Works of grant allen, p.76
Works of Grant Allen, page 76
‘I think, Mr. Winthrop,’ Gwen said, slowly rising and hesitating, ‘we ought to go back now and join the others.’
Hiram looked at her with a concentrated look of terror and despair that fairly frightened her. ‘Not for one moment yet,’ he whispered quite softly, ‘not for one moment yet, I beg and pray of you. I have something else still to say to you.’
Gwen faltered for another second, and then stood still and listened passively.
‘Miss Russell,’ he began again, with white lips and straining eyeballs, ‘I don’t want you to give me an answer yet; but I do want you to wait a little and consider with yourself before you give me it. If you say no to me all at once, you will kill me, you will kill me. I have lived for so many weary years in this hope, so long deferred, that it has become a part, as it were, of my very being, and you can’t tear it out of me now without lacerating and rending me. But I thought — I fancied — it was wildly presumptuous of me, but still I fancied — that this last week or two you had been more kind to me, more interested in me, more tolerant of me at least, than you used to be formerly.’
Gwen’s heart smote her with genuine remorse when she heard that true accusation. Poor young fellow! She had undoubtedly led him into it, and she felt thoroughly ashamed of herself for the cruel ruse she had unwittingly practised upon him. Who would ever have thought, though, that the Yankee painter was really and truly so much in love with her?
She sighed slightly; for no woman can hear a man declare his heartfelt admiration for herself without emotion; and then she answered feebly, ‘I... I... I only said I admired your pictures immensely, Mr. Winthrop.’ Hiram could hardly gasp out a few words more. ‘Oh, Miss Russell, don’t give me an answer yet, don’t give me an answer yet, I implore you. Wait and think it over a little while, and then answer me. You have never thought of me before in this way, I can see; you haven’t any idea about me: wait and think it over, and remember that my whole life and happiness hangs upon it. Wait, oh! please wait and think it over.’
He pleaded with so much earnestness in his tone, and he looked so eagerly into her swimming eyes, that Gwen forgot for the moment his Yankee accent and his plain face and his unpolished manners, and saw him only as he was, an eager lover, begging her for mercy with all the restrained energy of a deep and self-contained but innately passionate nature. She could not help but pity him, he was so thoroughly and profoundly in earnest. For a moment her heart was really touched, not with love, but with infinite compassion, and she answered, half remorsefully, ‘I’m afraid I can’t hold you out much hope, Mr. Winthrop; but it shall be as you say; I will think it over, and let you have my full answer hereafter.’ Hiram seized her hand eagerly. She tried to withdraw it, but he would not let her. ‘Thank you,’ he cried almost joyously; ‘thank you, thank you! Then you don’t refuse me utterly; you don’t reject me without appeal; you will take my plea into consideration? I will not ask you again. I will not obtrude myself upon your notice unwillingly; but let me know in a fortnight. Do take a fortnight; my whole life is staked upon it; let it have a fortnight.’
Gwen’s eyes were brimmed with two rising tears as she answered, trembling, ‘Very well, it shall be a fortnight. Now we must go, Mr. Winthrop. We’ve stopped here too long. The others will be waiting for us.’ And she drew her hand away from his as quietly as she was able, but not without a certain small inobtrusive sympathetic pressure. In her heart she pitied him.
As she passed out and joined the party at the far end of the garden, Hiram noticed that she didn’t go up to speak at once to Colin Churchill. She let Audouin, nothing loth, lead her off down the alley of orange trees, and there she began speaking to him as if quite casually about Hiram.
‘Your friend Mr. Winthrop has been telling me how kind you’ve been to him, and how much he owes to you,’ she said, twirling a flower nervously between her fingers. ‘How good of you to do all that you have done for him! Do you know, I quite envy you your opportunities for discovering such a genius in neglected places. I didn’t know before, Mr. Audouin, that among all your other good qualities you were also a philanthropist. But your protégé there is quite warm and enthusiastic about all your goodness and kindness to him both here and in America.’
