WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD

By E. M. Forster

Chapter 1

They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip, Harriet, Irma, Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft, had braved the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. Miss Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sightof so many people talking at once and saying such different thingscaused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter. 

"Quite an ovation, " she cried, sprawling out of her first-classcarriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get usfoot-warmers. "

The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice and injunctions--where tostop, how to learn Italian, when to use mosquito-nets, what picturesto look at. "Remember, " he concluded, "that it is only by going off thetrack that you get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio, Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let me begyou, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's only a museum ofantiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the peopleare more marvellous than the land. "

"How I wish you were coming, Philip, " she said, flattered at theunwonted notice her brother-in-law was giving her. 

"I wish I were. " He could have managed it without great difficulty, for his career at the Bar was not so intense as to prevent occasionalholidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the Continent, and he himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy toleave town. 

"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught sight of her littledaughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required. "Good-bye, darling. Mind you're always good, and do what Granny tellsyou. "

She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs. Herriton, who hated the title of Granny. 

Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, "I'll domy best. "

"She is sure to be good, " said Mrs. Herriton, who was standing pensivelya little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was already calling to MissAbbott, a tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conductingher adieus in a more decorous manner on the platform. 

"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go off withoutyou. "

And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had startedagain, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journey--theCampanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from theSt. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; the view of the Ticino andLago Maggiore as the train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the viewof Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her now--thearrival at her first resting-place, when, after long driving throughdark and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar oftrams and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral ofMilan. 

"Handkerchiefs and collars, " screamed Harriet, "in my inlaid box! I'velent you my inlaid box. "

"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there was a moment'ssilence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking inthe fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott gotinto the carriage. The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia thatshe would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all moved with ita couple of steps, and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerfullittle cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying afootwarmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry thathe was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, "Good-bye, Mrs. Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you. "

Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot-warmerovercame her, and she began to laugh again. 

"Oh, I am so sorry, " she cried back, "but you do look so funny. Oh, youall look so funny waving! Oh, pray!" And laughing helplessly, she wascarried out into the fog. 

"High spirits to begin so long a journey, " said Mrs. Theobald, dabbingher eyes. 

Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. "I wish, "said he, "that Mrs. Charles had gotten the footwarmer. These Londonporters won't take heed to a country chap. "

"But you did your best, " said Mrs. Herriton. "And I think it simplynoble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such aday as this. " Then, rather hastily, she shook hands, and left him totake Mrs. Theobald all the way back. 

Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they werenot late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, with an egg for Irma, tokeep up the child's spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after afortnight's bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether itwould be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott. 

"And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?" asked Irma. 

"'Grandmother, ' dear; not 'Granny, '" said Mrs. Herriton, giving hera kiss. "And we say 'a boat' or 'a steamer, ' not 'a ship. ' Ships havesails. And mother won't go all the way by sea. You look at the map ofEurope, and you'll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, andshe'll show you the map. "

"Righto!" said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harrietinto the library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left alone. There wasimmediately confidence between them. 

"Here beginneth the New Life, " said Philip. 

"Poor child, how vulgar!" murmured Mrs. Herriton. "It's surprising thatshe isn't worse. But she has got a look of poor Charles about her. "

"And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What appallingapparition was that! I did think the lady was bedridden as well asimbecile. Why ever did she come?"

"Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Liliaagain, and this was the only way. "

"I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguishedherself in her farewells. "

Mrs. Herriton shuddered. "I mind nothing, so long as she has gone--andgone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow ofthirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her. "

"I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr. Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I don'tthink, either, he improved his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, hasthe knack of being absurd in public. "

Mrs. Herriton replied, "When a man is neither well bred, nor wellconnected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia may discardhim in time. "

"No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the last, when herboxes were packed, she was 'playing' the chinless curate. Both thecurates are chinless, but hers had the dampest hands. I came on them inthe Park. They were speaking of the Pentateuch. "

"My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It was your ideaof Italian travel that saved us!"

Philip brightened at the little compliment. "The odd part is that shewas quite eager--always asking me for information; and of course I wasvery glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, and her taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all issomething. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles allwho visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world. It is really to Lilia's credit that she wants to go there. "

"She would go anywhere, " said his mother, who had heard enough of thepraises of Italy. "I and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty indissuading her from the Riviera. "

"No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite acrisis for her. " He found the situation full of whimsical romance: therewas something half attractive, half repellent in the thought of thisvulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should shenot be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths. 

Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in transfiguration, nor inparallels from history, nor in anything else that may disturb domesticlife. She adroitly changed the subject before Philip got excited. SoonHarriet returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bedearly, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies workedand played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down totheir quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruptionthrough the winter. 

It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with LiliaTheobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Herriton hadhardly known a moment's rest. For six months she schemed to preventthe match, and when it had taken place she turned to another task--thesupervision of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through lifewithout bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. Shewas aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he wasold enough, by the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irmamade things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, whohad attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to herto leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the effort as far aspossible. That curious duel which is fought over every baby was foughtand decided early. Irma belonged to her father's family, not to hermother's. 

Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to assertherself, and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald. It required all Mrs. Herriton's kindness to prevent her. A house wasfinally taken for her at Sawston, and there for three years she livedwith Irma, continually subject to the refining influences of her latehusband's family. 

During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. Liliaconfided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft extremely, butthat she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs. Herriton, who at once wrote, begging for information, and pointing outthat Lilia must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate stateexisted. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She leftMr. Kingcroft without even the pressure of a rescue-party. She cried agreat deal on her return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. Herriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about theduties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before. Butsomehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not settle down inher place among Sawston matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always inthe throes of some domestic crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept herservants for years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stopaway from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wearrings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose of waking the place up, and coasted down the High Street one Sunday evening, falling off at theturn by the church. If she had not been a relative, it would have beenentertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved outraging Englishconventions, rose to the occasion, and gave her a talking which sheremembered to her dying day. It was just then, too, that they discoveredthat she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her "as a gentlemanfriend, " and to send presents to Irma. 

Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. Caroline, charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two turnings away, wasseeking a companion for a year's travel. Lilia gave up her house, soldhalf her furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, andhad now departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene. 

She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more frequently than shewrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence shefound perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one hadsimply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she wasimproving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring shebegan to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. "In a placelike this, " she wrote, "one really does feel in the heart of things, andoff the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, itseems impossible that the middle ages have passed away. " The letter wasfrom Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description ofthe wonderful little town. 

"It is something that she is contented, " said Mrs. Herriton. "But no onecould live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better forit. "

Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother's letter toher, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyalsupporter of parental authority--Irma listened politely, but soonchanged the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed. They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and white or yellowand green. What did her grandmother think?

Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, inspite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children, and of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud ofIrma, who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be calledthat most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She was anxious to formher before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurelymovements of the travellers, and even suggested that they shouldoverstay their year if it suited them. 

Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quiteenthusiastic. 

"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I shouldn't havedone as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotel's none toocomfortable. "

"I cannot understand people, " said Harriet. "What can they be doing allday? And there is no church there, I suppose. "

"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches in Italy. "

"Of course I mean an English church, " said Harriet stiffly. "Liliapromised me that she would always be in a large town on Sundays. "

"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will find more beautyand sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens of Europe. "

The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a small depressingedifice much patronized by his sister. She always resented any slight onit, and Mrs. Herriton had to intervene. 

"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love this place, andI do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for telling me it. It isnot only so quaint, but one sees the Italians unspoiled in all theirsimplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, whogrows sweeter every day, is very busy sketching. '"

"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always delivered a platitudeas if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent about Italy, whichshe had never visited, her only experience of the Continent being anoccasional six weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland. 

"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she left the room. His mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; and the appearanceof Irma, just off to school, prevented further discussion. Not only inTracts is a child a peacemaker. 

"One moment, Irma, " said her uncle. "I'm going to the station. I'll giveyou the pleasure of my company. "

They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Herriton sata little longer at the breakfast table, re-reading Lilia's letter. Thenshe helped the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaidturning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather waslovely, and she thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quiteearly. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to St. James's, and together they went to the kitchen garden and began to sowsome early vegetables. 

"We will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest fun, " saidMrs. Herriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and herelderly daughter always got on very well, though they had not a greatdeal in common. Harriet's education had been almost too successful. AsPhilip once said, she had "bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn'tdigest them. " Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset forthe house, she lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so muchvalued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she hadbeen allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what wasworse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when hereturned full of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways. 

"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs at everything--theBook Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars. People won't like it. We have our reputation. A house divided againstitself cannot stand. "

Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let Philip say what helikes, and he will let us do what we like. " And Harriet had acquiesced. 

They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling ofrighteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to thepeas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it shelooked at her watch. 

"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if there are anyletters. "

Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas. There won't be anyletters. "

"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall cover themup--and mind the birds don't see 'em!"

Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly fromher hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had neversown better. They were expensive too. 

"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning. 

"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crestedpaper is. "

Harriet opened the envelope. 

"I don't understand, " she said; "it doesn't make sense. "

"Her letters never did. "

"But it must be sillier than usual, " said Harriet, and her voice beganto quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I can't make head or tail. "

Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the difficulty?" shesaid after a long pause. "What is it that puzzles you in this letter?"

"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and beganto eye the peas. 

"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be married. Don't cry, dear; please me by not crying--don't talk at all. It's more than I couldbear. She is going to marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take theletter and read for yourself. " Suddenly she broke down over what mightseem a small point. "How dare she not tell me direct! How dare shewrite first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald--apatronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bearwitness, dear"--she choked with passion--"bear witness that for thisI'll never forgive her!"

"Oh, what is to be done?" moaned Harriet. "What is to be done?"

"This first!" She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered itover the mould. "Next, a telegram for Lilia! No! a telegram for MissCaroline Abbott. She, too, has something to explain. "

"Oh, what is to be done?" repeated Harriet, as she followed her motherto the house. She was helpless before such effrontery. What awfulthing--what awful person had come to Lilia? "Some one in the hotel. " Theletter only said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman?The letter did not say. 

"Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours, " read Mrs. Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella d'Italia, Monteriano, Italy. "If there is an office there, " she added, "we mightget an answer this evening. Since Philip is back at seven, and theeight-fifteen catches the midnight boat at Dover--Harriet, when you gowith this, get 100 pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank. "

"Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go quickly. .. . Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoon--Miss Edith'sor Miss May's?"

But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her grand-daughter, she wentto the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to knowabout Monteriano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of awoolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the "Sub-Apennines. " Itwas not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past itthere wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal toimagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place in "ChildeHarold, " but Byron had not been there. Nor did Mark Twain visit it inthe "Tramp Abroad. " The resources of literature were exhausted: shemust wait till Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her tryPhilip's room, and there she found "Central Italy, " by Baedeker, andopened it for the first time in her life and read in it as follows:--

MONTERIANO (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d'Italia, moderate only; Globo, dirty. * Caffe Garibaldi. Post and Telegraph office in Corso VittorioEmmanuele, next to theatre. Photographs at Seghena's (cheaper inFlorence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains. 

Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Sant'Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant' Ambrogio, Palazzo Capocchi. Guide(2 lire) unnecessary. A walk round the Walls should on no account beomitted. The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset. 

History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose Ghibellinetendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. Xx. ), definitely emancipated itselffrom Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, "POGGIBONIZZI, FAUI IN LA, CHE MONTERIANO SI FA CITTA!" till recently enscribed over the Sienagate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the Papaltroops and became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of smallimportance, and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are stillnoted for their agreeable manners. 

 *****

The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to the CollegiateChurch of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel on right) the charmingFrescoes. .. . 

Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hiddencharms of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary, all of it was dull. Whereas Philip could never read "The view from theRocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset" without a catching at theheart. Restoring the book to its place, she went downstairs, and lookedup and down the asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last, two turnings away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss CarolineAbbott's father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she returned, hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and Irma bounced to greet her, and trod heavily on her corn. 

"Your feet grow larger every day, " said the agonized Harriet, and gaveher niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyedwith Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and duringpudding news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had brokena very vital knob off the kitchen-range. "It is too bad, " said Mrs. Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. Afterlunch Harriet would get out Baedeker, and read in injured tones aboutMonteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her. 

"It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to marry any one in theplace. Some tourist, obviously, who's stopping in the hotel. The placehas nothing to do with it at all. "

"But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you meet in ahotel?"

"Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not thepoint. Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. Andwhen you speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your fatherat Chamounix. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I thinkyou had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speakabout the range. "

She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not givesatisfaction--she had better leave. A small thing at hand is greaterthan a great thing remote, and Lilia, misconducting herself upon amountain in Central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew toa registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came home, was told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she hadbetter leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted bycook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring tobe taken back. In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there wasthe telegram: "Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott. "

"No answer, " said Mrs. Herriton. "Get down Mr. Philip's Gladstone fromthe attic. "

She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeedshe knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, otherwise thetelegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lilia. Nonebut she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of "Italiannobility. " She recalled phrases of this morning's letter: "We love thisplace--Caroline is sweeter than ever, and busy sketching--Italians fullof simplicity and charm. " And the remark of Baedeker, "The inhabitantsare still noted for their agreeable manners, " had a baleful meaning now. If Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more usefulquality, and the picture she made to herself of Lilia's FIANCE did notprove altogether wrong. 

So Philip was received with the news that he must start in half an hourfor Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For three years he hadsung the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated havingone as a relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, butin his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, "The man maybe a duke or he may be an organ-grinder. That is not the point. If Liliamarries him she insults the memory of Charles, she insults Irma, sheinsults us. Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have donewith her for ever. "

"I will do all I can, " said Philip in a low voice. It was the first timehe had had anything to do. He kissed his mother and sister and puzzledIrma. The hall was warm and attractive as he looked back into it fromthe cold March night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as forsomething commonplace and dull. 

Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald, using plainlanguage about Lilia's conduct, and hinting that it was a question onwhich every one must definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was anafterthought, that Mrs. Theobald's letter had arrived that morning. 

Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she never coveredup those peas. It upset her more than anything, and again and again shestruck the banisters with vexation. Late as it was, she got a lanternfrom the tool-shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over them. The sparrows had taken every one. But countless fragments of the letterremained, disfiguring the tidy ground. 

Chapter 2

When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Monteriano, hefinds himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses roundthe railway, and many more dotted over the plain and the slopes of thehills, but of a town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. Hemust take what is suitably termed a "legno"--a piece of wood--anddrive up eight miles of excellent road into the middle ages. For it isimpossible, as well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Baedeker. 

It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms ofcommonsense. He was so weary with travelling that he had fallen asleepin the train. His fellow-passengers had the usual Italian gift ofdivination, and when Monteriano came they knew he wanted to go there, and dropped him out. His feet sank into the hot asphalt of the platform, and in a dream he watched the train depart, while the porter who oughtto have been carrying his bag, ran up the line playing touch-you-lastwith the guard. Alas! he was in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for alegno bored him unutterably. The man asked six lire; and though Philipknew that for eight miles it should scarcely be more than four, yet hewas about to give what he was asked, and so make the man discontentedand unhappy for the rest of the day. He was saved from this socialblunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road saw one cracking hiswhip and waving his reins and driving two horses furiously, and behindhim there appeared the swaying figure of a woman, holding star-fishfashion on to anything she could touch. It was Miss Abbott, who had justreceived his letter from Milan announcing the time of his arrival, andhad hurried down to meet him. 

He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much opinion abouther one way or the other. She was good, quiet, dull, and amiable, and young only because she was twenty-three: there was nothing in herappearance or manner to suggest the fire of youth. All her life hadbeen spent at Sawston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant, pallid face, bent on some respectable charity, was a familiar objectof the Sawston streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them wassurprising; but as she truly said, "I am John Bull to the backbone, yetI do want to see Italy, just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, andthat one gets no idea of it from books at all. " The curate suggestedthat a year was a long time; and Miss Abbott, with decorous playfulness, answered him, "Oh, but you must let me have my fling! I promise to haveit once, and once only. It will give me things to think about and talkabout for the rest of my life. " The curate had consented; so had Mr. Abbott. And here she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, withas much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing adventuresscould desire. 

They shook hands without speaking. She made room for Philip and hisluggage amidst the loud indignation of the unsuccessful driver, whom itrequired the combined eloquence of the station-master and the stationbeggar to confute. The silence was prolonged until they started. Forthree days he had been considering what he should do, and still morewhat he should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary conversations, inall of which his logic and eloquence procured him certain victory. Buthow to begin? He was in the enemy's country, and everything--the hotsun, the cold air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees, regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid atmosphere ofSawston in which his thoughts took birth. At the outset he made onegreat concession. If the match was really suitable, and Lilia were benton it, he would give in, and trust to his influence with his mother toset things right. He would not have made the concession in England;but here in Italy, Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at all eventsgrowing to be a human being. 

"Are we to talk it over now?" he asked. 

"Certainly, please, " said Miss Abbott, in great agitation. "If you willbe so very kind. "

"Then how long has she been engaged?"

Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror. 

"A short time--quite a short time, " she stammered, as if the shortnessof the time would reassure him. 

"I should like to know how long, if you can remember. "

She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. "Exactly elevendays, " she said at last. 

"How long have you been here?"

More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his foot. "Close onthree weeks. "

"Did you know him before you came?"

"No. "

"Oh! Who is he?"

"A native of the place. "

The second silence took place. They had left the plain now andwere climbing up the outposts of the hills, the olive-trees stillaccompanying. The driver, a jolly fat man, had got out to ease thehorses, and was walking by the side of the carriage. 

"I understood they met at the hotel. "

"It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald's. "

"I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility. "

She did not reply. 

"May I be told his name?"

Miss Abbott whispered, "Carella. " But the driver heard her, and a grinsplit over his face. The engagement must be known already. 

"Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?"

"Signor, " said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside. 

"Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will stop. "

"Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here--my own idea--to give allinformation which you very naturally--and to see if somehow--please askanything you like. "

"Then how old is he?"

"Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe. "

There burst from Philip the exclamation, "Good Lord!"

"One would never believe it, " said Miss Abbott, flushing. "He looks mucholder. "

"And is he good-looking?" he asked, with gathering sarcasm. 

She became decisive. "Very good-looking. All his features are good, andhe is well built--though I dare say English standards would find him tooshort. "

Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, felt annoyed at herimplied indifference to it. 

"May I conclude that you like him?"

She replied decisively again, "As far as I have seen him, I do. "

At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which lay brown andsombre across the cultivated hill. The trees of the wood were small andleafless, but noticeable for this--that their stems stood in violets asrocks stand in the summer sea. There are such violets in England, but not so many. Nor are there so many in Art, for no painter has thecourage. The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons; even thedry white margin of the road was splashed, like a causeway soon to besubmerged under the advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attentionat the time: he was thinking what to say next. But his eyes hadregistered the beauty, and next March he did not forget that the road toMonteriano must traverse innumerable flowers. 

"As far as I have seen him, I do like him, " repeated Miss Abbott, aftera pause. 

He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her at once. 

"What is he, please? You haven't told me that. What's his position?"

She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. Philip waitedpatiently. She tried to be audacious, and failed pitiably. 

"No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father would say. You see, he has only just finished his military service. "

"As a private?"

"I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the Bersaglieri, I think. Isn't that the crack regiment?"

"The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be able to walksix miles an hour. "

She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, butfeeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her defence ofSignor Carella. 

"And now, like most young men, he is looking out for something to do. "

"Meanwhile?"

"Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people--father, mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother. "

There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him nearly mad. He determined to silence her at last. 

"One more question, and only one more. What is his father?"

"His father, " said Miss Abbott. "Well, I don't suppose you'll think ita good match. But that's not the point. I mean the point is not--I meanthat social differences--love, after all--not but what--I--"

Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing. 

"Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, and atall events your mother--so really good in every sense, so reallyunworldly--after all, love-marriages are made in heaven. "

"Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear heaven's choice. Youarouse my curiosity. Is my sister-in-law to marry an angel?"

"Mr. Herriton, don't--please, Mr. Herriton--a dentist. His father's adentist. "

Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over, and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. Adentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tiltingchair at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, allfighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! Hethought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared thatRomance might die. 

Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out ofus. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpectedand the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and thesooner it goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now, andtherefore he gave the cry of pain. 

"I cannot think what is in the air, " he began. "If Lilia was determinedto disgrace us, she might have found a less repulsive way. A boy ofmedium height with a pretty face, the son of a dentist at Monteriano. Have I put it correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny?May I also surmise that his social position is nil? Furthermore--"

"Stop! I'll tell you no more. "

"Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You haveequipped me admirably!"

"I'll tell you not another word!" she cried, with a spasm of terror. Then she got out her handkerchief, and seemed as if she would shedtears. After a silence, which he intended to symbolize to her thedropping of a curtain on the scene, he began to talk of other subjects. 

They were among olives again, and the wood with its beauty and wildnesshad passed away. But as they climbed higher the country opened out, andthere appeared, high on a hill to the right, Monteriano. The hazy greenof the olives rose up to its walls, and it seemed to float in isolationbetween trees and sky, like some fantastic ship city of a dream. Itscolour was brown, and it revealed not a single house--nothing but thenarrow circle of the walls, and behind them seventeen towers--all thatwas left of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Somewere only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some werestill erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was impossible topraise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible to damn it as quaint. 

Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be great evidenceof resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott that he had probed her tothe bottom, but was able to conquer his disgust, and by sheer force ofintellect continue to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did notknow that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that the sheer forceof his intellect was weakened by the sight of Monteriano, and by thethought of dentistry within those walls. 

The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the left again, as the road wound upward through the trees, and the towers began to glowin the descending sun. As they drew near, Philip saw the heads of peoplegathering black upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening--howthe news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the beggarswere aroused from their content and bid to adjust their deformities; howthe alabaster man was running for his wares, and the Authorized Guiderunning for his peaked cap and his two cards of recommendation--one fromMiss M'Gee, Maida Vale, the other, less valuable, from an Equerry to theQueen of Peru; how some one else was running to tell the landlady of theStella d'Italia to put on her pearl necklace and brown boots and emptythe slops from the spare bedroom; and how the landlady was running totell Lilia and her boy that their fate was at hand. 

Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had drivenMiss Abbott half demented, but he had given himself no time to concerta plan. The end came so suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to theterrace before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in thesun behind them, and then they turned in through the Siena gate, andtheir journey was over. The Dogana men admitted them with an air ofgracious welcome, and they clattered up the narrow dark street, greetedby that mixture of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italianarrival so wonderful. 

He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he received noordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the hand; one personsnatched his umbrella, another his bag; people pushed each other out ofhis way. The entrance seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, bladder whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs, excitedchildren screaming on the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Liliaherself, very radiant, with her best blouse on. 

"Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He greeted her, for hedid not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from thecrowd below. 

"You told me to come here, " she continued, "and I don't forget it. Letme introduce Signor Carella!"

Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who mighteventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem sothen. He was half enveloped in the drapery of a cold dirty curtain, andnervously stuck out a hand, which Philip took and found thick and damp. There were more murmurs of approval from the stairs. 

"Well, din-din's nearly ready, " said Lilia. "Your room's down thepassage, Philip. You needn't go changing. "

He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her effrontery. 

"Dear Caroline!" whispered Lilia as soon as he had gone. "What an angelyou've been to tell him! He takes it so well. But you must have had aMAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE. "

Miss Abbott's long terror suddenly turned into acidity. "I've toldnothing, " she snapped. "It's all for you--and if it only takes a quarterof an hour you'll be lucky!"

Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to themselves. Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of the table; MissAbbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, to his irritatednerves, more like the tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of theItalian nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowlof goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests. 

The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for Philip to studyit. But he could see the hands, which were not particularly clean, anddid not get cleaner by fidgeting amongst the shining slabs of hair. His starched cuffs were not clean either, and as for his suit, it hadobviously been bought for the occasion as something really English--agigantic check, which did not even fit. His handkerchief he hadforgotten, but never missed it. Altogether, he was quite unpresentable, and very lucky to have a father who was a dentist in Monteriano. Andwhy, even Lilia--But as soon as the meal began it furnished Philip withan explanation. 

For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with spaghetti, and when those delicious slippery worms were flying down his throat, hisface relaxed and became for a moment unconscious and calm. And Philiphad seen that face before in Italy a hundred times--seen it and lovedit, for it was not merely beautiful, but had the charm which is therightful heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not wantto see it opposite him at dinner. It was not the face of a gentleman. 

Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a mixture ofEnglish and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly any of the latterlanguage, and Signor Carella had not yet learnt any of the former. Occasionally Miss Abbott had to act as interpreter between the lovers, and the situation became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. YetPhilip was too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. Hethought he should be more effective with Lilia if he had her alone, and pretended to himself that he must hear her defence before givingjudgment. 

Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the throat-rasping wine, attempted to talk, and, looking politely towards Philip, said, "Englandis a great country. The Italians love England and the English. "

Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed. 

"Italy too, " the other continued a little resentfully, "is a greatcountry. She has produced many famous men--for example Garibaldi andDante. The latter wrote the 'Inferno, ' the 'Purgatorio, ' the 'Paradiso. 'The 'Inferno' is the most beautiful. " And with the complacent tone ofone who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening lines--

 Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura Che la diritta via era smarrita--

a quotation which was more apt than he supposed. 

Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she wasmarrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good qualities of herbetrothed, she abruptly introduced the subject of pallone, in which, it appeared, he was a proficient player. He suddenly became shy anddeveloped a conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricketscore is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had loved to watchpallone, that entrancing combination of lawn-tennis and fives. But hedid not expect to love it quite so much again. 

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!"

A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the purplequivering beef they were trying to swallow. Signor Carella, with thebrutality so common in Italians, had caught her by the paw and flung heraway from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying tohook out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glassstopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it. 

"But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They have no air. "

"Fish live on water, not on air, " he replied in a knowing voice, and satdown. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting onthe floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. Shetalked bravely till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got upsaying, "Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall meetat twelve o'clock lunch tomorrow, if we don't meet before. They give uscaffe later in our rooms. "

It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, "I should like to see younow, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business. " Heheard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, had not understood. 

It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost allnervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacystrengthened him, and he began volubly--

"My dear Lilia, don't let's have a scene. Before I arrived I thought Imight have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. MissAbbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself. "

"See for yourself?" she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that shehad flushed crimson. 

"That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad. "

"There are no cads in Italy, " she said quickly. 

He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she further upsethim by adding, "He is the son of a dentist. Why not?"

"Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before. I am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth ina minute provincial town. "

He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty, low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was sharp enough to say, "Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I understood you went in for equalityand so on. "

"And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the Italiannobility. "

"Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock dear Mrs. Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course familiesramify--just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph. " She adroitlypicked out the only undesirable member of the Herriton clan. "Gino'sfather is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. Thisvery month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And formy own poor part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don'tsuppose you'll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino's uncle isa priest--the same as a clergyman at home. "

Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, and saidso much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, "Well, his cousin's alawyer at Rome. "

"What kind of 'lawyer'?"

"Why, a lawyer just like you are--except that he has lots to do and cannever get away. "

The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method, andin a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the following speech:--

"The whole thing is like a bad dream--so bad that it cannot go on. Ifthere was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As itis I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in, but you will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady, accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose positionis--well, not equal to the son of the servants' dentist in CoronationPlace. I am not blaming you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy--Ihave felt it myself, you know--and I greatly blame Miss Abbott. "

"Caroline! Why blame her? What's all this to do with Caroline?"

"Because we expected her to--" He saw that the answer would involve himin difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, "So I am confident, and you in your heart agree, that this engagement will not last. Thinkof your life at home--think of Irma! And I'll also say think of us; foryou know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I should feelI was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose adaughter. "

She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, "Ican't break it off now!"

"Poor Lilia, " said he, genuinely moved. "I know it may be painful. ButI have come to rescue you, and, book-worm though I may be, I am notfrightened to stand up to a bully. He's merely an insolent boy. Hethinks he can keep you to your word by threats. He will be differentwhen he sees he has a man to deal with. "

What follows should be prefaced with some simile--the simile of apowder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake--for it blew Philip up in theair and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the depths. Lilia turned on her gallant defender and said--

"For once in my life I'll thank you to leave me alone. I'll thank yourmother too. For twelve years you've trained me and tortured me, and I'llstand it no more. Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I never felt?Ah! when I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked meover--never a kind word--and discussed me, and thought I might just do;and your mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you saidfunny things about me to show how clever you were! And when Charles diedI was still to run in strings for the honour of your beastly family, and I was to be cooped up at Sawston and learn to keep house, and all mychances spoilt of marrying again. No, thank you! No, thank you! 'Bully?''Insolent boy?' Who's that, pray, but you? But, thank goodness, I canstand up against the world now, for I've found Gino, and this time Imarry for love!"

The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed him. But hersupreme insolence found him words, and he too burst forth. 

"Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, perhaps, and thinkI'm feeble. But you're mistaken. You are ungrateful and impertinent andcontemptible, but I will save you in order to save Irma and our name. There is going to be such a row in this town that you and he'll be sorryyou came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood is up. It isunwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tellhim so now. "

"Do, " she cried. "Tell him so now. Have it out with him. Gino! Gino!Come in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids the banns!"

Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening outside thedoor. 

"Fra Filippo's blood's up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, take care hedoesn't hurt you!" She swayed about in vulgar imitation of Philip'swalk, and then, with a proud glance at the square shoulders of herbetrothed, flounced out of the room. 

Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention of doing so; andno more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood nervously in the middle of theroom with twitching lips and eyes. 

"Please sit down, Signor Carella, " said Philip in Italian. "Mrs. Herriton is rather agitated, but there is no reason we should not becalm. Might I offer you a cigarette? Please sit down. "

He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained standing in thefull glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such assistance, got hisown face into shadow. 

For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it also gavehim time to collect himself. He would not this time fall into the errorof blustering, which he had caught so unaccountably from Lilia. He wouldmake his power felt by restraint. 

Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with silentlaughter? It vanished immediately; but he became nervous, and was evenmore pompous than he intended. 

"Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to prevent youmarrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you will both be unhappy together. She is English, you are Italian; she is accustomed to one thing, you toanother. And--pardon me if I say it--she is rich and you are poor. "

"I am not marrying her because she is rich, " was the sulky reply. 

"I never suggested that for a moment, " said Philip courteously. "You arehonourable, I am sure; but are you wise? And let me remind you that wewant her with us at home. Her little daughter will be motherless, our home will be broken up. If you grant my request you will earn ourthanks--and you will not be without a reward for your disappointment. "

"Reward--what reward?" He bent over the back of a chair and lookedearnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty quickly. PoorLilia!

Philip said slowly, "What about a thousand lire?"

His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he was silent, withgaping lips. Philip would have given double: he had expected a bargain. 

"You can have them tonight. "

He found words, and said, "It is too late. "

"But why?"

"Because--" His voice broke. Philip watched his face, --a face withoutrefinement perhaps, but not without expression, --watched it quiver andre-form and dissolve from emotion into emotion. There was avarice at onemoment, and insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and cunning--andlet us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually one emotiondominated, the most unexpected of all; for his chest began to heave andhis eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly he stood erectand roared forth his whole being in one tremendous laugh. 

Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to let theglorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook him, and said, "Because we are married--married--married as soon as I knew you were, coming. There was no time to tell you. Oh. Oh! You have come all the wayfor nothing. Oh! And oh, your generosity!" Suddenly he became grave, andsaid, "Please pardon me; I am rude. I am no better than a peasant, andI--" Here he saw Philip's face, and it was too much for him. He gaspedand exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out inanother explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, which toppled him onto the bed. He uttered a horrified Oh! and then gave up, and bolted awaydown the passage, shrieking like a child, to tell the joke to his wife. 

For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself that he was hurtgrievously. He could scarcely see for temper, and in the passage he ranagainst Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into tears. 

"I sleep at the Globo, " he told her, "and start for Sawston tomorrowmorning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute him. But shallnot. "

"I can't stop here, " she sobbed. "I daren't stop here. You will have totake me with you!"

Chapter 3

Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, is a veryrespectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping of red crinkled tilesto keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a gentleman's garden ifthere was not in its middle a large hole, which grows larger with everyrain-storm. Through the hole is visible, firstly, the iron gate that isintended to close it; secondly, a square piece of ground which, thoughnot quite, mud, is at the same time not exactly grass; and finally, another wall, stone this time, which has a wooden door in the middle andtwo wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the facadeof a one-storey house. 

This house is bigger than it looks, for it slides for two storeys downthe hill behind, and the wooden door, which is always locked, reallyleads into the attic. The knowing person prefers to follow theprecipitous mule-track round the turn of the mud wall till he can takethe edifice in the rear. Then--being now on a level with the cellars--helifts up his head and shouts. If his voice sounds like somethinglight--a letter, for example, or some vegetables, or a bunch offlowers--a basket is let out of the first-floor windows by a string, into which he puts his burdens and departs. But if he sounds likesomething heavy, such as a log of wood, or a piece of meat, or avisitor, he is interrogated, and then bidden or forbidden to ascend. The ground floor and the upper floor of that battered house are alikedeserted, and the inmates keep the central portion, just as in a dyingbody all life retires to the heart. There is a door at the top of thefirst flight of stairs, and if the visitor is admitted he will find awelcome which is not necessarily cold. There are several rooms, somedark and mostly stuffy--a reception-room adorned with horsehair chairs, wool-work stools, and a stove that is never lit--German bad tastewithout German domesticity broods over that room; also a living-room, which insensibly glides into a bedroom when the refining influence ofhospitality is absent, and real bedrooms; and last, but not least, theloggia, where you can live day and night if you feel inclined, drinkingvermouth and smoking cigarettes, with leagues of olive-trees andvineyards and blue-green hills to watch you. 

It was in this house that the brief and inevitable tragedy of Lilia'smarried life took place. She made Gino buy it for her, because it wasthere she had first seen him sitting on the mud wall that faced theVolterra gate. She remembered how the evening sun had struck his hair, and how he had smiled down at her, and being both sentimental andunrefined, was determined to have the man and the place together. Thingsin Italy are cheap for an Italian, and, though he would have preferreda house in the piazza, or better still a house at Siena, or, bliss abovebliss, a house at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that perhapsshe showed her good taste in preferring so retired an abode. 

The house was far too big for them, and there was a general concourse ofhis relatives to fill it up. His father wished to make it a patriarchalconcern, where all the family should have their rooms and meet togetherfor meals, and was perfectly willing to give up the new practice atPoggibonsi and preside. Gino was quite willing too, for he was anaffectionate youth who liked a large home-circle, and he told it asa pleasant bit of news to Lilia, who did not attempt to conceal herhorror. 

At once he was horrified too; saw that the idea was monstrous; abusedhimself to her for having suggested it; rushed off to tell his fatherthat it was impossible. His father complained that prosperity wasalready corrupting him and making him unsympathetic and hard; his mothercried; his sisters accused him of blocking their social advance. Hewas apologetic, and even cringing, until they turned on Lilia. Thenhe turned on them, saying that they could not understand, much lessassociate with, the English lady who was his wife; that there should beone master in that house--himself. 

Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him brave and a heroand other endearing epithets. But he was rather blue when his clan leftMonteriano in much dignity--a dignity which was not at all impairedby the acceptance of a cheque. They took the cheque not to Poggibonsi, after all, but to Empoli--a lively, dusty town some twenty miles off. There they settled down in comfort, and the sisters said they had beendriven to it by Gino. 

The cheque was, of course, Lilia's, who was extremely generous, and wasquite willing to know anybody so long as she had not to live with them, relations-in-law being on her nerves. She liked nothing better thanfinding out some obscure and distant connection--there were several ofthem--and acting the lady bountiful, leaving behind her bewilderment, and too often discontent. Gino wondered how it was that all his people, who had formerly seemed so pleasant, had suddenly become plaintiveand disagreeable. He put it down to his lady wife's magnificence, incomparison with which all seemed common. Her money flew apace, inspite of the cheap living. She was even richer than he expected; and heremembered with shame how he had once regretted his inability to acceptthe thousand lire that Philip Herriton offered him in exchange for her. It would have been a shortsighted bargain. 

Lilia enjoyed settling into the house, with nothing to do except giveorders to smiling workpeople, and a devoted husband as interpreter. Shewrote a jaunty account of her happiness to Mrs. Herriton, and Harrietanswered the letter, saying (1) that all future communications should beaddressed to the solicitors; (2) would Lilia return an inlaid box whichHarriet had lent her--but not given--to keep handkerchiefs and collarsin?

"Look what I am giving up to live with you!" she said to Gino, neveromitting to lay stress on her condescension. He took her to mean theinlaid box, and said that she need not give it up at all. 

"Silly fellow, no! I mean the life. Those Herritons are very wellconnected. They lead Sawston society. But what do I care, so long as Ihave my silly fellow!" She always treated him as a boy, which he was, and as a fool, which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurablysuperior to him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity ofestablishing her rule. He was good-looking and indolent; therefore hemust be stupid. He was poor; therefore he would never dare to criticizehis benefactress. He was passionately in love with her; therefore shecould do exactly as she liked. 

"It mayn't be heaven below, " she thought, "but it's better thanCharles. "

And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing up. 

She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from thesolicitors, bidding her disgorge a large sum of money for Irma, inaccordance with her late husband's will. It was just like Charles'ssuspicious nature to have provided against a second marriage. Gino wasequally indignant, and between them they composed a stinging reply, which had no effect. He then said that Irma had better come out and livewith them. "The air is good, so is the food; she will be happy here, andwe shall not have to part with the money. " But Lilia had not the courageeven to suggest this to the Herritons, and an unexpected terror seizedher at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated atMonteriano. 

Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors' letter, moredepressed than she thought necessary. There was no more to do in thehouse, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet orsitting astride it disconsolately. 

"Oh, you idle boy!" she cried, pinching his muscles. "Go and playpallone. "

"I am a married man, " he answered, without raising his head. "I do notplay games any more. "

"Go and see your friends then. "

"I have no friends now. "

"Silly, silly, silly! You can't stop indoors all day!"

"I want to see no one but you. " He spat on to an olive-tree. 

"Now, Gino, don't be silly. Go and see your friends, and bring them tosee me. We both of us like society. "

He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, foundthat he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after severalhours in altered spirits. Lilia congratulated herself on her goodmanagement. 

"I'm ready, too, for people now, " she said. "I mean to wake you all up, just as I woke up Sawston. Let's have plenty of men--and make them bringtheir womenkind. I mean to have real English tea-parties. "

"There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not want toreceive my relatives. "

"I never said such a--"

"But you would be right, " he said earnestly. "They are not for you. Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more; you should havegentlefolk and nobility for your friends. "

"Poor fellow, " thought Lilia. "It is sad for him to discover that hispeople are vulgar. " She began to tell him that she loved him just forhis silly self, and he flushed and began tugging at his moustache. 

"But besides your relatives I must have other people here. Your friendshave wives and sisters, haven't they?"

"Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them. "

"Not know your friends' people?"

"Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their living I may seethem--but not otherwise. Except--" He stopped. The chief exception wasa young lady, to whom he had once been introduced for matrimonialpurposes. But the dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintanceterminated. 

"How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people. "

He looked at her rather hopelessly. 

"Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?"

The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assistedhim. 

"Well, are they married?"

"Yes. "

"There we are. Do you know them?"

"Yes--in a way. "

"I see, " she exclaimed angrily. "They look down on you, do they, poorboy? Wait!" He assented. "Wait! I'll soon stop that. Now, who else isthere?"

"The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate Church. "

"Married?"

"The canons--" he began with twinkling eyes. 

"Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the centreof everything. But why shouldn't I know them? Would it make it easier ifI called all round? Isn't that your foreign way?"

He did not think it would make it easier. 

"But I must know some one! Who were the men you were talking to thisafternoon?"

Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names. 

"But, Gino dear, if they're low class, why did you talk to them? Don'tyou care about your position?"

All Gino cared about at present was idleness and pocket-money, and hisway of expressing it was to exclaim, "Ouf-pouf! How hot it is in here. No air; I sweat all over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall neverget to sleep. " In his funny abrupt way he ran out on to the loggia, where he lay full length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spitunder the silence of the stars. 

Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that Continental societywas not the go-as-you-please thing she had expected. Indeed she couldnot see where Continental society was. Italy is such a delightful placeto live in if you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisiteluxury of Socialism--that true Socialism which is based not on equalityof income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the democracyof the caffe or the street the great question of our life has beensolved, and the brotherhood of man is a reality. But is accomplished atthe expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friendswith your neighbour at the theatre or in the train, when you know andhe knows that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminineprejudice will never come between you? Though you become as David andJonathan, you need never enter his home, nor he yours. All your livesyou will meet under the open air, the only roof-tree of the South, underwhich he will spit and swear, and you will drop your h's, and nobodywill think the worse of either. 

Meanwhile the women--they have, of course, their house and their church, with its admirable and frequent services, to which they are escorted bythe maid. Otherwise they do not go out much, for it is not genteel towalk, and you are too poor to keep a carriage. Occasionally you willtake them to the caffe or theatre, and immediately all your wontedacquaintance there desert you, except those few who are expectingand expected to marry into your family. It is all very sad. But oneconsolation emerges--life is very pleasant in Italy if you are a man. 

Hitherto Gino had not interfered with Lilia. She was so much older thanhe was, and so much richer, that he regarded her as a superior being whoanswered to other laws. He was not wholly surprised, for strange rumourswere always blowing over the Alps of lands where men and women had thesame amusements and interests, and he had often met that privilegedmaniac, the lady tourist, on her solitary walks. Lilia took solitarywalks too, and only that week a tramp had grabbed at her watch--anepisode which is supposed to be indigenous in Italy, though really lessfrequent there than in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better, hewas inevitably losing his awe: no one could live with her and keep it, especially when she had been so silly as to lose a gold watch and chain. As he lay thoughtful along the parapet, he realized for the first timethe responsibilities of monied life. He must save her from dangers, physical and social, for after all she was a woman. "And I, " hereflected, "though I am young, am at all events a man, and know what isright. "

He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, for she hadsomething of the slattern in her nature, and there was no need to keepup appearances. 

"You must not go out alone, " he said gently. "It is not safe. If youwant to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you. " Perfetta was a widowedcousin, too humble for social aspirations, who was living with them asfactotum. 

"Very well, " smiled Lilia, "very well"--as if she were addressing asolicitous kitten. But for all that she never took a solitary walkagain, with one exception, till the day of her death. 

Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. She began to feeldull. Didn't he know the Sindaco or the bank manager? Even the landladyof the Stella d'Italia would be better than no one. She, when she wentinto the town, was pleasantly received; but people naturally found adifficulty in getting on with a lady who could not learn their language. And the tea-party, under Gino's adroit management, receded ever and everbefore her. 

He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she did notsettle down in the house at all. But he was comforted by a welcome andunexpected visitor. As he was going one afternoon for the letters--theywere delivered at the door, but it took longer to get them at theoffice--some one humorously threw a cloak over his head, and when hedisengaged himself he saw his very dear friend Spiridione Tesi of thecustom-house at Chiasso, whom he had not met for two years. What joy!what salutations! so that all the passersby smiled with approval on theamiable scene. Spiridione's brother was now station-master at Bologna, and thus he himself could spend his holiday travelling over Italy at thepublic expense. Hearing of Gino's marriage, he had come to see him onhis way to Siena, where lived his own uncle, lately monied too. 

"They all do it, " he exclaimed, "myself excepted. " He was not quitetwenty-three. "But tell me more. She is English. That is good, verygood. An English wife is very good indeed. And she is rich?"

"Immensely rich. "

"Blonde or dark?"

"Blonde. "

"Is it possible!"

"It pleases me very much, " said Gino simply. "If you remember, I alwaysdesired a blonde. " Three or four men had collected, and were listening. 

"We all desire one, " said Spiridione. "But you, Gino, deserve your goodfortune, for you are a good son, a brave man, and a true friend, andfrom the very first moment I saw you I wished you well. "

"No compliments, I beg, " said Gino, standing with his hands crossed onhis chest and a smile of pleasure on his face. 

Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had ever seenbefore. "Is it not true? Does not he deserve this wealthy blonde?"

"He does deserve her, " said all the men. 

It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it. 

There were no letters, and of course they sat down at the CaffeGaribaldi, by the Collegiate Church--quite a good caffe that for sosmall a city. There were marble-topped tables, and pillars terra-cottabelow and gold above, and on the ceiling was a fresco of the battle ofSolferino. One could not have desired a prettier room. They had vermouthand little cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose gravely atthe counter, pinching them first to be sure they were fresh. And thoughvermouth is barely alcoholic, Spiridione drenched his with soda-water tobe sure that it should not get into his head. 

They were in high spirits, and elaborate compliments alternatedcuriously with gentle horseplay. But soon they put up their legs on apair of chairs and began to smoke. 

"Tell me, " said Spiridione--"I forgot to ask--is she young?"

"Thirty-three. "

"Ah, well, we cannot have everything. "

"But you would be surprised. Had she told me twenty-eight, I should nothave disbelieved her. "

"Is she SIMPATICA?" (Nothing will translate that word. )

Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, "Sufficiently so. "

"It is a most important thing. "

"She is rich, she is generous, she is affable, she addresses herinferiors without haughtiness. "

There was another silence. "It is not sufficient, " said the other. "Onedoes not define it thus. " He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Last montha German was smuggling cigars. The custom-house was dark. Yet Irefused because I did not like him. The gifts of such men do not bringhappiness. NON ERA SIMPATICO. He paid for every one, and the fine fordeception besides. "

"Do you gain much beyond your pay?" asked Gino, diverted for an instant. 

"I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the risk. But theGerman was another matter. But listen, my Gino, for I am older thanyou and more full of experience. The person who understands us at firstsight, who never irritates us, who never bores, to whom we can pourforth every thought and wish, not only in speech but in silence--that iswhat I mean by SIMPATICO. "

"There are such men, I know, " said Gino. "And I have heard it said ofchildren. But where will you find such a woman?"

"That is true. Here you are wiser than I. SONO POCO SIMPATICHE LE DONNE. And the time we waste over them is much. " He sighed dolefully, as if hefound the nobility of his sex a burden. 

"One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, but she was ayoung lady--different to most. She, too, was English, the companion ofmy wife here. But Fra Filippo, the brother-in-law, took her back withhim. I saw them start. He was very angry. "

Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they made fun ofthe unfortunate Philip, who had travelled over Europe to stop it. 

"I regret though, " said Gino, when they had finished laughing, "that Itoppled him on to the bed. A great tall man! And when I am really amusedI am often impolite. "

"You will never see him again, " said Spiridione, who carried plenty ofphilosophy about him. "And by now the scene will have passed from hismind. "

"It sometimes happens that such things are recollected longest. I shallnever see him again, of course; but it is no benefit to me that heshould wish me ill. And even if he has forgotten, I am still sorry thatI toppled him on to the bed. "

So their talk continued, at one moment full of childishness andtender wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross. The shadows of theterra-cotta pillars lengthened, and tourists, flying through the PalazzoPubblico opposite, could observe how the Italians wasted time. 

The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he might say. "Iwant to consult you since you are so kind as to take an interest in myaffairs. My wife wishes to take solitary walks. "

Spiridione was shocked. 

"But I have forbidden her. "

"Naturally. "

"She does not yet understand. She asked me to accompany hersometimes--to walk without object! You know, she would like me to bewith her all day. "

"I see. I see. " He knitted his brows and tried to think how he couldhelp his friend. "She needs employment. Is she a Catholic?"

"No. "

"That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a great solace to herwhen she is alone. "

"I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church. "

"Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. That is what mybrother has done with his wife at Bologna and he has joined the FreeThinkers. He took her once or twice himself, and now she has acquiredthe habit and continues to go without him. "

"Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she wishes to givetea-parties--men and women together whom she has never seen. "

"Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea. They carry it by thekilogramme in their trunks, and they are so clumsy that they always packit at the top. But it is absurd!"

"What am I to do about it?"

"Do nothing. Or ask me!"

"Come!" cried Gino, springing up. "She will be quite pleased. "

The dashing young fellow coloured crimson. "Of course I was onlyjoking. "

"I know. But she wants me to take my friends. Come now! Waiter!"

"If I do come, " cried the other, "and take tea with you, this bill mustbe my affair. "

"Certainly not; you are in my country!"

A long argument ensued, in which the waiter took part, suggestingvarious solutions. At last Gino triumphed. The bill came toeightpence-halfpenny, and a halfpenny for the waiter brought it upto ninepence. Then there was a shower of gratitude on one side and ofdeprecation on the other, and when courtesies were at their height theysuddenly linked arms and swung down the street, tickling each other withlemonade straws as they went. 

Lilia was delighted to see them, and became more animated than Gino hadknown her for a long time. The tea tasted of chopped hay, and they askedto be allowed to drink it out of a wine-glass, and refused milk; but, asshe repeatedly observed, this was something like. Spiridione's mannerswere very agreeable. He kissed her hand on introduction, and as hisprofession had taught him a little English, conversation did not flag. 

"Do you like music?" she asked. 

"Passionately, " he replied. "I have not studied scientific music, butthe music of the heart, yes. "

So she played on the humming piano very badly, and he sang, not sobadly. Gino got out a guitar and sang too, sitting out on the loggia. Itwas a most agreeable visit. 

Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his lodgings. As theywent he said, without the least trace of malice or satire in his voice, "I think you are quite right. I shall not bring people to the house anymore. I do not see why an English wife should be treated differently. This is Italy. "

"You are very wise, " exclaimed the other; "very wise indeed. The moreprecious a possession the more carefully it should be guarded. "

They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the Caffe Garibaldi, where they spent a long and most delightful evening. 

Chapter 4

The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible to say"yesterday I was happy, today I am not. " At no one moment did Liliarealize that her marriage was a failure; yet during the summer andautumn she became as unhappy as it was possible for her nature to be. She had no unkind treatment, and few unkind words, from her husband. He simply left her alone. In the morning he went out to do "business, "which, as far as she could discover, meant sitting in the Farmacia. Heusually returned to lunch, after which he retired to another room andslept. In the evening he grew vigorous again, and took the air onthe ramparts, often having his dinner out, and seldom returning tillmidnight or later. There were, of course, the times when he was awayaltogether--at Empoli, Siena, Florence, Bologna--for he delighted intravel, and seemed to pick up friends all over the country. Lilia oftenheard what a favorite he was. 

