^!3mKmmammm 4LBILA4 ^ANTONIO FOGAZZARD f \ ,m^ g i uw wiuM i ?i T ?n;? TT-tptiPtJ i ghiyww B ifteii B fyxull UTOmitg Jilrttpg THE GIFT OF HtmriL^ .^. PoddajT-. ooiv. iS|.xr[i.H" 3777 The date shows when this volume was taken. To renew this book' copy the call No. and give to the ubrarian iJ OtC^llA HOME USE RULES. !lfAft, mb All Books subject to Recall All books must be re- turned at end of college ^ear for inspection and Oiti, repairs. »*(SI iLjnp J Students must re- ' -^X' turn all books before •';''. leaving town. Officers I «a 'Q*? should arrange for the vAv X O "*■ return of books wanted " ' during their absence from toWn. ■5 •'5 \^dR Book's needed by / i>3^9 more than one person are held on the reserve list. Volumes of periodi- cals and of parclphlets are lield in the library as 'niVch as possible. For special purposes they are given out for a limited time; Borrowers should not use their library piiyileg;es for the bene- : fit of other persons. Books pf spedal value and gift books, yy when the giver wishes ■ it, are not allowed to circulate. Readers are asked to ' report all cases of books marked or mutilated. Do not deface books by mark^ and writing. nn >o«.S?i?!5!!' University Library PQ 4688.F65L5 1911 Leila / 3 1924 027 "661 663"" Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027661663 LEILA LEILA BY ANTONIO FOGAZZARO AUTHOR of" "THE SAINT" TRANSLATED BY MARY PRICHARD AGNETTI GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY NEW YORK Publishers in America for H odder & Stoughton E.V- Prtnicd in I9I 1 CONTENTS CHAPTER I A MYSTIC PRELUDE » .... I CHAPTER II DISTAFFS AND THREADS . . , . .39 CHAPTER III THE WOOF. • . 94 CHAPTER IV SHEARS , , . . , , .128 CHAPTER V THE SHADOW OF SIGNOR DA CAMIN . , . I92 vi CONTENTS FAGB CHAPTER VI IN THE TOWER OF PRIDE . . . • . 199 ' CHAPTER VII FROM THE HEIGHTS TO THE DEPTHS ... 227 CHAPTER VIII «OLY ALLIANCES . . . . • . 251 CHAPTER IX THE VILLINO OF THORNS . . . « . 272 CHAPTER X THE GAME BEGINS ..... 286 CHAPTER Xi AWAY FROM LOVE AND THE WORLD . , . 30I CHAPTER XII •CONCERNING A SOUL . . . .„ .316 CONTENTS vii •AGE CHAPTER XIII 'AVEO" . . . . . . .336 CHAPTER XIV A DROP OF THE PATERNAL BLOOD . , "SSI CHAPTER XV OH ! POOR ME I . . . . . •374 CHAPTER XVI NIGHT AND FLAMES . . • • . 396 CHAPTER XVH rHE WHITE LADY OF THE ROSES . . , , 427 CHAPTER I A MYSTIC PRELUDE '* SiGNORlNA 1 " called Giovanni the footman, enter- ing the dining-room breathlessly, after looking for her in the garden, in the drawing-room, and in her own chamber. It was nine o'clock, and his master and Signorina Lelia had finished dinner before eight. The master had withdrawn to his study almost immediately ; the Signorina had gone into the garden. But now she was in the dining-room again by the window. Her eyes were fixed on the grove of chestnuts to the east, over beyond the ravine, where a brawling stream makes its way from a small lake hidden behind the green shoulders of the lofty peak of Priafork. But she was straining her ear to catch a far-away sound that rose and fell — the rumbling of a distant train speeding towards the Val d'Astico above which the villa is situated. She turned suddenly at the servant's call, crushing a letter in her hands. " What is the matter? " " The master is unwell." Lelia uttered an exclamation. The fellow gazed stupidly at her. She started forward, then, pausing, spoke again to the slow- .witted footman. •• Where is he? " laia. 2 2 A MYSTIC PRELUDE " In the study, I think." Lelia ran towards the salon and met the maid Teresina coming towards her with outstretched hands. " It is nothing— nothing," Teresina said quietly, diverting Lelia 's attention to a locket that had fallen open from her belt. The girl chafed with impatience while the maid carefully closed it for her. Never- theless, the action calmed her. " Giovanni, go and prepare the guests' room," said Teresina, addressing the footman, who stood listening, half dazed, half curious. Lelia trembled. " Is there something Giovanni must not know? " she asked. " No, Signorina, no I " said Teresina, speaking with the accent of her native Trent. But it struck Lelia that the maid was deliberately delaying her explanation. " ,Why don't you speak? " she burst out. Teresina cast a quick glance towards the study, door. She was anxious to spare the Signorina, who was delicate and nervous, and so easily excited. " If he should come out," she whispered, " and find us here talking, he might suspect something. We had better go away." Followed by Teresina, Lelia hurried across the salon and entered the dining-room. Anxious though she was to hear the maid's story, she listened a moment to the whistle of the train, wondering whether it was signalling from San Giorgio or from the station of Seghe. Then . . . " Tell me 1 " she demanded. Well, as usual, Teresina had carried the master's letters to him in his study. From the threshold she had seen him bend his head first backwards and then towards his left shoulder, close his eyes, open them with a wild stare, and again close them, only to strain them wide once more, so that the balls showed white. She had sprinkled some water upon his face and had sent the footman in search A MYSTIC PRELUDE 3 of the Signorina, for, to tell the truth, she had really felt somewhat startled at first. Meanwhile the master had sighed deeply and had muttered something about a sudden drowsiness. Then he had opened his letters and papers, and seeing that she was hesitating whether to leave the room or to remain, he had dismissed her. Outside she had listened, but had heard only the rustle of papers. So . . . A bell sounded twice. " The master 1 " Teresina exclaimed, and hurried away. Lelia followed her a few steps, but stopped in the drawing-room, watching the maid's retreating figure, watching the billiard-room door, that closed softly behind her, listening, and waiting for Teresina to come back. Meanwhile the train was whistling beneath the heights of Santa Maria, just before running into the terminus station of Arsiero. From the station it was a walk of some ten minutes to "La Mon- tanina," the villa, so called because, with its gabled roofs and its back to the hill, among groves and fields that stretch downwards to the deep Posina, it is so like one of those peasant women who come wearily down from the steeps of Priafork, and pause to rest awhile upon the bundle of wood they have gathered in the forests. In this villa lived Lelia and Signor Marcello Trento. Teresina, as devoted to Signor Marcello as she had been for twenty years to his wife, who had now been dead two years, knocked at the study door, trembling lest her master might have been seized again with illness. Encouraged by the sound of his " Come in ! " she entered, smiling, that he might not notice any signs of her recent fright. The door opened on the left of the easy -chair in which Signor Marcello was seated at a table littered i A MYSTIC PRELUDE with papers, and in the light of an antique Florentine brass lamp, which had shone upon his father's grey head, and now shed its glow upon his own, in which the grey and auburn were mingled. His hair was wild and rough and of that coarse texture perhaps characteristic of virile natures. As Teresina entered he turned towards her a face showing a moustache and tuft upon the chin that were lighter in tone than his hair, and, beneath a low and wrinkled brow, eyes that were terrible in anger but most gentle in moments of tenderness. Just now it was the face of the unrelenting inquisitor, and the woman was conscious of a blush that flamed to the roots of her hair. " How is it," he demanded, " that I am all wet? " " I don't know," she answered. " You don't know, indeed? Who poured water upon my hair? Don't you understand me? " Teresina felt that further denial would only make matters worse. " You fell asleep," she began, " and I thought you had fainted, so I sprinkled a little water over you. I beg your pardon I " " How stupid you are I " Signor Marcello ex- claimed. " At first I could not understand, but then I guessed it must have happened in that way. But it was stupid of you." " Yes, sir, I fear it was." Teresina was greatly relieved. She could hardly nave hoped for anything better than that her master should believe he had been asleep. She was about to withdraw when Signor Marcello stopped her with a wave of his hand. " I want to know whether the train from Schio has arrived." " I don't know— non so no," Teresina stammered, and then quickly begged him to excuse a phrase savouring of the dialect of Trent, which never failed to irritate Signor Marcello. She passed slowly in A MYSTIC PRELUDE 6 front of her master and took up the snuffers, intend- ing to mend one of the wicks of the Florentine lamp, which had begun to smoke. " Let it alone I " he growled. " Do you suppose I cannot snuff a wick better than you can? " Again the servant asked his pardon and left the room, walking on tiptoe lest the noise of her steps should cause him further irritation. She had hardly begun to tell Lelia about her master, when she was once more summoned by the double ring. " What does he want now? " Teresina wondered anxiously. She saw at once that Signor Marcello's face had changed — that it was now all gentleness. " Forgive me," he said kindly. " Perhaps, after all, it is I who am stupid. Were my eyes open or closed when I was asleep? " " They were closed." "Did I not open them at all? Did you not see the white of my eyeballs? " Teresina's blood ran cold, and she hesitated an instant before answering in the negative. Her master was scrutinising her with that inquisitorial glance that always made her shiver. She became confused, and instead of insisting in her denial, declared she really could not remember. " And where did you get the water? " Signor Marcello asked quietly. Teresina had filled a glass at the washstand in his bedroom beyond the study. She saw that by confessing this she would be admitting that the questionable nap had lasted a certain length of time. She failed, however, to find a fitting lie on the spur of the moment, and so answered truthfully, but with the hesitation of one who confesses reluctantly. Signor Marcello gazed searchingly at her a little longer, and then said gently : " You can go now, my dear. Let me know wheij Signor Alberti arrives." 6 A MYSTIC PRELUDE Teresina left the room, alarmed, she knew not why, by his extreme gentleness. It was the third time in two -and -twenty years that he had addressed her as " my dear." He had pronounced the words carelessly enough the first time, when she had pre- sented herself to him on entering his service. He had uttered them a second time, impelled by profound emotion, upon the death of his only son, Andrea, when he had thanked her for her part in the nursing which she had shared with himself, the mother being incapacitated by the disease that killed her a year and a half later. The quiet tenderness of this third cara was something quite new. Alone once more, Signor Marcello rose slowly to his feet. His face was colourless. Turning to the broad window, he joined his hands as in prayer, gazing with reverent eyes at the dark sky above the Torraro and the army of mighty chestnuts extend- ing from the slope of Lago di Vplo to the ravine of the Posina. He was close upon his seventy -second year — ^his father's age on that night when a similar attack of arteriosclerosis had overcome him, and the doctor's verdict had prepared the family for the old man's death five months afterwards. The silent flame of the lamp that had been found burning by his dead father's side seemed a living syihbol of that tragedy. But to Signor Marcello the moment was not tragic ; it was the solemn warning of the coming of a welcome day, the happiest that God could now grant him, of departure and eternal reunion with beloved ones. His heart was full of tenderness, and yet fear of the God of love who is also the God of justice swayed him. His soul glowed and quivered, but was speechless, like the wavering flame of the lamp. Teresina suspected that her master had been thinking of his father's death. She said nothing A MYSTIC PRELUDE 7 of this, however, to the Sigtiorina, who was probably ignorant of those circumstances. She determined only to inform the doctor of what had happened and, for to-night at least, to spare Signor Marcello ian interview with young Alberti, who had been his poor Andrea's dearest friend. Alberti was really coming to Velo to visit the curate of Sant' Ubaldo, but the priest, being unable to put him up, had begged the hospitability of the Montanina for his friend. " And of course he must needs arrive on this particular evening ! " grumbled Teresina. Lelia thought she heard steps in the garden. '* It is surely he," said the maid. " The train iwhistled long ago." Lelia started, " Don't call me I " she ordered, 'and ran out by the door to the servants' stairway, which she ascended very slowly, pausing at intervals to listen. In her own room she crossed to the window. There was no sound of steps, nor could she hear voices. Impatient with herself, she thought : " After all, what is it to me? " and turning from the window, she once more read the crumpled letter. She read it with knitted brow, from time to time raising her eyes — strange eyes of an indefinable colour — letting their stem glance follow some thought from the letter seemingly into space. Again her hand crushed the sheet, and she flung it on the floor. At that moment the sound of distant voices floated through the open window. Lelia started and raised her head to listen. The voices came from lower down, from' the foot of the garden by the entrance, close to the tiny chur!ch of Santa Maria ad Monies. Her! light eyebrows contracted quickly once more, and her small, whimsical face assumed an inde- scribable expression of fierce pride. She rose, picked up the letter, and closed the window. What was this Alberti to her? She was neither the daughter nor a relation of 8 A MYSTIC PRELUDE Signer Marcello, She was a pure flower that hSd blossomed amidst foulness upon an evil stem. The only son of the house of Trento, poor Andrea, had loved her when she was still little more than a child, and had wished to make her his wife. When he died his parents, who had always strenuously opposed this marriage, had taken Lelia into their home, buying her, as it were, with gold, that this maiden who had been so dear to him might be preserved from the corruption of this world, and prompted also perhaps by a sense of affectionate remorse for the grief they had caused their beloved. From her earliest girlhood Lelia had had no illusions about her parents, especially her mother, whom she judged with precocious insight that sprang from the early recognition of certain tendencies within herself, when the experiences of her own home seemed to tell her that life held no further secrets. These tendencies she despised and hated with all the strength of her proud spirit, as in her heart she despised her mother, her contempt at times breaking through her rigid self-imposed restraint. From the age of twelve to fifteen she went to the convent school of the Sacred Heart, where she was distinguished for her talents, her love of study, and her pronounced musical ability. At sixteen she became engaged to Andrea, who was then about eighteen, and was studying mathematics at Padua, her native town. Her parents, Signor Girolamo Camin and his wife Chiara, had appropriated the " da," denoting noble origin, and were known as da Camin. Signor Girolamo was a vulgar intriguer, who had more than once been declared insolvent, and also dabbled in politics. Signora Chiara, who had seen much and not inglorious service in the ranks of gallantry, left her husband unceremoniously at about the time the student Andrea Trento was beginning to fall in love with her daughter. Although already middle-aged. A MYSTIC PRELUDE 9 she settled in Milan in the company of an elderly Austrian, who died almost immediately, and left her a comfortable fortune. She then gave herself up to a life of piety, and opened her house to priests, friars, and nuns, who were easily led to believe her a widow. Girolamo, on his part, employed a vulgar woman as his housekeeper, carefully concealing his weakness for her, but showing himself too tolerant of the airs of a mistress which the coarse creature was quick to assume. Motives of gratitude and a; girlish sense of vanity at being admired and desired, rather than love, had prompted Lelia to accept Andrea. He was too young for her, too light-hearted, too immature to under- stand the moral conflict that was stirring in the depths of her soul. Handsome, intelligent, and generous, Andrea Trento was humble of mind, under- rating his own talents but quick to admire those of others. Of all his friends Massimo Alberti of Milan was his favourite. The ties that bound them were rather those resulting from a long friendship between the two families than any that had sprung from their university life together. Massimo Alberti, who was sevet-al years older than Andrea, was at Padua finishing the medical course he had begun in Rome when Andrea entered the university. His friend's