VISITORS FROM ROME
It was one of those evenings which, to any one acquainted only with our
English climate, seem like a foretaste of paradise. I sat before a
tiny marble table at one of the open-air _cafés_ at the head of the
Marina, listening idly to the music of the band only a few yards off,
and gazing over the peaceful, glistening sea which stretched away in
front. There were many people passing backwards and forwards, but my
thoughts were far away, and I took notice of none of them. With my
head resting upon my arm, and my arm upon the low balustrade, I had
fallen into a semi-somnolent slumber of thought, and the faces of the
people who lounged by chattering and laughing I saw only as figures in
a dream. My cigarette even had burnt out between my lips, and the
coffee which stood by my side I had not tasted.
The roadway was completely blocked with the carriages of the Palermitan
nobility and elite, and the promenade was thronged with a heterogeneous
stream of fishermen and natives and visitors. All Palermo flocks on to
the Marina at nightfall--as who would not?--to hear the band and
breathe in the freshness of the sea, and with other objects very
similar to those which attract promenaders on to the esplanades of
English watering-places at a similar hour. Often I had amused myself
by watching them, and looking out for English visitors; but to-night,
early in the evening, I had seen a Sicilian countess who reminded me
slightly of Maud, and my thoughts had flashed back to Devereux, and
remained there, heedless of my efforts to recall them, hovering around
one fair face, which sometimes I feared was more to me than anything
else in the world.
What should recall them but the glad, amazed greeting of an English
voice! I sprang to my feet, and before me, her face radiant with
pleasure, and her little hand stretched out eagerly, stood Lady Olive.
"Of all the strange meetings I ever heard of, Mr. Arbuthnot, this is
the most extraordinary!" she exclaimed. "It quite takes my breath
away!"
I held her hand in mine forgetful of what I was doing--amazed and
admiring. A warm climate evidently suited Lady Olive, for I had never
seen her look so charming as she did then in the airy muslin dress
which floated gracefully around her slight figure, with a great bunch
of light-coloured violets in the bosom of her gown, and with a decided
tinge of colour and delighted sparkle in her eyes.
"Mr. Arbuthnot, am I a ghost that you look at me so without speaking?
And you really must let go my hand, please."
I dropped it at once.
"Lady Olive," I exclaimed, "I never met any one whom I was so pleased
to see! Whatever stroke of good fortune brought you to Sicily?"
"This," she laughed, laying her arm within that of a tall, bearded
gentleman who stood wondering by her side. "Papa, this is Mr.
Arbuthnot. Mr. Arbuthnot, my father, Lord Parkhurst."
He held out his hand cordially.
"Very glad to meet you, Mr. Arbuthnot. I have heard my daughter speak
of you often."
We were blocking up the crowded promenade, and so we all three turned
and walked leisurely along amongst the others. In a few minutes I had
heard that Lord Parkhurst had brought his daughter and some other
friends here from Rome in his yacht, and they were uncertain as to
their stay. And in return I had told them that I was living with my
father for a while close to Palermo.
Presently we came up with the remainder of their party, and Lord
Parkhurst, leaving his daughter in my charge, joined them. A tall,
good-humoured-looking boy strolled up to us, looking at me
questioningly. Lady Olive introduced me to her brother, who came over
to my side, and seemed disposed to stay with us.
"Now, we're not going to have you, Frank," Lady Olive declared,
laughing. "Mr. Arbuthnot and I are old friends, and we have a lot to
talk about. Go and take care of Cissy, do!"
He laughed good-humouredly, and then, nodding to me, strolled off with
his hands in his pockets. Lady Olive rested her little hand upon my
arm for a moment, and guided me down towards the winter garden, where
the throng was less dense. There we found a low seat, and sat down
with our faces to the sea, and our backs to the ever-increasing crowd,
the murmur of whose conversation reached us in an incessant subdued hum.