She began to see that she must assert herself, but she could not seehow. Her self-confidence, which had overthrown Philip, had graduallyoozed away. If she left the strange house there was the strange littletown. If she were to disobey her husband and walk in the country, thatwould be stranger still--vast slopes of olives and vineyards, withchalk-white farms, and in the distance other slopes, with more olivesand more farms, and more little towns outlined against the cloudlesssky. "I don't call this country, " she would say. "Why, it's not as wildas Sawston Park!" And, indeed, there was scarcely a touch of wildnessin it--some of those slopes had been under cultivation for two thousandyears. But it was terrible and mysterious all the same, and itscontinued presence made Lilia so uncomfortable that she forgot hernature and began to reflect. 

She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony had been hastyand expensive, and the rites, whatever they were, were not those of theChurch of England. Lilia had no religion in her; but for hours at atime she would be seized with a vulgar fear that she was not "marriedproperly, " and that her social position in the next world might be asobscure as it was in this. It might be safer to do the thing thoroughly, and one day she took the advice of Spiridione and joined the RomanCatholic Church, or as she called it, "Santa Deodata's. " Gino approved;he, too, thought it safer, and it was fun confessing, though the priestwas a stupid old man, and the whole thing was a good slap in the facefor the people at home. 

The people at home took the slap very soberly; indeed, there were fewleft for her to give it to. The Herritons were out of the question;they would not even let her write to Irma, though Irma was occasionallyallowed to write to her. Mrs. Theobald was rapidly subsiding intodotage, and, as far as she could be definite about anything, haddefinitely sided with the Herritons. And Miss Abbott did likewise. Nightafter night did Lilia curse this false friend, who had agreed with herthat the marriage would "do, " and that the Herritons would come round toit, and then, at the first hint of opposition, had fled back to Englandshrieking and distraught. Miss Abbott headed the long list of those whoshould never be written to, and who should never be forgiven. Almostthe only person who was not on that list was Mr. Kingcroft, who hadunexpectedly sent an affectionate and inquiring letter. He was quitesure never to cross the Channel, and Lilia drew freely on her fancy inthe reply. 

At first she had seen a few English people, for Monteriano was not theend of the earth. One or two inquisitive ladies, who had heard at homeof her quarrel with the Herritons, came to call. She was very sprightly, and they thought her quite unconventional, and Gino a charming boy, soall that was to the good. But by May the season, such as it was, hadfinished, and there would be no one till next spring. As Mrs. Herritonhad often observed, Lilia had no resources. She did not like music, orreading, or work. Her one qualification for life was rather blowsyhigh spirits, which turned querulous or boisterous according tocircumstances. She was not obedient, but she was cowardly, and in themost gentle way, which Mrs. Herriton might have envied, Gino made her dowhat he wanted. At first it had been rather fun to let him get the upperhand. But it was galling to discover that he could not do otherwise. Hehad a good strong will when he chose to use it, and would not have hadthe least scruple in using bolts and locks to put it into effect. Therewas plenty of brutality deep down in him, and one day Lilia nearlytouched it. 

It was the old question of going out alone. 

"I always do it in England. "

"This is Italy. "

"Yes, but I'm older than you, and I'll settle. "

"I am your husband, " he said, smiling. They had finished their mid-daymeal, and he wanted to go and sleep. Nothing would rouse him up, untilat last Lilia, getting more and more angry, said, "And I've got themoney. "

He looked horrified. 

Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the statement again. Hegot up from his chair. 

"And you'd better mend your manners, " she continued, "for you'd find itawkward if I stopped drawing cheques. "

She was no reader of character, but she quickly became alarmed. As shesaid to Perfetta afterwards, "None of his clothes seemed to fit--toobig in one place, too small in another. " His figure rather than his facealtered, the shoulders falling forward till his coat wrinkled across theback and pulled away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. He edged roundthe table to where she was sitting, and she sprang away and held thechair between them, too frightened to speak or to move. He looked at herwith round, expressionless eyes, and slowly stretched out his left hand. 

Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It seemed to wake him up, and he turned away and went to his room without a word. 

"What has happened?" cried Lilia, nearly fainting. "He is ill--ill. "

Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. "What did you sayto him?" She crossed herself. 

"Hardly anything, " said Lilia and crossed herself also. Thus did the twowomen pay homage to their outraged male. 

It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her for money. Buthe had frightened her too much to leave any place for contempt. Hisreturn was terrifying, for he was frightened too, imploring her pardon, lying at her feet, embracing her, murmuring "It was not I, " striving todefine things which he did not understand. He stopped in the housefor three days, positively ill with physical collapse. But for all hissuffering he had tamed her, and she never threatened to cut off suppliesagain. 

Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention demanded. But he wasvery young, and he could not bear it to be said of him that he didnot know how to treat a lady--or to manage a wife. And his own socialposition was uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesomecreature, whom careful people find difficult to class. He hovers betweenthe professions and the trades; he may be only a little lower than thedoctors, or he may be down among the chemists, or even beneath them. Theson of the Italian dentist felt this too. For himself nothing mattered;he made friends with the people he liked, for he was that gloriousinvariable creature, a man. But his wife should visit nowhere ratherthan visit wrongly: seclusion was both decent and safe. The socialideals of North and South had had their brief contention, and this timethe South had won. 

It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own behaviouras he was over hers. But the incongruity never occurred to him fora moment. His morality was that of the average Latin, and as he wassuddenly placed in the position of a gentleman, he did not see why heshould not behave as such. Of course, had Lilia been different--hadshe asserted herself and got a grip on his character--he mightpossibly--though not probably--have been made a better husband as wellas a better man, and at all events he could have adopted the attitude ofthe Englishman, whose standard is higher even when his practice is thesame. But had Lilia been different she might not have married him. 

The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by accident--destroyedsuch remnants of self-satisfaction as her life might yet possess. Shebroke down utterly and sobbed and cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta waskind and even sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak toGino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia agreed, partlybecause she was afraid of him, partly because it was, after all, thebest and most dignified thing to do. She had given up everything forhim--her daughter, her relatives, her friends, all the little comfortsand luxuries of a civilized life--and even if she had the courage tobreak away, there was no one who would receive her now. The Herritonshad been almost malignant in their efforts against her, and all herfriends had one by one fallen off. So it was better to live on humbly, trying not to feel, endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put thingsright. "Perhaps, " she thought, "if I have a child he will be different. I know he wants a son. "

Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are some situationsin which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor Imogen moredeserves our tears. 

She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and old, whichdistressed her husband. He was particularly kind to her when he hardlyever saw her, and she accepted his kindness without resentment, evenwith gratitude, so docile had she become. She did not hate him, even asshe had never loved him; with her it was only when she was excited thatthe semblance of either passion arose. People said she was headstrong, but really her weak brain left her cold. 

Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, and the wisestof women could hardly have suffered more. 

As for Gino, he was quite as boyish as ever, and carried his iniquitieslike a feather. A favourite speech of his was, "Ah, one ought to marry!Spiridione is wrong; I must persuade him. Not till marriage does onerealize the pleasures and the possibilities of life. " So saying, hewould take down his felt hat, strike it in the right place as infalliblyas a German strikes his in the wrong place, and leave her. 

One evening, when he had gone out thus, Lilia could stand it no longer. It was September. Sawston would be just filling up after the summerholidays. People would be running in and out of each other's housesall along the road. There were bicycle gymkhanas, and on the 30th Mrs. Herriton would be holding the annual bazaar in her garden for the C. M. S. It seemed impossible that such a free, happy life could exist. Shewalked out on to the loggia. Moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. The walls of Monteriano should be glorious on such a night as this. Butthe house faced away from them. 

Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led past thekitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic--the stairs no one everused--opened out of the living-room, and by unlocking the door at thetop one might slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thusfor ten minutes walk in freedom and peace. 

The key was in the pocket of Gino's best suit--the English check--whichhe never wore. The stairs creaked and the key-hole screamed; butPerfetta was growing deaf. The walls were beautiful, but as they facedwest they were in shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk roundthe town a little, till they were caught by the beams of the risingmoon. She looked anxiously at the house, and started. 

It was easy walking, for a little path ran all outside the ramparts. The few people she met wished her a civil good-night, taking her, in herhatless condition, for a peasant. The walls trended round towards themoon; and presently she came into its light, and saw all the roughtowers turn into pillars of silver and black, and the rampartsinto cliffs of pearl. She had no great sense of beauty, but she wassentimental, and she began to cry; for here, where a great cypressinterrupted the monotony of the girdle of olives, she had sat with Ginoone afternoon in March, her head upon his shoulder, while Caroline waslooking at the view and sketching. Round the corner was the Siena gate, from which the road to England started, and she could hear the rumble ofthe diligence which was going down to catch the night train to Empoli. The next moment it was upon her, for the highroad came towards her alittle before it began its long zigzag down the hill. 

The driver slackened, and called to her to get in. He did not know whoshe was. He hoped she might be coming to the station. 

"Non vengo!" she cried. 

He wished her good-night, and turned his horses down the corner. As thediligence came round she saw that it was empty. 

"Vengo. .. "

Her voice was tremulous, and did not carry. The horses swung off. 

"Vengo! Vengo!"

He had begun to sing, and heard nothing. She ran down the road screamingto him to stop--that she was coming; while the distance grew greaterand the noise of the diligence increased. The man's back was black andsquare against the moon, and if he would but turn for an instant shewould be saved. She tried to cut off the corner of the zigzag, stumblingover the great clods of earth, large and hard as rocks, which laybetween the eternal olives. She was too late; for, just before sheregained the road, the thing swept past her, thunderous, ploughing upchoking clouds of moonlit dust. 

She did not call any more, for she felt very ill, and fainted; and whenshe revived she was lying in the road, with dust in her eyes, and dustin her mouth, and dust down her ears. There is something very terriblein dust at night-time. 

"What shall I do?" she moaned. "He will be so angry. "

And without further effort she slowly climbed back to captivity, shakingher garments as she went. 

Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights when Ginohappened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing and smashingplates, while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was weeping violently. At the sight of Lilia he turned upon her and poured forth a flood ofmiscellaneous abuse. He was far more angry but much less alarming thanhe had been that day when he edged after her round the table. And Liliagained more courage from her bad conscience than she ever had from hergood one, for as he spoke she was seized with indignation and feared himno longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, dissoluteupstart, and spoke in return. 

Perfetta screamed for she told him everything--all she knew and allshe thought. He stood with open mouth, all the anger gone out ofhim, feeling ashamed, and an utter fool. He was fairly and rightfullycornered. When had a husband so given himself away before? She finished;and he was dumb, for she had spoken truly. Then, alas! the absurdity ofhis own position grew upon him, and he laughed--as he would have laughedat the same situation on the stage. 

"You laugh?" stammered Lilia. 

"Ah!" he cried, "who could help it? I, who thought you knew and sawnothing--I am tricked--I am conquered. I give in. Let us talk of it nomore. "

He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half amused and halfpenitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to himself, ran quietly out ofthe room. 

Perfetta burst into congratulations. "What courage you have!" she cried;"and what good fortune! He is angry no longer! He has forgiven you!"

Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the true reason ofall the misery that followed. To the end he thought that kindness and alittle attention would be enough to set things straight. His wife wasa very ordinary woman, and why should her ideas differ from his own?No one realized that more than personalities were engaged; that thestruggle was national; that generations of ancestors, good, bad, orindifferent, forbad the Latin man to be chivalrous to the northernwoman, the northern woman to forgive the Latin man. All this might havebeen foreseen: Mrs. Herriton foresaw it from the first. 

Meanwhile Lilia prided herself on her high personal standard, and Ginosimply wondered why she did not come round. He hated discomfort andyearned for sympathy, but shrank from mentioning his difficulties in thetown in case they were put down to his own incompetence. Spiridione wastold, and replied in a philosophical but not very helpful letter. Hisother great friend, whom he trusted more, was still serving in Eritreaor some other desolate outpost. And, besides, what was the good ofletters? Friends cannot travel through the post. 

Lilia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned for comfort andsympathy too. The night he laughed at her she wildly took up paper andpen and wrote page after page, analysing his character, enumerating hisiniquities, reporting whole conversations, tracing all the causes andthe growth of her misery. She was beside herself with passion, and though she could hardly think or see, she suddenly attained tomagnificence and pathos which a practised stylist might have envied. Itwas written like a diary, and not till its conclusion did she realizefor whom it was meant. 

"Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost forgot I have adaughter. It will make you unhappy, but I want you to know everything, and you cannot learn things too soon. God bless you, my dearest, andsave you. God bless your miserable mother. "

Fortunately Mrs. Herriton was in when the letter arrived. She seizedit and opened it in her bedroom. Another moment, and Irma's placidchildhood would have been destroyed for ever. 

Lilia received a brief note from Harriet, again forbidding directcommunication between mother and daughter, and concluding with formalcondolences. It nearly drove her mad. 

"Gently! gently!" said her husband. They were sitting together on theloggia when the letter arrived. He often sat with her now, watching herfor hours, puzzled and anxious, but not contrite. 

"It's nothing. " She went in and tore it up, and then began to write--avery short letter, whose gist was "Come and save me. "

It is not good to see your wife crying when she writes--especially ifyou are conscious that, on the whole, your treatment of her has beenreasonable and kind. It is not good, when you accidentally look over hershoulder, to see that she is writing to a man. Nor should she shake herfist at you when she leaves the room, under the impression that you areengaged in lighting a cigar and cannot see her. 

Lilia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many things can bearranged. The postman was a friend of Gino's, and Mr. Kingcroft nevergot his letter. 

So she gave up hope, became ill, and all through the autumn lay in bed. Gino was distracted. She knew why; he wanted a son. He could talk andthink of nothing else. His one desire was to become the father of a manlike himself, and it held him with a grip he only partially understood, for it was the first great desire, the first great passion of his life. Falling in love was a mere physical triviality, like warm sun or coolwater, beside this divine hope of immortality: "I continue. " He gavecandles to Santa Deodata, for he was always religious at a crisis, andsometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude uncouth demands ofthe simple. Impetuously he summoned all his relatives back to bear himcompany in his time of need, and Lilia saw strange faces flitting pasther in the darkened room. 

"My love!" he would say, "my dearest Lilia! Be calm. I have never lovedany one but you. "

She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken bysuffering to make sarcastic repartees. 

Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, "I have prayedall night for a boy. "

Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said faintly, "You area boy yourself, Gino. "

He answered, "Then we shall be brothers. "

He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a dog. Whenthey came to tell him the glad news they found him half unconscious, andhis face was wet with tears. 

As for Lilia, some one said to her, "It is a beautiful boy!" But she haddied in giving birth to him. 

Chapter 5

At the time of Lilia's death Philip Herriton was just twenty-four yearsof age--indeed the news reached Sawston on his birthday. He was a tall, weakly-built young man, whose clothes had to be judiciously paddedon the shoulders in order to make him pass muster. His face was plainrather than not, and there was a curious mixture in it of good and bad. He had a fine forehead and a good large nose, and both observationand sympathy were in his eyes. But below the nose and eyes all wasconfusion, and those people who believe that destiny resides in themouth and chin shook their heads when they looked at him. 

Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of these defects. Sometimes when he had been bullied or hustled about at school he wouldretire to his cubicle and examine his features in a looking-glass, andhe would sigh and say, "It is a weak face. I shall never carve a placefor myself in the world. " But as years went on he became either lessself-conscious or more self-satisfied. The world, he found, made aniche for him as it did for every one. Decision of character might comelater--or he might have it without knowing. At all events he had gota sense of beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. Thesense of beauty developed first. It caused him at the age of twenty towear parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, to be late for dinner onaccount of the sunset, and to catch art from Burne-Jones to Praxiteles. At twenty-two he went to Italy with some cousins, and there he absorbedinto one aesthetic whole olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country inns, saints, peasants, mosaics, statues, beggars. He came back with the airof a prophet who would either remodel Sawston or reject it. All theenergies and enthusiasms of a rather friendless life had passed into thechampionship of beauty. 

In a short time it was over. Nothing had happened either in Sawston orwithin himself. He had shocked half-a-dozen people, squabbled with hissister, and bickered with his mother. He concluded that nothing couldhappen, not knowing that human love and love of truth sometimes conquerwhere love of beauty fails. 

A little disenchanted, a little tired, but aesthetically intact, heresumed his placid life, relying more and more on his second gift, thegift of humour. If he could not reform the world, he could at allevents laugh at it, thus attaining at least an intellectual superiority. Laughter, he read and believed, was a sign of good moral health, and helaughed on contentedly, till Lilia's marriage toppled contentment downfor ever. Italy, the land of beauty, was ruined for him. She had nopower to change men and things who dwelt in her. She, too, could produceavarice, brutality, stupidity--and, what was worse, vulgarity. It was onher soil and through her influence that a silly woman had married a cad. He hated Gino, the betrayer of his life's ideal, and now that the sordidtragedy had come, it filled him with pangs, not of sympathy, but offinal disillusion. 

The disillusion was convenient for Mrs. Herriton, who saw a tryinglittle period ahead of her, and was glad to have her family united. 

"Are we to go into mourning, do you think?" She always asked herchildren's advice where possible. 

Harriet thought that they should. She had been detestable to Liliawhile she lived, but she always felt that the dead deserve attentionand sympathy. "After all she has suffered. That letter kept me awake fornights. The whole thing is like one of those horrible modern plays whereno one is in 'the right. ' But if we have mourning, it will mean tellingIrma. "

"Of course we must tell Irma!" said Philip. 

"Of course, " said his mother. "But I think we can still not tell herabout Lilia's marriage. "

"I don't think that. And she must have suspected something by now. "

"So one would have supposed. But she never cared for her mother, andlittle girls of nine don't reason clearly. She looks on it as a longvisit. And it is important, most important, that she should not receivea shock. All a child's life depends on the ideal it has of its parents. Destroy that and everything goes--morals, behaviour, everything. Absolute trust in some one else is the essence of education. That is whyI have been so careful about talking of poor Lilia before her. "

"But you forget this wretched baby. Waters and Adamson write that thereis a baby. "

"Mrs. Theobald must be told. But she doesn't count. She is breakingup very quickly. She doesn't even see Mr. Kingcroft now. He, thankgoodness, I hear, has at last consoled himself with someone else. "

"The child must know some time, " persisted Philip, who felt a littledispleased, though he could not tell with what. 

"The later the better. Every moment she is developing. "

"I must say it seems rather hard luck, doesn't it?"

"On Irma? Why?"

"On us, perhaps. We have morals and behaviour also, and I don't thinkthis continual secrecy improves them. "

"There's no need to twist the thing round to that, " said Harriet, ratherdisturbed. 

"Of course there isn't, " said her mother. "Let's keep to the main issue. This baby's quite beside the point. Mrs. Theobald will do nothing, andit's no concern of ours. "

"It will make a difference in the money, surely, " said he. 

"No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every kind ofcontingency in his will. The money will come to you and Harriet, asIrma's guardians. "

"Good. Does the Italian get anything?"

"He will get all hers. But you know what that is. "

"Good. So those are our tactics--to tell no one about the baby, not evenMiss Abbott. "

"Most certainly this is the proper course, " said Mrs. Herriton, preferring "course" to "tactics" for Harriet's sake. "And why evershould we tell Caroline?"

"She was so mixed up in the affair. "

"Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the better she will bepleased. I have come to be very sorry for Caroline. She, if any one, has suffered and been penitent. She burst into tears when I told her alittle, only a little, of that terrible letter. I never saw such genuineremorse. We must forgive her and forget. Let the dead bury their dead. We will not trouble her with them. "

Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But there was noadvantage in saying so. "Here beginneth the New Life, then. Do youremember, mother, that was what we said when we saw Lilia off?"

"Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we are all ataccord. Then you were still infatuated with Italy. It may be fullof beautiful pictures and churches, but we cannot judge a country byanything but its men. "

"That is quite true, " he said sadly. And as the tactics were nowsettled, he went out and took an aimless and solitary walk. 

By the time he came back two important things had happened. Irma hadbeen told of her mother's death, and Miss Abbott, who had called for asubscription, had been told also. 

Irma had wept loudly, had asked a few sensible questions and a good manysilly ones, and had been content with evasive answers. Fortunately theschool prize-giving was at hand, and that, together with the prospect ofnew black clothes, kept her from meditating on the fact that Lilia, whohad been absent so long, would now be absent for ever. 

"As for Caroline, " said Mrs. Herriton, "I was almost frightened. Shebroke down utterly. She cried even when she left the house. I comfortedher as best I could, and I kissed her. It is something that the breachbetween her and ourselves is now entirely healed. "

"Did she ask no questions--as to the nature of Lilia's death, I mean?"

"She did. But she has a mind of extraordinary delicacy. She saw that Iwas reticent, and she did not press me. You see, Philip, I can say toyou what I could not say before Harriet. Her ideas are so crude. Reallywe do not want it known in Sawston that there is a baby. All peace andcomfort would be lost if people came inquiring after it. "

His mother knew how to manage him. He agreed enthusiastically. And a fewdays later, when he chanced to travel up to London with Miss Abbott, he had all the time the pleasant thrill of one who is better informed. Their last journey together had been from Monteriano back acrossEurope. It had been a ghastly journey, and Philip, from the force ofassociation, rather expected something ghastly now. 

He was surprised. Miss Abbott, between Sawston and Charing Cross, revealed qualities which he had never guessed her to possess. Withoutbeing exactly original, she did show a commendable intelligence, andthough at times she was gauche and even uncourtly, he felt that here wasa person whom it might be well to cultivate. 

At first she annoyed him. They were talking, of course, about Lilia, when she broke the thread of vague commiseration and said abruptly, "Itis all so strange as well as so tragic. And what I did was as strange asanything. "

It was the first reference she had ever made to her contemptiblebehaviour. "Never mind, " he said. "It's all over now. Let the dead burytheir dead. It's fallen out of our lives. "

"But that's why I can talk about it and tell you everything I havealways wanted to. You thought me stupid and sentimental and wicked andmad, but you never really knew how much I was to blame. "

"Indeed I never think about it now, " said Philip gently. He knew thather nature was in the main generous and upright: it was unnecessary forher to reveal her thoughts. 

"The first evening we got to Monteriano, " she persisted, "Lilia went outfor a walk alone, saw that Italian in a picturesque position on a wall, and fell in love. He was shabbily dressed, and she did not even knowhe was the son of a dentist. I must tell you I was used to this sortof thing. Once or twice before I had had to send people about theirbusiness. "

"Yes; we counted on you, " said Philip, with sudden sharpness. After all, if she would reveal her thoughts, she must take the consequences. 

"I know you did, " she retorted with equal sharpness. "Lilia saw himseveral times again, and I knew I ought to interfere. I called her tomy bedroom one night. She was very frightened, for she knew what it wasabout and how severe I could be. 'Do you love this man?' I asked. 'Yesor no?' She said 'Yes. ' And I said, 'Why don't you marry him if youthink you'll be happy?'"

"Really--really, " exploded Philip, as exasperated as if the thing hadhappened yesterday. "You knew Lilia all your life. Apart from everythingelse--as if she could choose what could make her happy!"

"Had you ever let her choose?" she flashed out. "I'm afraid that'srude, " she added, trying to calm herself. 

"Let us rather say unhappily expressed, " said Philip, who always adopteda dry satirical manner when he was puzzled. 

"I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella and said the sameto him. He--well, he was willing. That's all. "

"And the telegram?" He looked scornfully out of the window. 

Hitherto her voice had been hard, possibly in self-accusation, possiblyin defiance. Now it became unmistakably sad. "Ah, the telegram! That waswrong. Lilia there was more cowardly than I was. We should have told thetruth. It lost me my nerve, at all events. I came to the station meaningto tell you everything then. But we had started with a lie, and I gotfrightened. And at the end, when you left, I got frightened again andcame with you. "

"Did you really mean to stop?"

"For a time, at all events. "

"Would that have suited a newly married pair?"

"It would have suited them. Lilia needed me. And as for him--I can'thelp feeling I might have got influence over him. "

"I am ignorant of these matters, " said Philip; "but I should havethought that would have increased the difficulty of the situation. "

The crisp remark was wasted on her. She looked hopelessly at the rawover-built country, and said, "Well, I have explained. "

"But pardon me, Miss Abbott; of most of your conduct you have given adescription rather than an explanation. "

He had fairly caught her, and expected that she would gape and collapse. To his surprise she answered with some spirit, "An explanation may boreyou, Mr. Herriton: it drags in other topics. "

"Oh, never mind. "

"I hated Sawston, you see. "

He was delighted. "So did and do I. That's splendid. Go on. "

"I hated the idleness, the stupidity, the respectability, the pettyunselfishness. "

"Petty selfishness, " he corrected. Sawston psychology had long been hisspecialty. 

"Petty unselfishness, " she repeated. "I had got an idea that every onehere spent their lives in making little sacrifices for objects theydidn't care for, to please people they didn't love; that they neverlearnt to be sincere--and, what's as bad, never learnt how to enjoythemselves. That's what I thought--what I thought at Monteriano. "

"Why, Miss Abbott, " he cried, "you should have told me this before!Think it still! I agree with lots of it. Magnificent!"