She looked straight at him all unconsciously as she spoke, and her eyes, though of course she had hastily wiped them on leaving the arbour, glistened a little still with the two tears that had risen unbidden to their lids when she was talking a minute before with Hiram. Audouin noticed the glistening with a quiet delight, and naturally coupled that and her words together into a mistaken meaning. ‘If only we were quite alone now,’ he thought to himself regretfully, ‘this would be the exact moment to say what I wish to her. But no matter; another opportunity will crop up before long, I don’t doubt, and then I can speak to her quite at my leisure.’
As for Gwen, when she found herself alone in her room that evening, she sat down in the easy-chair by the bedside, and took a most unconscionable time in unfastening her necklet and earrings, and putting them away one by one in the little jewel-case. ‘He’s very much in love with me, that’s certain,’ she said to herself meditatively. ‘Who could ever have imagined it? I never should have talked to him so much if I had fancied he could possibly have misunderstood me. Poor fellow, I’m awfully sorry for him. And how dreadfully distressed he looked when I didn’t answer him! It quite made me take a sort of fancy to him for the moment.... What a romantic history, too! Fell in love with me at first sight, that day by the Thousand Islands! And I never even so much as looked at him..... This necklet doesn’t at all become me. I shall get another one next time I go down the Corso.... But he paints beautifully, and no doubt about it; and that charming Mr. Audouin says he’s really quite an artistic genius. I’m positively grieved with myself that I shall have to refuse him. He’ll break his heart over it, poor young man; I’m sure he’ll break his heart over it. Of course one doesn’t mind breaking most men’s hearts one bit, because, you see, in the long run they’re none the worse for it. But this young Mr. Winthrop’s another sort of person; if you break his heart, just this one time only, that’ll be the end of him at once and for ever.... And what an unhappy life he seems to have had of it, too! One would be quite sorry to add to it by making him miserable with a refusal..... Ah, well, he’s really a very good sort of young man in his way. What a pity he should be an American!... And yet why should Americans differ so much from other people, I wonder? What a wistful look he gave me when he asked me not to answer him now immediately. Upon my word, in a sort of way I really do like him just a little bit, the poor young fellow.’
CHAPTER XXXVI. CECCA SHOWS HER HAND.
Have you brought me the medicine, Beppo?’
‘The what, Signora Cecca? Oh, the medicine? I don’t call it medicine: I call it —— — —’
Cecca clapped her hand angrily upon his lips. ‘Fool,’ she said, ‘what are you babbling about? Give me the bottle and say no more about it. That’s a good friend indeed. I owe you a thank-you for this, truly.’
‘But, Cecca, what do you want it for? You must swear to me solemnly what you want it for. The police, you know — —’
Cecca laughed merrily — a joyous laugh, with no sorcery in it. One would have said, the guileless merriment of a little simple country maiden. ‘The police, indeed,’ she cried, softly but gaily. ‘What have the police got to do with it, I wonder? I want to poison a cat, a monster of a cat, that wails and screams every night outside my window; and you must go and wrap the thing up in as much mystery as if —— Well, there! it’s lucky nobody at Rome can understand good sound Calabrian even if they overhear it, or you’d go and make the folks suspicious with your silly talking — and so loud, too.’
Giuseppe looked at her, and muttered slowly something inarticulate. Then he looked again in a stealthy, frightened fashion; and at last he made up his mind to speak out boldly.
‘Cecca! stop! I know what you want that little phial for.’
Cecca turned and smiled at him saucily. ‘Oh, you know!’ she said in a light ironical tone. ‘You know, do you? Then, body of God, it’s no use my telling you, so that’s all about it.’
‘Cecca,’ the young man said again, snatching at the tiny bottle, which she still held gingerly between her finger and thumb, as if toying with it and fondling it, ‘I’ve been watching you round at the Englishman’s studio, and I’ve found out what you want the — the medicine for.’
Cecca’s forehead puckered up quickly into a scowling frown (as when she sat for Clytemnestra), and she answered angrily, ‘You’ve been playing the spy, then, have you really? I thank you, Signor Giuseppe, I thank you.’
‘Listen, Cecca. I have been watching the Englishman’s studio. There comes an English lady there, a beautiful tall lady, with a military father — a lady like this:’ and Giuseppe put on in a moment a ludicrous caricature of Gwen’s gait and carriage and manner. ‘You have seen her, and you are jealous of her.’