talents, his broad culture, and the sobriety of his mode of life filled Andrea with admiration. Lelia he also looked upon as vastly superior to himself, and often talked to her of Alberti, whom she had never seen. On one occasion he even told her, in a transport of love and humility, that Alberti was much more worthy than himself to become her husband. Lelia, who was far from meek, and whose habit it was to follow any assertion to its ultimate consequences, had reflected that such language was doubtless virtuous, but most unpleasant and inoppor- tune. This was not her idea of love. On one 10 A MYSTIC PRELUDE pfetext and another she had always managed to avoid meeting her lover's friend. Andrea's death grieved her so deeply that she formed an exaggerated estimate of her affection for him', confusing it with her compassion. When her father whiningly informed her that he had been asked to make a great sacrifice for her benefit, that Andrea's parents wished her to live with them as their daughter in memory of the son they had lost, and that, although his heart might bleed, he was prepared to accept a proposal so advantageous to her, she immediately guessed the nature of the bargain he was hiding from her, and flung out an indignant refusal in a transport of ofTended pride, vindicating, for the moment, her right to maintain the family honour, so ill defended by this despicable father of hers. But afterwards, since her rage against him was so great and her loathing of the filth he had dared to drag to the very hearthstone was so intense, she withdrew her refusal, her thoughts dwelling the while on the poor lad who was dead. She accepted the Trentos' offer, but the act of entering their house as a thing paid for was zi severe trial. She soon perceived that one of the conditions of the bargain was that her father should not enter the precincts of the Montanina, and this condition was a source of relief and yet of sorrow to her. Her attitude towards the Trentos was at first cold. She seemed to be trying to show them silently that she felt no gratitude ; that she was aware they had desired her only as a sort of relic of their dead son ; that, after all, they were the persons benefitedji and that she had consented to become their bene- factress only in memory of him, and not from motives of affection towards themselves. Under these conditions Signer Marcello's fiery temper made a rupture probable, and, after his first most affectionate welcome, many storms did indeed arise A MYSTIC PRELUDE 11 between them. But Sigliora Trento's gentleness and Lelia's musical accomplishments combined to save the situation. The husband softened under the influ- ence of his wife's gentle virtues and at sight of the suffering which soon brought her to the grave. Music did the rest. Signor Marcello, who was a fair pianist, found in music a mystic expression of his deepest grief, hope, vague memories, and regrets. He and Lelia both brought to the piano the same intense passion and the same tastes. Secret antagonism might indeed long dwell within the hearts of both, but their sympathy, in music facilitated a mutual recognition — albeit measured and inter- mittent — of the beauty that lay in the nature of each, and a mutual tolerance, also measured and inter- mittent, of what in one was displeasing to the other. Signora Trento's death brought about a crisis in their relations to each other. Little by little Lelia had allowed herself to be won over by the lady's gentle ways ; and her care of the poor invalid had softened Signor Marcello's heart. His atti- tude towards Lelia grew day by day more tender and paternal ; day by day he failed somewhat both in look and bearing ajid grew more indifferent to the things of this world, except music and, to a certain extent, flowers, becoming ever more absorbed in thoughts of the things of eternity ; and thus at last the girl came to feel a filial reverence for him, and the feelings she had experienced on entering his house for the first time no longer ruled her. This recent loss of consciousness, which Signor Marcello had failed to realise, and Teresina's face, more than her words, stirred Lelia deeply, despite the fact that her mind was so full of the expected arrival of Massimo Alberti. Three years had passed since Andrea's death, and since his friend's funeral Alberti had not visited the Montanina ; but he never allowed New Year's Day and certain other anniversaries to pass without sending some word of greeting to Signor 12 A MYSTIC PRELUDE Marcello. The old man appreciated these attentions, and would often speak of them to Lelia, sometimes expressing regret that he had not again had the pleasure of meeting Alberti. Lelia always let the subject drop as soon as possible. Poor Andrea's unpleasant words had never faded from her memory ; the tenacity of this recollection annoyed her, and she •despised herself for dwelling upon it. iWhenever Signor Marcello mentioned Alberti's name she invariably experienced a sense of persecution and irritation, for he rarely did so without adding some word of praise and of affection. This real sense of repulsion increased rather than diminished with time. She could not help associating it in her thoughts with a fading memory of Andrea and with other dim emotions of her soul — a nameless gloom, flashes of inexplicable gaiety, which she found it difficult to check, tears provoked by music, and a sense of brief but almost fearful intoxication imparted by the life of Nature, by flowering fields, and woods in the vigorous freshness of June. The meaning of these vague feelings did not entirely escape, her. The idea that she was yearning towards love, that blind instincts inherited from her parents were dragging her towards it, was bound up with the dread that one passion might develop within her heart and take firm root there. Thus she explained to herself her aver- sion to Alberti's name and personality, and her clear analysis of her own mind only increased her irritation with herself. She felt that it was her duty never to love again, her duty towards Andrea's memory and towards Signor Marcello, which she had tacitly acknowledged by accepting the part of living relic of the dead ; but, above all, she felt it was her duty towards herself, for she would never stoop to the life of most women, she to whom, in spite of dishonoured parents and tainted blood, destiny had offered the opportunity of a life of glorious purity. In such a state of mind the very act of considering A MYSTIC PRELUDE IS that lurking memory in which a; germ of passion might be concealed sent the blood rushing to that particular nerve -cell, and something was indeed generated by the plastic power of the blood itself. Signor Marcello's delighted announcement that Massimo Alberti was to be a guest at the Montanina made her shudder, but a quick revulsion of feeling brought anger that was akin to remorse. Never- theless, when she cried out, " .What is this Alberti to me? " Lelia was conscious, alas I that she was insincere. Before going to bed she kissed Andrea's likeness, which she wore in the medallion, and a little ring he had once given |her as a peace-offering after a sharp quarrel. Then, having put out the light, she turned her face to the wall, drew the sheet over her head, and burst into tears. II As he wended his way upwards from the station of Arsiero to the Montanina, Massimo Alberti, who had arrived from Milan after a journey of nearly eight hours, amidst dust, smoke, and noise, in all the heat of burning June, thought he must be dreaming. The moonless sky was cloudy, folds of white mist lay aroimd the brow of Priafork and the cliffs of Summano, which point up into the sky like the teeth of a saw lying above softly wooded heights ; the light mountain breeze was flinging wild odours across the uplands, and the many voices of small waters, falling into the hollows of the ravines, sounded in his ears ; but nowhere was there a note of human life. The road gave out the scent of wet earth, which was pleasant after so much dust. IWhere it turns, entering a ravine, and revealing, higher up, a clump of chestnuts crescent -shaped below a black diadem, formed by the points of towering pines beyond, the peas^t from Lago di Velo, Simone, 14 A MYSTIC PRELUDE commonly called Cioci, who was going on ahead carrying Massimo's luggage, waited to inquire if the Signore were going to Velo, to Sant' Ubaldo, or to the Montanina. " What do you mean? " Massimo exclaimed in amazement. " I am going to Don Aurelio's, at Sant' Ubaldo." Whereupon his quick-witted guide, who at the station had contented himself with proffering Don Aurelio's excuses, saying he had remained at Velo to attend to a sick old man, now answered quietly : " Because the priest has no room for you, you know." Massimo was astonished. No room? Had his friend not written that there was a room ready for him? Cioci explained the case after his own fashion. " It is because of Camesecca, you see." This explanation only added to Massimo's bewilderment. Carnesecca? What was Camesecca? " Because he has taken him into his house, you see." Massimo gave up trying to understand. Then where was Don Aurelio sending him, as he could not have him himself? With some difficulty he drew from his guide the information that Don Aurelio had ordered him to take the stranger to the Montanina. Why, then, good heavens 1 had he not said so at once? " I thought you would ask in time," said Cioci. Massimo ordered him to lead on to the Montanina. He was annoyed, and he reflected that priests, even the best and dearest of them, are sometimes just a little wanting in tact. He had the greatest respect for Signor Marcello, but he was unwilling to grasp hospitality that had not been offered. He was annoyed also at the thought of meeting other guests at the Montanina, of not being able to enjoy that freedom and quiet for which he so longed, and which he had promised himself on leaving Milan. He was, A MYSTIC PRELUDE 15 moreover, displeased at not having been informed of this change in time. He might easily have postponed his arrival. When they had gone another hundred yards honest Cioci stopped, and once more turned to address Massimo. The priest had sent word that Signer Marcello was very grateful to him for going to his house, At the last turn, where the road to the Montanina branches off from that leading to Velo, Cioci made a final pause and shot out a final message — the priest had said that if the gentleman had luggage in the van he was to tell the station-master, and they would send for it next morning with a cart. Massimo could not suppress a smile. No, he had nothing in the van. This time Cioci laughed also. *' Cossa v61a, sior I What would you, sir I There were so many of them I " To the Montanina, then. The annoyance Massimo had at first experienced gave way to other thoughts. His heart ached as he recalled his friend, who had died so young, who had been so good, so dear, so frank and full of spirits ; who had told him with so much enthusiasm of Velo d'Astico and of the Monta- nina, of his faith in his mother's gentle kindness, which would soon lead her to consent, and would then obtain his father's consent as well, to the union for which he yearned. Andrea had also described to his friend the little apartments which would be the scene of his future bliss — three rooms and a terrace on the west side of the villa. And now, where were the joy and the sweetness of all those hopes? where was that fair head, that beautiful face sparkling with life and spirits, that warm and honest heart? Beneath the sod ; while the woods, the hills, the voices of deep- flowing Posina and the murmurings of small and plaintive waters all went on as before. Here was the old chestnut -tree with its trunk split like a three- branched candelabrum ; here, at the turn of the road, the strange little church loomed in dim whiteness ; 16 ▲ MYSTIC PRELUDE and now, farther up, the villa: showing palely, and the dark brow of great, pensive Priafork. A year before Andrea's death he and Massimo had talked together, beneath this chestnut -tree, of the Camin family, and of the necessity of keeping them all, even her father, away from Lelia after her marriage. Andrea was convinced of this necessity, and said that the girl wished it as much as he did. He had been enthusiastic in his praise of her high- mindedness and the precocious maturity of her intel- lect. At this point he had confessed that he had not been quite honest with his parents concerning Lelia 's age. The girl was about sixteen, and he had said she was eighteen. Instinctively Massimo paused and placed his hand upon the trunk of the chestnut, this surviving witness ; and he thought of the lad with God. It seemed to him that the tree, the modest little church, and the frowning mountain were sharing the thought with him. " Are you tired, sir? " asked Cioci, who had also stopped. Massimo roused himself. " No, no. Let us be getting on," said he ; and, to free himself from his sad thoughts, he began talking with Cioci of the priest. The people of Sant' Ubaldo must be well pleased with their priest. " Ah, cossa vola 1 What would you 1 " Cioci ex- claimed. The expression was a panegyric ; it was as if he had said : " How can I be expected to express the inexpressible? " And he added, " A great head, I tell you I " As. they were passing the little church of Santa Maria ad Montes a woman's voice called from above : " Cioci I This way, Cioci I " " Signora I " Cioci answered, pausing. The Signora was Teresina, who soon appeared at the gate to the footpath beside the church. She admitted Cioci, and sent him on towards the house with his load, while she detained Alberti, A MYSTIC PRELUDE 17 He ranembered her 'sis the maid who had bandaged a sprain he had managed to get coming dovra from CoUetto Grande with Andrea. She was eager to tell him that her master, Signor Marcello, was delighted to be able to entertain him, but that his health was none too good, and that this meeting would surely move him deeply. She therefore took the liberty of begging Massimo to pretend he was greatly fatigued after his journey, and to withdraw early, so that the master might follow his example. This was the Signorina's wish as well. The Signorina? Of course — Massimo had not thought of her. Signorina da Camin now lived at the Montanina. Massimo, accepting Andrea's word, as Andrea himself had accepted that of Signor Girolamo, had always called her thus instead of by her true name, Camin, and Lelia herself believed in her right to the " da." Massimo had seen her but once, and that in the street and at a distance. He had, however, seen two photographs of her, which his friend had shown him, and he distinctly recalled the two entirely different impressions they had con- veyed. He remembered the dainty head of a girl of sixteen, with hair carefully dressed, somewhat irregular features, and smiling eyes that seemed to be gazing into the object-glass and inquiring, " Is that right ? " He remembered another dainty head with some- what disordered hair, a head drooping slightly forward and looking down, so that the eyes were hidden. He had paid but little attention to the first, but the second had struck him. This face might have been that of a being conscious of deep guilt or of an unhappy fate; it might have been a face upon which love was gazing, and which was striving to conceal love; it might have been simply the face of a young girl lost in thought. Compared with the other it was the more youthful face of a deeper soul; it was the face of a child of fifteen Uila. 3 18 A MYSTIC PRELUDE who, both morally and intellectually, was as mature as any woman of thirty. The very idea of having her photograph taken in that position pointed to something strange and strong in the mind of the poser. Massimo had been fascinated by the picture, but upon restoring it to his friend had refrained from confiding to him his doubt as to whether this tempting creature, with her air of a grieving and thoughtful sphinx, would fit his nature and be capable of forming his happiness. He remembered now that for many days the face of the girl-sphinx had haunted him with troubling insistence. As he followed Teresina, the image of the two small, fair heads, that were so distinct, once more flashed across his mind. In his thoughts the question which one of the two he would find was already forming itself, but he dismissed the thought as an unfitting one. Nor did Teresina succeed in distracting his thoughts by her account of how, since early morning, Signer Marcello had been eagerly looking forward to his arrival. He had invented an excuse for getting herself and the footman out of the way, yes, and the Signorina also (who, however, had seen through his stratagem), that no one might see him enter the room prepared for his guest. First he had gone into the garden and gathered some roses with his own hands. These he had taken to the room in all secrecy. Not that he expected his action would remain unobserved, for, of course, the servants would have to go into the room before the guest's arrival to put fresh water at the last moment and to see if everything was in order. It was that he did not wish to be under observation whilst going in and while he remained there, probably because he felt that he would be exposing his inmost emotions to a witness, and this was a thing he abhorred. Before reaching the villa Teresina and Massimo met Cioci, who, freed from his burden, and desiring, for no very unperceivable reason, to pay his respects A MYSTIC PRELUDE 19 to the stranger, had chosen this far less easy way to Lago, instead of going straight there through the upper part of the garden. " Well, sir, good-night to you," he said, taking off his cap. Having received what he was waiting for and having thanked the generous traveller, he told Teresina that her master was close behind him on his way down. "There I" cried the woman, "it is just as I thought 1 " They met Signor Marcello near the level space on which the villa stands. It was dark, and he was advancing with stooping shoulders and unsteady tread. Massimo hurried upwards to join him, and was immediately clasped in a close and silent embrace. He began at once to offer his excuses for thus intruding, laying the blame at Don Aurelio's door, the old man repeating the while, in a voice that betrayed his feelings: " You do not know, you do not know what a joy it is to me to see you, to embrace you once more I " And again he strained Alberti to his breast. They crossed the level space, and passing through the dining-room, entered the salon, Signor Marcello leaning upon Massimo's arm. He expressed the wish that his guest should be conducted to his room with- out delay, saying they would have a talk together afterwards. Massimo would have preferred to remain with him at present for a little time, so that Signor Marcello might soon be free to go to bed. But Signor Marcello would not hear of this, and Teresina, who knew well how many childish whims her old master's heart contained, divined how anxious and impatient he was that his guest should see how he had prepared his room. She therefore added a gentle invitation to her master's, thus conveying to Massimo that it would be wiser to yield. 