"Now Lilia, " she went on, "though there were things about her I didn'tlike, had somehow kept the power of enjoying herself with sincerity. AndGino, I thought, was splendid, and young, and strong not only in body, and sincere as the day. If they wanted to marry, why shouldn't they doso? Why shouldn't she break with the deadening life where she had gotinto a groove, and would go on in it, getting more and more--worsethan unhappy--apathetic till she died? Of course I was wrong. She onlychanged one groove for another--a worse groove. And as for him--well, you know more about him than I do. I can never trust myself to judgecharacters again. But I still feel he cannot have been quite bad whenwe first met him. Lilia--that I should dare to say it!--must have beencowardly. He was only a boy--just going to turn into something fine, I thought--and she must have mismanaged him. So that is the one time Ihave gone against what is proper, and there are the results. You have anexplanation now. "

"And much of it has been most interesting, though I don't understandeverything. Did you never think of the disparity of their socialposition?"

"We were mad--drunk with rebellion. We had no common-sense. As soon asyou came, you saw and foresaw everything. "

"Oh, I don't think that. " He was vaguely displeased at being creditedwith common-sense. For a moment Miss Abbott had seemed to him moreunconventional than himself. 

"I hope you see, " she concluded, "why I have troubled you with this longstory. Women--I heard you say the other day--are never at ease till theytell their faults out loud. Lilia is dead and her husband gone tothe bad--all through me. You see, Mr. Herriton, it makes me speciallyunhappy; it's the only time I've ever gone into what my father calls'real life'--and look what I've made of it! All that winter I seemed tobe waking up to beauty and splendour and I don't know what; and when thespring came, I wanted to fight against the things I hated--mediocrityand dulness and spitefulness and society. I actually hated society fora day or two at Monteriano. I didn't see that all these things areinvincible, and that if we go against them they will break us to pieces. Thank you for listening to so much nonsense. "

"Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say, " said Philip encouragingly;"it isn't nonsense, and a year or two ago I should have been saying ittoo. But I feel differently now, and I hope that you also will change. Society is invincible--to a certain degree. But your real life is yourown, and nothing can touch it. There is no power on earth that canprevent your criticizing and despising mediocrity--nothing that can stopyou retreating into splendour and beauty--into the thoughts and beliefsthat make the real life--the real you. "

"I have never had that experience yet. Surely I and my life must bewhere I live. "

Evidently she had the usual feminine incapacity for grasping philosophy. But she had developed quite a personality, and he must see more of her. "There is another great consolation against invincible mediocrity, " hesaid--"the meeting a fellow-victim. I hope that this is only the firstof many discussions that we shall have together. "

She made a suitable reply. The train reached Charing Cross, and theyparted, --he to go to a matinee, she to buy petticoats for the corpulentpoor. Her thoughts wandered as she bought them: the gulf between herselfand Mr. Herriton, which she had always known to be great, now seemed toher immeasurable. 

These events and conversations took place at Christmas-time. TheNew Life initiated by them lasted some seven months. Then a littleincident--a mere little vexatious incident--brought it to its close. 

Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or Harriet alwaysglanced first at all that came, lest the child should get hold ofsomething vulgar. On this occasion the subject seemed perfectlyinoffensive--a lot of ruined factory chimneys--and Harriet was about tohand it to her niece when her eye was caught by the words on the margin. She gave a shriek and flung the card into the grate. Of course no firewas alight in July, and Irma only had to run and pick it out again. 

"How dare you!" screamed her aunt. "You wicked girl! Give it here!"

Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, who was not inawe of Harriet, danced round the table, reading as she did so, "View ofthe superb city of Monteriano--from your lital brother. "

Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the post-card intofragments. Irma howled with pain, and began shouting indignantly, "Whois my little brother? Why have I never heard of him before? Grandmamma!Grandmamma! Who is my little brother? Who is my--"

Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, "Come with me, dear, and Iwill tell you. Now it is time for you to know. "

Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a matter offact, she had learnt very little. But that little took hold of herimagination. She had promised secrecy--she knew not why. But what harmin talking of the little brother to those who had heard of him already?

"Aunt Harriet!" she would say. "Uncle Phil! Grandmamma! What do yousuppose my little brother is doing now? Has he begun to play? Do Italianbabies talk sooner than us, or would he be an English baby bornabroad? Oh, I do long to see him, and be the first to teach him the TenCommandments and the Catechism. "

The last remark always made Harriet look grave. 

"Really, " exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, "Irma is getting too tiresome. Sheforgot poor Lilia soon enough. "

"A living brother is more to her than a dead mother, " said Philipdreamily. "She can knit him socks. "

"I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It is mostvexatious. The other night she asked if she might include him in thepeople she mentions specially in her prayers. "

"What did you say?"

"Of course I allowed her, " she replied coldly. "She has a right tomention any one she chooses. But I was annoyed with her this morning, and I fear that I showed it. "

"And what happened this morning?"

"She asked if she could pray for her 'new father'--for the Italian!"

"Did you let her?"

"I got up without saying anything. "

"You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to pray for thedevil. "

"He is the devil, " cried Harriet. 

"No, Harriet; he is too vulgar. "

"I will thank you not to scoff against religion!" was Harriet's retort. "Think of that poor baby. Irma is right to pray for him. What anentrance into life for an English child!"

"My dear sister, I can reassure you. Firstly, the beastly baby isItalian. Secondly, it was promptly christened at Santa Deodata's, and apowerful combination of saints watch over--"

"Don't, dear. And, Harriet, don't be so serious--I mean not so seriouswhen you are with Irma. She will be worse than ever if she thinks wehave something to hide. "

Harriet's conscience could be quite as tiresome as Philip'sunconventionality. Mrs. Herriton soon made it easy for her daughter togo for six weeks to the Tirol. Then she and Philip began to grapple withIrma alone. 

Just as they had got things a little quiet the beastly baby sent anotherpicture post-card--a comic one, not particularly proper. Irma receivedit while they were out, and all the trouble began again. 

"I cannot think, " said Mrs. Herriton, "what his motive is in sendingthem. "

Two years before, Philip would have said that the motive was to givepleasure. Now he, like his mother, tried to think of something sinisterand subtle. 

"Do you suppose that he guesses the situation--how anxious we are tohush the scandal up?"

"That is quite possible. He knows that Irma will worry us about thebaby. Perhaps he hopes that we shall adopt it to quiet her. "

"Hopeful indeed. "

"At the same time he has the chance of corrupting the child's morals. "She unlocked a drawer, took out the post-card, and regarded it gravely. "He entreats her to send the baby one, " was her next remark. 

"She might do it too!"

"I told her not to; but we must watch her carefully, without, of course, appearing to be suspicious. "

Philip was getting to enjoy his mother's diplomacy. He did not think ofhis own morals and behaviour any more. 

"Who's to watch her at school, though? She may bubble out any moment. "

"We can but trust to our influence, " said Mrs. Herriton. 

Irma did bubble out, that very day. She was proof against a singlepost-card, not against two. A new little brother is a valuablesentimental asset to a school-girl, and her school was then passingthrough an acute phase of baby-worship. Happy the girl who had herquiver full of them, who kissed them when she left home in the morning, who had the right to extricate them from mail-carts in the interval, whodangled them at tea ere they retired to rest! That one might singthe unwritten song of Miriam, blessed above all school-girls, who wasallowed to hide her baby brother in a squashy place, where none butherself could find him!

How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke of baby cousinsand baby visitors--she who had a baby brother, who wrote her post-cardsthrough his dear papa? She had promised not to tell about him--she knewnot why--and she told. And one girl told another, and one girl told hermother, and the thing was out. 

"Yes, it is all very sad, " Mrs. Herriton kept saying. "Mydaughter-in-law made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare say you know. I suppose that the child will be educated in Italy. Possibly hisgrandmother may be doing something, but I have not heard of it. I do notexpect that she will have him over. She disapproves of the father. It isaltogether a painful business for her. "

She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience--that eighth deadlysin, so convenient to parents and guardians. Harriet would have plungedinto needless explanations and abuse. The child was ashamed, and talkedabout the baby less. The end of the school year was at hand, and shehoped to get another prize. But she also had put her hand to the wheel. 

It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton had notcome across her much since the kiss of reconciliation, nor Philip sincethe journey to London. She had, indeed, been rather a disappointment tohim. Her creditable display of originality had never been repeated:he feared she was slipping back. Now she came about the CottageHospital--her life was devoted to dull acts of charity--and though shegot money out of him and out of his mother, she still sat tight in herchair, looking graver and more wooden than ever. 

"I dare say you have heard, " said Mrs. Herriton, well knowing what thematter was. 

"Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been taken?"

Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in the extreme. Hehad a regard for Miss Abbott, and regretted that she had been guilty ofit. 

"About the baby?" asked Mrs. Herriton pleasantly. 

"Yes. "

"As far as I know, no steps. Mrs. Theobald may have decided onsomething, but I have not heard of it. "

"I was meaning, had you decided on anything?"

"The child is no relation of ours, " said Philip. "It is thereforescarcely for us to interfere. "

His mother glanced at him nervously. "Poor Lilia was almost a daughterto me once. I know what Miss Abbott means. But now things have altered. Any initiative would naturally come from Mrs. Theobald. "

"But does not Mrs. Theobald always take any initiative from you?" askedMiss Abbott. 

Mrs. Herriton could not help colouring. "I sometimes have given heradvice in the past. I should not presume to do so now. "

"Then is nothing to be done for the child at all?"

"It is extraordinarily good of you to take this unexpected interest, "said Philip. 

"The child came into the world through my negligence, " replied MissAbbott. "It is natural I should take an interest in it. "

"My dear Caroline, " said Mrs. Herriton, "you must not brood over thething. Let bygones be bygones. The child should worry you even less thanit worries us. We never even mention it. It belongs to another world. "

Miss Abbott got up without replying and turned to go. Her extremegravity made Mrs. Herriton uneasy. "Of course, " she added, "if Mrs. Theobald decides on any plan that seems at all practicable--I must sayI don't see any such--I shall ask if I may join her in it, for Irma'ssake, and share in any possible expenses. "

"Please would you let me know if she decides on anything. I should liketo join as well. "

"My dear, how you throw about your money! We would never allow it. "

"And if she decides on nothing, please also let me know. Let me know inany case. "

Mrs. Herriton made a point of kissing her. 

"Is the young person mad?" burst out Philip as soon as she had departed. "Never in my life have I seen such colossal impertinence. She ought tobe well smacked, and sent back to Sunday-school. "

His mother said nothing. 

"But don't you see--she is practically threatening us? You can't puther off with Mrs. Theobald; she knows as well as we do that she is anonentity. If we don't do anything she's going to raise a scandal--thatwe neglect our relatives, &c. , which is, of course, a lie. Still she'llsay it. Oh, dear, sweet, sober Caroline Abbott has a screw loose! Weknew it at Monteriano. I had my suspicions last year one day in thetrain; and here it is again. The young person is mad. "

She still said nothing. 

"Shall I go round at once and give it her well? I'd really enjoy it. "

In a low, serious voice--such a voice as she had not used to him formonths--Mrs. Herriton said, "Caroline has been extremely impertinent. Yet there may be something in what she says after all. Ought the childto grow up in that place--and with that father?"

Philip started and shuddered. He saw that his mother was not sincere. Her insincerity to others had amused him, but it was disheartening whenused against himself. 

"Let us admit frankly, " she continued, "that after all we may haveresponsibilities. "

"I don't understand you, Mother. You are turning absolutely round. Whatare you up to?"

In one moment an impenetrable barrier had been erected between them. They were no longer in smiling confidence. Mrs. Herriton was off ontactics of her own--tactics which might be beyond or beneath him. 

His remark offended her. "Up to? I am wondering whether I ought not toadopt the child. Is that sufficiently plain?"

"And this is the result of half-a-dozen idiocies of Miss Abbott?"

"It is. I repeat, she has been extremely impertinent. None the lessshe is showing me my duty. If I can rescue poor Lilia's baby from thathorrible man, who will bring it up either as Papist or infidel--who willcertainly bring it up to be vicious--I shall do it. "

"You talk like Harriet. "

"And why not?" said she, flushing at what she knew to be an insult. "Say, if you choose, that I talk like Irma. That child has seen thething more clearly than any of us. She longs for her little brother. Sheshall have him. I don't care if I am impulsive. "

He was sure that she was not impulsive, but did not dare to say so. Herability frightened him. All his life he had been her puppet. She let himworship Italy, and reform Sawston--just as she had let Harriet be LowChurch. She had let him talk as much as he liked. But when she wanted athing she always got it. 

And though she was frightening him, she did not inspire him withreverence. Her life, he saw, was without meaning. To what purpose washer diplomacy, her insincerity, her continued repression of vigour? Didthey make any one better or happier? Did they even bring happiness toherself? Harriet with her gloomy peevish creed, Lilia with her clutchesafter pleasure, were after all more divine than this well-ordered, active, useless machine. 

Now that his mother had wounded his vanity he could criticize her thus. But he could not rebel. To the end of his days he could probably go ondoing what she wanted. He watched with a cold interest the duel betweenher and Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton's policy only appeared gradually. Itwas to prevent Miss Abbott interfering with the child at all costs, andif possible to prevent her at a small cost. Pride was the only solidelement in her disposition. She could not bear to seem less charitablethan others. 

"I am planning what can be done, " she would tell people, "and that kindCaroline Abbott is helping me. It is no business of either of us, butwe are getting to feel that the baby must not be left entirely to thathorrible man. It would be unfair to little Irma; after all, he is herhalf-brother. No, we have come to nothing definite. "

Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by goodintentions. The child's welfare was a sacred duty to her, not a matterof pride or even of sentiment. By it alone, she felt, could she undo alittle of the evil that she had permitted to come into the world. To herimagination Monteriano had become a magic city of vice, beneathwhose towers no person could grow up happy or pure. Sawston, with itssemi-detached houses and snobby schools, its book teas and bazaars, wascertainly petty and dull; at times she found it even contemptible. Butit was not a place of sin, and at Sawston, either with the Herritons orwith herself, the baby should grow up. 

As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a letter for Watersand Adamson to send to Gino--the oddest letter; Philip saw a copy ofit afterwards. Its ostensible purpose was to complain of the picturepostcards. Right at the end, in a few nonchalant sentences, she offeredto adopt the child, provided that Gino would undertake never to comenear it, and would surrender some of Lilia's money for its education. 

"What do you think of it?" she asked her son. "It would not do to lethim know that we are anxious for it. "

"Certainly he will never suppose that. "

"But what effect will the letter have on him?"

"When he gets it he will do a sum. If it is less expensive in the longrun to part with a little money and to be clear of the baby, he willpart with it. If he would lose, he will adopt the tone of the lovingfather. "

"Dear, you're shockingly cynical. " After a pause she added, "How wouldthe sum work out?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. But if you wanted to ensure the baby beingposted by return, you should have sent a little sum to HIM. Oh, I'm notcynical--at least I only go by what I know of him. But I am weary ofthe whole show. Weary of Italy. Weary, weary, weary. Sawston's a kind, pitiful place, isn't it? I will go walk in it and seek comfort. "

He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing serious. When hehad left her she began to smile also. 

It was to the Abbotts' that he walked. Mr. Abbott offered him tea, andCaroline, who was keeping up her Italian in the next room, came in topour it out. He told them that his mother had written to Signor Carella, and they both uttered fervent wishes for her success. 

"Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed, " said Mr. Abbott, who, like every one else, knew nothing of his daughter's exasperatingbehaviour. "I'm afraid it will mean a lot of expense. She will getnothing out of Italy without paying. "

"There are sure to be incidental expenses, " said Philip cautiously. Then he turned to Miss Abbott and said, "Do you suppose we shall havedifficulty with the man?"

"It depends, " she replied, with equal caution. 

"From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he would make anaffectionate parent?"

"I don't go by what I saw of him, but by what I know of him. "

"Well, what do you conclude from that?"

"That he is a thoroughly wicked man. "

"Yet thoroughly wicked men have loved their children. Look at RodrigoBorgia, for example. "

"I have also seen examples of that in my district. "

With this remark the admirable young woman rose, and returned to keepup her Italian. She puzzled Philip extremely. He could understandenthusiasm, but she did not seem the least enthusiastic. He couldunderstand pure cussedness, but it did not seem to be that either. Apparently she was deriving neither amusement nor profit from thestruggle. Why, then, had she undertaken it? Perhaps she was not sincere. Perhaps, on the whole, that was most likely. She must be professing onething and aiming at another. What the other thing could be he did notstop to consider. Insincerity was becoming his stock explanation foranything unfamiliar, whether that thing was a kindly action or a highideal. 

"She fences well, " he said to his mother afterwards. 

"What had you to fence about?" she said suavely. Her son might know hertactics, but she refused to admit that he knew. She still pretended tohim that the baby was the one thing she wanted, and had always wanted, and that Miss Abbott was her valued ally. 

And when, next week, the reply came from Italy, she showed him no faceof triumph. "Read the letters, " she said. "We have failed. "

Gino wrote in his own language, but the solicitors had sent a laboriousEnglish translation, where "Preghiatissima Signora" was renderedas "Most Praiseworthy Madam, " and every delicate compliment andsuperlative--superlatives are delicate in Italian--would have felled anox. For a moment Philip forgot the matter in the manner; this grotesquememorial of the land he had loved moved him almost to tears. He knewthe originals of these lumbering phrases; he also had sent "sincereauguries"; he also had addressed letters--who writes at home?--from theCaffe Garibaldi. "I didn't know I was still such an ass, " he thought. "Why can't I realize that it's merely tricks of expression? A bounder'sa bounder, whether he lives in Sawston or Monteriano. "

"Isn't it disheartening?" said his mother. 

He then read that Gino could not accept the generous offer. His paternalheart would not permit him to abandon this symbol of his deploredspouse. As for the picture post-cards, it displeased him greatly thatthey had been obnoxious. He would send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, with her notorious kindness, explain this to Irma, and thank her forthose which Irma (courteous Miss!) had sent to him?

"The sum works out against us, " said Philip. "Or perhaps he is puttingup the price. "

"No, " said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. "It is not that. For some perversereason he will not part with the child. I must go and tell poorCaroline. She will be equally distressed. "

She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary condition. Herface was red, she panted for breath, there were dark circles round hereyes. 

"The impudence!" she shouted. "The cursed impudence! Oh, I'm swearing. I don't care. That beastly woman--how dare she interfere--I'll--Philip, dear, I'm sorry. It's no good. You must go. "

"Go where? Do sit down. What's happened?" This outburst of violence fromhis elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. He had not known thatit was in her. 

"She won't accept--won't accept the letter as final. You must go toMonteriano!"

"I won't!" he shouted back. "I've been and I've failed. I'll never seethe place again. I hate Italy. "

"If you don't go, she will. "

"Abbott?"

"Yes. Going alone; would start this evening. I offered to write; shesaid it was 'too late!' Too late! The child, if you please--Irma'sbrother--to live with her, to be brought up by her and her father at ourvery gates, to go to school like a gentleman, she paying. Oh, you're aman! It doesn't matter for you. You can laugh. But I know what peoplesay; and that woman goes to Italy this evening. "

He seemed to be inspired. "Then let her go! Let her mess with Italy byherself. She'll come to grief somehow. Italy's too dangerous, too--"

"Stop that nonsense, Philip. I will not be disgraced by her. I WILL havethe child. Pay all we've got for it. I will have it. "

"Let her go to Italy!" he cried. "Let her meddle with what she doesn'tunderstand! Look at this letter! The man who wrote it will marry her, or murder her, or do for her somehow. He's a bounder, but he's not anEnglish bounder. He's mysterious and terrible. He's got a country behindhim that's upset people from the beginning of the world. "

"Harriet!" exclaimed his mother. "Harriet shall go too. Harriet, now, will be invaluable!" And before Philip had stopped talking nonsense, shehad planned the whole thing and was looking out the trains. 

Chapter 6

Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self in the heightof the summer, when the tourists have left her, and her soul awakesunder the beams of a vertical sun. He now had every opportunity ofseeing her at her best, for it was nearly the middle of August before hewent out to meet Harriet in the Tirol. 

He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet above the sea, chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not at all unwilling to befetched away. 

"It upsets one's plans terribly, " she remarked, as she squeezed out hersponges, "but obviously it is my duty. "

"Did mother explain it all to you?" asked Philip. 

"Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful letter. Shedescribes how it was that she gradually got to feel that we must rescuethe poor baby from its terrible surroundings, how she has tried byletter, and it is no good--nothing but insincere compliments andhypocrisy came back. Then she says, 'There is nothing like personalinfluence; you and Philip will succeed where I have failed. ' She says, too, that Caroline Abbott has been wonderful. "

Philip assented. 

"Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is because she knows theman. Oh, he must be loathsome! Goodness me! I've forgotten to pack theammonia!. .. It has been a terrible lesson for Caroline, but I fancy itis her turning-point. I can't help liking to think that out of all thisevil good will come. "

Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. But the expeditionpromised to be highly comic. He was not averse to it any longer; hewas simply indifferent to all in it except the humours. These would bewonderful. Harriet, worked by her mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by MissAbbott; Gino, worked by a cheque--what better entertainment could hedesire? There was nothing to distract him this time; his sentimentalityhad died, so had his anxiety for the family honour. He might be apuppet's puppet, but he knew exactly the disposition of the strings. 

They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the streamsbroadened and the mountains shrank, and the vegetation changed, and thepeople ceased being ugly and drinking beer, and began instead to drinkwine and to be beautiful. And the train which had picked them at sunriseout of a waste of glaciers and hotels was waltzing at sunset round thewalls of Verona. 

"Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat, " said Philip, as they drovefrom the station. "Supposing we were here for pleasure, what could bemore pleasurable than this?"

"Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?" said Harrietnervously. "I should never have thought it cold. "

And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand laid over themouth, just as they were walking to see the tomb of Juliet. Fromthat moment everything went wrong. They fled from Verona. Harriet'ssketch-book was stolen, and the bottle of ammonia in her trunk burstover her prayer-book, so that purple patches appeared on all herclothes. Then, as she was going through Mantua at four in the morning, Philip made her look out of the window because it was Virgil'sbirthplace, and a smut flew in her eye, and Harriet with a smut in hereye was notorious. At Bologna they stopped twenty-four hours to rest. Itwas a FESTA, and children blew bladder whistles night and day. "What areligion!" said Harriet. The hotel smelt, two puppies were asleep onher bed, and her bedroom window looked into a belfry, which saluted herslumbering form every quarter of an hour. Philip left his walking-stick, his socks, and the Baedeker at Bologna; she only left her sponge-bag. Next day they crossed the Apennines with a train-sick child and ahot lady, who told them that never, never before had she sweated soprofusely. "Foreigners are a filthy nation, " said Harriet. "I don't careif there are tunnels; open the windows. " He obeyed, and she got anothersmut in her eye. Nor did Florence improve matters. Eating, walking, evena cross word would bathe them both in boiling water. Philip, who wasslighter of build, and less conscientious, suffered less. But Harriethad never been to Florence, and between the hours of eight and elevenshe crawled like a wounded creature through the streets, and swoonedbefore various masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who tooktickets to Monteriano. 

"Singles or returns?" said he. 

"A single for me, " said Harriet peevishly; "I shall never get backalive. "

"Sweet creature!" said her brother, suddenly breaking down. "How helpfulyou will be when we come to Signor Carella!"

"Do you suppose, " said Harriet, standing still among a whirl ofporters--"do you suppose I am going to enter that man's house?"

"Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?"

"To see that you do your duty. "

"Oh, thanks!"

"So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; here comes thathot woman again! She has the impudence to bow. "

"Mother told you, did she?" said Philip wrathfully, as he went tostruggle for tickets at a slit so narrow that they were handed to himedgeways. Italy was beastly, and Florence station is the centre ofbeastly Italy. But he had a strange feeling that he was to blame for itall; that a little influx into him of virtue would make the whole landnot beastly but amusing. For there was enchantment, he was sure of that;solid enchantment, which lay behind the porters and the screaming andthe dust. He could see it in the terrific blue sky beneath which theytravelled, in the whitened plain which gripped life tighter than afrost, in the exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of browncastles which stood quivering upon the hills. He could see it, thoughhis head ached and his skin was twitching, though he was here as apuppet, and though his sister knew how he was here. There was nothingpleasant in that journey to Monteriano station. But nothing--not eventhe discomfort--was commonplace. 

"But do people live inside?" asked Harriet. They had exchangedrailway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had emerged from thewithered trees, and had revealed to them their destination. Philip, tobe annoying, answered "No. "

"What do they do there?" continued Harriet, with a frown. 

"There is a caffe. A prison. A theatre. A church. Walls. A view. "

"Not for me, thank you, " said Harriet, after a weighty pause. 

"Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked by such a niceyoung gentleman, with curls all over his forehead, and teeth just aswhite as father makes them. " Then his manner changed. "But, Harriet, doyou see nothing wonderful or attractive in that place--nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all. It's frightful. "

"I know it is. But it's old--awfully old. "

"Beauty is the only test, " said Harriet. "At least so you told me whenI sketched old buildings--for the sake, I suppose, of making yourselfunpleasant. "

"Oh, I'm perfectly right. But at the same time--I don't know--somany things have happened here--people have lived so hard and sosplendidly--I can't explain. "

"I shouldn't think you could. It doesn't seem the best moment to beginyour Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it by now. Instead, willyou kindly tell me what you are going to do when you arrive. I do begyou will not be taken unawares this time. "

"First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d'Italia, in thecomfort that befits your sex and disposition. Then I shall make myselfsome tea. After tea I shall take a book into Santa Deodata's, and readthere. It is always fresh and cool. "

The martyred Harriet exclaimed, "I'm not clever, Philip. I don't go infor it, as you know. But I know what's rude. And I know what's wrong. "

"Meaning--?"

"You!" she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and startlingall the fleas. "What's the good of cleverness if a man's murdered awoman?"

"Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?"

"He. Her. If you don't look out he'll murder you. I wish he would. "

"Tut tut, tutlet! You'd find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient. "Then he tried to be less aggravating. "I heartily dislike the fellow, but we know he didn't murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot, she never said he was physically cruel. "

"He has murdered her. The things he did--things one can't evenmention--"

"Things which one must mention if one's to talk at all. And things whichone must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to hiswife, it doesn't follow that in every way he's absolutely vile. " Helooked at the city. It seemed to approve his remark. 

"It's the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman--"

"Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It's no more a supreme testthan anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first. If you condemn him for that, you'll condemn the whole lot. "

"I condemn the whole lot. "

"And the French as well?"

"And the French as well. "

"Things aren't so jolly easy, " said Philip, more to himself than to her. 

But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she turned uponher brother yet again. "What about the baby, pray? You've said a lot ofsmart things and whittled away morality and religion and I don't knowwhat; but what about the baby? You think me a fool, but I've beennoticing you all today, and you haven't mentioned the baby once. Youhaven't thought about it, even. You don't care. Philip! I shall notspeak to you. You are intolerable. "

She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest of the way. But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For she was a straight, brave woman, as well as a peevish one. 

Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care about thebaby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, and he was fairlyconfident of success. If Gino would have sold his wife for a thousandlire, for how much less would he not sell his child? It was just acommercial transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? Hiseyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had been fixed when hedrove with Miss Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, forhe had no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of thecultivated tourist that he approached his destination. 

One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a cross--the towerof the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She was a holy maiden of theDark Ages, the city's patron saint, and sweetness and barbarity minglestrangely in her story. So holy was she that all her life she lay uponher back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play, refusing to work. The devil, envious of such sanctity, tempted her invarious ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinatingtoys, he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all provedvain he tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her veryeyes. But so holy was the saint that she never picked her mother up, butlay upon her back through all, and thus assured her throne in Paradise. She was only fifteen when she died, which shows how much is within thereach of any school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical needonly think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra, Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of her name; they needonly look at the church which rose over her grave. The grand schemes fora marble facade were never carried out, and it is brown unfinished stoneuntil this day. But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate thewalls of the nave. Giotto came--that is to say, he did not come, Germanresearch having decisively proved--but at all events the nave is coveredwith frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and thearch into the choir, and there are scraps in the choir itself. There thedecoration stopped, till in the full spring of the Renaissance agreat painter came to pay a few weeks' visit to his friend the Lord ofMonteriano. In the intervals between the banquets and the discussions onLatin etymology and the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, andthere in the fifth chapel to the right he has painted two frescoes ofthe death and burial of Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives theplace a star. 

Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept Philip in apleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. Every one there wasasleep, for it was still the hour when only idiots were moving. Therewere not even any beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in thepassage--they had left heavy luggage at the station--and strolled abouttill he came on the landlady's room and woke her, and sent her to them. 

Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable "Go!"

"Go where?" asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was swimming downthe stairs. 

"To the Italian. Go. "

"Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a Monteriano!"(Don't be a goose. I'm not going now. You're in the way, too. ) "Vorreidue camere--"

"Go. This instant. Now. I'll stand it no longer. Go!"

"I'm damned if I'll go. I want my tea. "

"Swear if you like!" she cried. "Blaspheme! Abuse me! But understand, I'm in earnest. "

"Harriet, don't act. Or act better. "

"We've come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. I'll nothave this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures and churches. Think of mother; did she send you out for THEM?"

"Think of mother and don't straddle across the stairs. Let the cabmanand the landlady come down, and let me go up and choose rooms. "

"I shan't. "

"Harriet, are you mad?"

"If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen the Italian. "

"La signorina si sente male, " said Philip, "C' e il sole. "

"Poveretta!" cried the landlady and the cabman. 

"Leave me alone!" said Harriet, snarling round at them. "I don't carefor the lot of you. I'm English, and neither you'll come down nor he uptill he goes for the baby. "

"La prego-piano-piano-c e un' altra signorina che dorme--"

"We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have you the veryslightest sense of the ludicrous?"

Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She hadconcocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing should baulk herof it. To the abuse in front and the coaxing behind she was equallyindifferent. How long she would have stood like a glorified Horatius, keeping the staircase at both ends, was never to be known. For the younglady, whose sleep they were disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroomdoor, and came out on to the landing. She was Miss Abbott. 

Philip's first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To be run byhis mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he could stand. Theintervention of a third female drove him suddenly beyond politeness. Hewas about to say exactly what he thought about the thing from beginningto end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. Sheuttered a shrill cry of joy. 

"You, Caroline, here of all people!" And in spite of the heat she dartedup the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon her friend. 

Philip had an inspiration. "You will have a lot to tell Miss Abbott, Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I'll pay my call onSignor Carella, as you suggested, and see how things stand. "

Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did not reply toit or approach nearer to her. Without even paying the cabman, he escapedinto the street. 

"Tear each other's eyes out!" he cried, gesticulating at the facade ofthe hotel. "Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her to leave us alone. Giveit to her, Caroline! Teach her to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; goit!"

Such people as observed him were interested, but did not conclude thathe was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not unknown in Italy. 

He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not do--Miss Abbott'spresence affected him too personally. Either she suspected him ofdishonesty, or else she was being dishonest herself. He preferred tosuppose the latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had preparedsome elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had soldthe baby cheap to her for a joke: it was just the kind of joke thatwould appeal to him. Philip still remembered the laughter that hadgreeted his fruitless journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled himon to the bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott's presence spoiltthe comedy: she would do nothing funny. 

During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was outon the other side. "Where does Signor Carella live?" he asked the men atthe Dogana. 

"I'll show you, " said a little girl, springing out of the ground asItalian children will. 

"She will show you, " said the Dogana men, nodding reassuringly. "Followher always, always, and you will come to no harm. She is a trustworthyguide. She is my

 daughter. " cousin. " sister. "

Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, all over thepeninsula. 

"Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?" he asked her. 

She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was looking forward tothe interview this time: it would be an intellectual duet with a manof no great intellect. What was Miss Abbott up to? That was one of thethings he was going to discover. While she had it out with Harriet, hewould have it out with Gino. He followed the Dogana's relative softly, like a diplomatist. 

He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra gate, and thehouse was exactly opposite to it. In half a minute they had scrambleddown the mule-track and reached the only practicable entrance. Philiplaughed, partly at the thought of Lilia in such a building, partly inthe confidence of victory. Meanwhile the Dogana's relative lifted up hervoice and gave a shout. 

For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the figure of awoman appeared high up on the loggia. 

"That is Perfetta, " said the girl. 

"I want to see Signor Carella, " cried Philip. 

"Out!"

"Out, " echoed the girl complacently. 

"Why on earth did you say he was in?" He could have strangled herfor temper. He had been just ripe for an interview--just the rightcombination of indignation and acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. Butnothing ever did go right in Monteriano. "When will he be back?" hecalled to Perfetta. It really was too bad. 

She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back thisevening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi. 

At the sound of this word the little girl put her fingers to hernose and swept them at the plain. She sang as she did so, even as herforemothers had sung seven hundred years back--

 Poggibonizzi, fatti in la, Che Monteriano si fa citta!

Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, friendly to thePast, had given her one that very spring. 

"I shall have to leave a message, " he called. 

"Now Perfetta has gone for her basket, " said the little girl. "When shereturns she will lower it--so. Then you will put your card into it. Thenshe will raise it--thus. By this means--"

When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the baby. It tooklonger to find than the basket, and he stood perspiring in the eveningsun, trying to avoid the smell of the drains and to prevent the littlegirl from singing against Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him weredraped with the weekly--or more probably the monthly--wash. What afrightful spotty blouse! He could not think where he had seen it. Thenhe remembered that it was Lilia's. She had brought it "to hack about in"at Sawston, and had taken it to Italy because "in Italy anything does. "He had rebuked her for the sentiment. 

"Beautiful as an angel!" bellowed Perfetta, holding out something whichmust be Lilia's baby. "But who am I addressing?"

"Thank you--here is my card. " He had written on it a civil requestto Gino for an interview next morning. But before he placed it in thebasket and revealed his identity, he wished to find something out. "Hasa young lady happened to call here lately--a young English lady?"

Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf. 

"A young lady--pale, large, tall. "

She did not quite catch. 

"A YOUNG LADY!"

"Perfetta is deaf when she chooses, " said the Dogana's relative. Atlast Philip admitted the peculiarity and strode away. He paid off thedetestable child at the Volterra gate. She got two nickel pieces and wasnot pleased, partly because it was too much, partly because he did notlook pleased when he gave it to her. He caught her fathers and cousinswinking at each other as he walked past them. Monteriano seemed inone conspiracy to make him look a fool. He felt tired and anxious andmuddled, and not sure of anything except that his temper was lost. In this mood he returned to the Stella d'Italia, and there, as he wasascending the stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of the dining-room on thefirst floor and beckoned to him mysteriously. 

"I was going to make myself some tea, " he said, with his hand still onthe banisters. 

"I should be grateful--"

So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the door. 

"You see, " she began, "Harriet knows nothing. "

"No more do I. He was out. "

"But what's that to do with it?"

He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced well, as he hadnoticed before. "He was out. You find me as ignorant as you have leftHarriet. "

"What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don't be mysterious:there isn't the time. Any moment Harriet may be down, and we shan't havedecided how to behave to her. Sawston was different: we had to keep upappearances. But here we must speak out, and I think I can trust you todo it. Otherwise we'll never start clear. "

"Pray let us start clear, " said Philip, pacing up and down the room. "Permit me to begin by asking you a question. In which capacity have youcome to Monteriano--spy or traitor?"

"Spy!" she answered, without a moment's hesitation. She was standingby the little Gothic window as she spoke--the hotel had been a palaceonce--and with her finger she was following the curves of the mouldingas if they might feel beautiful and strange. "Spy, " she repeated, forPhilip was bewildered at learning her guilt so easily, and could notanswer a word. "Your mother has behaved dishonourably all through. Shenever wanted the child; no harm in that; but she is too proud to let itcome to me. She has done all she could to wreck things; she did not tellyou everything; she has told Harriet nothing at all; she has lied oracted lies everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I have come herealone--all across Europe; no one knows it; my father thinks I am inNormandy--to spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don't let's argue!" for he had begun, almost mechanically, to rebuke her for impertinence. "If you are here toget the child, I will help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get itinstead of you. "

"It is hopeless to expect you to believe me, " he stammered. "But I canassert that we are here to get the child, even if it costs us all we'vegot. My mother has fixed no money limit whatever. I am here to carryout her instructions. I think that you will approve of them, as you havepractically dictated them. I do not approve of them. They are absurd. "

She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. All she wanted wasto get the baby out of Monteriano. 

"Harriet also carries out your instructions, " he continued. "She, however, approves of them, and does not know that they proceed from you. I think, Miss Abbott, you had better take entire charge of the rescueparty. I have asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrowmorning. Do you acquiesce?"

She nodded again. 

"Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They might behelpful to me. "

He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly collapsed. Her handfell from the window. Her face was red with more than the reflection ofevening. 

"My interview--how do you know of it?"

"From Perfetta, if it interests you. "

"Who ever is Perfetta?"

"The woman who must have let you in. "

"In where?"

"Into Signor Carella's house. "

"Mr. Herriton!" she exclaimed. "How could you believe her? Do yousuppose that I would have entered that man's house, knowing about himall that I do? I think you have very odd ideas of what is possible fora lady. I hear you wanted Harriet to go. Very properly she refused. Eighteen months ago I might have done such a thing. But I trust I havelearnt how to behave by now. "

Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts--the Miss Abbottwho could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who couldnot enter Gino's house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery. Which of them would respond to his next move?

"I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your interview, then?"

"Not an interview--an accident--I am very sorry--I meant you to have thechance of seeing him first. Though it is your fault. You are a day late. You were due here yesterday. So I came yesterday, and, not finding you, went up to the Rocca--you know that kitchen-garden where they let youin, and there is a ladder up to a broken tower, where you can standand see all the other towers below you and the plain and all the otherhills?"

"Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it. "

"So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had nothing to do. He wasin the garden: it belongs to a friend of his. "

"And you talked. "

"It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he seemed to make me. You see he thought I was here as a tourist; he thinks so still. Heintended to be civil, and I judged it better to be civil also. "

"And of what did you talk?"

"The weather--there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow evening--theother towns, England, myself, about you a little, and he actuallymentioned Lilia. He was perfectly disgusting; he pretended he lovedher; he offered to show me her grave--the grave of the woman he hasmurdered!"

"My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just been drivingthat into Harriet. And when you know the Italians as well as I do, youwill realize that in all that he said to you he was perfectly sincere. The Italians are essentially dramatic; they look on death and love asspectacles. I don't doubt that he persuaded himself, for the moment, that he had behaved admirably, both as husband and widower. "

"You may be right, " said Miss Abbott, impressed for the first time. "When I tried to pave the way, so to speak--to hint that he had notbehaved as he ought--well, it was no good at all. He couldn't orwouldn't understand. "

There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss Abbott approachingGino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a district visitor. Philip, whosetemper was returning, laughed. 

"Harriet would say he has no sense of sin. "

"Harriet may be right, I am afraid. "

"If so, perhaps he isn't sinful!"

Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. "I know what he hasdone, " she said. "What he says and what he thinks is of very littleimportance. "

Philip smiled at her crudity. "I should like to hear, though, what hesaid about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?"

"Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and Harriet were coming. You could have taken him by surprise if you liked. He only asked foryou, and wished he hadn't been so rude to you eighteen months ago. "

"What a memory the fellow has for little things!" He turned away as hespoke, for he did not want her to see his face. It was suffused withpleasure. For an apology, which would have been intolerable eighteenmonths ago, was gracious and agreeable now. 

She would not let this pass. "You did not think it a little thing at thetime. You told me he had assaulted you. "

"I lost my temper, " said Philip lightly. His vanity had been appeased, and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility had changed his mood. "Didhe really--what exactly did he say?"

"He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say such things. Buthe never mentioned the baby once. "

What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly right way up?Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for smiling, and smiled again. For romance had come back to Italy; there were no cads in her; she wasbeautiful, courteous, lovable, as of old. And Miss Abbott--she, too, wasbeautiful in her way, for all her gaucheness and conventionality. She really cared about life, and tried to live it properly. AndHarriet--even Harriet tried. 

This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing admirable, andmay therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. But angels and otherpractical people will accept it reverently, and write it down as good. 

"The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset, " hemurmured, more to himself than to her. 

"And he never mentioned the baby once, " Miss Abbott repeated. But shehad returned to the window, and again her finger pursued the delicatecurves. He watched her in silence, and was more attracted to her than hehad ever been before. She really was the strangest mixture. 

"The view from the Rocca--wasn't it fine?"

"What isn't fine here?" she answered gently, and then added, "I wish Iwas Harriet, " throwing an extraordinary meaning into the words. 

"Because Harriet--?"

She would not go further, but he believed that she had paid homageto the complexity of life. For her, at all events, the expedition wasneither easy nor jolly. Beauty, evil, charm, vulgarity, mystery--shealso acknowledged this tangle, in spite of herself. And her voicethrilled him when she broke silence with "Mr. Herriton--come here--lookat this!"

She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and they leant outof it. Close opposite, wedged between mean houses, there rose up one ofthe great towers. It is your tower: you stretch a barricade between itand the hotel, and the traffic is blocked in a moment. Farther up, wherethe street empties out by the church, your connections, the Merli andthe Capocchi, do likewise. They command the Piazza, you the Siena gate. No one can move in either but he shall be instantly slain, either bybows or by crossbows, or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of theback bedroom windows. For they are menaced by the tower of theAldobrandeschi, and before now arrows have stuck quivering over thewashstand. Guard these windows well, lest there be a repetition of theevents of February 1338, when the hotel was surprised from the rear, andyour dearest friend--you could just make out that it was he--was thrownat you over the stairs. 

"It reaches up to heaven, " said Philip, "and down to the other place. "The summit of the tower was radiant in the sun, while its base was inshadow and pasted over with advertisements. "Is it to be a symbol of thetown?"

She gave no hint that she understood him. But they remained together atthe window because it was a little cooler and so pleasant. Philipfound a certain grace and lightness in his companion which he had nevernoticed in England. She was appallingly narrow, but her consciousness ofwider things gave to her narrowness a pathetic charm. He did not suspectthat he was more graceful too. For our vanity is such that we hold ourown characters immutable, and we are slow to acknowledge that they havechanged, even for the better. 

Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. Some of them stoodand gazed at the advertisements on the tower. 

"Surely that isn't an opera-bill?" said Miss Abbott. 

Philip put on his pince-nez. "'Lucia di Lammermoor. By the MasterDonizetti. Unique representation. This evening. '

"But is there an opera? Right up here?"

"Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would sooner have a thingbad than not have it at all. That is why they have got to have so muchthat is good. However bad the performance is tonight, it will be alive. Italians don't love music silently, like the beastly Germans. Theaudience takes its share--sometimes more. "

"Can't we go?"

He turned on her, but not unkindly. "But we're here to rescue a child!"

He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and the light wentout of her face, and she became again Miss Abbott of Sawston--good, oh, most undoubtedly good, but most appallingly dull. Dull and remorseful:it is a deadly combination, and he strove against it in vain till he wasinterrupted by the opening of the dining-room door. 

They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. Their interviewhad taken such an unexpected course. Anger, cynicism, stubbornmorality--all had ended in a feeling of good-will towards each otherand towards the city which had received them. And now Harrietwas here--acrid, indissoluble, large; the same in Italy as inEngland--changing her disposition never, and her atmosphere underprotest. 

Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little tea. She did notscold Philip for finding Gino out, as she might reasonably have done. She showered civilities on Miss Abbott, exclaiming again and againthat Caroline's visit was one of the most fortunate coincidences in theworld. Caroline did not contradict her. 

"You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don't forget the blankcheque. Say an hour for the business. No, Italians are so slow; say two. Twelve o'clock. Lunch. Well--then it's no good going till the eveningtrain. I can manage the baby as far as Florence--"

"My dear sister, you can't run on like that. You don't buy a pair ofgloves in two hours, much less a baby. "

"Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English ways. At Florencewe get a nurse--"

"But, Harriet, " said Miss Abbott, "what if at first he was to refuse?"

"I don't know the meaning of the word, " said Harriet impressively. "I'vetold the landlady that Philip and I only want our rooms one night, andwe shall keep to it. "

"I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I thought the manI met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man. "

"He's insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can be trusted tobring him to his senses. That woman, Philip, whom you saw will carry thebaby to the hotel. Of course you must tip her for it. And try, if youcan, to get poor Lilia's silver bangles. They were nice quiet things, and will do for Irma. And there is an inlaid box I lent her--lent, notgave--to keep her handkerchiefs in. It's of no real value; but this isour only chance. Don't ask for it; but if you see it lying about, justsay--"

"No, Harriet; I'll try for the baby, but for nothing else. I promiseto do that tomorrow, and to do it in the way you wish. But tonight, aswe're all tired, we want a change of topic. We want relaxation. We wantto go to the theatre. "

"Theatres here? And at such a moment?"

"We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview impending, " saidMiss Abbott, with an anxious glance at Philip. 

He did not betray her, but said, "Don't you think it's better thansitting in all the evening and getting nervous?"

His sister shook her head. "Mother wouldn't like it. It would be mostunsuitable--almost irreverent. Besides all that, foreign theatresare notorious. Don't you remember those letters in the 'Church FamilyNewspaper'?"

"But this is an opera--'Lucia di Lammermoor'--Sir WalterScott--classical, you know. "

Harriet's face grew resigned. "Certainly one has so few opportunitiesof hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. But it might be better thansitting idle all the evening. We have no book, and I lost my crochet atFlorence. "

"Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?"

"It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I should enjoyit; but--excuse the suggestion--I don't think we ought to go to cheapseats. "

"Good gracious me!" cried Harriet, "I should never have thought of that. As likely as not, we should have tried to save money and sat among themost awful people. One keeps on forgetting this is Italy. "

"Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the seats--"

"Oh, that'll be all right, " said Philip, smiling at his timorous, scrupulous women-kind. "We'll go as we are, and buy the best we can get. Monteriano is not formal. "

So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, battles, victories, defeats, truces, ended at the opera. Miss Abbott and Harriet were botha little shame-faced. They thought of their friends at Sawston, who weresupposing them to be now tilting against the powers of evil. What wouldMrs. Herriton, or Irma, or the curates at the Back Kitchen say if theycould see the rescue party at a place of amusement on the very first dayof its mission? Philip, too, marvelled at his wish to go. He beganto see that he was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of thetiresomeness of his companions and the occasional contrariness ofhimself. 

He had been to this theatre many years before, on the occasion of aperformance of "La Zia di Carlo. " Since then it had been thoroughly doneup, in the tints of the beet-root and the tomato, and was in many otherways a credit to the little town. The orchestra had been enlarged, some of the boxes had terra-cotta draperies, and over each box was nowsuspended an enormous tablet, neatly framed, bearing upon it the numberof that box. There was also a drop-scene, representing a pink and purplelandscape, wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and two more ladieslay along the top of the proscenium to steady a large and pallid clock. So rich and so appalling was the effect, that Philip could scarcelysuppress a cry. There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy;it is not the bad taste of a country which knows no better; it has notthe nervous vulgarity of England, or the blinded vulgarity of Germany. It observes beauty, and chooses to pass it by. But it attains tobeauty's confidence. This tiny theatre of Monteriano spraddled andswaggered with the best of them, and these ladies with their clock wouldhave nodded to the young men on the ceiling of the Sistine. 

Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it was rathera grand performance, and he had to be content with stalls. Harriet wasfretful and insular. Miss Abbott was pleasant, and insisted on praisingeverything: her only regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her. 

"We do all right, " said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity. 

"Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. We had noneed to come to Italy like guys. "

This time he did not reply, "But we're here to rescue a baby. " Forhe saw a charming picture, as charming a picture as he had seen foryears--the hot red theatre; outside the theatre, towers and dark gatesand mediaeval walls; beyond the walls olive-trees in the starlight andwhite winding roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in themiddle of it all, Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like aguy. She had made the right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made theright remark. This stiff suburban woman was unbending before the shrine. 

"Don't you like it at all?" he asked her. 

"Most awfully. " And by this bald interchange they convinced each otherthat Romance was here. 

Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the drop-scene, whichpresently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotchretainers burst into cry. The audience accompanied with tappings anddrummings, swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, thoughshe did not care for music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered anacid "Shish!"

"Shut it, " whispered her brother. 

"We must make a stand from the beginning. They're talking. "

"It is tiresome, " murmured Miss Abbott; "but perhaps it isn't for us tointerfere. "

Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were quiet, notbecause it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but because it is naturalto be civil to a visitor. For a little time she kept the whole house inorder, and could smile at her brother complacently. 

Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of opera inItaly--it aims not at illusion but at entertainment--and he did not wantthis great evening-party to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon theboxes began to fill, and Harriet's power was over. Families greeted eachother across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers andsons in the chorus, and told them how well they were singing. When Luciaappeared by the fountain there was loud applause, and cries of "Welcometo Monteriano!"

"Ridiculous babies!" said Harriet, settling down in her stall. 

"Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines, " cried Philip; "theone who had never, never before--"

"Ugh! Don't. She will be very vulgar. And I'm sure it's even worse herethan in the tunnel. I wish we'd never--"

Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment's silence. She was stoutand ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, and as she sang the theatremurmured like a hive of happy bees. All through the coloratura shewas accompanied by sighs, and its top note was drowned in a shout ofuniversal joy. 

So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration from the audience, and the two great sextettes were rendered not unworthily. Miss Abbottfell into the spirit of the thing. She, too, chatted and laughed andapplauded and encored, and rejoiced in the existence of beauty. As forPhilip, he forgot himself as well as his mission. He was not even anenthusiastic visitor. For he had been in this place always. It was hishome. 

Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was trying to followthe plot. Occasionally she nudged her companions, and asked them whathad become of Walter Scott. She looked round grimly. The audiencesounded drunk, and even Caroline, who never took a drop, was swayingoddly. Violent waves of excitement, all arising from very little, wentsweeping round the theatre. The climax was reached in the mad scene. Lucia, clad in white, as befitted her malady, suddenly gathered up herstreaming hair and bowed her acknowledgment to the audience. Then fromthe back of the stage--she feigned not to see it--there advanced a kindof bamboo clothes-horse, stuck all over with bouquets. It was very ugly, and most of the flowers in it were false. Lucia knew this, and so didthe audience; and they all knew that the clothes-horse was a piece ofstage property, brought in to make the performance go year after year. None the less did it unloose the great deeps. With a scream of amazementand joy she embraced the animal, pulled out one or two practicableblossoms, pressed them to her lips, and flung them into her admirers. They flung them back, with loud melodious cries, and a little boy in oneof the stageboxes snatched up his sister's carnations and offered them. "Che carino!" exclaimed the singer. She darted at the little boy andkissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. "Silence! silence!" shoutedmany old gentlemen behind. "Let the divine creature continue!" Butthe young men in the adjacent box were imploring Lucia to extend hercivility to them. She refused, with a humorous, expressive gesture. Oneof them hurled a bouquet at her. She spurned it with her foot. Then, encouraged by the roars of the audience, she picked it up and tossed itto them. Harriet was always unfortunate. The bouquet struck her full inthe chest, and a little billet-doux fell out of it into her lap. 

"Call this classical!" she cried, rising from her seat. "It's not evenrespectable! Philip! take me out at once. "

"Whose is it?" shouted her brother, holding up the bouquet in one handand the billet-doux in the other. "Whose is it?"

The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently agitated, as ifsome one was being hauled to the front. Harriet moved down the gangway, and compelled Miss Abbott to follow her. Philip, still laughingand calling "Whose is it?" brought up the rear. He was drunk withexcitement. The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted intohis head. 

"To the left!" the people cried. "The innamorato is to the left. "

He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young man wasflung stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip handed him up thebouquet and the note. Then his own hands were seized affectionately. Itall seemed quite natural. 

"Why have you not written?" cried the young man. "Why do you take me bysurprise?"

"Oh, I've written, " said Philip hilariously. "I left a note thisafternoon. "

"Silence! silence!" cried the audience, who were beginning to haveenough. "Let the divine creature continue. " Miss Abbott and Harriet haddisappeared. 

"No! no!" cried the young man. "You don't escape me now. " For Philip wastrying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable youths bent out of the boxand invited him to enter it. 

"Gino's friends are ours--"

"Friends?" cried Gino. "A relative! A brother! Fra Filippo, who has comeall the way from England and never written. "

"I left a message. "

The audience began to hiss. 

"Come in to us. "

"Thank you--ladies--there is not time--"

The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment after he shotover the balustrade into the box. Then the conductor, seeing that theincident was over, raised his baton. The house was hushed, and Lucia diLammermoor resumed her song of madness and death. 

Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who had pulledhim in--tradesmen's sons perhaps they were, or medical students, orsolicitors' clerks, or sons of other dentists. There is no knowing whois who in Italy. The guest of the evening was a private soldier. Heshared the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by side inthe front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous, but delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at themuddle he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he would beenchanted by the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was nevervapid, and the light caress of the arm across his back. 

He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and Edgardo wassinging amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new friends hoped to see himat the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He promised; then he remembered thatif they kept to Harriet's plan he would have left Monteriano. "At teno'clock, then, " he said to Gino. "I want to speak to you alone. At ten. "

"Certainly!" laughed the other. 

Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. Harriet, it seemed, had gone straight to bed. 

"That was he, wasn't it?" she asked. 

"Yes, rather. "

"I suppose you didn't settle anything?"

"Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by surprise, but after all, what does it matter? There's no earthly reason why weshouldn't do the business pleasantly. He's a perfectly charming person, and so are his friends. I'm his friend now--his long-lost brother. What's the harm? I tell you, Miss Abbott, it's one thing for England andanother for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral horses. Herewe find what asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all bythemselves. My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple skyand really silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it's absurd toworry; he's not a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do. He's been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me eighteen monthsago, and I've forgiven him. Oh, but he has a sense of humour!"

Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever remembersuch stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of music, and thatnight when she opened the window her room was filled with warm, sweetair. She was bathed in beauty within and without; she could not go tobed for happiness. Had she ever been so happy before? Yes, once before, and here, a night in March, the night Gino and Lilia had told her oftheir love--the night whose evil she had come now to undo. 

She gave a sudden cry of shame. "This time--the same place--the samething"--and she began to beat down her happiness, knowing it to besinful. She was here to fight against this place, to rescue a littlesoul--who was innocent as yet. She was here to champion morality andpurity, and the holy life of an English home. In the spring she hadsinned through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. "Help me!" shecried, and shut the window as if there was magic in the encircling air. But the tunes would not go out of her head, and all night long she wastroubled by torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and angryyoung men who shouted the distich out of Baedeker:--

 Poggibonizzi fatti in la, Che Monteriano si fa citta!

Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless, stragglingplace, full of people who pretended. When she woke up she knew that ithad been Sawston. 

Chapter 7

At about nine o'clock next morning Perfetta went out on to the loggia, not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty water at it. "Scusitanto!" she wailed, for the water spattered a tall young lady who hadfor some time been tapping at the lower door. 

"Is Signor Carella in?" the young lady asked. It was no business ofPerfetta's to be shocked, and the style of the visitor seemed to demandthe reception-room. Accordingly she opened its shutters, dusted a roundpatch on one of the horsehair chairs, and bade the lady do herself theinconvenience of sitting down. Then she ran into Monteriano and shoutedup and down its streets until such time as her young master should hearher. 

The reception-room was sacred to the dead wife. Her shiny portrait hungupon the wall--similar, doubtless, in all respects to the one whichwould be pasted on her tombstone. A little piece of black drapery hadbeen tacked above the frame to lend a dignity to woe. But two of thetacks had fallen out, and the effect was now rakish, as of a drunkard'sbonnet. A coon song lay open on the piano, and of the two tables onesupported Baedeker's "Central Italy, " the other Harriet's inlaid box. And over everything there lay a deposit of heavy white dust, whichwas only blown off one moment to thicken on another. It is well tobe remembered with love. It is not so very dreadful to be forgottenentirely. But if we shall resent anything on earth at all, we shallresent the consecration of a deserted room. 

Miss Abbott did not sit down, partly because the antimacassars mightharbour fleas, partly because she had suddenly felt faint, and was gladto cling on to the funnel of the stove. She struggled with herself, for she had need to be very calm; only if she was very calm might herbehaviour be justified. She had broken faith with Philip and Harriet:she was going to try for the baby before they did. If she failed shecould scarcely look them in the face again. 

"Harriet and her brother, " she reasoned, "don't realize what is beforethem. She would bluster and be rude; he would be pleasant and take itas a joke. Both of them--even if they offered money--would fail. But Ibegin to understand the man's nature; he does not love the child, but hewill be touchy about it--and that is quite as bad for us. He's charming, but he's no fool; he conquered me last year; he conquered Mr. Herritonyesterday, and if I am not careful he will conquer us all today, and thebaby will grow up in Monteriano. He is terribly strong; Lilia found thatout, but only I remember it now. "

This attempt, and this justification of it, were the results of the longand restless night. Miss Abbott had come to believe that she alone coulddo battle with Gino, because she alone understood him; and she had putthis, as nicely as she could, in a note which she had left for Philip. It distressed her to write such a note, partly because her educationinclined her to reverence the male, partly because she had got to likePhilip a good deal after their last strange interview. His pettinesswould be dispersed, and as for his "unconventionality, " which was somuch gossiped about at Sawston, she began to see that it did not differgreatly from certain familiar notions of her own. If only he wouldforgive her for what she was doing now, there might perhaps be beforethem a long and profitable friendship. But she must succeed. No onewould forgive her if she did not succeed. She prepared to do battle withthe powers of evil. 

The voice of her adversary was heard at last, singing fearlesslyfrom his expanded lungs, like a professional. Herein he differed fromEnglishmen, who always have a little feeling against music, and singonly from the throat, apologetically. He padded upstairs, and lookedin at the open door of the reception-room without seeing her. Her heartleapt and her throat was dry when he turned away and passed, stillsinging, into the room opposite. It is alarming not to be seen. 

He had left the door of this room open, and she could see into it, right across the landing. It was in a shocking mess. Food, bedclothes, patent-leather boots, dirty plates, and knives lay strewn over a largetable and on the floor. But it was the mess that comes of life, not ofdesolation. It was preferable to the charnel-chamber in which she wasstanding now, and the light in it was soft and large, as from somegracious, noble opening. 

He stopped singing, and cried "Where is Perfetta?"

His back was turned, and he was lighting a cigar. He was not speakingto Miss Abbott. He could not even be expecting her. The vista of thelanding and the two open doors made him both remote and significant, like an actor on the stage, intimate and unapproachable at the sametime. She could no more call out to him than if he was Hamlet. 

"You know!" he continued, "but you will not tell me. Exactly like you. "He reclined on the table and blew a fat smoke-ring. "And why won't youtell me the numbers? I have dreamt of a red hen--that is two hundred andfive, and a friend unexpected--he means eighty-two. But I try for theTerno this week. So tell me another number. "

Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech terrified her. Shefelt those subtle restrictions which come upon us in fatigue. Had sheslept well she would have greeted him as soon as she saw him. Now it wasimpossible. He had got into another world. 

She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it slowly away from him, and brought it out intact upon the landing. 

"Two hundred and five--eighty-two. In any case I shall put them on Bari, not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I have a feeling this week forBari. " Again she tried to speak. But the ring mesmerized her. It hadbecome vast and elliptical, and floated in at the reception-room door. 

"Ah! you don't care if you get the profits. You won't even say 'Thankyou, Gino. ' Say it, or I'll drop hot, red-hot ashes on you. 'Thank you, Gino--'"

The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her. She lostself-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a breath from the pit, shescreamed. 

There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her, how she had gothere, why she had never spoken. He made her sit down. He brought herwine, which she refused. She had not one word to say to him. 

"What is it?" he repeated. "What has frightened you?"

He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting through the tan. For it is a serious thing to have been watched. We all radiate somethingcuriously intimate when we believe ourselves to be alone. 

"Business--" she said at last. 

"Business with me?"

"Most important business. " She was lying, white and limp, in the dustychair. 

"Before business you must get well; this is the best wine. "

She refused it feebly. He poured out a glass. She drank it. As she didso she became self-conscious. However important the business, it was notproper of her to have called on him, or to accept his hospitality. 

"Perhaps you are engaged, " she said. "And as I am not very well--"

"You are not well enough to go back. And I am not engaged. "

She looked nervously at the other room. 

"Ah, now I understand, " he exclaimed. "Now I see what frightened you. But why did you never speak?" And taking her into the room where helived, he pointed to--the baby. 

She had thought so much about this baby, of its welfare, its soul, itsmorals, its probable defects. But, like most unmarried people, she hadonly thought of it as a word--just as the healthy man only thinks of theword death, not of death itself. The real thing, lying asleep on a dirtyrug, disconcerted her. It did not stand for a principle any longer. It was so much flesh and blood, so many inches and ounces of life--aglorious, unquestionable fact, which a man and another woman had givento the world. You could talk to it; in time it would answer you; in timeit would not answer you unless it chose, but would secrete, within thecompass of its body, thoughts and wonderful passions of its own. Andthis was the machine on which she and Mrs. Herriton and Philip andHarriet had for the last month been exercising their various ideals--haddetermined that in time it should move this way or that way, shouldaccomplish this and not that. It was to be Low Church, it was to behigh-principled, it was to be tactful, gentlemanly, artistic--excellentthings all. Yet now that she saw this baby, lying asleep on a dirty rug, she had a great disposition not to dictate one of them, and to exertno more influence than there may be in a kiss or in the vaguest of theheartfelt prayers. 

But she had practised self-discipline, and her thoughts and actions werenot yet to correspond. To recover her self-esteem she tried to imaginethat she was in her district, and to behave accordingly. 

"What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to talk to it. Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is asleep! Seven months?No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for hisage. "

Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The patronizing words cameout gracious and sincere, and he smiled with pleasure. 

"You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it is cool. I amafraid the room is very untidy, " he added, with the air of a hostess whoapologizes for a stray thread on the drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbottpicked her way to the chair. He sat near her, astride the parapet, withone foot in the loggia and the other dangling into the view. His facewas in profile, and its beautiful contours drove artfully againstthe misty green of the opposing hills. "Posing!" said Miss Abbott toherself. "A born artist's model. "

"Mr. Herriton called yesterday, " she began, "but you were out. "

He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He had gone for theday to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons not written to him, so that hecould have received them properly? Poggibonsi would have done any day;not but what his business there was fairly important. What did shesuppose that it was?

Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not come from Sawstonto guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. She answered politely that shehad no idea, and returned to her mission. 

"But guess!" he persisted, clapping the balustrade between his hands. 

She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had gone toPoggibonsi to find something to do. 

He intimated that it was not as important as all that. Something todo--an almost hopeless quest! "E manca questo!" He rubbed his thumb andforefinger together, to indicate that he had no money. Then hesighed, and blew another smoke-ring. Miss Abbott took heart and turneddiplomatic. 

"This house, " she said, "is a large house. "

"Exactly, " was his gloomy reply. "And when my poor wife died--" He gotup, went in, and walked across the landing to the reception-room door, which he closed reverently. Then he shut the door of the living-roomwith his foot, returned briskly to his seat, and continued his sentence. "When my poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live here. My father wished to give up his practice at Empoli; my mother andsisters and two aunts were also willing. But it was impossible. Theyhave their ways of doing things, and when I was younger I was contentwith them. But now I am a man. I have my own ways. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do, " said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear father, whosetricks and habits, after twenty-five years spent in their company, werebeginning to get on her nerves. She remembered, though, that she wasnot here to sympathize with Gino--at all events, not to show thatshe sympathized. She also reminded herself that he was not worthy ofsympathy. "It is a large house, " she repeated. 

"Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better when--Ah! but you havenever guessed why I went to Poggibonsi--why it was that I was out whenhe called. "

"I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business. "

"But try. "

"I cannot; I hardly know you. "

"But we are old friends, " he said, "and your approval will be gratefulto me. You gave it me once before. Will you give it now?"

"I have not come as a friend this time, " she answered stiffly. "I am notlikely, Signor Carella, to approve of anything you do. "

"Oh, Signorina!" He laughed, as if he found her piquant and amusing. "Surely you approve of marriage?"

"Where there is love, " said Miss Abbott, looking at him hard. His facehad altered in the last year, but not for the worse, which was baffling. 

"Where there is love, " said he, politely echoing the English view. Thenhe smiled on her, expecting congratulations. 

"Do I understand that you are proposing to marry again?"

He nodded. 

"I forbid you, then!"

He looked puzzled, but took it for some foreign banter, and laughed. 

"I forbid you!" repeated Miss Abbott, and all the indignation of her sexand her nationality went thrilling through the words. 

"But why?" He jumped up, frowning. His voice was squeaky and petulant, like that of a child who is suddenly forbidden a toy. 

"You have ruined one woman; I forbid you to ruin another. It is not ayear since Lilia died. You pretended to me the other day that you lovedher. It is a lie. You wanted her money. Has this woman money too?"

"Why, yes!" he said irritably. "A little. "

"And I suppose you will say that you love her. "

"I shall not say it. It will be untrue. Now my poor wife--" He stopped, seeing that the comparison would involve him in difficulties. And indeedhe had often found Lilia as agreeable as any one else. 

Miss Abbott was furious at this final insult to her dead acquaintance. She was glad that after all she could be so angry with the boy. Sheglowed and throbbed; her tongue moved nimbly. At the finish, if thereal business of the day had been completed, she could have sweptmajestically from the house. But the baby still remained, asleep on adirty rug. 

Gino was thoughtful, and stood scratching his head. He respected MissAbbott. He wished that she would respect him. "So you do not advise me?"he said dolefully. "But why should it be a failure?"

Miss Abbott tried to remember that he was really a child still--a childwith the strength and the passions of a disreputable man. "How can itsucceed, " she said solemnly, "where there is no love?"

"But she does love me! I forgot to tell you that. "

"Indeed. "

"Passionately. " He laid his hand upon his own heart. 

"Then God help her!"

He stamped impatiently. "Whatever I say displeases you, Signorina. Godhelp you, for you are most unfair. You say that I ill-treated my dearwife. It is not so. I have never ill-treated any one. You complain thatthere is no love in this marriage. I prove that there is, and you becomestill more angry. What do you want? Do you suppose she will not becontented? Glad enough she is to get me, and she will do her duty well. "

"Her duty!" cried Miss Abbott, with all the bitterness of which she wascapable. 

"Why, of course. She knows why I am marrying her. "

"To succeed where Lilia failed! To be your housekeeper, your slave, you--" The words she would like to have said were too violent for her. 

"To look after the baby, certainly, " said he. 

"The baby--?" She had forgotten it. 

"It is an English marriage, " he said proudly. "I do not care about themoney. I am having her for my son. Did you not understand that?"

"No, " said Miss Abbott, utterly bewildered. Then, for a moment, she sawlight. "It is not necessary, Signor Carella. Since you are tired of thebaby--"

Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw her mistake atonce. "I don't mean that, " she added quickly. 

"I know, " was his courteous response. "Ah, in a foreign language (andhow perfectly you speak Italian) one is certain to make slips. "

She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of satire. 

"You meant that we could not always be together yet, he and I. You areright. What is to be done? I cannot afford a nurse, and Perfetta is toorough. When he was ill I dare not let her touch him. When he has tobe washed, which happens now and then, who does it? I. I feed him, orsettle what he shall have. I sleep with him and comfort him when he isunhappy in the night. No one talks, no one may sing to him but I. Do notbe unfair this time; I like to do these things. But nevertheless (hisvoice became pathetic) they take up a great deal of time, and are notall suitable for a young man. "

"Not at all suitable, " said Miss Abbott, and closed her eyes wearily. Each moment her difficulties were increasing. She wished that she wasnot so tired, so open to contradictory impressions. She longed forHarriet's burly obtuseness or for the soulless diplomacy of Mrs. Herriton. 

"A little more wine?" asked Gino kindly. 

"Oh, no, thank you! But marriage, Signor Carella, is a very seriousstep. Could you not manage more simply? Your relative, for example--"

"Empoli! I would as soon have him in England!"

"England, then--"

He laughed. 

"He has a grandmother there, you know--Mrs. Theobald. "

"He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but I must have himwith me. I will not even have my father and mother too. For they wouldseparate us, " he added. 

"How?"

"They would separate our thoughts. "

She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of strange refinements. The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable of love, stood nakedbefore her, and her moral being was abashed. It was her duty to rescuethe baby, to save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. But the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in the presence ofsomething greater than right or wrong. 

Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled back into theroom, driven by the instinct she had aroused in him. "Wake up!" he criedto his baby, as if it was some grown-up friend. Then he lifted his footand trod lightly on its stomach. 

Miss Abbott cried, "Oh, take care!" She was unaccustomed to this methodof awakening the young. 

"He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you believe that in timehis own boots will be as large? And that he also--"

"But ought you to treat him like that?"

He stood with one foot resting on the little body, suddenly musing, filled with the desire that his son should be like him, and should havesons like him, to people the earth. It is the strongest desire that cancome to a man--if it comes to him at all--stronger even than love or thedesire for personal immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare that itis theirs; but the hearts of most are set elsewhere. It is the exceptionwho comprehends that physical and spiritual life may stream out of himfor ever. Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not comprehend it, though such a thing is more within the comprehension of women. Andwhen Gino pointed first to himself and then to his baby and said"father-son, " she still took it as a piece of nursery prattle, andsmiled mechanically. 

The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her. Gino did notgreet it, but continued the exposition of his policy. 

"This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is fond of children. She is clean; she has a pleasant voice. She is not beautiful; I cannotpretend that to you for a moment. But she is what I require. "

The baby gave a piercing yell. 

"Oh, do take care!" begged Miss Abbott. "You are squeezing it. "

"It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be frightened. Hethinks I am going to wash him, and he is quite right. "

"Wash him!" she cried. "You? Here?" The homely piece of news seemedto shatter all her plans. She had spent a long half-hour in elaborateapproaches, in high moral attacks; she had neither frightened her enemynor made him angry, nor interfered with the least detail of his domesticlife. 

"I had gone to the Farmacia, " he continued, "and was sitting therecomfortably, when suddenly I remembered that Perfetta had heated wateran hour ago--over there, look, covered with a cushion. I came away atonce, for really he must be washed. You must excuse me. I can put it offno longer. "

"I have wasted your time, " she said feebly. 

He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large earthenwarebowl. It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a tablecloth. Then hefetched the hot water, which was in a copper pot. He poured it out. Headded cold. He felt in his pocket and brought out a piece of soap. Thenhe took up the baby, and, holding his cigar between his teeth, began tounwrap it. Miss Abbott turned to go. 

"But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while we talk. "

"I have nothing more to say, " said Miss Abbott. All she could do nowwas to find Philip, confess her miserable defeat, and bid him go inher stead and prosper better. She cursed her feebleness; she longed toexpose it, without apologies or tears. 

"Oh, but stop a moment!" he cried. "You have not seen him yet. "

"I have seen as much as I want, thank you. "

The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his two hands a littlekicking image of bronze. 

"Take him!"

She would not touch the child. 

"I must go at once, " she cried; for the tears--the wrong tears--werehurrying to her eyes. 

"Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he is brown allover--brown every inch of him. Ah, but how beautiful he is! And he ismine; mine for ever. Even if he hates me he will be mine. He cannot helpit; he is made out of me; I am his father. "

It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it was too late. She turned away her head when Gino lifted his son to his lips. This wassomething too remote from the prettiness of the nursery. The man wasmajestic; he was a part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could heever be so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to thechildren; and--by some sad, strange irony--it does not bind us childrento our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not withgratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathosand much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. Ginopassionately embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes--bothof them had parents whom they did not love so very much. 

"May I help you to wash him?" she asked humbly. 

He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt side by side, tucking up their sleeves. The child had stopped crying, and his arms andlegs were agitated by some overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman'spleasure in cleaning anything--more especially when the thing was human. She understood little babies from long experience in a district, andGino soon ceased to give her directions, and only gave her thanks. 

"It is very kind of you, " he murmured, "especially in your beautifuldress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I take the whole morning! Thereis so much more of a baby than one expects. And Perfetta washes him justas she washes clothes. Then he screams for hours. My wife is to have alight hand. Ah, how he kicks! Has he splashed you? I am very sorry. "

"I am ready for a soft towel now, " said Miss Abbott, who was strangelyexalted by the service. 

"Certainly! certainly!" He strode in a knowing way to a cupboard. Buthe had no idea where the soft towel was. Generally he dabbed the baby onthe first dry thing he found. 

"And if you had any powder. "

He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the stock of powder wasjust exhausted. 

She sacrificed her own clean handkerchief. He put a chair for her on theloggia, which faced westward, and was still pleasant and cool. There shesat, with twenty miles of view behind her, and he placed the drippingbaby on her knee. It shone now with health and beauty: it seemed toreflect light, like a copper vessel. Just such a baby Bellini setslanguid on his mother's lap, or Signorelli flings wriggling on pavementsof marble, or Lorenzo di Credi, more reverent but less divine, layscarefully among flowers, with his head upon a wisp of golden straw. Fora time Gino contemplated them standing. Then, to get a better view, heknelt by the side of the chair, with his hands clasped before him. 

So they were when Philip entered, and saw, to all intents and purposes, the Virgin and Child, with Donor. 

"Hullo!" he exclaimed; for he was glad to find things in such cheerfultrim. 

She did not greet him, but rose up unsteadily and handed the baby to hisfather. 

"No, do stop!" whispered Philip. "I got your note. I'm not offended;you're quite right. I really want you; I could never have done italone. "

No words came from her, but she raised her hands to her mouth, like onewho is in sudden agony. 

"Signorina, do stop a little--after all your kindness. "

She burst into tears. 

"What is it?" said Philip kindly. 

She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly. 

The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse they ran on to theloggia. They were just in time to see Miss Abbott disappear among thetrees. 

"What is it?" asked Philip again. There was no answer, and somehow hedid not want an answer. Some strange thing had happened which he couldnot presume to understand. He would find out from Miss Abbott, if everhe found out at all. 

"Well, your business, " said Gino, after a puzzled sigh. 

"Our business--Miss Abbott has told you of that. "

"No. "

"But surely--"

"She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did I. "

Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now returned, loudlycomplaining of the size of Monteriano and the intricacies of itsstreets. Gino told her to watch the baby. Then he offered Philip acigar, and they proceeded to the business. 

Chapter 8

"Mad!" screamed Harriet, --"absolutely stark, staring, raving mad!"

Philip judged it better not to contradict her. 

"What's she here for? Answer me that. What's she doing in Monteriano inAugust? Why isn't she in Normandy? Answer that. She won't. I can: she'scome to thwart us; she's betrayed us--got hold of mother's plans. Oh, goodness, my head!"

