Sabina had the delightful sensation of doing something she ought not to
do, but which was perfectly innocent; she had moreover the rarer
pleasure, quite new to her, of committing the little social misdeed in
the company of the first man she had ever liked in her life. She knew
very well that old Sassi would not be able to reach the inner chamber
of the excavation, and she inwardly hoped that Malipieri's servant
would discreetly wait outside of it, so that she might be alone with
Malipieri when she first set eyes on the wonderful statue. It was
amusing to think how the nuns would have scolded her for the mere wish,
and how her pious sister would have condemned her to eternal flames for
entertaining the temptation.
Malipieri had told her to put on an old frock, as she might spoil her
clothes in spite of the efforts he had made to enlarge and smooth the
way for her to pass. Her mother had a way of calling everything old
which she had possessed three months, and for once Sabina was of her
mother's opinion. She had a very smart cloth costume, with a rather
short skirt, which had come home in February, and which she had worn
only four times because the spring had been warm. It was undoubtedly
"old" for she could not wear it in summer, and next winter the fashion
would change; and it had rained all the morning, so that the air was
damp and cold. Besides, the costume fitted her slender figure to
perfection--it was such a pity that it was old already, for she might
never have another as smart. The least she could do was to try and wear
it out when she had the chance. It was of a delicate fawn colour; it
had no pocket and it was fastened in a mysterious way. The skirt was
particularly successful, and, as has been said, it was short, which was
a great advantage in scrambling about a damp cellar. In order to show
that she was in earnest, she put on russet leather shoes. Her hat was
large, because that was the fashion, but nothing could have been
simpler; it matched the frock in colour, and no colour was so becoming
to her clear girlish pallor and misty hair as light fawn.
Malipieri had carried out his intention of getting rid of the porter,
and was waiting inside the open postern when the cab drove up. Hitherto
he had only seen Sabina indoors, at luncheon and in the evening, and
when he saw her now he received an altogether new impression. Somehow,
in her walking dress, she seemed more womanly, more "grown up" as she
herself would have called it. As she got out of the wretched little
cab, and came forward to greet him, her grace stirred his blood. It was
final; he was in love.
Her intuition told her the truth, of course. There was something in his
look and voice which had not quite been in either on the previous
evening. He had been glad, last night, because she had come to the
drawing-room, as he had hoped that she would; but to-day he was more
than glad, he was happy, merely because he saw her. There never was a
woman yet that could not tell that difference at a glance.
She was proud of being loved by him, and as he walked by her side, she
looked up at the blue sky above the courtyard, and was glad that the
clouds had passed away, for it must be sweeter to be loved when there
was sunshine overhead than when it rained; but all the time, she saw
his face, without looking at it, and it was after her own heart, and
much to her liking. Besides, he was not only a manly man, and strong,
and, of course, brave; he was already famous, and might be great some
day; and she knew that he loved her, which was much to his advantage.
As for being madly, wildly, desperately in love with him herself, she
was not that yet; it was simply a very delicious sensation of being
adored by somebody very sympathetic. Some women never get nearer to
love than that, in all their lives, and are quite satisfied, and as
they grow older they realize how much more convenient it is to be
adored than to adore, and are careful to keep their likings within very
manageable limits, while encouraging the men who love them to behave
like lunatics.
Sabina was not of that kind; she was only very young, which, as Pitt
pointed out, is a disadvantage but not a real crime.
They walked side by side, almost touching as they moved; they were
drawn one to another, as all nature draws together those pairs of
helpless atoms that are destined to one end.
Old Sassi went gravely with them. To him, it was a sad thing to see
Sabina come to the palace in a way almost clandestine, as if she had no
right there, and he shook his head again and again, silently grieving
over the departed glory of the Conti, and wishing that he could express
his sympathy to the young girl in dignified yet tender language. But
Sabina was not in need of sympathy just then. Life in the Volterra
establishment had been distinctly more bearable since Malipieri's
appearance on the scene, and her old existence in the palace had been
almost as really gloomy as it now seemed to her to have been. Moreover,
she was intensely interested in what Malipieri was going to shew her.
Masin was waiting at the head of the winding stair with lanterns
already lighted. When they had all entered, he turned the key. Sassi
asked why he did this, and as they began to go down Malipieri explained
that it was a measure of safety against the old porter's curiosity.