20 A MYSTIC PRELUDE As he was leaving! the room Signer Maircello re- marked that he would wait for him there, and that they would have coffee together. Teresina accompanied the visitor to the very apartment in which, in his dreams of the future, poor Andrea had pictured himself with Lelia. She ushered him into the small room that opened upon the west terrace. The light revealed to her all her master's preparations, and she exclaimed softly: "Poor, poor Signor Marcellol" Then, amidst many excuses, she advised Massimo to let his host understand that he had observed everything, with- out speaking openly of all tte arrangementis.i Thereupon she withdrew. On the marble top of the chest of drawers a: beau- tiful white rose bent its head from a tall crystal cup, above a photograph of Andrea. Upon the bedside table rested a handsomely-bound copy of the " Imita- tion of Christ," and a small packet of letters tied together with a black ribbon. This packet Massimo opened, not without curiosity. They were his own letters to Andrea. He then proceeded to examine the " Imitation," expecting that this also was a souvenir, and found written within its cover the words: " To dear Andrea, on the day of his first Com- munion. Rachele Alberti Vittuoni." It was his mother's name, and she, too, had long been dead. He pressed his lips to the writing. Through the open window the deep voice of Posina and the soft murmur of the Riderella, that hurries through the garden close by the villa, alone broke the silence. Amidst the hush and the repose of Nature, in the majesty of the night, the small room with its many memories seemed a sanctuary. Still praying silently, he put out the light and left the room. Teresina was waiting for him in the corridor. The master, she said, seemed somewhat excited, and she was anxious that he should retire early. As a matter of fact he had complained of Lelia's absencCj, A MYSTIC PRELUDE 21 and was upset iat her having withdrawn, but this the maid refrained from mentioning. Massimo did not find Signor Marcello in the draw- ing-room, but in the garden, where he was seated upon one of the benches on the west side of the villa, having preferred that their talk should take place there in the dark. Alberti would have kissed the old man's hand, but this Signor Marcello would not allow, and making Alberti sit beside him, he put his arm around his shoulder. They sat silent for some time in the chill breath of black, overhanging Priafork, Signor Mdrcello staring into the shadows with unseeing eyes, while Massimo listened to the voices of Posina and of the Riderella, which led him back to the chamber of memories, and watched almost unconsciously the lights of Arsiero, scattered like a swarm of fireflies amidst the gloom, lower down on the right, beyond the Valley of Posina, in the hollow below the heights of San Rocco and the sky-piercing peaks of Caviogio. Presently Massimo referred to the lateness of the hour, but Signor Marcello drew the young man towards him with an impetuous movement. "No, no I" he cried, and began to question Massimo eagerly concerning himself and Don Aurelio. Massimo had to tell him, in as few words as possible, how, when a medical student in Rome, he had met the present priest of Lago; how Don Aurelio and he had had a mutual friend, a man of whom much had been said, both in praise and in condemnation — a species of lay apostle. Massimo was sure Don Aurelio must have spoken of him, and was greatly astonished to find that the name of Piero Maironi, as well as that of Benedetto, was quite unknown to Signor Marcello. Feeling that this was not the moment for enlarging upon a subject that would have led to lengthy discussion, Massimo con- tented himself with stating that Don Aurelio, having no fixed occupation in Rome, had, through the kind 22 A MYSTIC PBELUDE offices of a member of the clergy, been received by the Bishop of Vicenza into his diocese and ap- pointed to the cure of Lago di Velo, He pronounced him a godly man, devoted to his ministry, full of charity and Divine love, and averse to religious strife. Signor Marcello seconded this praise in a voice hoarse with emotion, and the deep sighs accompanying his words told clearly that it was an emotion of longing that the Church might be blessed with many such priests as Don Aurelio. Teresina's voice reached them out of the darkness. " Master, I am sure Signor Alberti must be tired." " Let us alone I " said Signor Marcello, but quietly enough. " I know quite well what you want. I am.! not tiring myself I " " G6su ! " sighed the poor woman anxiously under her breath, but she did not venture to insist. Massimo had now to tell of himself, of his reluct- ance to practise his profession, although his studies and time of probation were over; and he talked of the things that had distracted him from it. Once more he took for granted that Don Aurelio had spoken of this, that Signor Marcello knew about his lectures, his writings of a theo-philosophical character, and the sharp opposition and disapproval from different sources that these had brought, about his weariness of soul and the longing for peace that had brought him to the mountain solitudes of Velo d'Astico. But Signor Marcello knew nothing of all this, and showed himself deeply affected by the account of it. Once more he drew the young man's head towards his shoulder. " Yes, yes," said he, " stay here and let philo- sophy alone. Those little lights shining down there amidst the gloom are like philosophy. Who goes about at night with a light no longer sees the stars. Ah, the stars, the stars I " Massimo pointed out, with a smile, that, light A MYSTIC PRELUDE 23 or no light, there were no stars to be seen on this particular night. " Ah, but I see them I " his companion exclaimed fervently. " Only this very evening I saw a precious message written among them for me 1 I saw it there — just there I " He pointed to the grey clouds above black Torraro. During their entire conversation this remark and the gesture that accompanied it were the only signs of a slight mental agitation which Massimo noted in the old man. But, taking them together with what the maid had said, they were sufficient to alarm him. Rising resolutely, he declared he was very tired, and asked permission to retire. " But we have not had our coffee," said Signor Marcello. Massimo said he was not in the habit of taking coffee in the evening. The old man begged him at least to bear him company while he took his own, and Massimo was casting about for a mode of escape, fearing to be drawn again into lengthy conversa- tion, when Teresina, who was keeping guard in the verandah of the villa in the near vicinity of the benches, came forward, telling her master she had taken his coffee to his bedroom. Before his astonish- ment would allow him to protest she was on her way to the kitchen to turn her untruth into a sort of prophecy. And thus, at last, she carried her point. Massimo went up the double stairway of wood leading, from: the drawing-room' to the floor above, while Signor Marcello retired to his bedroom on the ground floor, which adjoined the study and looked out on the near slopes of P.riafork\ iir The house had been dark for some time iahd most of its inmates were asleep when Signor Marcello 24 A MYSTIC PBELUDE left his room, a tall, stooping figure, the Florentine lamp swinging from his left hand, while with the other he held a closed portfolio against his breast. He passed slowly through study and billiard-room, and entering the salon, placed the lamp above the piano that stood crosswise, almost directly beneath one branch of the stairway, the light suddenly bring- ing out of the shadows his deeply-lined face, now radiant with tenderness and love. Placing the port- folio on the music-rest, he opened it with great deliberation, and with trembling hands drew from it a portrait of his son and gazed long a.t it. His lips were trembling also, and his eyes were full of tears. The little brass lamp, so much dearer to him than those rich ones hanging from the ceiling, seemed to shed a happy light upon the lad's hand- some face, mysteriously alive with new and tender meaning. The father pressed a long kiss upon the boy's forehead ; then very slowly and very reverently placing it upon the rest once more, he dropped his large, thin hands upon the keyboard and began to play, with face upturned and closed eyes. He was not an accomplished pianist, but his soul understood music. His deep religious faith, his aflfections, his keen sense of beauty led him naturally towards musical expression. He rever- enced Beethoven no less than Dante and hardly less than St. John the Apostle ; Haydn, Mozart, and Bach were to him no less than Giambellino and Mark, Matthew, and Luke ; and, as he read the Gospels, so he daily studied some one of the four evangelists of music. Often the evening hour of memories and fancies would find him at the piano rapt in ecstasy, touching pathetic chords, absorbed in the effort to express in music his own inner- most feelings, oblivious to things of the present and to the passage of time. With upturned face and closed eyes he was now touching the keyboard tenta- tively with those long, thin hands of his, as a blind A MYSTIC PRELUDE 25 man feels the air. He was searching for that last song by, Pergolese : "Quando corpus morietur Fac ut animae donetur Paradisi gloria." He sought it in vain, and strove eagerly for a, like harmony of increasing depth and solemnity that should tell of the slow dissolution of mortality, of the end of tired day, then of uprising tones pressing close upon each other, breathless and frenzied, towards visions of delight. At this point he ceased to follow Pergolese and poured into his music a full and enraptured idea of the words " Paradisi gloria," tears coursing down his cheeks the while. He was meeting Andrea, his dear one, in another world of infinite love, of all light, and, perhaps, all music, and his earthly music trembled with desire for its Divine ideal. Presently other memories pressed upon him— memories of his sins, of his human frailties, starting up together out of the dark places in memory, quick with fearful life, like in- numerable, forgotten foes, rushing out of ambush, each shouting his evil name. The glories of Paradise and of his communion with the beloved dead, despite his strong faith in God and his firmly-rooted con- viction of approaching death, were devoid of distinct form, luminous, obscured by the mists of their own brilliance. It was easy for him to speak and think of them in music. But it was not so with the biting memories of sin. His wrists bent weakly, his hands hung motionless from the keyboard, his head fell forward on his breast. It was but for a brief instant, however. His humility, a stranger to that bitterness of pride upon a moral fall, naturally moved him to look for Divine mercy. He raised his head once more and his hands, and poured his soul into the music of a Miserere, passionate indeed, but full also of the sense of 26 A MYSTIC PRELUDE generous absolution ; a prayer abounding in gra;te- fulness and delight, almost as if the penitent rejoiced that his heavenly Father should be more loving and forgiving towards him than any human father. His hands were moving in a melody of grief and love, born from some subconscious memory, of Bellini : "Vieni, dicea, concedi Ch'io mi ti prostri ai piedi." Surely in all his life Marcello had never made his piano speak so wonderfully. He realised this and took momentary pleasure in it, and with his emotion there mingled a feeling of tenderness for the old, worn-out instrument itself, despised by Lelia and fast nearing its end. He played on, with never a thought that others might be listening. Teresina, who, for that night, had wisely prepared a bed for herself in a room on the ground-floor, heard the piano, and hastening to find out what was happening, caught sight of her master. Bewildered and frightened', she hurried upstairs to tell Lelia, who occupied an east room on the first floor, and to consult her. Was the master in his right mind, or was this the beginning of some mental disorder? iWould it not be wise to descend and persuade him to go to bed? And! should she do this — or the Signorina? She helped Lelia to dress quickly, murmuring under her breath the while, " G6su, G^su I " Lelia was silent, deter- mined first to see and hear for herself. The two women went on tiptoe into the gallery to the head of the stairway, from' whence there was a view of the drawing-room, through the stair opening, and also between the short wooden columns on either side. But not even by peering between the columns could the piano be seen. Signor Marcello being slightly deaf, the two women ventured to descend the right arm of the stairway far enough to enable A MYSTIC PRELUDE 27 them to see the musician's back, dimly lit by the lamp that stood upon the piano. Those stooping shoulders and massive head, swaying with the rhythm of the music, seemed instinct with passion. " G6su, Signorina 1 " the maid whispered, " I must go down." Lelia grasped her arm and frowned. Teresina,. looking at her in astonishment, saw her place her finger upon her lips. She could not know that Lelia,. who was an exquisite musician, recognised in those notes the outpourings of a miiid, not indeed con- fused by delirium, but rapt in ecstasy. She was aware only that she must not move. A few solemn chords ended Marcello's improvisa- tion, that mystic prelude to the future. He closed the portfolio, and, crossing his arms, pressed his forehead against it. " G^su, Signore I " the servant exclaimed, starting forward, but again Lelia held her back, and whisper- ing, " I will go," descended the stairs. , She went down slowly, careless of the creaking wooden steps, her hand resting upon the banister, her eyes fixed upon Marcello. She was not troubled concerning him, seeing in his attitude merely the effect of an emotion which, but now, had vibrated in his music, and due evidently to the meeting with poor Andrea's friend. She was going down simply in order to persuade him to retire, without alarming him, as Teresina might have done. She had descended barely halfway when Marcello heard her, and raising his head, demanded sharply : " Who is there? " " I, Papa," said she, and hastening forward, was beside him in an instant. " You here? Not in bed yet? " Marcello seemed both pleased and astonished. Lelia smiled. "Not in bed yet, ias you see 1 " she answered, adding with a quaint little accent she had pickeij 28 A MYSTIC PRELUDE up at school from: a; Ffotnan girl, and which she sometimes used : " You keep us all awake I " Suddenly she remembered that on first coming to live with the Trentos she had one day happened to say the same words to Signor Marcello with the same accent, to express a necessity to which one must perforce submit. Signor Marcello had been amused at first, but she had thoughtlessly told him; that poor Andrea had also delighted in that quaint inflection, whereupon he had become silent and de- pressed. And now, hardly had she uttered the words, '* You