He was unwise enough to reply, "You mustn't accuse her of that. Thoughshe is exasperating, she hasn't come here to betray us. "

"Then why has she come here? Answer me that. "

He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too much agitatedto wait for one. "Bursting in on me--crying and looking a disgustingsight--and says she has been to see the Italian. Couldn't even talkproperly; pretended she had changed her opinions. What are her opinionsto us? I was very calm. I said: 'Miss Abbott, I think there is alittle misapprehension in this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton--' Oh, goodness, my head! Of course you've failed--don't trouble to answer--Iknow you've failed. Where's the baby, pray? Of course you haven't gotit. Dear sweet Caroline won't let you. Oh, yes, and we're to go away atonce and trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. Commands!COMMANDS!" And Harriet also burst into tears. 

Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, but quitereasonable in her indignation. Moreover, Miss Abbott had behaved evenworse than she supposed. 

"I've not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I haven'texactly failed. I and Signor Carella are to have another interviewthis afternoon, at the Caffe Garibaldi. He is perfectly reasonable andpleasant. Should you be disposed to come with me, you would find himquite willing to discuss things. He is desperately in want of money, andhas no prospect of getting any. I discovered that. At the same time, hehas a certain affection for the child. " For Philip's insight, or perhapshis opportunities, had not been equal to Miss Abbott's. 

Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of insulting her; howcould a lady speak to such a horrible man? That, and nothing else, wasenough to stamp Caroline. Oh, poor Lilia!

Philip drummed on the bedroom window-sill. He saw no escape from thedeadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully about his second interview withGino, he felt at the bottom of his heart that it would fail. Gino wastoo courteous: he would not break off negotiations by sharp denial; heloved this civil, half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling hisopponent, and did it so nicely that his opponent did not mind beingfooled. 

"Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily, " he said at last; "but at thesame time--"

His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on the madness, theinterference, the intolerable duplicity of Caroline. 

"Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop crying. I havesomething quite important to say. "

"I shall not stop crying, " said she. But in time, finding that he wouldnot speak to her, she did stop. 

"Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She said nothing to himabout the matter. He assumes that she is working with us: I gatheredthat. "

"Well, she isn't. "

"Yes; but if you're careful she may be. I interpret her behaviour thus:She went to see him, honestly intending to get the child away. In thenote she left me she says so, and I don't believe she'd lie. "

"I do. "

"When she got there, there was some pretty domestic scene between himand the baby, and she has got swept off in a gush of sentimentalism. Before very long, if I know anything about psychology, there will be areaction. She'll be swept back. "

"I don't understand your long words. Say plainly--"

"When she's swept back, she'll be invaluable. For she has made quite animpression on him. He thinks her so nice with the baby. You know, shewashed it for him. "

"Disgusting!"

Harriet's ejaculations were more aggravating than the rest of her. ButPhilip was averse to losing his temper. The access of joy that had cometo him yesterday in the theatre promised to be permanent. He was moreanxious than heretofore to be charitable towards the world. 

"If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with Miss Abbott. For if she chooses, she can help you better than I can. "

"There can be no peace between me and her, " said Harriet gloomily. 

"Did you--"

"Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had finishedspeaking--just like those cowardly people!--into the church. "

"Into Santa Deodata's?"

"Yes; I'm sure she needs it. Anything more unchristian--"

In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his sister a littlecalmer and a little disposed to think over his advice. What had comeover Miss Abbott? He had always thought her both stable and sincere. That conversation he had had with her last Christmas in the train toCharing Cross--that alone furnished him with a parallel. For the secondtime, Monteriano must have turned her head. He was not angry with her, for he was quite indifferent to the outcome of their expedition. He wasonly extremely interested. 

It was now nearly midday, and the streets were clearing. But the intenseheat had broken, and there was a pleasant suggestion of rain. ThePiazza, with its three great attractions--the Palazzo Pubblico, theCollegiate Church, and the Caffe Garibaldi: the intellect, the soul, andthe body--had never looked more charming. For a moment Philip stood inits centre, much inclined to be dreamy, and thinking how wonderful itmust feel to belong to a city, however mean. He was here, however, asan emissary of civilization and as a student of character, and, after asigh, he entered Santa Deodata's to continue his mission. 

There had been a FESTA two days before, and the church still smelt ofincense and of garlic. The little son of the sacristan was sweeping thenave, more for amusement than for cleanliness, sending great cloudsof dust over the frescoes and the scattered worshippers. The sacristanhimself had propped a ladder in the centre of the Deluge--which fillsone of the nave spandrels--and was freeing a column from its wealth ofscarlet calico. Much scarlet calico also lay upon the floor--for thechurch can look as fine as any theatre--and the sacristan's littledaughter was trying to fold it up. She was wearing a tinsel crown. Thecrown really belonged to St. Augustine. But it had been cut too big:it fell down over his cheeks like a collar: you never saw anything soabsurd. One of the canons had unhooked it just before the FIESTA began, and had given it to the sacristan's daughter. 

"Please, " cried Philip, "is there an English lady here?"

The man's mouth was full of tin-tacks, but he nodded cheerfully towardsa kneeling figure. In the midst of this confusion Miss Abbott waspraying. 

He was not much surprised: a spiritual breakdown was quite to beexpected. For though he was growing more charitable towards mankind, he was still a little jaunty, and too apt to stake out beforehand thecourse that will be pursued by the wounded soul. It did not surprisehim, however, that she should greet him naturally, with none of the sourself-consciousness of a person who had just risen from her knees. Thiswas indeed the spirit of Santa Deodata's, where a prayer to God isthought none the worse of because it comes next to a pleasant word toa neighbour. "I am sure that I need it, " said she; and he, who hadexpected her to be ashamed, became confused, and knew not what to reply. 

"I've nothing to tell you, " she continued. "I have simply changedstraight round. If I had planned the whole thing out, I could not havetreated you worse. I can talk it over now; but please believe that Ihave been crying. "

"And please believe that I have not come to scold you, " said Philip. "Iknow what has happened. "

"What?" asked Miss Abbott. Instinctively she led the way to the famouschapel, the fifth chapel on the right, wherein Giovanni da Empoli haspainted the death and burial of the saint. Here they could sit out ofthe dust and the noise, and proceed with a discussion which promised tobe important. 

"What might have happened to me--he had made you believe that he lovedthe child. "

"Oh, yes; he has. He will never give it up. "

"At present it is still unsettled. "

"It will never be settled. "

"Perhaps not. Well, as I said, I know what has happened, and I am nothere to scold you. But I must ask you to withdraw from the thing for thepresent. Harriet is furious. But she will calm down when she realizesthat you have done us no harm, and will do none. "

"I can do no more, " she said. "But I tell you plainly I have changedsides. "

"If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise not to prejudiceour cause by speaking to Signor Carella?"

"Oh, certainly. I don't want to speak to him again; I shan't ever seehim again. "

"Quite nice, wasn't he?"

"Quite. "

"Well, that's all I wanted to know. I'll go and tell Harriet of yourpromise, and I think things'll quiet down now. "

But he did not move, for it was an increasing pleasure to him to benear her, and her charm was at its strongest today. He thought less ofpsychology and feminine reaction. The gush of sentimentalism which hadcarried her away had only made her more alluring. He was content toobserve her beauty and to profit by the tenderness and the wisdom thatdwelt within her. 

"Why aren't you angry with me?" she asked, after a pause. 

"Because I understand you--all sides, I think, --Harriet, Signor Carella, even my mother. "

"You do understand wonderfully. You are the only one of us who has ageneral view of the muddle. "

He smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she had ever praisedhim. His eyes rested agreeably on Santa Deodata, who was dying in fullsanctity, upon her back. There was a window open behind her, revealingjust such a view as he had seen that morning, and on her widowedmother's dresser there stood just such another copper pot. The saintlooked neither at the view nor at the pot, and at her widowed motherstill less. For lo! she had a vision: the head and shoulders of St. Augustine were sliding like some miraculous enamel along the rough-castwall. It is a gentle saint who is content with half another saint to seeher die. In her death, as in her life, Santa Deodata did not accomplishmuch. 

"So what are you going to do?" said Miss Abbott. 

Philip started, not so much at the words as at the sudden change in thevoice. "Do?" he echoed, rather dismayed. "This afternoon I have anotherinterview. "

"It will come to nothing. Well?"

"Then another. If that fails I shall wire home for instructions. I daresay we may fail altogether, but we shall fail honourably. "

She had often been decided. But now behind her decision there was a noteof passion. She struck him not as different, but as more important, andhe minded it very much when she said--

"That's not doing anything! You would be doing something if youkidnapped the baby, or if you went straight away. But that! To failhonourably! To come out of the thing as well as you can! Is that all youare after?"

"Why, yes, " he stammered. "Since we talk openly, that is all I am afterjust now. What else is there? If I can persuade Signor Carella to givein, so much the better. If he won't, I must report the failure to mymother and then go home. Why, Miss Abbott, you can't expect me to followyou through all these turns--"

"I don't! But I do expect you to settle what is right and to followthat. Do you want the child to stop with his father, who loves him andwill bring him up badly, or do you want him to come to Sawston, whereno one loves him, but where he will be brought up well? There is thequestion put dispassionately enough even for you. Settle it. Settlewhich side you'll fight on. But don't go talking about an 'honourablefailure, ' which means simply not thinking and not acting at all. "

"Because I understand the position of Signor Carella and of you, it's noreason that--"

"None at all. Fight as if you think us wrong. Oh, what's the use of yourfair-mindedness if you never decide for yourself? Any one gets hold ofyou and makes you do what they want. And you see through them and laughat them--and do it. It's not enough to see clearly; I'm muddle-headedand stupid, and not worth a quarter of you, but I have tried to dowhat seemed right at the time. And you--your brain and your insight aresplendid. But when you see what's right you're too idle to do it. Youtold me once that we shall be judged by our intentions, not by ouraccomplishments. I thought it a grand remark. But we must intend toaccomplish--not sit intending on a chair. "

"You are wonderful!" he said gravely. 

"Oh, you appreciate me!" she burst out again. "I wish you didn't. Youappreciate us all--see good in all of us. And all the time you aredead--dead--dead. Look, why aren't you angry?" She came up to him, andthen her mood suddenly changed, and she took hold of both his hands. "You are so splendid, Mr. Herriton, that I can't bear to see you wasted. I can't bear--she has not been good to you--your mother. "

"Miss Abbott, don't worry over me. Some people are born not to dothings. I'm one of them; I never did anything at school or at the Bar. I came out to stop Lilia's marriage, and it was too late. I came outintending to get the baby, and I shall return an 'honourable failure. ' Inever expect anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. You would be surprised to know what my great events are. Going to thetheatre yesterday, talking to you now--I don't suppose I shall evermeet anything greater. I seem fated to pass through the world withoutcolliding with it or moving it--and I'm sure I can't tell you whetherthe fate's good or evil. I don't die--I don't fall in love. And if otherpeople die or fall in love they always do it when I'm just not there. You are quite right; life to me is just a spectacle, which--thank God, and thank Italy, and thank you--is now more beautiful and hearteningthan it has ever been before. "

She said solemnly, "I wish something would happen to you, my dearfriend; I wish something would happen to you. "

"But why?" he asked, smiling. "Prove to me why I don't do as I am. "

She also smiled, very gravely. She could not prove it. No argumentexisted. Their discourse, splendid as it had been, resulted in nothing, and their respective opinions and policies were exactly the same whenthey left the church as when they had entered it. 

Harriet was rude at lunch. She called Miss Abbott a turncoat and acoward to her face. Miss Abbott resented neither epithet, feeling thatone was justified and the other not unreasonable. She tried to avoideven the suspicion of satire in her replies. But Harriet was surethat she was satirical because she was so calm. She got more and moreviolent, and Philip at one time feared that she would come to blows. 

"Look here!" he cried, with something of the old manner, "it's toohot for this. We've been talking and interviewing each other all themorning, and I have another interview this afternoon. I do stipulate forsilence. Let each lady retire to her bedroom with a book. "

"I retire to pack, " said Harriet. "Please remind Signor Carella, Philip, that the baby is to be here by half-past eight this evening. "

"Oh, certainly, Harriet. I shall make a point of reminding him. "

"And order a carriage to take us to the evening train. "

"And please, " said Miss Abbott, "would you order a carriage for me too?"

"You going?" he exclaimed. 

"Of course, " she replied, suddenly flushing. "Why not?"

"Why, of course you would be going. Two carriages, then. Two carriagesfor the evening train. " He looked at his sister hopelessly. "Harriet, whatever are you up to? We shall never be ready. "

"Order my carriage for the evening train, " said Harriet, and departed. 

"Well, I suppose I shall. And I shall also have my interview with SignorCarella. "

Miss Abbott gave a little sigh. 

"But why should you mind? Do you suppose that I shall have the slightestinfluence over him?"

"No. But--I can't repeat all that I said in the church. You ought neverto see him again. You ought to bundle Harriet into a carriage, not thisevening, but now, and drive her straight away. "

"Perhaps I ought. But it isn't a very big 'ought. ' Whatever Harriet andI do the issue is the same. Why, I can see the splendour of it--even thehumour. Gino sitting up here on the mountain-top with his cub. We comeand ask for it. He welcomes us. We ask for it again. He is equallypleasant. I'm agreeable to spend the whole week bargaining with him. ButI know that at the end of it I shall descend empty-handed to theplains. It might be finer of me to make up my mind. But I'm not a finecharacter. And nothing hangs on it. "

"Perhaps I am extreme, " she said humbly. "I've been trying to run you, just like your mother. I feel you ought to fight it out with Harriet. Every little trifle, for some reason, does seem incalculably importanttoday, and when you say of a thing that 'nothing hangs on it, ' it soundslike blasphemy. There's never any knowing--(how am I to put it?)--whichof our actions, which of our idlenesses won't have things hanging on itfor ever. "

He assented, but her remark had only an aesthetic value. He was notprepared to take it to his heart. All the afternoon he rested--worried, but not exactly despondent. The thing would jog out somehow. ProbablyMiss Abbott was right. The baby had better stop where it was loved. Andthat, probably, was what the fates had decreed. He felt little interestin the matter, and he was sure that he had no influence. 

It was not surprising, therefore, that the interview at the CaffeGaribaldi came to nothing. Neither of them took it very seriously. Andbefore long Gino had discovered how things lay, and was ragging hiscompanion hopelessly. Philip tried to look offended, but in the endhe had to laugh. "Well, you are right, " he said. "This affair is beingmanaged by the ladies. "

"Ah, the ladies--the ladies!" cried the other, and then he roared likea millionaire for two cups of black coffee, and insisted on treating hisfriend, as a sign that their strife was over. 

"Well, I have done my best, " said Philip, dipping a long slice of sugarinto his cup, and watching the brown liquid ascend into it. "I shallface my mother with a good conscience. Will you bear me witness thatI've done my best?"

"My poor fellow, I will!" He laid a sympathetic hand on Philip's knee. 

"And that I have--" The sugar was now impregnated with coffee, and hebent forward to swallow it. As he did so his eyes swept the opposite ofthe Piazza, and he saw there, watching them, Harriet. "Mia sorella!" heexclaimed. Gino, much amused, laid his hand upon the little table, andbeat the marble humorously with his fists. Harriet turned away and begangloomily to inspect the Palazzo Pubblico. 

"Poor Harriet!" said Philip, swallowing the sugar. "One more wrench andit will all be over for her; we are leaving this evening. "

Gino was sorry for this. "Then you will not be here this evening as youpromised us. All three leaving?"

"All three, " said Philip, who had not revealed the secession of MissAbbott; "by the night train; at least, that is my sister's plan. So I'mafraid I shan't be here. "

They watched the departing figure of Harriet, and then entered upon thefinal civilities. They shook each other warmly by both hands. Philipwas to come again next year, and to write beforehand. He was to beintroduced to Gino's wife, for he was told of the marriage now. He wasto be godfather to his next baby. As for Gino, he would remember sometime that Philip liked vermouth. He begged him to give his love to Irma. Mrs. Herriton--should he send her his sympathetic regards? No; perhapsthat would hardly do. 

So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine affection. Forthe barrier of language is sometimes a blessed barrier, which only letspass what is good. Or--to put the thing less cynically--we may be betterin new clean words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness orvice. Philip, at all events, lived more graciously in Italian, the veryphrases of which entice one to be happy and kind. It was horrible tothink of the English of Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, asdistinct, and as unfinished as a lump of coal. 

Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to know that herbrother had failed again, and with unwonted dignity she accepted thesituation. She did her packing, she wrote up her diary, she made a brownpaper cover for the new Baedeker. Philip, finding her so amenable, triedto discuss their future plans. But she only said that they would sleepin Florence, and told him to telegraph for rooms. They had supperalone. Miss Abbott did not come down. The landlady told them that SignorCarella had called on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, though in, had not been able to see him. She also told them that it had begunto rain. Harriet sighed, but indicated to her brother that he was notresponsible. 

The carriages came round at a quarter past eight. It was not rainingmuch, but the night was extraordinarily dark, and one of the driverswanted to go slowly to the station. Miss Abbott came down and said thatshe was ready, and would start at once. 

"Yes, do, " said Philip, who was standing in the hall. "Now that we havequarrelled we scarcely want to travel in procession all the way down thehill. Well, good-bye; it's all over at last; another scene in my pageanthas shifted. "

"Good-bye; it's been a great pleasure to see you. I hope that won'tshift, at all events. " She gripped his hand. 

"You sound despondent, " he said, laughing. "Don't forget that you returnvictorious. "

"I suppose I do, " she replied, more despondently than ever, and got intothe carriage. He concluded that she was thinking of her reception atSawston, whither her fame would doubtless precede her. Whatever wouldMrs. Herriton do? She could make things quite unpleasant when shethought it right. She might think it right to be silent, but then therewas Harriet. Who would bridle Harriet's tongue? Between the two ofthem Miss Abbott was bound to have a bad time. Her reputation, both forconsistency and for moral enthusiasm, would be lost for ever. 

"It's hard luck on her, " he thought. "She is a good person. I must dofor her anything I can. " Their intimacy had been very rapid, but he toohoped that it would not shift. He believed that he understood her, and that she, by now, had seen the worst of him. What if after along time--if after all--he flushed like a boy as he looked after hercarriage. 

He went into the dining-room to look for Harriet. Harriet was not tobe found. Her bedroom, too, was empty. All that was left of her wasthe purple prayer-book which lay open on the bed. Philip took it upaimlessly, and saw--"Blessed be the Lord my God who teacheth my hands towar and my fingers to fight. " He put the book in his pocket, and beganto brood over more profitable themes. 

Santa Deodata gave out half past eight. All the luggage was on, andstill Harriet had not appeared. "Depend upon it, " said the landlady, "she has gone to Signor Carella's to say good-bye to her little nephew. "Philip did not think it likely. They shouted all over the house andstill there was no Harriet. He began to be uneasy. He was helplesswithout Miss Abbott; her grave, kind face had cheered him wonderfully, even when it looked displeased. Monteriano was sad without her; the rainwas thickening; the scraps of Donizetti floated tunelessly out of thewineshops, and of the great tower opposite he could only see the base, fresh papered with the advertisements of quacks. 

A man came up the street with a note. Philip read, "Start at once. Pickme up outside the gate. Pay the bearer. H. H. "

"Did the lady give you this note?" he cried. 

The man was unintelligible. 

"Speak up!" exclaimed Philip. "Who gave it you--and where?"

Nothing but horrible sighings and bubblings came out of the man. 

"Be patient with him, " said the driver, turning round on the box. "It isthe poor idiot. " And the landlady came out of the hotel and echoed "Thepoor idiot. He cannot speak. He takes messages for us all. "

Philip then saw that the messenger was a ghastly creature, quite bald, with trickling eyes and grey twitching nose. In another country he wouldhave been shut up; here he was accepted as a public institution, andpart of Nature's scheme. 

"Ugh!" shuddered the Englishman. "Signora padrona, find out from him;this note is from my sister. What does it mean? Where did he see her?"

"It is no good, " said the landlady. "He understands everything but hecan explain nothing. "

"He has visions of the saints, " said the man who drove the cab. 

"But my sister--where has she gone? How has she met him?"

"She has gone for a walk, " asserted the landlady. It was a nastyevening, but she was beginning to understand the English. "She has gonefor a walk--perhaps to wish good-bye to her little nephew. Preferring tocome back another way, she has sent you this note by the poor idiot andis waiting for you outside the Siena gate. Many of my guests do this. "

There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He shook hands withthe landlady, gave the messenger a nickel piece, and drove away. Aftera dozen yards the carriage stopped. The poor idiot was running andwhimpering behind. 

"Go on, " cried Philip. "I have paid him plenty. "

A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was part of theidiot's malady only to receive what was just for his services. This wasthe change out of the nickel piece. 

"Go on!" shouted Philip, and flung the money into the road. He wasfrightened at the episode; the whole of life had become unreal. It wasa relief to be out of the Siena gate. They drew up for a moment on theterrace. But there was no sign of Harriet. The driver called to theDogana men. But they had seen no English lady pass. 

"What am I to do?" he cried; "it is not like the lady to be late. Weshall miss the train. "

"Let us drive slowly, " said the driver, "and you shall call her by nameas we go. "

So they started down into the night, Philip calling "Harriet! Harriet!Harriet!" And there she was, waiting for them in the wet, at the firstturn of the zigzag. 

"Harriet, why don't you answer?"

"I heard you coming, " said she, and got quickly in. Not till then did hesee that she carried a bundle. 

"What's that?"

"Hush--"

"Whatever is that?"

"Hush--sleeping. "

Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had failed. It wasthe baby. 

She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was asleep, and sheput up an umbrella to shield it and her from the rain. He shouldhear all later, so he had to conjecture the course of the wonderfulinterview--an interview between the South pole and the North. It wasquite easy to conjecture: Gino crumpling up suddenly before the intenseconviction of Harriet; being told, perhaps, to his face that he was avillain; yielding his only son perhaps for money, perhaps for nothing. "Poor Gino, " he thought. "He's no greater than I am, after all. "

Then he thought of Miss Abbott, whose carriage must be descending thedarkness some mile or two below them, and his easy self-accusationfailed. She, too, had conviction; he had felt its force; he would feelit again when she knew this day's sombre and unexpected close. 

"You have been pretty secret, " he said; "you might tell me a little now. What do we pay for him? All we've got?"

"Hush!" answered Harriet, and dandled the bundle laboriously, like somebony prophetess--Judith, or Deborah, or Jael. He had last seen the babysprawling on the knees of Miss Abbott, shining and naked, with twentymiles of view behind him, and his father kneeling by his feet. Andthat remembrance, together with Harriet, and the darkness, and thepoor idiot, and the silent rain, filled him with sorrow and with theexpectation of sorrow to come. 

Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see nothing but theoccasional wet stem of an olive, which their lamp illumined as theypassed it. They travelled quickly, for this driver did not care how fasthe went to the station, and would dash down each incline and scuttleperilously round the curves. 

"Look here, Harriet, " he said at last, "I feel bad; I want to see thebaby. "

"Hush!"

"I don't mind if I do wake him up. I want to see him. I've as much rightin him as you. "

Harriet gave in. But it was too dark for him to see the child's face. "Wait a minute, " he whispered, and before she could stop him he hadlit a match under the shelter of her umbrella. "But he's awake!" heexclaimed. The match went out. 

"Good ickle quiet boysey, then. "

Philip winced. "His face, do you know, struck me as all wrong. "

"All wrong?"

"All puckered queerly. "

"Of course--with the shadows--you couldn't see him. "

"Well, hold him up again. " She did so. He lit another match. It went outquickly, but not before he had seen that the baby was crying. 

"Nonsense, " said Harriet sharply. "We should hear him if he cried. "

"No, he's crying hard; I thought so before, and I'm certain now. "

Harriet touched the child's face. It was bathed in tears. "Oh, the nightair, I suppose, " she said, "or perhaps the wet of the rain. "

"I say, you haven't hurt it, or held it the wrong way, or anything;it is too uncanny--crying and no noise. Why didn't you get Perfetta tocarry it to the hotel instead of muddling with the messenger? It's amarvel he understood about the note. "

"Oh, he understands. " And he could feel her shudder. "He tried to carrythe baby--"

"But why not Gino or Perfetta?"

"Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk. The baby wantsto sleep. " She crooned harshly as they descended, and now and then shewiped up the tears which welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. Philip looked away, winking at times himself. It was as if they weretravelling with the whole world's sorrow, as if all the mystery, all thepersistency of woe were gathered to a single fount. The roads werenow coated with mud, and the carriage went more quietly but not lessswiftly, sliding by long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarkspretty well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last view ofMonteriano, if they had light, would be from here. Soon they ought tocome to that little wood where violets were so plentiful in spring. Hewished the weather had not changed; it was not cold, but the air wasextraordinarily damp. It could not be good for the child. 

"I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?" he said. 

"Of course, " said Harriet, in an angry whisper. "You've started himagain. I'm certain he was asleep. I do wish you wouldn't talk; it makesme so nervous. "

"I'm nervous too. I wish he'd scream. It's too uncanny. Poor Gino! I'mterribly sorry for Gino. "

"Are you?"

"Because he's weak--like most of us. He doesn't know what he wants. Hedoesn't grip on to life. But I like that man, and I'm sorry for him. "

Naturally enough she made no answer. 