Sabina stepped carefully on the damp steps, while Malipieri held his
lantern very low so that she could see them.
"I am sure-footed," she said, with a little laugh.
"This is the easiest part," he answered. "There are places where you
will have to be careful."
"Then you will help me."
She thought it would, be pleasant to rest her hand on his arm, where
the way was not easy, and she knew instinctively that he hoped she
would do so. They reached the floor of the cellar, and Masin walked in
front, lighting the way. Sassi looked about him; he had been in the
cellars two or three times before.
"They did not get in by this way when the first attempt was made," he
said.
"No," answered Malipieri. "I cannot find out how they made an entrance."
"There used to be a story of an oubliette that was supposed to be
somewhere in the house," said Sabina.
"I have found it. You will see it in a moment, for we have to pass
through the bottom of it."
"How amusing! I never saw one."
They came to the first breach in the cellar wall. A small lamp had been
placed on a stone in a position to illuminate the entrance, and was
burning brightly. Masin had lighted two others, further on, and had
covered the bones in the dry well with pieces of sacking. Malipieri
went up the causeway first. At first he held out his hand to Sabina,
but she shook her head and smiled. There would be no satisfaction in
being helped over an easy place; she should like him to help her where
it would need some strength and skill to do so. She drew her skirt
round her and walked up unaided, and followed by Sassi, leaning on his
stick with one hand and on Masin with the other.
The descent into the first chamber was less easy. Standing at the top,
Sabina looked down at Malipieri, who held his lantern to her feet. She
felt a delicious little uneasiness now, and listened to the ghostly
gurgle from the channel in the dark.
"What is that?" she asked, and her voice was a little awed by the
darkness and strangeness of the place.
"The 'lost water.' It runs through here."
She listened a moment longer, and began to descend, placing her feet on
the stones upon which Malipieri laid his hand, one after another, to
show her the way.
"Perhaps you might help me a little here," she said.
"If you will let me put your feet on the right step, it will be
easier," he answered.
"Yes. Do that, please. Show me the place first."
"There. Do you see? Now!"
He laid his hand firmly upon her small russet shoe, guided the little
foot to a safe position and steadied it there a moment.
"So," he said. "Now the next. There are only four or five more."
She was rather sorry that there were so few, for they seemed
delightfully safe, or just dangerous enough to be amusing; she was not
quite sure which. Women never analyze the present, unless it is utterly
dull.
At the bottom of the descent, both looked up, and saw at a glance that
poor old Sassi could never get down, even with assistance. He seemed
unable to put his foot down without slipping, in spite of Masin's help.
"I think you had better not try it," said Malipieri quietly. "In a few
days I am sure that the Senator will have a way broken through from
above, and then it will be easy enough."
"Yes," answered the old man regretfully. "I will go back again to the
other side and wait for you."
"I am so sorry," said Sabina untruthfully, but looking up with sympathy.
"Take Signor Sassi back to the cellar," said Malipieri to Masin. "Then
you can follow us."
Sassi and Masin disappeared through the breach. Malipieri led the way
into the dry well, where there was another light. In her haste to reach
the end, Sabina did not even glance at the sacking that covered the
skeletons.
"Can you climb a ladder?" asked Malipieri.
"Of course!" Such a question was almost a slight.
Malipieri went up nimbly with his lantern, and knelt on the masonry to
hold the top of the ladder. Sabina mounted almost as quickly as he had
done, till she reached the last few steps and could no longer hold by
the uprights. Then she put out her hands; he grasped then both and slid
backwards on his knees as she landed safely on the edge. She had not
felt that she could possibly fall, even if her feet slipped, and she
now knew that he was strong, and that it was good to lean on him.
"You will have to stoop very low for a few steps," he said, taking up
his lantern, and he kept his hold on one of her hands as he led her on.
"It is not far, now," he added encouragingly, "and the rest is easy."
He guided her past the boards and stones that covered the overflow
shaft, and down the inclined passage and the steps to the space between
the vaults. A third lamp was burning here, close to the hole beneath
which the statue lay. Malipieri lowered his lantern for her to see it.
She uttered an exclamation of surprise and delight. The pure gold that
covered the bronze was as bright as if it had not lain in the vault for
many centuries, twelve, fourteen, fifteen, no one could tell yet. The
light fell into the huge ruby as into a tiny cup of wine.