keep us all awake I " before the memory of that unhappy silence overcame her, and, thinking that his face showed that he also remem- bered, she dropped her eyes in intense confusion. Marcello gazed tenderly upon her, raised his hands to the keyboard, his eyes still watchingi her, and struck the first notes of a melody by Schumann that poor Andrea had often hummed and which Lelia sometimes played to the old man in the dark, never speaking of it either beforehand on afterwards : "O lass im Traume mich sterben, Gewieget an seiner Brust. . . ." LeliS trembled. It seemed to her that Signotl Marcello was saying in those sweet notes : " Do not fear to speak to me of him." He turned his eyes away from her and glaticed upwairds as if seeking the notes in his memory, his hands following with sudden passion the melody : "Den seligen Tod mich schliirfen In Thranen unendlicher Lust. . . ." She grew alarmed, and resting her hand on his shoulder, murmured very softly : " Enough, Papa ! You are exciting yourself. It is late and you had really better go to bed." A MYSTIC PRELUDE 29 Marcello stopped playing, took the hand she was withdrawing from his shoulder, and held it affec- tionately between his own cold ones. " I am' all right, Leila," he said. -' I am perfectly well." During the last two months of his life, after a slight quarrel, Andrea had taken to calling her " Leila." For Marcello, who had heard of this from his wife, to address her as "Leila" was almost like saying " Andrea," almost like pronouncing that name he could not utter without suffering, that name he was always repeating in his heart, but which his lips formed only in the secrecy of his own room. " Leila, yes, Leila 1 " he repeated, smiling at her bewilderment, for she was asking herself what could be taking place within that mind whose hitherto most jealously guarded depths were being revealed. " Yes, Papa. But please do not tire yourself any more. Go to bed and rest." She could find no fitting words with which to persuade him. She was anxious not to appear in- different to his tenderness or startled by his unusual language; and she felt a strange desire to press close to Andrea's father in spirit for protection and refuge. He rose from the piano, but neither took up the lamp nor prepared to withdraw. Knitting his brows, as was his wont when about to introduce some serious subject, he invited Lelia to follow him on to the small terrace beyond the drawing-room. Lelia, who had not the courage to refuse, obeyed in great agita- tion. Surely Signor Marcello was going to talk of poor Andrea. And Teresina was still watching up there, and might appear upon the scene at the wrong moment I Although she had little hope of its being seen, Lelia flung a rapid gesture in the maid's direc- tion that said she should go. Then she hastened forward to join Marcello, who was leaning against the tailing of the terrace. 30 A MYSTIC PRELUDE " It is raining," she said, making 3 last attempt to escape. Mist enveloped the rocky peaks of Barco and of Caviogio, and a moist breeze blew from Val di Posina, but it was not raining. " No," said Marcello. " Come out." As she had come to him, drawn almost provi- dentially by his music, he felt bound to take this opportunity of speaking, but it was difficult to begin. "If ever you should wish to do away with those artificial rocks that you dislike so much, down there by the bridge and along the banks of the Riderella," he said at last, " you need not hesitate to do so. I might have had them removed myself, but since ... I have let everything go." Even the little word " since," that stood for so much misfortune and so many years of bitterness, was uttered calmly. Lelia grasped the true intent of his remark, and a shudder ran through her as she exclaimed: " I ? " She refrained from adding anything more in order not to provoke words that she did not wish to hear. The conviction that Signor Marcello intended to make her his heir had long been fixed in her mind like a poisonous thorn. She knew that this was generally believed, as Signor Marcello was known to have no near relations, and she was looked upon as his daughter by adoption, although no legal action had taken place, nor was any such possible. But she was determined not to touch the Trento fortune, which, although not large, reached, nevertheless, a very comfortable figure. Her father had sold her indeed, but she would not sell herself. Having given herself to Andrea's parents, in memory of him, she would gladly accept gratitude from them, but no other recompense. Was it not possible that Signor Marcello did possess a distant relative ? If not, he was extremely charitable, and he might leave A MYSTIC PRELUDE 3f his money to the poor. The bare idea of being looked upon as a schemer, an adventuress, filled her with horror. But she had a second reason for dreading this heritage. What a disgusting struggle with her father would follow upon the rejection of such an inheritance! He was always pleading poverty and writing her shameless letters demanding money. She had received such a letter this very evening. She could see him already descending upon the Montanina in the event of the old man's death, fastening upon it and tainting it with his presence. She had faith in her own energy and did not fear her father, but she loathed him. All this she was feeling and thinking as she uttered the one word " I ? " .Marcello took her hand and pressed it, hoping that his touch might speak for him. " Yes, dear," he said calmly, " you." A whisper, a scarcely perceptible breath brought the answer: "No, Papal" Marcello smiled, mistaking the motive of her words. " I am old," he said, " and not, I think, very strong. I may live many years yet, but, on the other hand, the Lord may call me very soon. Do you really think I shall be sorry to go ? " For answer Lelia stooped and kissed the hand that still held hers. " Well, then," Marcello went on, " it is right that we should discuss certain matters. The Montanina was dear to him, and, indeed, I did much to make it sol I hope it will be dear to you also. I wanted to tell you about those rocks, and I also wanted to say that, should the occasion offer to purchase those chestnuts over beyond the road, you must be sure to do so. You will have ample means." A passionate sound like a suppressed groan inter- rupted him. 32 A MYSTIC PRELUDE " No, Papa I No, no. Papa 1 Do not talk of these things I " Marcello remained in astonished silence, iind she felt impelled to explain herself. " Do not think of me as your heir. I cannot, indeed I cannot be your heir I " He was offended, and began to be excited. " And why not ? " he asked sharply. "No, dear Papa! I cannot, I cannot 1 Do not let us talk of these things I Please go, to bed and rest 1 •■ " But why not ? " Marcello insisted. '* Tell me." Lelia took his arm, imploring him not to say anything more — ^at least, not that night. " But you must explain I " he cried, his haggard face growing ever more angry. At this point Teresina, who was still watching, hearing her master raise his voice, turned on the light in the gallery where she stood, and called to Lelia, saying she had sought her in vain in her own room. She wanted certain keys for to-morrow morning, to get out something for the guest's break- fast., Timidly Lelia murmured: "Papa . . . good- night . . ." as if entreating him to allow her to go. Signor Marcello did not speak, but, turning slowly indoors with bent shoulders, he took the lamp from the piano and left her without a word of good-night. He closed the door of his room behind him, and undressed himself slowly, full of discontent, like one who, weary and already half asleep, turns towards his couch only to find it so disordered that he must spend time and strength in smoothing it. His haggard expression told of harsh and angry thoughts. He believed he knew the reason of Lelia's repulse. She did not wish to become his heir because she did not feel strong enough to keep her parents at a distance, and she realised that their presence at the Montanina would be a mortal insult to his memory. The thought of those two was sufficiently embittering. A MYSTIC PRELUDE 33 For a" moment fancy showed them to him, triumphant, playing the masters in his house. Ah, no, that should never be! If that hot-headed girl had only listened a while I He had intended to bring the conversation precisely to that point. He had racked his brain to find a means of preventing his heir's parents from setting foot in the Montanina. A clause to be inserted in his will suggested itself, but he knew Lelia would never accept a condition thus publicly imposed, and, too, one enforced by a penalty. She would simply refuse the inheritance. The only way would be to talk the matter over with her before- hand, and obtain some promise from her. It was a difficult question to handle, but precisely the one he had intended to introduce. He must resume the conversation on the morrow. It was the only way. When he was in bed he clasped his hands behind his neck, rested his head against the head-board, and reflected. Supposing Lelia had made up her mind to marry, and was refusing on this account ? It was a contingency he had foreseen, and one he and his dead wife had discussed. His wife, who was a woman of practical views, was convinced that this attractive and clever girl would be much sought after, and that, sooner or later, she would marry. She thought that Marcello should content himself with assigning her an annuity, which she might enjoy until her marriage. Marcello, however, was not satisfied with this arrangement . The poet in him delighted in the ideal of a sacrifice which he should seem to share with his son, whose soul, freed from all earthly fetters, still loved, but with an afi'ection that was purged of all egotism, desiring only and rejoicing in the happiness of his beloved. He wished Lelia to possess the wealth poor Andrea had offered her. It was, indeed, sweet to him to think of her as remaining faithful to Andrea, but he desired that, though she might yield to a second passion, she should still have reason to bless her Ltila. 4 34 A MYSTIC PRELUDE first love. He wished for her happiness, and in appointing her his heir he did so unconditionally. Would it be best for him to speak openly to her now, and let her know how he felt ? He sighed deeply at the thought that, should he die that night, his home would fall into the hands of Girolamo Camin, or, in the event of Lelia refusing the heritage, into those of a young and distant cousin of his, who had led a gambling and a dissolute life. The thought that his wife's rooms and Andrea's might one day harbour such inmates stabbed him to the heart. As he lay thinking, this same sense pf gnawing anxiety convinced him that he was more strongly attached to life and earthly things than a few hours before he would have believed possible. He reproached himself for this, and fell to thinking of the words his grandfather, who had built the Montanina, had inscribed upon the sun-dial: Terrestres horce, fugiens umbra. He resolved to go to confession at Lago di Velo on the morrow, and taking up his cherished h. Kempis which lay always upon his bedside table, he read the fifty-second chapter of the third book, with feelings of deep repentance. Upon raising the snuffers that hung by a small chain fyom one arm of the lamp, he remembered that his father had been overtaken by death before putting out the light, and without know- ing why, he remained for a moment with his hand raised. Presently he smiled, put out the lamp, and by the dim light that fell through the broad window gazed for a time upon the neighbouring mountain, so sublimely untroubled and reposeful. Then he fell asleep like a little child, his arms folded upon his breast.. IV Upon reaching his room Massimo proceeded to unpack his portmanteaux, although, in his disappoint- A MYSTIC PRELUDE 35 ment at not being Don Aurelio's guest, he had at first determined to take out only what was necessary for the night. He already regretted his impulse of selfish discontent, so deeply had he been moved by Signer Marcello's marked aff^ection, present even here in this little room that had been dear to Andrea; in the pathetic souvenirs, in the white rose arranged so that its dying beauty should overhang that other blossom of bygone days, 'so soon cut off. Having put out the light, he went to the window, and resting his elbows upon its broad sill, gazed upon those clouds amongst which Signer Marcello had seen a message writ in stars. Beneath those clouds the delicately arched brow of Torraro divided the space that yawned between Priafork and Caviogio, whose black and mighty outlines swept downwards majestic- ally, like the flowing robes of giant monarchs. His thirsting soul found comfort in the brooding peace of the scene. It was an immense relief to have escaped from Milan for a few weeks, to have left behind him the foulness and the cowardice of the free-thinking crowd who cried shame upon him for a weakling, because he professed the loyalty of a soldier to the Church, and of the Pharisaic masses who cried shame upon him for a heretic, because he thoi;ght, spoke, and wrote like a man of his times 1 It was an immense relief to have shaken off that idle society, ever claiming his reluctant participation in its eternal comedy ; which made him feel, now by a smile, ' now by sarcastic praise, now by neglect, its contempt for a young man who turned his back upon those pleasures it discreetly offered him, pleasures which it cherished and shielded as its one purpose in life, a purpose indeed not always avowable. Oh to forget, if only for a few days, those weary and inglorious mental struggles, so often sustained in the tragic endeavour to hide the eclipse of hope, and also, not infrequently, of faith itself! Once more there came the strong. 36 A MYSTIC PRELUDE persistent temptation to withdraw from the field of religious action which he had entered with that Master who had died in Rome; whereon he and others had pressed still farther than the Master, gaining nought but wounds, disappointments, and humiliations in the service of a cause possibly lost from the outset, and of a religion that was perhaps fated to perish. Might he not relinquish the struggle, and live for all the beauty there is in the world, for the subtle and harmonious delights of intellectual activity ? Such thoughts as these were rather the outpouring of pent-up bitterness than real temptation. The attitude Massimo had publicly assumed towards cer- tain theo-philosophical questioiis, through essays in reviews, lectures, and controversial articles, had secured him a moral position which, while it upheld and dignified him, proved itself at certain times, nevertheless, a veritable prison-house. He realised this, and reflecting on it, was seeking interruption of his thoughts, raising himself from the window-sill,, when he heard voices in the road that leads downwards following the wire fence encircling the grounds of the Montanina. He thought he distin- guished Don Aurelio's voice and that of a woman speaking to a third person in the grounds. They seemed to be giving him' some orders. Pre- sently, indeed, a figure appeared upon the bridge over the Riderella, and, in the dim starlight that was beginning to pierce the clouds, Massimo thought he saw two other figures, one black, the other white, beyond the bridge. The first figure left the bridge, then stopped, seeming perplexed, gazed at the villa, walked around it, paused for an instant on the side where the kitchen is, reappeared, and finally went towards the bridge again, where Massimo heard him telling the others that the household were asleep. Thereupon the two withdrew in the direction of the gate., Presently Massimo thought he distinguished A MYSTIC PRELUDE 37 the white figure standing with the individual who had made the tour of the villa, in the road between the group of birches beside the gate and the clump of poplars further down. Don Aurelio, if indeed it were he, must have gone on towards Lago. The young man concluded that the woman must be a certain Signora Vayla di Brea, of whom Don Aurelio had spoken in his letters as a lady remarkable both for her talents and for her noble qualities. And then once more all was silence. Presently from within the villa came the sound (of a piano. Massimo cautiously opened the door and listened. Yes, it was a piano, and a very poor instrument too. Who could be playing ? Certainly not Signer Marcello, for he had gone to bed. Then he remembered that Andrea had often spoken admir- ingly of Lelia's talent as a pianist. At one moment he thought he recognised the pathetic and passionate composition, but presently he lost the thread of the melody. At first it was Pergolese's " Stabat Mater," and then suddenly it turned to something else. Very softly he stepped into the corridor that he might hear better. The music came from below, from the left, surely from the drawing-room where he had noticed a. piano. What strange playing, what strength of expression in the touch, what passion, and what disorder 1 Doubtless the performer was improvising. What aL fiery soul