that perhaps, in the
ardour of her passion, she would fail to understand him, and doubting
the strength of his devotion, reproach him for being unable to face
the comment of the world as she herself had done. Torn by this fear,
he wrung his hands, at the same time seeking to convince himself that
it was vain, that this horrible suspicion would come to no one, and
that, should it do so, Leila would know how to banish it. On reaching
the hotel once more he was wet with perspiration, but as pale as
death. Learning that Leila had not come down, he went to his own room,
and almost immediately word was brought him that the Signorina was
in the garden, and had asked for him. He forgot his gloomy thoughts,
and joined Leila where she was sitting on the wall at the foot of the
garden, near the fir-tree and a small fountain. In her hand she held
a letter, and rose on catching sight of him. She told him that she had
lunched in her room and had then done some writing. Massimo held out
his hand, believing the letter must be for him, written to tell him of
that which Leila had declared herself unable to utter, the story of the
change that had taken place within her. Before giving him the letter
she showed him the address: "Signor Girolamo da Camin, Velo d'Astico
(Vicenza)." Massimo withdrew his hand.
"No," said she; "you are to read it, only please do not do so in my
presence. You have not lunched? Then read it while you are lunching. I
am going to rest for a little while."
Massimo escorted the young girl as far as the door. She seemed to have
read his thoughts, and to have noted some slight reserve in his manner.
At the moment of leaving him she fixed her glance upon him. The fine,
slightly bewildered eyes seemed to grow larger, as her lips murmured:
"Do you love me?"
"Now and for ever!" said he.
Massimo went to his room and read as follows:
"TO MY FATHER.
"What I have done and what I propose to do will seem very strange to
you. I ask you to grant me immediately that liberty which I shall
acquire by law in the course of a few months. I cannot tell you as yet
how I shall use it, but this I can and do tell you, that of the income
that is mine I shall demand only enough to live here modestly and
alone. I shall not inquire how you dispose of the rest. For the present
I need nothing. Later on I will write again.
"Greetings,
"LEILA."
"P.S.--Should circumstances make it necessary for a few days, I shall
accept the hospitality of Donna Fedele Vayla di Brea, this being a more
suitable arrangement."
A flood of love and joy swelled his heart, and he drew a long breath
of happiness and relief. She must take nothing, absolutely nothing,
from her father! How much more he felt that she was his very own now,
without her wealth! How he longed to press her to his heart! But she
must re-write the letter at once and say she would neither demand nor
accept anything from her father. He could not possibly postpone telling
her of his joy and of the firm decision at which he had arrived, and
started to go downstairs to her. Before reaching the bottom of the
stairs, however, he had had time to reflect. It would not be fitting
for him to see her in her room, and so he went to the garden to wait
for her. It had begun to rain lightly again, but, regardless of this,
Massimo sat down on the wall where she had sat before. It suddenly
struck him that in her letter Leila had purposely refrained from
mentioning him, nor had she dated her note, whereas he had revealed
everything through the mission he had confided to Donna Fedele. It
might be necessary to send her a telegram, asking her to suspend her
action. Or would it not rather be better for Leila to tell her father
openly how matters stood?
She did not come to him, and growing impatient, Massimo began walking
up and down the garden. Leila appeared at a window, saw him, and
suddenly disappeared again. Massimo could not resist going to meet her
on the stairs. He knew there was no one in that wing of the house, a
Milanese family who had arrived over night having been out on the hills
since dawn.
"I am happy!" he cried.
She fell upon his breast, clasped her hands behind his neck, and
whispered:
"Was the letter right?"
They went out to the shelter of the fir-tree, he speaking eagerly,
but in an undertone, she silent and happy, drinking in his passionate
words. The girl said at last that she did not wish to be a burden to
him, but that she was glad to give way to him, and that, as he wished
it, she would write another letter, saying that she relinquished all
right to the income. Upon hearing of Massimo's letter to Donna Fedele,
she told him about the journey to Turin, and he heard the sad truth
for the first time. But even Leila had no idea that to postpone the
operation even for a few days might prove fatal to the invalid.