"Can one get down?" asked Sabina breathlessly, after a moment's silence.
"Certainly. I have not gone down myself yet, but it is easy. I wanted
you to be the first to see it all. You will have to sit on the edge and
step upon the wrist of the statue."
Sabina gathered her skirt neatly round her, and with a little help she
seated herself as he directed.
"Are you sure it will not hurt it, to step on it?" she asked, looking
up.
"Quite sure." Malipieri smiled, as he thought of Toto's hobnailed
shoes. "When you are standing firmly, I will get down too, if there is
room."
"It is not a very big hole," observed Sabina, letting herself down till
her feet rested on the smooth surface. She did not quite wish to be as
near him as that; at least, not yet.
"I will creep down over the arm," she said, "and then you can follow
me. I hope there are no beasts," she added. "I hate spiders."
Malipieri lowered his lantern beside her, and she crept along towards
the statue's head. In a few moments he was beside her, bringing both
the lantern and the lamp with him. They had both forgotten Masin's
existence, as he had not yet appeared. Sabina looked about for spiders,
but there were none in sight. The vault was perfectly dry, and there
was hardly any dust clinging to the rough mortar that covered the
stones. It was clear that the framework must have been carefully
removed, and the place thoroughly cleaned, before the statue had been
drawn into the vault from one end.
"He is perfectly hideous," said Sabina, as they reached the huge face.
"But it is magnificent," she added, passing her gloved hand over the
great golden features. "I wonder who it is meant for."
"A Roman emperor as Hercules, I think," Malipieri answered. "It may be
Commodus. We are so near that it is hard to know how the head would
look if the statue were set up."
He was thinking very little of the statue just then, as he knelt on its
colossal chest beside Sabina, and watched the play of the yellow light
on her delicate face. There was just room for them to kneel there, side
by side.
It was magnificent, as Sabina had said, the great glittering thing,
lying all alone in the depths of the earth, an enormous golden demigod
in his tomb.
"You are wonderful!" exclaimed Sabina, suddenly turning her face to
Malipieri.
"Why?"
"To have found it," she explained.
"I wish I had found something more practical," he answered. "In my
opinion this thing belongs to you, and I suppose it represents a small
fortune. But the only way for you to get even a share of it will be by
bringing a suit against Volterra. Half a dozen rubies like the one in
the ring would have been enough for you, and you could have taken them
home with you in your pocket."
"I am afraid I have none!" Sabina laughed.
"This one will be safe in mine," Malipieri answered.
"You are not going to take it?" cried Sabina, a little frightened.
"Yes. I am going to take it for you. I daresay it is worth a good deal
of money."
"But--is it yours?"
"No. It is yours."
"I wonder whether I have any right to it." Sabina was perhaps justly
doubtful about the proceeding.
"I do not care a straw for the government, or the laws, or Volterra,
where you are concerned. You shall have what is yours. Shall we get
down to the ground and see if there is anything else in the vault?"
He let himself slide over the left shoulder, and the lion's skin that
was modelled over it, and Sabina followed him cautiously. By bending
their heads they could now stand and walk, and there was a space fully
five feet wide, between the statue and the perpendicular masonry from
which the vault sprang.
Malipieri stopped short, with both lights in his hand, and uttered an
exclamation.
"What is it?" asked Sabina. "Oh!" she cried, as she saw what he had
come upon.
For some moments neither spoke, and they stood side by side, pressed
against each other in the narrow way and gazing down, for before them
lay the most beautiful marble statue Sabina had ever seen. In the
yellow light it was like a living woman asleep rather than a marble
goddess, hewn and chipped, smoothed and polished into shape ages ago,
by men's hands.
She lay a little turned to one side and away; the arm that was
undermost was raised, so that the head seemed to be resting against it,
though it was not; the other lying along and across the body, its
perfect hand just gathering up a delicately futile drapery. The figure
was whole and unbroken, of cream-like marble, that made soft living
shadows in each dimple and hollow and seemed to quiver along the lines
of beauty, the shoulder just edging forwards, the bent arm, the
marvellous sweep of the limbs from hip to heel.
"It is a Venus, is it not?" asked Sabina with an odd little timidity.
"Aphrodite," answered Malipieri, almost unconsciously.