she must possess, this Lelia, if indeed she were the musician 1 Once more that small, enigmatical head, with its disordered hair and down- cast eyes, pictured itself in Massimo's mind. This music did not speak of a grief-encompassed soul, of a soul expecting more from life. It spoke of sorrow indeed, but of a thirst for love and joy as well. The music paused ; there were steps and whispering near at hand, and he retreated to the door of his room. Again the music sounded. Now 38 A. MYSTIC PRELUDE it was the sweet and solemn notes of grief and supplication, and then passion once more, tender^ ardent passion. Ah, " Norma "A "Vieni, dicea, concedi Ch'io mi ti prostri ai piedi . . ." This music seemed a confession 1 What followed was no longer " Norma," but a fancy of the player's. But why had she chosen the dead of night for this musical outpouring? He recalled the lovely, sphinx - like face and the eyelids lowered like veils cover- ing a mystery. But was Lelia really the player? On one hand it seemed too strange an action for her, on the other the quality of the music and the hour were in keeping with the strangeness of the small face. And if it were not Lelia, who could it be? Perhaps some companion of hers of whose existence Massimo was ignorant, or a fellow-guest he had not seen. Ah ! but it must be she — a. creature painfully eager to love and be loved, who, perhaps, loved already. The music came to an end and he withdrew to his room, closing the door behind him and return- ing to the window, where he remained standing, picturing almost mechanically a love that was aflame and oblivious to the world, amidst these silent hills, whereon passions might be enthroned, confronting and challenging one another. He shook himself, sighed deeply, and closed the window, reproaching himself for all these vain fancies. For some time he studied Andrea's photograph. The poor lad's handsome face wore a bright and happy expression, like a ray of sunshine. How dearly he had loved him 1 Without knowing why he felt a painful longing to clasp his hands and bow his head before that placid brow. Upon going to bed he fancied that the music he had heard would prevent his sleeping*, but he fell asleep almost immediately. It was Leliai who lay all night with staring eyes. CHAPTER II DISTAFFS AND THREADS The nei:t mbrning Massimo came down to the drawing-room at half -past six, to the dismay of the footman Giovanni, who left the floor-polishing in which he had been engaged amidst great disorder of furniture, and rushed off for the coffee. Gentle breezes blew fresh from all sides through the large, open windows, through which could be seen, on the south, the emerald of chestnut-crowned slopes, on the north, the bare and mighty crags of Barco, and on the west, the deep declivities of the garden beneath the Lago road. There could be seen, too, the tremulous glistening of the clumps of birch and poplar that border the garden fence, the Posina ravine, and beyond the little town of Arsiero, whose houses cluster amid the green at the foot of the church which seems to guard them, the gloomy depths of the sharp-cut gorge, and then mountain upon moimtain rising under changing lights and shadows towards imperial Torraro. " Buona mattina," said the footman, returning with the coffee. Massimo meanwhile had been paying more atten- tion to the music that littered the piano than to the vision of hills and valleys, sunshine and verdure. A thick volume of Clementi and a thin one of Corelli bore the name "Leha," written in a large hand. 39 40 DISTAFFS AND THREADS While he was drinking! his coffee he learned froni the footman that Signor Marcello had gone out some time before^ but whether he was in the garden or had gone to church, whether he had taken the Velo road or that to Arsiero, Giovanni could not say. Massimo went out also, intending to look up Don; Aurelio. The caretaker opened the gate for him, and Massimo was questioning him as to the road to Lago, when he saw the man look beyond him' and salute some one who was passing, with marked respect. He turned round. A woman stood behind him, no longer young, but tall and slim ; her head was bare, and in her hand she carried a closed' sunshade, although the sun was already hot upon the rocky path. To the young man's intense surprise,; she stood still and smiled. " Signor Alberti, I believe? " she said. The soft voice struck Massimo as being! the samei he had heard in the night, alternating with Don Aurelio's. He bowed with some embarrassment, looking at the lady as if apologising for failing to recognise her. Before him stood a noble figure, that of a woman between fifty and fifty-five years of age, pale, with a suggestion of olive in her pallor,i her face showing traces of bodily suffering, her hair quite white, her large and luminous eyes still youth- ful, and her manner, voice, and slow utterance con- veying an expression of sweetness and of the dignity of gentle breeding. " I am a friend of Don Aurelio's," she said, still smiling. " We passed this way last night, hoping to see you, but you were already asleep." Massimo confessed that from his window he had seen a dark figure and a white one. " Yes, I was wearing a white shawl," she answered. " Are you on your way to Don Aurelio's? I am going there too." Massimo bowed, and questioned with his eyeS rather than with his lips : DISTAFFS AND THREADS 41 *' Then you are Signora ? " " Vayla di Brea," was her answer, with a pleasant smile, " Has Don Aurelio been writing to you about me? And was my name quite unfamiliar to you? " Massimo was obliged humbly to admit that it had been. " You see," she went on, " I have rather a grand- motherly feeling towards you I Was not your mother a Vittuoni, and was not her name Rachele? I was at Madame Bianchi Morand's school with her, in Milan. Your mother was one of the little girls when I was one of the elder ones. I was very fond of her and used to amuse myself sometimes by playing at being her mother." They started together along the narrow road that„ just beyond the gate, enters the cool shade of great chestnuts that fringe the crest of the sharp slope to the ravine, whence rises the deep, rhythmical booming of the whirlpools of Perale. His companion spoke at once of Don Aurelio's great disappointment at being unable to receive Massimo- as 'his guest nor even to meet him at the station. She told him that two days before the priest had taken in a sick man, a wretched pedlar of Pro- testant Bibles, who had fallen a victim to the people's fury at Posina, and to whom no one else would offer shelter. " Poor creature ! " the lady exclaimed. " He is. an oddity, an oddity indeed ! " And she gave a short laugh, which she quickly checked, however, pity overcoming her sense of the comic and her desire to indulge it. " He is a certain Pestagran, but about here they have taken to calling him ' Carnesecca,' because in; his sermons, which are always poetical, he often introduces Carnesecchi. But he gets even with them. He used to call his fellow-citizens of Lago fishes, sprats, eels, pike, and sometimes crabs. Now he- calls them all sharks 1 " 42 DISTAFFS AND THREADS She talked on pleasantly of the despised Came- secca, with a gentle humour that amused Massimo, and without revealing' to him that she was an atten- tive visitor to the sjck man. Their conversation was interrupted three times ; first at the end of the chestnut-grove, then in that green, flowery spot, shaded by nut and apple trees, where the women of Lago have their washhouse, amid idyllic surround- ings. First a poor old woman, then a lame beggar, stopped the Signorina and poured their woes into her ears. Then she herself stopped a small, bare- footed, and dirty maiden, carrying a basket. To each she spoke gently and kindly by name, inquiring for some invalid or absent relation. For the girl she had a word of reproof — a little bird having told her certain things ! When she had gently dismissed these poor people she fell once more to describing Camesecca and his partly comic, partly heroic ways, punctuating her description with the often-repeated word " Poveretto ! " as a salve to a conscience that was reproaching her for her slightly uncharitable mirth. Passing the first cottages and low sheds of Lago, guar'ded by walnut-trees and grape-vines throwing their cool shade across narrow, sweet -smelling lanes, Massimo and his companion reached the small square, where a few neat houses listen respectfully to the sermon on cleanliness that the fountain preaches to them, who do not need it, while the rabble of filthy hovels keeps at a distance, as the human rabble avoids the priest's sermons. If a peasant woman who was drawing water were to be believed, Car- nesecca had died in the night. A man in his shirt- sleeves, with wooden shoes, who was clattering off to his work, his scythe upon his shoulder, burst out contemptuously as he passed, without deigning to look in the woman's direction : " What does a foresta like you know about it? " The woman protested loudly, not because thci DISTAFFS AND THREADS 43 information of a foresta might, nevertheless, be correct, but because she happened to be a native of Maso, a group of houses not more than a quarter of a mile away. The sound of the man's heavy tre&d grew fainter, down among the dirty cottages, but his insolent voice could still be heard repeating : " A foresta 1 Foresta I Foresta \ " Then a girl, who was watering some carnations, leaned out of the window, and greeting the Signora, told her that she had carried the milk to Don Aurelio's house an hour ago, and that Carnesecca was feeling much better. The other woman excused her mistake by stating that she had hoped the horrid creature might really be dead I And when the Signora reproached her for her cruel thought, she turned the tables upon her, saying : " You cannot understand, Ela I You are a: foresta I And the priest too. ... It seems to me that, though he is indeed a holy man " " He is, nevertheless, a foreigner," said the Signora, and, turning to Massimo, she added, with a smile, " He is a Samaritan." " So he is I " said the " foreigner " from Maso sagaciously. " He comes from that very place 1 " Massimo and the Signora laughed and started to climb the steep path leading to the little church of Sant' Ubaldo. The church door stood open, and hear- ing Don Aurelio's voice, they entered. He was saying Mass and had reached the Paier Nostet. There were only two worshippers — 3. little old woman, seated on the last bench, and Signor Marcello, who was sitting in the row of benches directly in front of the altar, his shaggy head bent low, his whole being rapt in ardent prayer. The new-comers knelt down beside the little old woman. When Signor Marcello rose, somewhat feebly, and .went to kneel at the altar -rail. Donna Fedele Vayla di Brea fixed eyes brimming with grave tender- ness upon that venerable head, reverently lowering 44 DISTAFFS AND THREADS them again when the priest advanced towards him with the consecrated host and the words of eternal life. She had known Marcello since her early child- hood, when, soon after the liberation of Venice, Colonel Vayla di Brea purchased the Villino delle Rose, near Arsiero. Marcello was then past his thirtieth year. His parents were still alive, and a warm friendship soon sprang up between the two families, who spent the summer holidays in Val d'Astico. Little Fedele showed a strong liking for Marcello, and he, touched by this childish affection, would often amuse himself by playing duets with her. When he became engaged, the girl, who was now nearly fifteen and was growing very tall, altered her manner towards him, avoiding rather than seeking his society. He alone guessed that this change con- cealed those ardent, immature feelings which young girls sometimes have for men older than themselves, and under these circumstances consideration for Fedele urged him for a time to break off all familiar intercourse with her. iWith Marcello's wife the girl became, as she grew up, on most affectionate terras. Only, being unmusical, Signora Trento could nor share the love of music which still remained a bond between her husband and Fedele. Gradually these two began to seek each other's company again, and their eyes would meet more often than was neces- sary. One day, during an excursion, the two found themselves separated from the rest of the party, and lost in a pine forest. Perhaps, at first, passionate dreams overwhelmed the emotional girl, but as they wandered, trembling indeed and silent, neither sought the other's eyes. As they came out of the woods Marcello picked a cyclamen and offered it silently. Fedele took it and pressed it to her lips, her eyes glistening with tears. Henceforth they played no more together, as if by an unspoken agreement ; but Fedele could not DISTAFFS AND THREADS 45 forget. She persuaded her father to leave Arsiero, and they spent their summers at Santhia, where they had relatives. In winter they lived in Turin, where she was much courted, and where at times she seemed not indifferent to the admiration she excited. There was talk even of a real passion — of a rejected suitor, who took his life for love of her. But she never married, and at eight -and -forty she found herself alone. Her parents were dead, and, tired of city life, she remembered Arsiero, and went back to the Villino delle Rose. Poor Andrea Trento was already ill, and during the short time that elapsed between his death and that of his mother. Donna Fedele was often at the Montanina. Her former attachment to Marcello had grown into a regard that, with pity for his great misfortunes, became almost veneration. But after Signora Trento's death and a' first (exchange of visits Marcello ceased to come to the Villino, and Donna Fedele no longer went to the Montanina. Lelia was the cause of this estrange- ment. She had, at first, been quite captivated by Donna Fedele, who, however, had unintentionally treated her with icy indifference, arising perhaps from absent-mindedness or from some passing mood. Inexplicable attacks of iciness had more than once bewildered those around her. She had smiled at the girl, had bestowed a careless greeting upon her, and throughout the rest of the visit had not once addressed a word to her. Lelia set her down as haughty, and concluded she had taken a dislike to her. Her future attitude towards Donna Fedele was the more proud and cold because her longing to be friends was so strong. On her side. Donna Fedele, who had no suspicion of the truth, was sure that Lelia disliked her ; and deeply though she regretted this, her reserved nature stood in the way of her taking steps to win the young girl's heart, ^dj believing that her presence was unwelcome to 46 DISTAFFS AND THREADS the person most dear and sacfed to Signor Marcello, she discontinued her visits to the Montanina. She met Marcello not infrequently on the road from Velo to Arsiero, which passes below the villa. On such occasions they would walk and talk together, but they never spoke of Lelia. Marcello himself shrank from any reference to her. Knowing how peculiarly susceptible Donna Fedele was to impressions, he had concluded that Lelia was uncongenial to her, and he felt that his son's memory was thereby affronted. As through narrow mountain clefts a cold air can sometimes be detected rising, even through hot summer grass, from the heart of the mountain, so Donna Fedele felt, and endured in silence, a coolness invading Signor Marcello's friendship for her, for she understood whence it came. She raised her eyes to the old man's face as he rose from the altar-rail and returned to his seat, while Don Aurelio turned to pronounce the Dominus vobiscum. Massimo looked at his friend, thinking he had noticed him, but he was mistaken. The priest's eyes were blind to the things of this world. The young man saw that he had aged and had grown thinner since their last meeting, and that his face seemed more spiritual than ever. When Mass was over. Donna Fedele whispered to Massimo : "Of course, you will wait for Don Aurelio. I am going to see my friend. Will you come there too, later on? " Just for the moment Massimo did not realise that the friend to whom she referred was Carnesecca. However, he nodded assent, and sat down to wait for the priest. He was kept waiting for some time. The lad who had served the Mass put out the candles and departed about his own business. Signor Marcello, after remaining long absorbed in prayer, rose from his seat and entered the sacristy. Massimo heard a few DISTAFFS AND THREADS 47 whispered words, and then all was silence. The minutes passed, and neither Signer Marcello not Don Aurelio reappeared. But Massimo was not impatient. He was enjoying the sense of peace that dwelt within these poor walls, in these poor and well-worn fittings and ornaments, that called up pictures of still poorer homes, simple beings, and of the festivals of an imsophisticated faith. Meanwhile through the open door a light breeze was wafting to him fresh scents of woods and meadows and voices from the distant fields. Once more he was rejoicing in his release from the noise and dust of scorching Milan, as he had