"And now, Mr. Arbuthnot, tell me all the news, please; I want to know
everything about yourself," exclaimed Lady Olive, making herself
comfortable. "Quick, please; we haven't more than half-an-hour before
some one will be looking for me."
"Half-a-minute will suffice to tell you my news," I answered, and I
told her the little that had happened to me since Marian's marriage.
Told her of my meeting with my father, and of our quiet life together.
She listened with more than interest; and very enchanting she looked in
the golden light which shone upon her up-turned, piquant face, and in
her dark, tender eyes, which had almost filled with compassionate tears
when I had finished. For, after all, there was something sad about my
story.
"I think it is so good of you, Mr.--Mr. Arbuthnot, to give up your
life, as you are doing, to your father," she said softly.
I laughed at the idea.
"Give it up! It is no sacrifice. I like being with him; and life
isn't at all unpleasant out here, I can tell you."
"Isn't it a little dull?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"I had not found it so," I told her. "Perhaps I should when she were
gone," I added.
She made a mocking face at me, and then suddenly became grave again.
"Mr. Arbuthnot, I wonder whether you will mind," she said, looking at
me very earnestly, "but papa knows your real name and all about you. I
couldn't help telling him, because I have thought about you so much.
You are not angry?"
I smiled down at her reassuringly. Angry! Why should I be? Instead,
I must confess that I felt a decided glow of pleasure at her eager
words.
"Tell me something about yourself now," I begged, "and some English
news, if there is any."
"English news! Well, old Sir Francis is moping worse than ever since
you left; Mr. Rupert Devereux has written the novel of the season; Mr.
Francis, from all I can hear of him, is going to the bad; and
Maud--they say Maud is engaged to that little fop, Lord Annerley. Is
that enough news?"
Yes, it was quite enough! Something told me that she was watching for
the effect of her words, and a sort of stubborn pride held my features
rigid, and enabled me to answer lightly, and to put the words which I
had heard away from me.
We talked for a long time in low tones, exchanging reminiscences and
speeches, my share of which I have often since repented. But to meet
unexpectedly a countrywoman, especially so charming a one as Lady
Olive, in a strange country, when you have seen nothing but strange
faces for many months, is sufficient excuse for a little more than
cordiality creeping into the conversation. And then there was the
influence of the scene and of the night, an influence which no one can
properly appreciate who does not know what the long summer nights of
Southern Europe are like. Everything seemed steeped in a sort of
languid, evanescent beauty. The dark mountains stretching out like
giant sentinels into the silvery, glistening bay, the twinkling lights
from the low, white houses, the softened strains of the band, the musky
air heavily laden with the mingled perfume of the orange grove, the
hyacinths, and the more distant vineyards, and Lady Olive's beautiful
dark eyes so close to mine, and flashing with such a dangerously sweet
light--all these seemed leagued together to stir my senses and my
heart. If Lady Olive spoke in a lower tone and with a tenderer accent
than she need have done, was I to blame, knowing her to be a flirt, if
I followed suit? The wonder is that I forbore to answer the mute
invitation of her eyes, and press my lips against the archly tender,
oval face, which more than once almost touched mine.
But for the thought that, gone from me for ever though she might be,
Maud's kiss was the last upon my lips, assuredly I should have yielded
to the fascination of that moment.
Fewer and fewer became our words, until at last we ceased talking
altogether, and remained silent, drinking in the exquisite enjoyment of
our surroundings.
At last Lady Olive rose reluctantly.
"Mr. Arbuthnot, we must really go. They'll be coming to look for us
directly, and, really, if it hadn't been too ridiculous, people might
almost imagine that we'd been spooning, mightn't they?"