Quick as lightning, Cecca saw her opportunity, and caught at it instinctively with Italian cunning. Giuseppe was right in principle, there was no denying it; but he had mistaken between Gwen and Minna. He had got upon the wrong tack, and she would not undeceive him. Keeping her forehead still dexterously bent to the same terrible scowl as before, and never for a second betraying her malicious internal smile of triumph, she answered, as if angry at being detected, ‘Jealous! and of her! Signor Giuseppe, you are joking.’
‘I am not joking, Cecca. I can see you are jealous this very moment. You love the Englishman. What is the good of loving him? He will not marry you, and you will not marry him: you would do much better to take, after all, to poor old Beppo. But you’re jealous of the tall lady, because you think the Englishman’s in love with her. What does it matter to you or me whether he is or whether he isn’t? And it is for her that you want the medicine.’
Cecca drew a long breath and pretended to be completely baffled. ‘Give me the bottle,’ she cried; ‘give me the bottle, Beppo.’
Giuseppe held it triumphantly at arm’s length above his head.
‘Not till you swear to me, Cecca, that you don’t want to use it against the tall lady.’ Cecca wrung her hands in mock despair. ‘You won’t give it to me, Beppo? You won’t give it to me? What do you want me to swear it by? The holy water — the rosary — the medal of the holy father?’
Giuseppe smiled a smile of contemptuous superciliousness.
‘Holy water! — rosary! — Pope!’ he cried, ‘Much you care for them indeed, Signora. No, no; you must swear by something that will bind you firmly. You must swear on your own little pocket image of Madonna della Guardia of Monteleone.’
Cecca pouted. (To the daughter of ten generations of Calabrian brigands a detail like a little poisoning case was merely a matter for careless pouting and feminine vagaries.)
‘You will compel me?’ she asked hesitatingly.
Giuseppe nodded.
‘Or else I don’t give you the bottle,’ he murmured.
Cecca drew the little silver image with well-simulated reluctance from inside her plaited bodice. ‘What am I to swear?’ she asked petulantly.
‘Say the words after me,’ Beppo insisted. ‘I swear by the mother of God, Madonna della Guardia of Monteleone, and all holy saints, that I will not touch or hurt or harm the tall English lady with the military father. And if I do may the Madonna forget me.’
Cecca repeated the words after him, severally and distinctly. It was very necessary that she should be quite precise, lest the Madonna should by inadvertence make any mistake about the particular person. If she didn’t make it quite clear at first that the oath only regarded Gwen, the Madonna might possibly be very angry with her for poisoning Minna, and that of course would be extremely awkward. It’s a particularly unpleasant thing for any one to incur the displeasure of such a powerful lady as Madonna della Guardia at Monteleone.
‘You may have the bottle now if you like,’ Beppo said, handing it back to her carelessly.
Cecca pouted once more. ‘What’s the use of it now?’ she asked languidly. ‘Except, of course, to poison the cat with!’
Beppo laughed. To the simple unsophisticated Calabrian mind the whole episode only figured itself as a little bit of Cecca’s pardonable feminine jealousy. Women will be women, and if they see a rival, of course, they’ll naturally try to poison her. To say the truth, Beppo thought the fancy pretty and piquant on Cecca’s part rather than otherwise. The fear of the Roman police was to him the only serious impediment.
‘I may come and see you again next Sunday, Cecca?’ he asked as he took up his bundle to leave the room. ‘You owe me a little courtesy for this.’
Cecca smiled and nodded in a very gay humour. There was no need for deception now she had got the precious bottle securely put away in the innermost pocket of her model’s kirtle. ‘Yes,’ she answered benignly. ‘you may come on Sunday. You have deserved well of me.’