Surprised and deeply grieved, he complained of not having known of all
this in time to offer to accompany Donna Fedele to Turin. Leila glanced
at him. She feared lest her thought, put into words, might sound like
selfishness, but her eyes said plainly: "Do you not see that in that
case we should not be here together?" He understood, and smiled in
recognition. A common feeling of unworthiness kept them from returning
to the subject, and moreover, it was time for Leila to re-write her
letter.
While she was writing in her own room, and Massimo was lunching, the
Milanese family returned. They were dishevelled, wet, tired, and laden
with mountain flowers, cyclamen, aconite blossoms, ferns, mushrooms,
strawberries, goat-cheeses and empty bottles. There was no further
hope of silence and quiet conversation in the garden. When Leila came
downstairs with her letter Massimo immediately proposed that they
should start on her way back.
He looked at his watch. It was nearly three o'clock.
"We will spend four hours going down," said he.
They started amid wind and sunshine. A strong breeze had sprung up, and
changed the face of earth and sky. The blue was breaking through in all
directions. The pasture-lands of Rancò, the chestnut-groves of Drano,
the sharp and naked summits--everything sparkled. They left the Puria
road at the point where the girl from the hotel had talked with Leila,
and went along the narrow country path that lost itself in the soft
bosom of a broad valley where the waters of Passo Stretto sang as they
swung merrily southward. The path appeared again suddenly, following
the waters, rising beside them to the little stone bridge that spans
them by a bold spring upwards from the lower bank to the higher, at a
point where boulders pressed hard upon the rebellious stream. Before
reaching this rustic bridge, which seemed more a part of Nature's work
than of man's, the path ran close to a cavern, large enough to shelter
two or three persons. The cavern faced north and commanded a view of
the slopes of Dasio, of the Passo Stretto, and of the amphitheatre of
rocks that dominated the whole. Massimo and Leila sat down here to rest.
"And which is the dolomitic peak?" she asked.
Massimo stared at her in amazement. What did she know of the dolomitic
peak? She bent her head and remained silent. He took one of her
hands between his own, and repeated his question more anxiously and
pressingly. What did she know of it?
"I should like to answer you with Schumann's melody, and put my whole
soul into it," said she, softly, but without raising her head.
Massimo knew now that Donna Fedele had spoken, and he silently pressed
the dear imprisoned hand that quivered in his as memory brought back
the "Aveu" to both minds.
"Show me the peak," said Leila.
He pointed it out above the crest of the opposite range. It was a
small tooth leaning against the sky, and biting into it just below the
summit, towards the east.
"I thought it was that one," said she, "but the effect is different
from the Montanina drawing-room."
"Did you look for it there?" Massimo asked, for the sake of the sweet
answer he expected. But he did not wait for the answer after all, but
inquired how Donna Fedele had come to repeat his words about the peak.
Again Leila bent her head low.
"I read them all," said she.
"All my letters?"
"Yes, all, I think."
Then he realised that she must be aware of the bitter judgment he had
passed upon her.
"And still you came?"
"Had I not read, I should not have come."
Massimo was still clasping the dear little hand, and he continued to
stroke it in silence, as if seeking to free it from an affront it had
suffered.
"I read the last one," said Leila, "up among the rhododendrons of
Priaforà. It was then I came to a decision, and laid my plans."
She smiled as she thought of Siora Bettina, and Massimo had little
trouble in drawing from her the story of her flight. Half angrily, half
gaily she told of the Velo priests and Signora Fantuzzo's manœuvrings,
confessed her own hypocrisy, and made even Massimo laugh by her
description of the journey from Arsiero to Vicenza. But never once did
she mention her father. As Massimo held her hand, he pulled gently at
the ring she wore. She took it off and offered it to him with a sad
and earnest glance. The young man read the words "To Leila." Then he
remembered that his poor friend Andrea had told him of the dispute he
had had with his fiancée about this very name. In silence he placed the
ring upon her finger once more, and, still in silence, released her
hand.
