"Well!" said Bruno. "If that isn't enough to make a man feel as small as
a sardine!"
There was only one thing to do, but to conceal the nature of it Bruno
flourished the newspaper and said:
"Elena, I must go down to the lodge and read these articles to your
father. Poor Donna Roma, she'll have to fly, I'm afraid. Bye-bye,
Garibaldi-Mazzini! Early to bed, early to rise, and time enough to grow
old, you know!... As for Mr. Rossi, he might be a sinner and a criminal
instead of the hero of the hour! It licks me to little bits." And Bruno
carried his dark mystery down to the café to see if it might be
dispelled by a litre of autumnal light from sunny vineyards.
Meantime, Joseph, being very tired, was shooting out a pettish lip
because he had to go to bed without saying good-night to Uncle David; and
his mother, making terms with this pretence, consented to bring down his
nightdress, thinking Rossi might be out of the sitting-room by that
time, and the boy be pacified. But when she returned to the dining-room
the sitting-room door was still closed, and Joseph was pleading to be
allowed to lie on the sofa until Uncle David carried him to bed.
"I'm not asleep, mamma," came in a drowsy voice from the sofa, but
almost at the same moment the measured breath slowed down, the
watch-lights blinked themselves out, and the little soul slid away into
the darksome kingdom of unconsciousness.
Suddenly, in the silence of the room, Elena was startled by a voice. It
came from the sitting-room. Was it Mr. Rossi's voice? No! The voice was
older and feebler than Mr. Rossi's, and less clear and distinct. Could
it be possible that somebody was with him? If so, the visitor must have
arrived while she was in the bedroom above. But why had she not heard
the knock? How did it occur that Joseph had not told her? And then the
lamp was still on the dining-room table, and save for the firelight the
sitting-room must be dark.
A chill began to run through her blood, and she tried to hear what was
said, but the voice was muffled by its passage through the wall, and she
could only catch a word or two. Presently the strange voice, without
stopping, was broken in upon by a voice that was clear and familiar, but
now faltering with the note of pain: "I swear to God I will!"
That was Mr. Rossi's voice, and Elena's head began to go round. Whom was
he speaking to? Who was speaking to him? He went into the room alone, he
was sitting in the dark, and yet there were two voices.
A light dawned on Elena, and she could have laughed. What had terrified
her as a sort of supernatural thing was only the phonograph! But after a
moment a fresh tremor struck upon her in the agony of the exclamations
with which David Rossi broke in upon the voice that was being reproduced
by the machine. She could hear his words distinctly, and he was in great
trouble. Hardly knowing what she did, she crept up to the door and
listened. Even then, she could only follow the strange voice in
passages, which were broken and submerged by the whirring of the
phonograph, like the flight of a sea-bird which dips at intervals and
leaves nothing but the wash of the waves.
"David," said the voice, "when this shall come to your hands ... in my
great distress of mind ... do not trifle with my request ... but
whatever you decide to do ... be gentle with the child ... remember
that ... Adieu, my son ... the end is near ... if death does not
annihilate ... those who remain on earth ... a helper and advocate in
heaven ... Adieu!" And interrupting these broken words were half-smothered
cries and sobs from David Rossi, repeating again and again: "I will!
I swear to God I will!"
Elena could bear the pain no longer, and mustering up her courage she
tapped at the door. It was a gentle tap, and no answer was returned. She
knocked louder, and then an angry voice said:
"Who's there?"
"It's I--Elena," she answered timidly. "Is anything the matter? Aren't
you well, sir?"
"Ah, yes," came back in a calmer voice, and after a shuffling sound as
of the closing of drawers, David Rossi opened the door and came out.
As he crossed the threshold he cast a backward glance into the dark
room, as if he feared that some invisible hand would touch him on the
shoulder. His face was pale and beads of perspiration stood on his
forehead, but he smiled, and in a voice that was a little hoarse, yet
fairly under control, he said:
"I'm afraid I've frightened you, Elena."
"You're not well, sir. Sit down, and let me run for some cognac."
"No! It's nothing! Only...."
"Take this glass of water, sir."
"That's good! I'm better now, and I'm ashamed. Elena, you mustn't think
any more of this, and whatever I may do in the future that seems to you
to be strange, you must promise me never to mention it."
"I needn't _promise_ you that, sir," said Elena.
"Bruno is a brave, bright, loyal soul, Elena, but there are times...."
"I know--and I'll never mention it to anybody. But you've taken a chill
on the roof at sunset looking at the illuminations--that's all it is!
The nights are frosty now, and I was to blame that I didn't send out
your cloak."
Then she tried to be cheerful, and turning to the sleeping boy, said:
"Look! He was naughty again and wouldn't go to bed until you came out to
carry him."
"The dear little man!" said David Rossi. He stepped up to the couch, but
his pale face was preoccupied, and he looked at Elena again and said:
"Where does Donna Roma live?"
"Trinità de' Monti--eighteen," said Elena.
"Is it late?"
"It must be half-past eight at least, sir."
"We'll take Joseph to bed then."
He was putting his arms about the boy to lift him when a
slippery-sloppery step was heard on the stairs, followed by a hurried
knock at the door.
It was the old Garibaldian porter, breathless, bareheaded, and in his
slippers.
"Father!" cried Elena.
"It's she. She's coming up."
At the next moment a lady in evening dress was standing in the hall. It
was Donna Roma. She had unclasped her ermine cloak, and her bosom was
heaving with the exertion of the ascent.
"May I speak to Mr. Rossi?" she began, and then looking beyond Elena and
seeing him, where he stood above the sleeping child, a qualm of
faintness seemed to seize her, and she closed her eyes for a moment.
David Rossi's face flushed to the roots of his hair, but he stepped
forward, bowed deeply, led the way to the sitting-room, and, with a
certain incoherency in his speech, said:
"Come in! Elena will bring the lamp. I shall be back presently."
Then, lifting little Joseph in his arms, he carried him up to bed,
tucked him in his cot, smoothed his pillow, made the sign of the cross
over his forehead, and came back to the sitting-room with the air of a
man walking in a dream.