done last night on his way up to the Montanina, along the side of the dark gorge where the water sings. How sweet it was to be overcome by sensation alone I The music of the night sounded in his memory like a distant song. A gentle drowsiness, that was full of vague imaginings, crept gradually over him. The voices of an invisible choir filled the church with sweet sounds, while a young girl, with disordered hair and eyes downcast, came slowly towards him from the sacristy, and, stooping, touched his shoulder. His heart gave a bound ; he opened his eyes and saw Don Aurelio, who had touched his shoulder and now stood smiling beside him. Don Aurelio, a Roman by birth, had studied in the Propaganda College with the intention of becoming a missionary. A long illness, however, and the wishes of his superiors, who doubted his physical powers, had obliged him to relinquish this purpose. An intimate friend of the Benedictine Dom Clemente of Santa Scolastica, at Subiaco, he had met Benedetto there, had seen him again in Rome, at Dom Clemente's desire, and had become deeply attached both to him and to Massimo. During con- valescence, following a relapse of his illness, moun- tain air had been prescribed, and a Vincentine priest, 48 DISTAFFS AND THREADS who had been with him at the Propaganda, persuaded the Bishop of Vicenza to appoint him to the cure of Lago di Velo. Gentle Don Aurelio had gladly accepted this dispensation of Providence, rejoicing at the prospect of preaching Christ to simple souls in the poverty to which he had been born. And thus he had come to Lago, knowing nothing' of it beyond the fact that it was very poor. He did not forget Massimo. He wrote to him often and watched ■over him, not like a father, ready to help the struggle of a fervent disciple of him who lay buried at Campo Verano, but like a mother, who trembles for the welfare of her son's soul. He knew how sorely he anust be tempted to wrath and hatred by the unjust war that was being waged against him by opposite parties ; he knew that he was sometimes tempted to swerve from the doctrines of true religion, as not a few of his friends, some moved by natural pride, others by rebellious impulses, had swerved ; and, finally, he knew that worldly pleasures were also a source of temptation to him. He was aware, from Tvhat Massimo himself had told him, that women, lovely and brilliant women, had been attracted by him ; and he knew that the young man's deep and poetic feeling for woman was perhaps more dangerous to him than mere physical temptations. He felt there would be grave danger for Massimo until such a time as he should meet and love a woman worthy to be his wife, who would weave about him a net of affections and of personal interests, strong enough also to hold him back from the field of religious strife. Don Aurelio, either from the natural gentleness of his character, or from his conception of the special duties which the eccle- siastical habit imposed, was not a man of strife. In religious matters he opened his heart to God alone, praying and looking to Him only for the triumph of truth and of the Church. A lecture Massimo had recently delivered in Milan on the DISTAFFS AND THREADS 49 Italian heretics of the sixteenth century had brought such a hailstorm of insults, both black and red,' had excited such a pandemonium of universal com- ment, that Don Aurelio had advised him to withdraw for a time from this confusion, offering him hos- pitality which, if devoid of comforts, was rich in peace . When he had locked the church door, Don Aurelio put his arm affectionately through Massimo's. " You were good to come I " he exclaimed, pressing the arm he held still closer to his side. In this pressure Massimo felt something that troubled him. His heart misgave him lest this silent demon- stration of affection should mean that his friend shrank from expressing certain criticisms, or was but preparing him for them. These criticisms, he felt sure, could not fail to contain disapproval. " You also disapprove of me," he said sadly. " Dear friend, you may not have had my approval in everything, but at this moment I remember only that you have suffered." " You may not have had my approval in every- thing." These words overwhelmed Massimo with sorrow and oppression. At the moment he made no answer, but when Don Aurelio^ going in front of him, led the way through the yard surrounding the priest's poor little house, and was telling him how disappointed he was at being unable to receive him there, the young man interrupted and asked, with almost painful anxiety, of what he had disapproved. At that very moment Donna Fedele came towards them, and Don Aurelio was first astonished and then pleased to see the two whom he thought strangers to one another smile at their introduction. Carnesecca was doing very well, but he was restless, and kept asking for Don Aurelio. The priest objected to his « Black and red insults : black from the clericals, and red from Socialists and free-thinkers.— Translator's Note. 50 DISTAFFS AND THREADS being called CameseccS, but Donna Fedele, raising her eyebrows and speaking with unwonted rapidity, protested warmly that she was one of the people, and must express herself as they did. " Would you have me give him the name by which the archpriest calls him? " she inquired. This dignitary, juggling with the stranger's name, Pestagran, had dubbed him Gran Peste. Don Aurelio's face flushed. He disliked the archpriest's nickname for the miserable but well-intentioned wanderer, but still more he disliked hearing the priest himself alluded to in sarcastic and ironical terms. " Here I am' I " he cried, as he and Massimo passed from the fresh air and coolness of the stair- way into the heavy, drug-laden atmosphere of the invalid's room. A little old woman who was seated beside the bed, whence Camesecca's yellow and wrinkled old face peered forth, like a handful of clay, from between his nightcap and the folded sheet, rose to her feet, clasping her hands and crying delightedly : " Thank Heaven, you have come 1 " The invalid raised his head and shoulders' a little, propping himself upon one elbow, while he brought the other hand to his nightcap in a military salute. Then, turning to the old woman, he pronounced her name solemnly : " Liizia I " He stretched out his arm, turning his wrist slowly and majestically until the palm of his hand faced the door. " You are at liberty to devote yourself to the performance of your mysterious rites I " .The old woman hurried away, exclaiming : "I am going ! I am going I " And the upraised palm fell back upon the coverlet with a dull thud. " The good woman was troubled by my very natural impatience." Thus saying, Signor Ismaele Pestagran blew a DISTAFFS AND THREADS 51 noisy breath through his nostrils and screwed up his small eyes into two glittering, black points. Noticing Massimo, who had entered behind Don Aureliq, he once more brought his hand to his nightcap. "And this gentleman? . . ." " This gentleman's " presence did not seem entirely welcome to him. Massimo saw this and made haste to withdraw. Whereupon Camesecca said calmly, " Your pardon." Doima Fedele, who was waiting for Massimo on the landing, asked him to go downstairs with her. Something was going on that Massimo should know of. While Don Aurelio had been saying Mass, the sacristan of Velo had arrived with a letter from the archpriest. He had left the letter with Liizia, who had afterwards ex- pressed herself to Ismaele as follows : " Those accursed books of yours will bring you to perdition and me to beggary 1 " She had refused to explain her outburst ; but Ismaele was convinced that the priests of Velo intended, to drive Don Aurelio away from Lago on his, Ismaele's, account. Massimo asked if there were really any danger of this. How could Donna Fedele tell? Ldzia had taken the arch- priest's note to her master's study, and Don Aurelio had not been in there yet. But what was Dorma Fedele's opinion? Donna Fedele was much alarmed. On account of something Don Aurelio had told her? Certainly not. He never spoke of his superiors except to sing their praises. It was her opinion that there was more to be feared from the chaplain than from the archpriest, and more to be feared from him than from the bishop. The bishop, indeed, appeared most benevolently inclined towards Don Aurelio. What sort of men were this archpriest and this chaplain? Donna Fedele would tell him nothing concerning the chaplain, and said it was a difficult matter to understand the archpriest. At times he seemed good-natured, at times harsh ; he was some- times jovial, sometimes sarcastic ; liberal on some 52 DISTAFFS AND THREADS occasions, conservative on others. As a. priest he was above censure. And here Donna Fedele felt it her duty to add that, as far as morals were concerned, the chaplain was above censure also. Don Aurelio had pronounced the archpriest a good theologian and Latin scholar, and had indeed endowed him with all those merits of which she was incapable of judging. Between him and the bishop, a warm-hearted man, full of charity for friends and enemies alike, there was some friction. She was willing to wager that the archpriest had accepted Don Aurelio most unwillingly at Lago, and only because he had been obliged to do so. She believed that Don Aurelio had been under suspicion for some time on account of his sermons, which were carefully watched, and of which the chaplain was known to have hinted that they con- tained overmuch of purely moral teaching and mystical sentiment, and overlittle of theology and asceticism. While Donna Fedele and Massimo were holding this conversation in the doorway, Liizia passed on her way to the kitchen -garden to gather some peas. Donna Fedele stopped her. Well, what had the sacristan really said? He had said : " Take good care of your Gran Peste I Take good care of him I This time your priest will have to go 1 " Donna Fedele's face flushed angrily, while in Massimo's breast a flame of bitterness burned hot. The grass in the field, the leaves of the mulberry- tree, quivering and glistening in the breeze, the calm' hills flooded with sunshine, the clear sky, even the little garden itself, everything was brimming with kindness, was a hymn to kindness encompassing the humble home of this servant of God whose soul was full of Christ. And now everything seemed meaning- less, frozen by a sudden icy breath. Neither Massimo nor Donna Fedele dared to utter their indignation here in the near neighbourhood of Don Aurelio, any more than if they had been in church. They heard DISTAFFS AND THREADS 53 the priest's step on the stairs, and Camesecca's voice crying, " I wish it, Signore 1 I wish it I " to Don Aurelio's " Noj no I " And then there was silence. " He probably wished to go away on account of the letter," Donna Fedele whispered. " But there is no danger of Don Aurelio's allowing him to leave in the state he is in." The priest did not come to them, and Donna Fedele, leaving Massimo, went upstairs and entered Carnesecca's room without knocking. Massimo was greatly astonished to see her come down again almost immediately, laughing heartily, her face hidden in her hands. She had foimd Carnesecca with his bare legs out of bed, and they were such black, dry stilts of legs, and the poor man had been so dismayed, and had shouted so vigorously, " Go away I Go away ! " dragging at the clothes the while, that, with her sense of humour. Donna Fedele would have had to laugh even if her father and mother had both died but that morning. She went out to Ldzia and advised her to go and attend to her invalid. But Ltizia would not. The man was always doing that. He was always trying to get out of bed without help, and even she herself was sent out of the room on these occasions. But — what if he should become giddy? What if he should fall? What if he should break his arm — break his leg? " Blessed Lady 1 What a lot of accidents I " cried Ldzia, unmoved. " What a lot indeed ! " Donna Fedele retorted, laughing. " One would be enough, I should think I " Ldzia laughed too, and then went on gathering her peas. Massimo came up and offered to go to the invalid. Ldzia grasped at this proposal, saying, " Yes, yes ; you go 1 " But Donna Fedele said, " H'm 1 " and smiled in a way that excited Massimo's curiosity. She then explained to him, with other smiles and some reticence, that he was not in 54 DISTAFFS AND THREADS Camesecca's good books. Carnesecca read the news- papers, and had come to the conclusion that Massimo was a Modernist, one of those people who study the Bible to discover falsehoods in it, to find errors,; contradictions, and interpolations ; while to him, CameseccA, every word it contained had been written by the hand of the Almighty Himself. He rejoiced in Don Aurelio's disapproval of Bible criticism, and he had been heard to say that, on this point, he was more in sympathy with the Jews than with certain Catholics. In fact, one of his best friends was a rabbi in London . Massimo, who had never given any thought to Bible criticism, was greatly amused by the horror he had insjpired and much interested con- cerning this friendship with the English rabbi. Donna: Fedele informed him that Carnesecca had spent several years in England, where he had become a Protestant and had made the acquaintance of a rabbi, a man of science, who had taught him that there were three hundred and sixty-five bones in the human body. Allowing her own humorous imagination to colour her story somewhat, perhaps, she went on to say that, after the tortures he had endured from Catholic sticks and stones, Ismaele declared he could locate pains in no less than three hundred and fifty-nine separate bones. The two were still talking quietly among the peas when they were roused by the priest's voice. Don Aurelio was standing at his study, window. " Massimo ! Will you come in now? " Massimo hastened indoors, and Donna Fedele, who was very tired, begged Liizia to bring her out a chair, and, settling herself comfortably, waited for news concerning the archpriest's message. Don Aurelio came out to meet Massimo on the landing, and grasping his hands, held them in his ovm for a space, gazing smilingly into his friend's eyes. DISTAFFS AND THREADS 55 Presently he drew him into a little study flooded with light, with a whitewashed ceiling and brick floor, and barely furnished with a bookshelf, a deal table, a few rickety, straw-bottomed chairs, a dilapidated leather easy-chair, from whose rents hung ragged ends of lining, and, hanging above the easy -chair, a wooden crucifix. The bookshelf was opposite the fireplace, and it was crowded with books, as were the table, the mantelshelf, and all the chairs save one. Yet there was no disorder or dust ; the books were arranged in tidy piles, and everything was as neat as Don Aurelio's cassock and his delicate hands. Above the mantelshelf, between the two windows^ hung two photographs, one of the Sacro Speco at Subiaco, the other of the Cosmati Cloister at Santa Scolastica. The books were chiefly religious works. Don Aurelio set especial store by his collection of the writings of the great mystics and of his com- plete sets of the works of Antonio Rosmini and of Father Gratry. These and the collection of the sacred orators of N6tre Dame, together with many books by modern French Catholics, were the gift of Donna Fedele, and had belonged to her father. Don Aurelio showed his treasures to his friend with such untroubled satisfaction, and stood so quietly beside him at the window, pointing out the different peaks, the villages, and the more distant paths, that Massimo was forced to conclude either that nothing was wrong or that Don Aurelio did not yet know. But he was conscious, to the point of embarrassment, of his own air of distraction and of his visible lack of interest in the things of which Don Aurelio was talking. Don Aurelio mentioned Val d'Astico, and Massimo seized the opportunity to inquire how he got on with the archpriest there. " He is an excellent man," his friend answered ; but he added, smiling, " I fear, however, he has no great liking for me." 56 DISTAFFS AND THREADS There was no reason for that smile. Massimo saw that Don Aurelio knew. " Why do you smile? " he asked. The priest did not answer. At this point they heard the voice of Ldzia,' whJOi was coming upstairs, crying : " Sm^le 1 Smfele I " (Ismaele ! Ismaele I). " Are you there, Sm^le? " She burst into the room, glanced wildly round, and, wringing her hands as if beside herself, cried : " Gdsumarite ! He is not here I " Who was not here? Why, Smfele, of course I And who was Sm^le? Carnesecca, to be sure I Don Aurelio realised at once what had happened. He gave a start and dashed downstairs, followed by Massimo and Liizia. It was as she had said — the room was empty. And his clothes? They were gone too. " G6sumarite I The poor soul 1 " moaned Ldziai. " And he has even left tne a franc I " A silver coin was glittering on the straw bottom of a chair, beside a ball of wool and a set of knitting- needles. " He has forgotten his watch," she added. " Massimo ! " Don Aurelio called ; " follow me ! " At the front door they