"I was naughty," she said softly, "and he was so good!"
Again Massimo sought Leila's hand.
"At the time of his death Andrea's father wished me to take his son's
place," said he. "Andrea himself must have put this desire into his
father's heart. We will never forget him, dear, will we? Never until
death! Would you like me to call you Leila in memory of him?"
"Yes, yes!" she cried, deeply moved. Both in turn pressed the ring to
their lips.
"He used to talk to me about you very often," said Leila. Massimo made
no answer. Together they rose as by a tacit understanding, and crossing
the bridge, followed the rapidly rising path, which now followed the
curving bank, now forced its way into narrow, shady gorges, through
which flowed tinkling rivulets. Leila was the first to break the
silence.
"I fear I am too wicked, too strange to make you happy."
Massimo smiled.
"Leila may have been both wicked and strange," said he, "but Leila is
not."
Walking by his side, she took his hand and said softly:
"Yes, henceforward I will always be Leila. What do you wish Leila to be
like?"
"I wish her to be more gentle than I am, and her only peculiarity must
be that she can love a poor, struggling doctor, who offers her nothing
but a life of hardship," said Massimo.
Leila clasped his arm passionately, as she reproached him.
"Leave that kind of thing for others to say," said she.
But hardly had she uttered the words than she blushed and begged him to
forgive her.
"We shall stay here, shall we not?"
Massimo explained that, as yet, he could not be sure of this. He had
come to Valsolda intending to apply for the post of parish doctor,
but had abandoned the idea because the appointment appeared to have
been practically offered to some one else. But this other man had
now withdrawn, and there was some hope for Massimo himself. He had
therefore decided to apply. If he failed to be appointed he could not
remain here. In that case he must try somewhere else.
"To-morrow," said he, "I am going to call on all the mayors."
"To-morrow!" Leila cried in dismay. "Shall I not see you to-morrow,
then?"
"Perhaps you may, and perhaps not. But Leila must realise that we
cannot be together as we have been to-day until the answers from Velo
d'Astico arrive."
The girl was troubled, and murmured that she feared she was not yet
entirely Leila. Massimo did not seem to understand, and begged her to
repeat her words.
"Perhaps I don't understand very well," she said. "But I will obey. I
will do everything you wish."
She would have liked to follow all the paths that led upwards, that
they might never reach San Mamette. When, near the washing-place
at Drano, they came out upon the paved way leading to the lofty
grazing-lands of Rancò, she wished to explore the woods a few yards
farther on. Everything here suggested an excuse for lingering--the
gigantic boulders, looming out of the deep shadow, a group of slender
locusts, lost amidst the chestnuts and walnut-trees, a huge and
venerable chestnut, the patriarch of the grove, a blue line of distant
and sun-flooded lake, showing amidst the branches, and at last, where
the path climbed upwards into the open, the walls of rock above Dasio,
rising bare and mighty, and the slender dolomitic peak, slanting
against the sky. She was evidently very tired, but she would gladly
have mounted farther still. This, however, Massimo refused to allow.
"Leila obeys," said she.
Although ready enough to climb upwards, she wished to rest at every
step when they were descending, at which they both laughed. Below Drano
Leila stopped to listen to the murmuring of water, hidden beneath the
spot where she stood.
"I should like to know whether it is laughing or crying," said she.
"You probably think it is laughing at me, but I believe it is weeping
because we shall reach San Mamette so soon."
She inquired if they would pass the waterfall she had seen in the
morning, and on learning that they would not, glanced at Massimo,
laughing and blushing, but without uttering her wish. It was but
slightly out of the way, however, and Massimo yielded to her desire to
go that way.
There in the shadowy ravine, enclosed between steep and wooded banks,
and cut off at one end by a wall of rock, they passed the last hour of
this memorable day, seated hand-in-hand upon a grassy mound opposite
the silver stream of falling water.