But as soon as Beppo had left the room Signora Cecca flung herself down upon the horsehair mattress in the corner (regardless of her back hair), and rolled over and over in her wild delight, and threw her arms about, as if she were posing for the Pythoness, and laughed aloud in her effusive southern joy and satisfaction. ‘Ha! ha!’ she cried to herself gaily, ‘he thought it was that one! He thought it was that one, did he? He’s got mighty particular since he came to Rome, Beppo has — afraid of the police, the coward; and he won’t have anything to do even with poisoning a poor heretic of an Englishwoman. Madonna della Guardia, I have no such scruples for my part! But he mistook the one: he thought I was angry with the tall handsome one. No, no, she may do as she likes for all I care for her. It’s the ugly little governess with the watery eyes that my Englishman’s in love with. What he can see to admire in her I can’t imagine — a thing with no figure — but he’s in love with her, and she shall pay for it, the caitiff creature; she shall pay for it, I promise her. Here’s the bottle, dear little bottle! How bright and clear it dances! Cecca Bianchelli, you shall have your revenge yet. Madonna della Guardia, good little Madonna, sweet little Madonna, you shall have your candles. Don’t be angry with me, I pray you, Madonna mia, I shall not break my oath; it’s the other one, the little governess, dear Madonna! She’s only a heretic — an Englishwoman — a heretic; an affair of love, what would you have, Madonna? You shall get your candles, see if you don’t, and your masses too, your two nice little masses, in your own pretty sweet little chapel on the high hill at Monteleone!’
CHAPTER XXXVII. CECCA AND MINNA.
It was Tuesday afternoon at Colin Churchill’s, and Minna had got her usual weekly leave to go and visit her cousin at his own studio. ‘I find her devotion admirable,’ said Madame, ‘but then, this cousin he is young and handsome. After all, there is perhaps nothing so very extraordinary in it, really.’
Cecca was there, too, waiting her opportunity, with the little phial always in her pocket: for who knows when Madonna della Guardia may see the chance of earning her two promised masses? She is late this afternoon, the English governess; but she will come soon: she never forgets to come every Tuesday.
By and by, Minna duly arrived, and Colin kissed her before Cecca’s very eyes — the miscreant! and she took off her bonnet even, and sat down and seemed quite prepared to make an afternoon of it.
‘Cecca,’ Colin cried, ‘will you ask them to make us three cups of coffee? — You can stop, Minna, and have some coffee, can’t you?’
Cecca didn’t understand the English half of the sentence, of course, but she ran off quite enchanted to execute the little commission in the Italian bent of it. A cup of coffee! It was the very thing; Madonna della Guardia, what fortune you have sent me!
Colin and Minna sat talking within while the coffee was brewing, and when it was brought in, Cecca waited for her opportunity cautiously, until Minna had taken a cup for herself, and laid it down upon the little bare wooden table beside her. It would never do to put the medicine by mistake into the cup of the Englishman; we must manage these little matters with all due care and circumspection. So Cecca watched in the background, as a cat watches a mouse’s hole with the greatest silence and diligence, till at last a favourable chance occurred: and then under the pretence of handing Minna the biscuits which came up with the coffee, she managed cleverly to drop half the contents of the phial into the cup beside her. Half was quite enough for one trial: she kept the other half, in case of accident, to use again if circumstances should demand it.
Just at that moment a note came in from Maragliano. Could Colin step round to the other studio for a quarter of an hour? A wealthy patron had dropped in, and wanted to consult with him there about a commission.
Cohn read the letter through hastily; explained its contents to Minna; kissed her once more: (Ha, the last time, the last time for ever! he will never do that again, the Englishman!) and then ran out to see the wealthy patron.
Minna was left alone for that half-hour in the studio with Cecca.
Would she drink the coffee, now? that was the question. No, as bad luck and all the devils would have it, she didn’t seem to think of tasting or sipping it. A thousand maledictions! The stuff would get cold, and then she would throw it away and ask for another cupful. Blessed Madonna of Monte-leone, make her drink it! Make her drink it! Bethink you, unless she does, dear little Madonna, you do not get your candles or your masses!
Still Minna sat quite silent and motionless, looking vacantly at the beautiful model, whom she had forgotten now to feel angry or jealous about. She was thinking, thinking vacantly; and her Italian was so far from fluent that she didn’t feel inclined to begin a conversation off-hand with the beautiful model.