"You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you do us no goodby it. We fools want some one to set us on our feet. Suppose a reallydecent woman had set up Gino--I believe Caroline Abbott might have doneit--mightn't he have been another man?"

"Philip, " she interrupted, with an attempt at nonchalance, "do youhappen to have those matches handy? We might as well look at the babyagain if you have. "

The first match blew out immediately. So did the second. He suggestedthat they should stop the carriage and borrow the lamp from the driver. 

"Oh, I don't want all that bother. Try again. "

They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the third match. At last it caught. Harriet poised the umbrella rightly, and for a fullquarter minute they contemplated the face that trembled in the light ofthe trembling flame. Then there was a shout and a crash. They were lyingin the mud in darkness. The carriage had overturned. 

Philip was a good deal hurt. He sat up and rocked himself to and fro, holding his arm. He could just make out the outline of the carriageabove him, and the outlines of the carriage cushions and of theirluggage upon the grey road. The accident had taken place in the wood, where it was even darker than in the open. 

"Are you all right?" he managed to say. Harriet was screaming, the horsewas kicking, the driver was cursing some other man. 

Harriet's screams became coherent. "The baby--the baby--it slipped--it'sgone from my arms--I stole it!"

"God help me!" said Philip. A cold circle came round his mouth, and, hefainted. 

When he recovered it was still the same confusion. The horse waskicking, the baby had not been found, and Harriet still screamed like amaniac, "I stole it! I stole it! I stole it! It slipped out of my arms!"

"Keep still!" he commanded the driver. "Let no one move. We may tread onit. Keep still. "

For a moment they all obeyed him. He began to crawl through the mud, touching first this, then that, grasping the cushions by mistake, listening for the faintest whisper that might guide him. He tried tolight a match, holding the box in his teeth and striking at it with theuninjured hand. At last he succeeded, and the light fell upon the bundlewhich he was seeking. 

It had rolled off the road into the wood a little way, and had fallenacross a great rut. So tiny it was that had it fallen lengthways itwould have disappeared, and he might never have found it. 

"I stole it! I and the idiot--no one was there. " She burst out laughing. 

He sat down and laid it on his knee. Then he tried to cleanse the facefrom the mud and the rain and the tears. His arm, he supposed, wasbroken, but he could still move it a little, and for the moment heforgot all pain. He was listening--not for a cry, but for the tick of aheart or the slightest tremor of breath. 

"Where are you?" called a voice. It was Miss Abbott, against whosecarriage they had collided. She had relit one of the lamps, and waspicking her way towards him. 

"Silence!" he called again, and again they obeyed. He shook the bundle;he breathed into it; he opened his coat and pressed it against him. Thenhe listened, and heard nothing but the rain and the panting horses, andHarriet, who was somewhere chuckling to herself in the dark. 

Miss Abbott approached, and took it gently from him. The face wasalready chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no longer wet. Nor would itagain be wetted by any tear. 

Chapter 9

The details of Harriet's crime were never known. In her illnessshe spoke more of the inlaid box that she lent to Lilia--lent, notgiven--than of recent troubles. It was clear that she had gone preparedfor an interview with Gino, and finding him out, she had yielded to agrotesque temptation. But how far this was the result of ill-temper, towhat extent she had been fortified by her religion, when and how she hadmet the poor idiot--these questions were never answered, nor did theyinterest Philip greatly. Detection was certain: they would have beenarrested by the police of Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. As itwas, they had been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles out of thetown. 

As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too great. Round theItalian baby who had died in the mud there centred deep passions andhigh hopes. People had been wicked or wrong in the matter; no one savehimself had been trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained thisvast apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead, who seemedto take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. Thepassion they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or totransfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy. And Philip knew that hewas still voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sunor the clouds above him, and the tides below. 

The course of the moment--that, at all events, was certain. He and noone else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to talk of Harriet'scrime--easy also to blame the negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton athome. Every one had contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If onechose, one might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of fate. But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, due to acknowledgedweakness in his own character. Therefore he, and no one else, must takethe news of it to Gino. 

Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, and peoplehad sprung out of the darkness and were conducting them towards somecottage. Philip had only to get into the uninjured carriage and orderthe driver to return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours'absence. Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him cheerfully. Pain, physical and mental, had made him stupid. It was some time beforehe realized that she had never missed the child. 

Gino was still out. The woman took him to the reception-room, just asshe had taken Miss Abbott in the morning, and dusted a circle for him onone of the horsehair chairs. But it was dark now, so she left the guesta little lamp. 

"I will be as quick as I can, " she told him. "But there are many streetsin Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to find. I could not find himthis morning. "

"Go first to the Caffe Garibaldi, " said Philip, remembering that thiswas the hour appointed by his friends of yesterday. 

He occupied the time he was left alone not in thinking--there wasnothing to think about; he simply had to tell a few facts--but in tryingto make a sling for his broken arm. The trouble was in the elbow-joint, and as long as he kept this motionless he could go on as usual. Butinflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him agony. Thesling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the stairs, crying--

"So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--"

Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even tones he told whathad happened; and the other, also perfectly calm, heard him to the end. In the silence Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby'sevening milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the lampwithout a word, and they went into the other room. 

"My sister is ill, " said Philip, "and Miss Abbott is guiltless. I shouldbe glad if you did not have to trouble them. "

Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the place where hisson had lain. Now and then he frowned a little and glanced at Philip. 

"It is through me, " he continued. "It happened because I was cowardlyand idle. I have come to know what you will do. "

Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from the end, as ifhe was blind. The action was so uncanny that Philip was driven tointervene. 

"Gently, man, gently; he is not here. "

He went up and touched him on the shoulder. 

He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over things morerapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire floor, the walls as highas he could reach them. Philip had not presumed to comfort him. But nowthe tension was too great--he tried. 

"Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and curse and give in fora little; you must break down. "

There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping hands. 

"It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be ill like my sister. You will go--"

The tour of the room was over. He had touched everything in it exceptPhilip. Now he approached him. He face was that of a man who has losthis old reason for life and seeks a new one. 

"Gino!"

He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip stood his ground. 

"You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is dead, Gino. Hedied in my arms, remember. It does not excuse me; but he did die in myarms. "

The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It hovered before Philiplike an insect. Then it descended and gripped him by his broken elbow. 

Philip struck out with all the strength of his other arm. Gino fell tothe blow without a cry or a word. 

"You brute!" exclaimed the Englishman. "Kill me if you like! But justyou leave my broken arm alone. "

Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his adversary andtried to revive him. He managed to raise him up, and propped his bodyagainst his own. He passed his arm round him. Again he was filled withpity and tenderness. He awaited the revival without fear, sure that bothof them were safe at last. 

Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one blessed moment itseemed that he was going to speak. But he scrambled up in silence, remembering everything, and he made not towards Philip, but towards thelamp. 

"Do what you like; but think first--"

The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the loggia. It brokeagainst one of the trees below. Philip began to cry out in the dark. 

Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch. Philip spunround with a yell. He had only been pinched on the back, but he knewwhat was in store for him. He struck out, exhorting the devil to fighthim, to kill him, to do anything but this. Then he stumbled to the door. It was open. He lost his head, and, instead of turning down the stairs, he ran across the landing into the room opposite. There he lay down onthe floor between the stove and the skirting-board. 

His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in on tiptoe. He evenknew what was passing in his mind, how now he was at fault, now hewas hopeful, now he was wondering whether after all the victim had notescaped down the stairs. There was a quick swoop above him, and thena low growl like a dog's. Gino had broken his finger-nails against thestove. 

Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can just bear it whenit comes by accident or for our good--as it generally does in modernlife--except at school. But when it is caused by the malignity of aman, full grown, fashioned like ourselves, all our control disappears. Philip's one thought was to get away from that room at whateversacrifice of nobility or pride. 

Gino was now at the further end of the room, groping by the littletables. Suddenly the instinct came to him. He crawled quickly to wherePhilip lay and had him clean by the elbow. 

The whole arm seemed red-hot, and the broken bone grated in the joint, sending out shoots of the essence of pain. His other arm was pinionedagainst the wall, and Gino had trampled in behind the stove and waskneeling on his legs. For the space of a minute he yelled and yelledwith all the force of his lungs. Then this solace was denied him. Theother hand, moist and strong, began to close round his throat. 

At first he was glad, for here, he thought, was death at last. Butit was only a new torture; perhaps Gino inherited the skill of hisancestors--and childlike ruffians who flung each other from the towers. Just as the windpipe closed, the hand fell off, and Philip was revivedby the motion of his arm. And just as he was about to faint and gain atlast one moment of oblivion, the motion stopped, and he would struggleinstead against the pressure on his throat. 

Vivid pictures were dancing through the pain--Lilia dying some monthsback in this very house, Miss Abbott bending over the baby, his motherat home, now reading evening prayers to the servants. He felt that hewas growing weaker; his brain wandered; the agony did not seem so great. Not all Gino's care could indefinitely postpone the end. His yells andgurgles became mechanical--functions of the tortured flesh rather thantrue notes of indignation and despair. He was conscious of a horridtumbling. Then his arm was pulled a little too roughly, and everythingwas quiet at last. 

"But your son is dead, Gino. Your son is dead, dear Gino. Your son isdead. "

The room was full of light, and Miss Abbott had Gino by the shoulders, holding him down in a chair. She was exhausted with the struggle, andher arms were trembling. 

"What is the good of another death? What is the good of more pain?"

He too began to tremble. Then he turned and looked curiously at Philip, whose face, covered with dust and foam, was visible by the stove. MissAbbott allowed him to get up, though she still held him firmly. He gavea loud and curious cry--a cry of interrogation it might be called. Belowthere was the noise of Perfetta returning with the baby's milk. 

"Go to him, " said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. "Pick him up. Treathim kindly. "

She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His eyes were fillingwith trouble. He bent down, as if he would gently raise him up. 

"Help! help!" moaned Philip. His body had suffered too much from Gino. It could not bear to be touched by him. 

Gino seemed to understand. He stopped, crouched above him. Miss Abbottherself came forward and lifted her friend in her arms. 

"Oh, the foul devil!" he murmured. "Kill him! Kill him for me. "

Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his face. Then shesaid gravely to them both, "This thing stops here. "

"Latte! latte!" cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending the stairs. 

"Remember, " she continued, "there is to be no revenge. I will have nomore intentional evil. We are not to fight with each other any more. "

"I shall never forgive him, " sighed Philip. 

"Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!" Perfetta came in withanother lamp and a little jug. 

Gino spoke for the first time. "Put the milk on the table, " he said. "It will not be wanted in the other room. " The peril was over at last. A great sob shook the whole body, another followed, and then he gave apiercing cry of woe, and stumbled towards Miss Abbott like a child andclung to her. 

All through the day Miss Abbott had seemed to Philip like a goddess, andmore than ever did she seem so now. Many people look younger and moreintimate during great emotion. But some there are who look older, andremote, and he could not think that there was little difference inyears, and none in composition, between her and the man whose head waslaid upon her breast. Her eyes were open, full of infinite pity andfull of majesty, as if they discerned the boundaries of sorrow, and sawunimaginable tracts beyond. Such eyes he had seen in great pictures butnever in a mortal. Her hands were folded round the sufferer, strokinghim lightly, for even a goddess can do no more than that. And it seemedfitting, too, that she should bend her head and touch his forehead withher lips. 

Philip looked away, as he sometimes looked away from the great pictureswhere visible forms suddenly become inadequate for the things they haveshown to us. He was happy; he was assured that there was greatness inthe world. There came to him an earnest desire to be good through theexample of this good woman. He would try henceforward to be worthy ofthe things she had revealed. Quietly, without hysterical prayers orbanging of drums, he underwent conversion. He was saved. 

"That milk, " said she, "need not be wasted. Take it, Signor Carella, andpersuade Mr. Herriton to drink. "

Gino obeyed her, and carried the child's milk to Philip. And Philipobeyed also and drank. 

"Is there any left?"

"A little, " answered Gino. 

"Then finish it. " For she was determined to use such remnants as lieabout the world. 

"Will you not have some?"

"I do not care for milk; finish it all. "

"Philip, have you had enough milk?"

"Yes, thank you, Gino; finish it all. "

He drank the milk, and then, either by accident or in some spasm ofpain, broke the jug to pieces. Perfetta exclaimed in bewilderment. "Itdoes not matter, " he told her. "It does not matter. It will never bewanted any more. "

Chapter 10

"He will have to marry her, " said Philip. "I heard from him thismorning, just as we left Milan. He finds he has gone too far to backout. It would be expensive. I don't know how much he minds--not as muchas we suppose, I think. At all events there's not a word of blame in theletter. I don't believe he even feels angry. I never was so completelyforgiven. Ever since you stopped him killing me, it has been a vision ofperfect friendship. He nursed me, he lied for me at the inquest, and atthe funeral, though he was crying, you would have thought it was my sonwho had died. Certainly I was the only person he had to be kind to;he was so distressed not to make Harriet's acquaintance, and that hescarcely saw anything of you. In his letter he says so again. "

"Thank him, please, when you write, " said Miss Abbott, "and give him mykindest regards. "

"Indeed I will. " He was surprised that she could slide away from theman so easily. For his own part, he was bound by ties of almost alarmingintimacy. Gino had the southern knack of friendship. In the intervalsof business he would pull out Philip's life, turn it inside out, remodel it, and advise him how to use it for the best. The sensation waspleasant, for he was a kind as well as a skilful operator. But Philipcame away feeling that he had not a secret corner left. In thatvery letter Gino had again implored him, as a refuge from domesticdifficulties, "to marry Miss Abbott, even if her dowry is small. " Andhow Miss Abbott herself, after such tragic intercourse, could resumethe conventions and send calm messages of esteem, was more than he couldunderstand. 

"When will you see him again?" she asked. They were standing together inthe corridor of the train, slowly ascending out of Italy towards the SanGothard tunnel. 

"I hope next spring. Perhaps we shall paint Siena red for a day ortwo with some of the new wife's money. It was one of the arguments formarrying her. "

"He has no heart, " she said severely. "He does not really mind about thechild at all. "

"No; you're wrong. He does. He is unhappy, like the rest of us. But hedoesn't try to keep up appearances as we do. He knows that the thingsthat have made him happy once will probably make him happy again--"

"He said he would never be happy again. "

"In his passion. Not when he was calm. We English say it when we arecalm--when we do not really believe it any longer. Gino is not ashamedof inconsistency. It is one of the many things I like him for. "

"Yes; I was wrong. That is so. "

"He's much more honest with himself than I am, " continued Philip, "andhe is honest without an effort and without pride. But you, Miss Abbott, what about you? Will you be in Italy next spring?"

"No. "

"I'm sorry. When will you come back, do you think?"

"I think never. "

"For whatever reason?" He stared at her as if she were some monstrosity. 

"Because I understand the place. There is no need. "

"Understand Italy!" he exclaimed. 

"Perfectly. "

"Well, I don't. And I don't understand you, " he murmured to himself, ashe paced away from her up the corridor. By this time he loved her verymuch, and he could not bear to be puzzled. He had reached love by thespiritual path: her thoughts and her goodness and her nobility hadmoved him first, and now her whole body and all its gestures had becometransfigured by them. The beauties that are called obvious--the beautiesof her hair and her voice and her limbs--he had noticed theselast; Gino, who never traversed any path at all, had commended themdispassionately to his friend. 

Why was he so puzzling? He had known so much about her once--what shethought, how she felt, the reasons for her actions. And now he only knewthat he loved her, and all the other knowledge seemed passing from himjust as he needed it most. Why would she never come to Italy again? Whyhad she avoided himself and Gino ever since the evening that she hadsaved their lives? The train was nearly empty. Harriet slumbered ina compartment by herself. He must ask her these questions now, and hereturned quickly to her down the corridor. 

She greeted him with a question of her own. "Are your plans decided?"

"Yes. I can't live at Sawston. "

"Have you told Mrs. Herriton?"

"I wrote from Monteriano. I tried to explain things; but she willnever understand me. Her view will be that the affair is settled--sadlysettled since the baby is dead. Still it's over; our family circle needbe vexed no more. She won't even be angry with you. You see, you havedone us no harm in the long run. Unless, of course, you talk aboutHarriet and make a scandal. So that is my plan--London and work. What isyours?"

"Poor Harriet!" said Miss Abbott. "As if I dare judge Harriet! Oranybody. " And without replying to Philip's question she left him tovisit the other invalid. 

Philip gazed after her mournfully, and then he looked mournfully out ofthe window at the decreasing streams. All the excitement was over--theinquest, Harriet's short illness, his own visit to the surgeon. He wasconvalescent, both in body and spirit, but convalescence brought no joy. In the looking-glass at the end of the corridor he saw his face haggard, and his shoulders pulled forward by the weight of the sling. Life wasgreater than he had supposed, but it was even less complete. He had seenthe need for strenuous work and for righteousness. And now he saw what avery little way those things would go. 

"Is Harriet going to be all right?" he asked. Miss Abbott had come backto him. 

"She will soon be her old self, " was the reply. For Harriet, after ashort paroxysm of illness and remorse, was quickly returning to hernormal state. She had been "thoroughly upset" as she phrased it, butshe soon ceased to realize that anything was wrong beyond the death ofa poor little child. Already she spoke of "this unlucky accident, " and"the mysterious frustration of one's attempts to make things better. "Miss Abbott had seen that she was comfortable, and had given her a kindkiss. But she returned feeling that Harriet, like her mother, consideredthe affair as settled. 

"I'm clear enough about Harriet's future, and about parts of my own. ButI ask again, What about yours?"

"Sawston and work, " said Miss Abbott. 

"No. "

"Why not?" she asked, smiling. 

"You've seen too much. You've seen as much and done more than I have. "

"But it's so different. Of course I shall go to Sawston. You forgetmy father; and even if he wasn't there, I've a hundred ties: mydistrict--I'm neglecting it shamefully--my evening classes, the St. James'--"

"Silly nonsense!" he exploded, suddenly moved to have the whole thingout with her. "You're too good--about a thousand times better than I am. You can't live in that hole; you must go among people who can hope tounderstand you. I mind for myself. I want to see you often--again andagain. "

"Of course we shall meet whenever you come down; and I hope that it willmean often. "

"It's not enough; it'll only be in the old horrible way, each with adozen relatives round us. No, Miss Abbott; it's not good enough. "

"We can write at all events. "

"You will write?" he cried, with a flush of pleasure. At times his hopesseemed so solid. 

"I will indeed. "

"But I say it's not enough--you can't go back to the old life if youwanted to. Too much has happened. "

"I know that, " she said sadly. 

"Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things: that tower in thesunlight--do you remember it, and all you said to me? The theatre, even. And the next day--in the church; and our times with Gino. "

"All the wonderful things are over, " she said. "That is just where itis. "

"I don't believe it. At all events not for me. The most wonderful thingsmay be to come--"

"The wonderful things are over, " she repeated, and looked at him somournfully that he dare not contradict her. The train was crawling upthe last ascent towards the Campanile of Airolo and the entrance of thetunnel. 

"Miss Abbott, " he murmured, speaking quickly, as if their freeintercourse might soon be ended, "what is the matter with you? Ithought I understood you, and I don't. All those two great first days atMonteriano I read you as clearly as you read me still. I saw why youhad come, and why you changed sides, and afterwards I saw your wonderfulcourage and pity. And now you're frank with me one moment, as you usedto be, and the next moment you shut me up. You see I owe too much toyou--my life, and I don't know what besides. I won't stand it. You'vegone too far to turn mysterious. I'll quote what you said to me: 'Don'tbe mysterious; there isn't the time. ' I'll quote something else: 'I andmy life must be where I live. ' You can't live at Sawston. "

He had moved her at last. She whispered to herself hurriedly. "It istempting--" And those three words threw him into a tumult of joy. Whatwas tempting to her? After all was the greatest of things possible?Perhaps, after long estrangement, after much tragedy, the South hadbrought them together in the end. That laughter in the theatre, thosesilver stars in the purple sky, even the violets of a departed spring, all had helped, and sorrow had helped also, and so had tenderness toothers. 

"It is tempting, " she repeated, "not to be mysterious. I've wanted oftento tell you, and then been afraid. I could never tell any one else, certainly no woman, and I think you're the one man who might understandand not be disgusted. "

"Are you lonely?" he whispered. "Is it anything like that?"

"Yes. " The train seemed to shake him towards her. He was resolved thatthough a dozen people were looking, he would yet take her in hisarms. "I'm terribly lonely, or I wouldn't speak. I think you must knowalready. " Their faces were crimson, as if the same thought was surgingthrough them both. 

"Perhaps I do. " He came close to her. "Perhaps I could speak instead. But if you will say the word plainly you'll never be sorry; I will thankyou for it all my life. "

She said plainly, "That I love him. " Then she broke down. Her body wasshaken with sobs, and lest there should be any doubt she cried betweenthe sobs for Gino! Gino! Gino!

He heard himself remark "Rather! I love him too! When I can forget howhe hurt me that evening. Though whenever we shake hands--" One of themmust have moved a step or two, for when she spoke again she was alreadya little way apart. 

"You've upset me. " She stifled something that was perilously nearhysterics. "I thought I was past all this. You're taking it wrongly. I'min love with Gino--don't pass it off--I mean it crudely--you know what Imean. So laugh at me. "

"Laugh at love?" asked Philip. 

"Yes. Pull it to pieces. Tell me I'm a fool or worse--that he's a cad. Say all you said when Lilia fell in love with him. That's the helpI want. I dare tell you this because I like you--and because you'rewithout passion; you look on life as a spectacle; you don't enter it;you only find it funny or beautiful. So I can trust you to cure me. Mr. Herriton, isn't it funny?" She tried to laugh herself, but becamefrightened and had to stop. "He's not a gentleman, nor a Christian, norgood in any way. He's never flattered me nor honoured me. But becausehe's handsome, that's been enough. The son of an Italian dentist, witha pretty face. " She repeated the phrase as if it was a charm againstpassion. "Oh, Mr. Herriton, isn't it funny!" Then, to his relief, shebegan to cry. "I love him, and I'm not ashamed of it. I love him, andI'm going to Sawston, and if I mayn't speak about him to you sometimes, I shall die. "

In that terrible discovery Philip managed to think not of himself but ofher. He did not lament. He did not even speak to her kindly, for he sawthat she could not stand it. A flippant reply was what she asked andneeded--something flippant and a little cynical. And indeed it was theonly reply he could trust himself to make. 

"Perhaps it is what the books call 'a passing fancy'?"

She shook her head. Even this question was too pathetic. For as faras she knew anything about herself, she knew that her passions, oncearoused, were sure. "If I saw him often, " she said, "I might rememberwhat he is like. Or he might grow old. But I dare not risk it, sonothing can alter me now. "

"Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know. " After all, he could saywhat he wanted. 

"Oh, you shall know quick enough--"

"But before you retire to Sawston--are you so mighty sure?"

"What of?" She had stopped crying. He was treating her exactly as shehad hoped. 

"That you and he--" He smiled bitterly at the thought of them together. Here was the cruel antique malice of the gods, such as they once sentforth against Pasiphae. Centuries of aspiration and culture--and theworld could not escape it. "I was going to say--whatever have you got incommon?"

"Nothing except the times we have seen each other. " Again her face wascrimson. He turned his own face away. 

"Which--which times?"

"The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went instead of you toget the baby. That began it, as far as I know the beginning. Or it mayhave begun when you took us to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up withmusic and light. But didn't understand till the morning. Then you openedthe door--and I knew why I had been so happy. Afterwards, in the church, I prayed for us all; not for anything new, but that we might just be aswe were--he with the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out ofthe place--and that I might never see him or speak to him again. I couldhave pulled through then--the thing was only coming near, like a wreathof smoke; it hadn't wrapped me round. "

"But through my fault, " said Philip solemnly, "he is parted from thechild he loves. And because my life was in danger you came and sawhim and spoke to him again. " For the thing was even greater than sheimagined. Nobody but himself would ever see round it now. And to seeround it he was standing at an immense distance. He could even be gladthat she had once held the beloved in her arms. 

"Don't talk of 'faults. ' You're my friend for ever, Mr. Herriton, Ithink. Only don't be charitable and shift or take the blame. Get oversupposing I'm refined. That's what puzzles you. Get over that. "

As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have indeed no partwith refinement or unrefinement any longer. Out of this wreck there wasrevealed to him something indestructible--something which she, who hadgiven it, could never take away. 

"I say again, don't be charitable. If he had asked me, I might havegiven myself body and soul. That would have been the end of my rescueparty. But all through he took me for a superior being--a goddess. Iwho was worshipping every inch of him, and every word he spoke. And thatsaved me. "

Philip's eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo. But he saw insteadthe fair myth of Endymion. This woman was a goddess to the end. Forher no love could be degrading: she stood outside all degradation. Thisepisode, which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for him, remained supremely beautiful. To such a height was he lifted, thatwithout regret he could now have told her that he was her worshippertoo. But what was the use of telling her? For all the wonderful thingshad happened. 

"Thank you, " was all that he permitted himself. "Thank you foreverything. "

She looked at him with great friendliness, for he had made her lifeendurable. At that moment the train entered the San Gothard tunnel. Theyhurried back to the carriage to close the windows lest the smuts shouldget into Harriet's eyes.