"All this is like Schubert's music of 'Der Müller und der Bach,'" said
Massimo at last. "Oh for a summer of love here alone, always alone!"
Leila looked at him without speaking, so ardently that Massimo's head
swam.
"I have an idea," said Leila. "I should like to find a pool of water in
which I could see to put my hair tidy."
They followed the stream downwards to a spot where it spread
peacefully, forming a quiet mirror. From the bridge they had noticed
this sheet of water reflecting the cascade. With a smile Leila begged
Massimo to go away. He demurred somewhat, but finally obeyed, and
loitered along the Puria path. But presently a silvery laugh called him
back. Seated upon the bank, she had let down her magnificent fair hair,
where the sun and shadow played together. She had lost the tiny ribbon
with which she was in the habit of binding her tresses, and finding
it impossible to manage the golden mass, was laughing at her own
carelessness and awkward plight. In her lap lay two shell combs, and
she was trying, with both hands, to form the heavy wave of hair into
a knot at her neck. She looked more lovely than ever, and might well
have been the naiad of the waterfall. Massimo stood gazing at her, lost
in admiration, and she laughingly begged him to turn round, for she
could not possibly manage her hair while he watched her thus. But he
was unable to take his eyes from her golden head. Yes, she might indeed
have been the naiad of the spot, the fair-haired queen of this little
kingdom of rocks, of water, and of forest.
"Stay as you are!" said he at last.
"Yes, indeed!" cried the girl. "And pray what would people think of
you, seeing you with a wild creature like this?"
She decided to plait her hair in two braids, and to let them hang over
her shoulders. Then she sprang lightly to her feet.
"Will that do?" she inquired, turning her laughing face towards Massimo.
"It is a poem!" said he.
"This Valsolda is a poem indeed," Leila murmured. "Do you think you
will be nothing but a doctor here?"
"What else should I be, dear?"
She could not tell, but it seemed to her that he was not the man to be
satisfied only with paying medical visits to the peasants.
"I have no faith left," said he. He meant that he had no faith
in himself, but Leila, recalling his letters, placed a different
interpretation upon his words.
"Neither have I," said she. "And I am so glad you no longer share the
faith of those Velo priests!"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Massimo, interrupting her. "What was poor Signor
Marcello's faith, and Donna Fedele's and my own mother's? I am losing
it, have lost it already indeed, but I would not have Leila lose it.
However, I was not speaking of religious faith. I meant faith in
myself."
"I have so much faith in you."
Massimo smiled. She cast a rapid glance around her, and seeing no one,
bent forward to kiss him.
* * * * *
It was time to start for San Mamette in earnest. They went slowly
downwards, speaking little, and bearing themselves with prudent
dignity. On reaching the parish church brooding over the roofs of the
village, beneath a mighty crag, they paused in front of it. Massimo had
decided to leave Leila here and go up to Muzzaglio to see his patient
once more. Leaning against the parapet encircling the church place,
they made the final arrangements for the morrow. Massimo would not come
to San Mamette, nor would he meet her elsewhere, but he would send her
a letter towards evening after his visits to the mayors.
"A long letter, please," she begged, and promised to write one herself,
which Massimo's messenger would carry back to him. She took the bunch
of cyclamen from her bosom, pressed it to her lips, and then offered
it to Massimo. Some one was coming up the steps connecting the church
place with the village. Massimo kissed the cyclamen again, and then
quickly disappeared up the steep path.
V
Shortly after nine o'clock Leila left the hotel and climbed to the
church place to find the exact spot where Massimo had taken leave of
her. Here her intense longing seemed to find relief. On returning to
the hotel she remained at her window until nearly midnight, watching
the fantastic flashing of the revolving light, as it leaped from
lake to stream, from bank to bank, through the misty atmosphere, and
watching the signals glowing on Monte Bisgnago, against the dark sky.
Dreams--dreams--all was a dream! All was night and flames, within her
and around her.