She blushed as she smoothed down the folds of her white dress, and
waited whilst I lit a cigarette. Certainly, if people had entertained
that very ridiculous notion there would have been some excuse for them,
for our hands had been very close together--very close indeed--and
there was a soft light in Lady Olive's lustrous eyes which, to any one
who had not known that she was a flirt, and could command them at will,
might have suggested love-making. Our _tête-à-tête_, such as it was,
was over for the present, at any rate, for we had scarcely gone a dozen
yards when we came upon Lord Parkhurst, with Miss Cissy, who, I found
out afterwards, was Lady Olive's youngest sister, and Master Frank, and
a tall, sandy-haired man, with bushy eyebrows and an intelligent
forehead, whom Lord Parkhurst introduced to me as Mr. Burton Leigh.
We all walked up the promenade together, but presently Lord Parkhurst
took an opportunity to draw me a little behind the others.
"My dear fellow," he said kindly, "my daughter told me all your sad
history when she came to rue from England. Do you know, I should like
to know your father, Mr. Devereux, very much. My cousin was in his
regiment, and always swore that there was something wrong about that
court-martial. Do you think that he would mind my calling on him?"
I hesitated, at a loss how to decide.
"Well, well, let it be until you have asked him," Lord Parkhurst went
on, good-humouredly. "We shall be here for a week or two, at any rate,
and I hope that we shall see a good deal of you. We thought of going
to see the convent at San Martino to-morrow. Will you join us?"
"The convent of San Martino?" I exclaimed. "Why, you will pass our
house."
"Indeed! Then we will look in and see your father on our way back, if
he has no objection. You'll come in for an hour?"
We had reached the entrance to the hotel, and Lady Olive was looking
behind to see that I was following. But I shook my head.
"I have a six-mile ride over a rough country," I said, "and though the
patience of mules is supposed to be inexhaustible, experience has
taught me that that idea is a popular delusion. I've kept mine waiting
four hours already, and I really must go."
"If you must, then," Lord Parkhurst said, holding out his hand, "where
shall we see you to-morrow?"
"I'll come and meet you if you'll tell me what time you'll start."
They consulted, and fixed upon an hour. Then I shook hands with Lady
Olive and the rest of the party, and walked back along the now nearly
deserted Marina to the inn where I had left my mule.
Jacko was a faithful beast and sure of foot. But he was slow, and by
the time we had reached home it was past midnight. My father was
sitting up for me, poring over a musty old volume, which he laid down,
as I entered.
"Hugh, my boy, I thought you were lost. Disgraceful hour, sir," he
added, with a mild attempt at facetiousness.
I laughed, and throwing my whip into a corner, poured myself out a cup
of coffee.
"Father, what do you think has happened?" I explained. "I have met
some English friends in Palermo."
"Who are they?" he asked nervously.
"Lord Parkhurst and his daughter. Lady Olive is a friend of Miss
Devereux's, and a very jolly little girl she is."
My father nodded.
"Glad you've been enjoying yourself," he remarked. "I hope they are
going to stay for a time. They'll be company for you."
"And you too, father," I added quickly. "Lord Parkhurst wants to call
and see you. He knows all about us, and he seems very anxious to make
your acquaintance. Do you mind?"
My father considered for some time before he answered. I could see
that the idea half pleased him, although he could not quite make up his
mind to break through his old habit.
"I don't think I should mind much, Hugh," he said at last. "But
there's no one else, is there?"
"Only a son, and two daughters. Lady Olive is quite as anxious to know
you as her father. Oh! and there's a fellow called Burton Leigh."
"Burton Leigh!" repeated my father. "Burton Leigh! There is no man
whom I should like to meet more if it's the same Burton Leigh who wrote
this treatise on Modern Mahometanism."
"Same fellow," I declared, without hesitation. "He looks beastly
clever, and Lady Olive said that he'd lived for years in Egypt with a
tribe of Arabs. Same fellow for certain."
"How strange! When are they coming, Hugh?"
"To-morrow," I answered, invoking secret blessings on the head of Mr.
Burton Leigh. "They are coming this way to San Martino, and I was to
let them know whether they might call."