met Donna Fedele ; she had heard Ldzia's cries and the excited voices of the two men, and was on her way to inquire what had happened. They told her quickly. The colour left her face. It was true, then? The letter the sacristan had brought? . . . Carnesecca had gone because of that? "It is true," said Don Aurelio quietly ; " but that poor creature has nothing to do with it. And now he will make himself worse again, for -this morning he was still feverish. You did not see him go out? " Donna Fedele, who had been watching Ldziai gathering her peas, had neither seen nor heard any- thing. Neither had Ldzia seen nor heard him go. DISTAFFS AND THREADS 57 Don Aurelio set about arranging a plan of pursuit. Something must be done at once. " I can't run I " observed Donna Fedele with a smile. She was so far from being able to run that, having pressed the priest's hand in silence, she dropped wearily into her chair once more. Later she had to ask the milk -girl from Lago to lend her an arm as far as the chestnut - tree, where a small hired carriage awaited her. Don Aurelio started running towards Lago, be- lieving that Ismaele had gone to the Montanina. Massimo went up towards Maso. The priest reached the chestnuts on the hillside, from which point one can see the white Trento villa, without having met a soul. Could Ismaele have passed already? A man of sixty, with fever upon him, and practically fasting? Impossible 1 Don Aurelio stopped abruptly, seized by a sudden thought. What if the tiresome fellow, believing all he did believe^ had gone to confront the archpriest? The longer Don Aurelio thought about it the more he thought it probable, and, turning, he hastily retraced his steps. Instead, how- ever, of going straight up by the short cut that leads from Lago to Sant' Ubaldo, he took the road that, a few yards from the church, joins the one descending from Velo. And here he found Massimo, who had met several people on the Maso road, but no one of them had seen Carriesecca. This convinced Don Aurelio. " I will go to Velo," he declared, " but I must go alone. You had better go tack to the Montanina, where they will be waiting for you." Massimo asked if, in case Pestagran would not come back and his room being then unoccupied . . . Don Aurelio interrupted him. "No, dear friend, it is impossible. I will explain. . . ." And reading further questions and suspicions in Massimo's expression of sorrowful indignation, he urged him away. 58 DISTAFFS AND THREADS " Go to Signer Marcello, who is expecting you. We will talk later on. I must first find this unhappy, man and prevent his committing further follies. Leave me now I Signer Marcello has asked me to luncheon, and I wi\l come if possible." The archpriest's letter had contained an enclosure from the episcopal curia of Vicenza that was nothing more nor less than Don Aurelio's dismissal within a fortnight from the benefice of Lago di Velo. The archpriest himself, in a few appropriate lines, ex- pressed his regret at this unexpected communication, and begged Don Aurelio to see that all persons and furniture were removed from the house within the appointed time, as his successor would then be arriving with his mother and sister. It was a bitter thing to be driven from that peaceful retreat, from his small, much-loved flock, not to know where to find shelter or food. All persons and. furniture to be removed. It was impossible that he could be dismissed on Ismaele's account, but, under the circumstances, that word " persons " was not without import. After the first moments of grief and bewilderment Don Aurelio's soul was filled with a sense of sweetest peace, as if Christ Himself had laid loving hands upon his head. His own sad plight no longer troubled him ; he was thinking now of two things only — of finding the Bible-seller, and of a certain impor- tant communication, of a most delicate nature, which Signer Marcello had mlade to him in the sacristy after Mass. Walking quickly, he soon reached a wayside inn. The innkeeper, a bearded Lombard, who had once been gardener at the Villino delle Rose, stood smok- ing in his shirt-sleeves in the doorway. As Don Aurelio came up he turned his back upon him and DISTAFFS AND THREADS 59 entered the tavern, saying in a tone easily heard outside : " Hogs of priests I First they kick a, dying man Out, and then run to see if he is dead I " And he spat contemptuously. Don Aurelio went straight to the man, and confronted him. " My good fellow " he began. The man was ashamed, and hastened to take his pipe out of his mouth. " Will you have half a measure, Reverendo ? " he stammered. " Where is he ? " Don Aurelio demanded reso- lutely. " Where is the dying man I kicked cut? " "Ah! I suppose you mean the Bible-seller. I'm sorry for what I said. It wasn't meant for you. For my part I prefer the priests to this Bible chap. Yes, he is here; my wife found him on the road, half dead. But he is not going to stay here, I can tell you I If that is what is worrying you, put your mind at rest. I'm going to tell him that if his own feet don't move him, mine will. Will that suit you ? I spoke wrong at first; I'm speaking right enough now, ain't I ? Good-morning!" He greeted a band of soldiers belonging to a regiment of mountain chasseurs, who were entering the tavern. Meanwhile Don Aurelio went to the courtyard at the side of the house, drawn by the sound of an agitated woman's voice. Upon a broken chair planted unsteadily in the black ooze, within a yard of the manure-heap, sat the wretched Carnesecca, grudgingly held up by the innkeeper's wife, who was calling : " Checca 1 Checca I Quick I Quick I " with all the strength of her lungs. Don Aurelio rushed forward to support the tottering man, who was the colour of a badly-washed rag, and scolded the woman for not having taken him into the house. The woman, one moment calling " Checca " and the next making her excuses to the priest, said it had 60 DISTAFFS AND THREADS been her man, G^summaria: 1 who had not been willing. And besides, Camesecca himself — ^Blessed Lady I — ^had not wanted it. He had seemed much stronger when they brought him in from the road;' not as he was now. He had even said: " Fling me on the dung-heap, for I am Jopha I " At this point Carnesecca half opened his eyes and mumbled, his chin still resting upon his breast: "Jonah I Not Jopha I" "Yes, yes, Jopha 1" the woman comforted. "Be quiet and you shall have some coffee." Here was Checca at last, a great, stolid-looking country girl of about sixteen, bringing the coffee — ^not, indeed, the coffee of the padrone and his customers, but that of the padrone's wife and her servant, a semblance of coffee on terms of intimacy with roasted wheat. Just at this moment a hen that had been calmly disporting herself on the manure-heap, frightened by the house-dog, flapped down into the yard, and disappeared through a near hedge. " Gfesul Mistress I The hen! " screamed Checca, stopping short. "Catch her, catch her!" shouted her mistress, remembering a certain hole in the hedge and the ferocious threats of one of her neigh- bours. Don Aurelio snatched the coffee-pot from Checca's hands, and the two women, the mistress in front, Checca close behind, were off like the wind, splashing through the black ooze. A sip of coffee revived the Bible-merchant, who fixed upon Don Aurelio a look that was half dazed, half mirthful. " What have you done, you wretched fellow? What have you done ? What has come over you ? " Carnesecca smiled, and answered in his Val d'Astico Italian : " I got round you, you seel I told you I would* I got round you I " Another sip of coffee.: DISTAFFS AND THREADS 61 " You think you have got round me, do you ? And where do you intend to go ? " Another sip, after which Camesecca cast a look of deep inquiry at the liquid, with a most expressive pout of his lips. " Where do I inteind to go ? " he said, still gazing into the wheat coffee. " First to the High Priest of Velol" " I forbid your doing that ! " " I shall go to the High Priest of Velo in a spirit of respect and of meektiess," said Carnesecca' serenely, " and I shall say to him: ' Vent thy wrath upon me, cause me to be crucified, for this is Jerusalem, thou art Caiaphas, and I am the son of the Lamb.' " Don Aurelio was beside himself. "Don't talk rubbish I What you suppose is all nonsense. There is not a word of truth in it. You are coming home with me immediately 1 " The " son of the Lamb " was visibly impressed by Don Aurelio's flushed countenance and angry voice, and sat gazing fixedly at him. " Well, well, well I " said he at last, letting the words off like pistol shots. " If it is not true, I need not go. But I had sooner die on that dung-heap than go back with you. I will ask shelter' of the White Lady of the Roses, who " '" Calkpo I " shouted the innkeeper's wife, who was bringing the hen back in her arms. " Calapo, Calkpo I What are you about ? " Calkpo, a stumpy little man, barefooted and coat- less, who was dragging a cart out of the stable, shouted, in his turn, that he was going to harness the donkey to drive to Piovene. "You will do nothing of the sort I The donkey has the colic, you fooll" Carnesecca, interrupted in an intended panegyric upon the White Lady of the Roses, as he called Donna Fedele, made an effort to rise and go on 62 DISTAFFS AND THREADS his way. Don Aurelio detained him. It had struck him that it would be better, for many reasons, to allow the old man to go to the Villino, but he could not let him go on foot. He begged the woman, if she would not keep him, at least to allow Calkpo to take him to the villa in the donkey-cart. But the woman refused, on the plea of the animal's indis- position. Calkpo pushed the cart back into the shed, and Carnesecca declared that he was able to walk. Don Aurelio had started to interview the innkeeper, and beg him' at, least to keep the " Bible-man " till the evening, when Calkpo came up and offered to drag the cart as far as the villa. Meanwhile one of the soldiers had called Checca out into the street^ whither others had followed, and formed a circle around the flushed and laughing girl. The mistress shouted to her and she came in, followed by the soldiers, one of whom, hearing Cal^po renew his offer, over which Don Aurelio was hesitating, cried out: "Do you want help? I will help you 1 " Scenting fun, his companions quickly volunteered to help also, and it was arranged that together they should draw the cart as far as Velo, where a donkey free from colic might be found. Calkpo took his place between the shafts, and a couple of soldiers lifted Carnesecca and placed him' in the cart. Then there was a merry proposal to put Checca in ,too, but the girl ran off, while Carnesecca threatened indig- nantly to throw himself from the cart if his dignity were thus compromised. The innkeeper's wife settled the matter . " You want more weight, do you, boys? You shall have it," she said, and sent Calkpo to fetch two bags of corn to take to the miller. But Carnesecca called Calapo to his side and in- quired if he really felt able to drag the cart alone as far as Velo. " As far as Velo? As far as Piovene, if you like I " was the fellow's reply. DISTAFFS AND THREADS 63 Thereupon Camesecca, who shrank' from the soldiers' noisy escort, turned towards them, giving them to understand that he could dispense with their services. Then he bowed his thanks to right and left, his head bobbing between upraised hands, that waved on either side like a pair of great ears. He looked like a pope imparting his blessing from the chair of state. " Let us be off, Calkpo," said Camesecca gently. " I give you my blessing," he said, turning to Don Aurelio, " for your hospitality." And addressing the woman, he added : "I bless you also for this cart, for the chair, and . . . yes, let us be charit- able . . . for the coffee also I " At this moment the innkeeper made an appearance at the side door, and blustered : " What is all this farce about? " Camesecca scrutinised him with the utmost com- posure. " I bless you also," he said, " you also, my good man — because you have a Christian wife, and a Christian wife may save a heathen husband. Let us be off, Calkpo." The innkeeper was speechless with amazement. Calkpo, bending beneath the load, turned out at the gateway into the road, the soldiers following and jeering at him, " Gee up, Calkpo, gee up I " Don Aurelio stood for a few seconds watching this strange procession move towards Velo, and then started in the direction of Sant' Ubaldo. n Don Aurelio's mind was now wholly engrossed in what Signbr Marcello had confided to him in the sacristy after Mass. Without explaining his reasons for thinking so, further than by alluding to his seventy-two years, Signor Marcello had spoken as one who believed he had not long to live. An un- usual gentleness in his bearing confirmed the priest's suspicion that some physical warning must have come to him. The substance of his unexpected communica- 64 DISTAFFS AND THREADS tion was as follows. Uneasy concerning the future of Lelia, whom he looked upon as his daughter, and anxious lest she should refuse the benefits his will might offer, lest she should fall once more into the hands of one or other of her parents, he had thought that if a union were possible between her and Massimo Alberti, his poor boy's friend, the second and more serious of these dangers might be averted. Probably thereby the other difficulty would be avoided as well, at least to a certain extent, for he would then comply in part with Lelia's wish, and leave her the villa only. It was to be hoped that neither she nor her husband would wish to offend his memory by refusing this legacy. It was unreasonable to expect a girl of two-and- twenty to mourn for ever, and she must know that another future was expected and desired for her. Perhaps as long as he, Marcello, lived she would hesitate to commit what might seem an outrage against poor Andrea's memory, but if she were encouraged and persuaded that Andrea in heaven would not disapprove of this marriage, she would surely give way. Signor Marcello was convinced of this. The unknown quantity in the problem was Massimo Alberti. Signor Marcello had heard much that was good of him from Don Aurelio, but he did not know whether he had other ties and affections, whether or no he intended to marry. This was why he had confided in Don Aurelio and asked for his advice and the help that the priest's friendship with Massimo could give him, first by information and then, if possible, by influencing the young man in the matter. During this conversation the priest's face had flushed with trouble and embarrassment. Massimo had no ties of a shameful nature, of this he felt sure, nor, to his knowledge, was he in love. He knew him to be of a susceptible nature, and in writing to him the young man had never tried to DISTAFFS AND THREADS 65 hide the fact. As to marriage, he was certainly not opposed to it, but he was firmly determined never to bind himself without love, or to tolerate suggestions concerning his choice. Advice of this kind had once turned him against a certain alliance which otherwise very probably would have been made. In matters like these special tact wa;s re- quired which Don Aurelio felt that he did not possess ; he wished he did possess it, for he would have been heartily glad to urge Massimo to marry, believing him capable of reahsing the highest ideals of married life. All this he told Signor Marcello, but he said nothing of what to him presented the thorniest aspect of the problem. Signorina Lelia was a riddle to him, a closed casket that might contain either rich jewels or false ones. Signor Marcello persisted, how- ever, in his request, and showed some impatience. In the short time he had known him Don Aurelio had grown to respect this old man, with his warm heart, his honest and humble soul, with such pure faith in and love of the Divine Word. He could not refuse the favour he was now being! asked, and promised to do his best. He would do his best, but how was he to set to work, he wondered as he walked slowly along the parched road to Sant' Ubaldo. The first step must be to discover whether Massimo's heart was free. This was not difficult. And if it were free, by what means was he to influence his friend in the right direction without revealing his purpose? Besides, was there time enough? When he had talked with Signor Marcello he had not known he must leave in a fortnight. Would not Massimo also want to leave? And could a matter of this sort be arranged in a fortnight? He must take Donna Fedele into his confidence. She had experience of Leikh Q 66 DISTAFFS AND THREADS these things, and would advise him. Although she went very rarely to the Montanina, she would surely know more about Signorina Lelia than he could possibly discover. He looked at his watch. It was half -past ten. There was time for him to go to the Villino and get back to the Montanina for luncheon. Opportunities of studying the girl and of seeing the two young people together were precious. He hurried along, taking the road that leads down to Lago without touching Sant' Ubaldo. While crossing the glade between the slope