It was not the plump, thick-ankled, doubtfully decent Venus which the
late Greeks made for their Roman masters; it was not that at all. It
was their own Aphrodite, delicate, tender and deadly as the foam of the
sea whence she came to them.
Sabina would scarcely have wondered if she had turned and smiled, there
on the ground, to brush the shadows of ages from her opening eyes, and
to say "I must have slept," like a woman waked by her lover from a
dream of kisses. That would have seemed natural.
Malipieri felt that he was holding his breath. Sabina was so close to
him that it was as if he could feel her heart beating near his own, and
as fast; and for a moment he felt one of those strong impulses which
strong men know when to resist, but to resist which is like wrestling
against iron hands. He longed, as he had never longed for anything in
his life, to draw her yet closer to him and to press his lips hard upon
hers, without a word.
Instead, he edged away from her, and held the lights low beside the
wonderful statue so that she might see it better; and Aphrodite's
longing mouth, that had kissed gods, was curved with a little scorn for
men.
The air was still and dry, and Sabina felt a strange little thrill in
her hair and just at the back of her neck. Perhaps, in the unknown ways
of fruitful nature, the girl was dimly aware of the tremendous manly
impulse of possession, so near her in that narrow and silent place.
Something sent a faint blush to her cheek, and she was glad there was
not much light, and she did not wish to speak for a little while.
"I hate to think that she has lain so long beside that gilded Roman
monster," said Malipieri presently.
The vast brutality of the herculean emperor had not disgusted him at
first; it had merely displeased his taste. Now, it became suddenly an
atrocious contrast to the secret loveliness of unveiled beauty. That
was a manly instinct in him, too, and Sabina felt it.
"Yes," she said softly. "And she seems almost alive."
"The gods and goddesses live for ever," Malipieri answered, smiling and
looking at her, in spite of himself.
Her eyes met his at once, and did not turn away. He fancied that they
grew darker in the shadow, and in the short silence.
"I suppose we ought to be going," she said, still looking at him. "Poor
old Sassi is waiting in the cellar."
"We have not been all round the vault yet," he answered. "There may be
something more."
"No, she has been alone with the monster, all these centuries. I am
sure of it. There cannot be anything else."
"We had better look, nevertheless," said Malipieri. "I want you to see
everything there is, and you cannot come here again--not in this way."
"Well, let us go round." Sabina moved.
"Besides," continued Malipieri, going slowly forward and lighting the
way, "I am going to leave the palace the day after to-morrow."
"Why?" asked Sabina, in surprise.
"Because Volterra has requested me to go. I may have to leave Rome
altogether."
"Leave Rome?"
Her own voice sounded harsh to her as she spoke the words. She had been
so sure that he was in love with her, she had begun to know that she
would soon love him; and he was going away already.
"Perhaps," he answered, going on. "I am not sure."
"But--" Sabina checked herself and bit her lip.
"What?"
"Nothing. Go on, please. It must be getting late."
There was nothing more in the vault. They went all round the gilt
statue without speaking, came back to the feet of the Aphrodite from
the further side and stopped to look again. Still neither spoke for a
long time. Malipieri held the lights in several positions, trying to
find the best.
"Why must you leave Rome?" Sabina asked, at last, without turning her
face to him.
"I am not sure that I must. I said I might, that was all."
Sabina tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.
"Why 'may' you have to go, then?" she asked a little sharply.
"Volterra may be able to drive me away. He will try, because he is
afraid I may wish to get a share in the discovery."
"Oh! Then you will not leave Rome, unless you are driven away?"
Malipieri tried to see her eyes, but she looked steadily down at the
statue.
"No," he said. "Certainly not."
Sabina said nothing, but her expression changed and softened at once.
He could see that, even in the play of the shadows. She raised her
head, glanced at him, and moved to go on. After making a few steps in
the direction of the aperture she stopped suddenly as if listening.
Malipieri held his breath, and then he heard, too.
It was the unmistakable sound of water trickling faster and faster over
stones. For an instant his blood stood still. Then he set the lamp
down, grasped Sabina's wrist and hurried her along, carrying only the
lantern.
"Come as fast as you can," he said, controlling his voice.
She understood that there was danger and obeyed without losing her
head. As he helped her up through the hole in the vault, she felt
herself very light in his hands. In a moment he was beside her, and
they were hurrying towards the inclined passage, bending low.