of Lago and that on which the Montanina stands he tried to recollect his few distinct impressions of Signorina Lelia. He had heard her play with great feeling. He had occasionally seen her coming down the road from Sant' Ubaldo to the Battery, carrying great bunches of wild flowers. He could not remember any but insignificant remarks of hers. Whenever he said Mass at Santa Maria ad Montes she was present, seated beside Signor Marcello. Once when he and Signor Marcello had had a discussion in her presence concerning the reading of the Gospels she had shown not the slightest interest. He recol- lected, indeed, that he had come away wondering whether she had ever read them. She was not un- attractive-looking, but she did not seem to him beautiful enough to captivate Massimo at first sight. His impression of her face was that it revealed great intelligence and a character containing much of reserve and caprice. Absorbed in these thoughts, he would probably have passed Donna Fedele without seeing her had she not called out, " Don Aurelio I " She and the girl from Lago were seated upon the fallen trunk of a great tree, a little above the turn that leads towards the Montanina. " Well? Did you find him? " Hearing that Carnesecca was on his way to Villino delle Rose, she rose to her feet, astonished, but glad DISTAFFS AND THEEADS 67 to have him, and anxious to get home. Ahhough she was still very tired, she dismissed the girl, that she might be free to discuss Don Aurelio's dismissal from his benefice. There was little to tell, and the priest cut short her conjectures, perhaps because another matter was then uppermost in his mind, or that he feared an indignant outburst against the priests of Velo. He made haste to tell her that he wanted her advice on a very important question. " More so than this? " Donna Fedele asked. Yes. This matter was simple enough, but the other was most complex. Talking thus they had almost reached the little hired carriage that had come up as far as the entrance to the Montanina. The priest stopped, intending to explain the matter shortly. " Don Aurelio," said his companion, " if you do not mind giving me your arm, I will stop, otherwise I must go and sit in the carriage." She was very pale, but her sweet eyes were smiling. As it was not yet eleven. Donna Fedele decided that there was time for Don Aurelio to accompany her home and then be driven back to the Montanina by twelve o'clock, and although the driver's presence would prevent their talking on the way, they would, rievertheless, have a quiet quarter of an hour at the Villino. At five minutes to twelve Don Aurelio pushed open the covered gate that leads into the Montanina grounds, beside Santa Maria ad Montes, feeling much lighter-hearted than he had felt earlier in the day. Donna Fedele had promised her aid with such enthusiastic goodwill that he, ignorant as he was of the depths of her good nature, was touched and filled with gratitude, as if that goodwill had- been all on his behalf. DISTAFFS AND THREADS III Massimo came down from Sant' Ubaldo with his heart full of bitterness, believing firmly, with Car- nesecca, that Don Aureljo's dismissal had been brought about by his championship of the Lutheran missioner. He wondered anxiously what would happen to his poor friend. Even if the unfortunate priest should wander far in search of another diocese, would not these calumnies follow him? Would he not be met on all sides with reluctance, diffidence, and timidity? Hardly had his hand touched the Montanina. gate than another anxiety beset him, overruling the first. He thought of his approaching meeting with the Signorina, which he desired and yet at the same time dreaded. The green, flowery loveliness of the villa's setting seemed to him to distil a subtle sense of awe-inspiring mystery. Instead of going straight to the house he turned to the left, past the clump of poplars and the bridge, overgrown with roses, and walked along the bank of the Riderella; to where a tiny waterfall sings, almost in the shade of the walnut-trees. Presently he asked himself impatiently what was the meaning of this agitation on account of one whom he had never seen. For answer the two photographs rose to his mind, and he shrank from the thought of being confronted by that pale face and the downcast eyes. He started towards the villa, trying to steel himself into indifference. In the distance, by the stables, he saw Teresina talking to a gentleman, whom he learned from her later was the village doctor, who had not deemed it prudent to intrude upon Signor Marcello without a plausible excuse. Massimo went up to his room and stood gazing for some time at Andrea's picture. Then he carefully and almost reverently changed the water in the glass that held the rose^ the rose DISTAFFS AND THREADS 69 that had drooped 2L little lower and become more languid, its outside petals already touched by the first pallor of death. Again he re-read his letters to his lost friend, letters whose pages were still more faded than the rose. He was standing at the window in passive enjoyment of this feast of sunshine, wind, and living things that exhorted to life, when he heard a heavy step in the corridor, and, turning, saw the door slowly pushed open. It was Signor Marcello, who, on perceiving him, uttered 'za exclamation of apology. " I did not know you had returned," said he. In his hand he carried a fresh rose, a magnificent iwhite one, like the other. They stood gazing at each other for a while in silent sympathy ; then Massimo, deeply moved, took the rose, and Signor Marcello withdrew. Towards half-past eleven, while Massimo was writing letters, Giovanni brought a message from his master, asking the young man to come down. "He is in the drawing-room with the Signorina." *' Which shall I see? " was the thought that sprang to Massimo's mind as he went down the wooden staircase. Lelia was seated with her back to the stairs at the writing-table placed crosswise between the spacious window and the fireplace. She was annoyed with herself because her heart was beating so violently ; she would not admit, even to herself, her burning curiosity to see this man who was de- scending the stairs ; she would not have turned her head to look at him, either then or later, if she could have avoided doing so without being set down as hopelessly discourteous. " Lelia I " said Signor Marcello gently. She laid down her • p>en, opened the drawer to place something in it, seemed to be searching in it iot an instant, and finally rose and faced about. Signor Marcello introduced her : " My daughter." 70 DISTAFFS AND THREADS She barely inclined her head. Massimo bowed low, murmuring something incoherent of which the only word distinguishable was " pleasure." Yes, pleasure 1 Here was neither the one face nor the other. Here was the serious face of a girl who receives for the first time a friend of her dead lover. It was the face of one who had once given every- thing to love, and had now consecrated her life to the memory of that love. Massimo might have been more critical of the irregularities of this face had its expression been different. "But the irregularities seemed to him too insignificant to dwell upon, and he thought her almost beautiful. He could not but admire her figure, which, though not tall, was perfect in all its lines, revealed by her simple grey gown, trimmed with black, and cut slightly low at the neck. He noticed the splendid, fair hair that crowned her small head, and the grace of her neck, which was the colour of old ivory. His bearing immediately became less constrained. But Lelia became even more rigid. Signor Marcello saw, by a slight movement on her part, that she was about to flee, like a child whose feet fidget to be off. He tried to detain her by making her the subject of conversation. " She has sacrificed herself for my poor wife and myself," he began, but obtained the opposite result to that at which he aimed. Lelia cried reproach- fully, " Papa I " and darted off. Signor Marcello was hurt, and called after her : " Lelia I " She paused on the threshold of the dining-room, turned towards them, and stood resting her hands against the door-jambs. Massimo shuddered. It was the face he had dreaded — the marble sphinx, with downcast eyes. The vision lasted but an instant. Then Lelia looked up with a forced smile. " I must go, Papa," she said—" that is, if you want any luncheon I " DISTAFFS AND THREADS 71 " Oh, very well . . ." sighed Signor Marcello, more displeased than submissive. Hardly had she left the room than he began to sing her praises. She was kind, intelligent, a musician, a skilful housewife. Massimo listened in silence. As soon as possible he brought the con- versation round to Don Aurelio's dismissal, of which, of course, Signor Marcello had not yet heard. Massimo was as yet unacquainted with the particulars, but the fact itself was certain. Signor Marcello was more disappointed and grieved than indignant. Four-and -twenty hours before he would have felt differently. Of Came- secca, Massimo only knew that he had fled, and he greatly doubted whether Don Aurelio would be able to keep his engagement to luncheon. He also spoke of Donna Fedele, although he was unaware on what terms she stood at the Montanina. Signor Marcello expressed his pleasure at discovering that there was a link between them, repeating several times how glad he was, without giving any reason why, and without any special praise for any of the persons concerned, and going on to tell how the Vayla di Breas had come to settle in Arsiero. At this point Don Aurelio arrived. He came in with a bright manner, and answered Signor Marcello's and Massimo's questions briefly. Yes, it was quite true that he must leave his bene- fice within a fortnight. But it was no one's fault. Ismaele was only a poor visionary. The rough time he had had at Posina had made him fancy there was persecution everywhere. A priest, with his mother and sister, were coming to Lago. Prob- ably it was to assist them, poor things — while he, without any such claims upon him And he shrugged his shoulders, as if it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to earn a livelihood. Changing the subject, he became eloquent in his account of Carnesecca's wanderings, saying that, at 72 DISTAFFS AND THREADS the present moment, he was in bed ill a comfort- able little room at the Villino, in a state of beatitude. Well, perhaps not precisely of beatitude, because the three hundred and fifty-nine bones had begun to ache again, but, nevertheless 1 The foot- man here announced that luncheon was served. Lelia was waiting in the dining-room. The four seated themselves at the square table, one on each side. Lelia sat facing the glass door opening into the garden and commanding a view of the crags of Barco ; Massimo was on her left. On ' her right sat Don Aurelio, who began talking to her at once, telling her he had often seen her coming down the road from the Battery, carrying wild flowers. He referred to the rhododendrons that grew luxuriantly where landslides have torn the slopes of Priafork. She knew these well, and admitted that those wild spots were favourites of hers. Her voice was deeper and not so sweet as Donna Fedele's, but rich, sympathetic, and soft, nevertheless, suggesting as far as a woman's voice can the notes of a violoncello, and rich with potential feeling. Her answer to Don Aurelio's question, whether she was fond of solitudes, came unhesitatingly and in the affirmative, but she added quickly, fearing she had not understood aright : " Solitude, you say? " " I really said ' solitudes.' " Without looking at Massimo she felt he was about to speak, and hastened to renew the conversation with Don Aurelio, asking him if he had seen the rhododendrons of Priafork in blossom. Alas I no, that was impossible 1 The Signorina forgot that he had only come to Sant' Ubaldo in October. " You will see them in July," she said. Don Aurelio smiled. DISTAFFS AND THREADS 73 '* I am sorry to say that Don Aurelio is leaving us," Signor Marcello announced sadly. " As a matter of fact it is not he who " Massimo began. "He is leaving us? " Lelia broke in, more astonished than grieved. " They are driving him away," said Massimo, with some irritation, and determined to conquer the girl's assumption of indifference towards himself. She flung him a glance that seemed to say, " What have you to do with it? " and once more repeated, " He is giving us up? " But when Alberti was determined, it was no easj' matter to silence him. " Yes, indeed, they are driving him away," he reiterated, speaking rather to Don Aurelio himself than to Lelia. " The archpriest has dismissed him. He is sending him' away because he has housed a Protestant! Or it may be perhaps because he believes him to be a Modernist." To Massimo, Don Aurelio's humble meekness towards his enemies seemed excessive, and sometimes irritated him, as it had a moment since when he had alluded to his needy successor. He was burning to tell him so openly, to make him see the truth clearly. During his outburst Don Aurelio could only protest in monosyllables, but when his friend had finished he expressed the pain such violent language and these unproved accusations caused him. " He is capable of it," murmured Signor Marcello with bowed head, alluding to the archpriest. "Quite capable of it — quite I" " The archpriest knows perfectly well I am not a Modernist," Don Aurelio went on with a last pro- testing gesture. His superior had, indeed, assured him of his most complete satisfaction on that point. " Nonsense 1" said Signor Marcello. "You a Modernist indeed I " "He certainly is not," Massimo interposed. "At 74 DISTAFFS AND THREADS the most he may be si Modernist only in the way, Antonio Rosmini was. They say I am one also," he added candidly. Don Aurelio laughed heartily. " You . . . you ... I " he cried, with a blank- ness that was eloquent. Massimo understood, and looking round, met a glance from Lelia's eyes that pierced him like a' shaft of fire. For an instant he felt blinded, and it was only by an effort that he brought himself tc answer Don Aurelio. " Yes," he said, " I may be more of a Modernist than you are, but I am not one, after all." What a significant glance from the marble sphinx that had been 1 Signor Marcello stretched out his hand, and laid it upon Massimo's, that rested on the table. " My dear young friend," said he, " remember an old man's words : ' There is but one true form of Modernism, and that is the Modernism of Dante 1 Therein is the whole Catholic creed to the last iota, inspired by ardent faith, bringing the Gospel in simple language to all men, regardless of the shades of their opinions. Dante, dear friend, Dante I . And now talk about the rhododendrons again.' " But instead Massimo spoke of the room Came- secca had left unoccupied at Sant' Ubaldo, saying there was no longer any excuse for his intruding upon Signor Marcello. The old man, astonished and somewhat hurt by this display of formality, pro- tested that he could not hear of Massimo's leaving. His friend's speech seemed to upset Don Aurelio also, who generally found it easier to express his feelings by certain restless physical movements than by words. But Massimo persisted. Like Don Aurelio, he also accompanied broken sentences with various gestures, that were the visible signs ot unspoken arguments. " I assure you," cried his friend, half in jest. DISTAFFS AND THREADS 75 half in earnest, " by your presence in my house you would injure me more than poor Camesecca did, and I can't have you! You will have to listen to Signor Marcello." A conviction that he was being encompassed by some irresistible influence suddenly overwhelmed Massimo. His brain struggled feebly to send forth the words " Then I will return to Milan," but they remained unsaid, and he kept silence. Lelia had not spoken since meeting the glance which had said, " Are you interested m me? " She could not forgive herself her own glance. She per- fectly understood Signor Marcello's displeasure, but she could not see why Don Aurelio did not wish to have his friend at Sant' Ubaldo. She encouraged her forced contempt for Massimo by telling herself he did not really wish to leave, that if he had wished it, instead of bringing the matter up at the luncheon - table, he would have come down later with his lug- gage ready strapped, and said to Signor Marcello: " There is no longer any excuse for my remaining here, and I am going." But, of course, Signor Alberti preferred a comfortable room, a nice house, and a good table to the priest's poor home and meagre fare^ So he was a; Modernist ^s well! Of Modernism Lelia knew less than nothing. She disliked the name, and she disliked her own ignorant interpretation of it. She had never thought about her own attitude towards religious observance. A creature of instinct and of passions rather than of reason, the vagaries of her fancy and ideas were in no wise checked by the regular, if mechanical, performance of religious duties. She looked upon Modernism, not as an effort to adapt traditional Catholicism to modem conditions, but rather as a doctrine that sought to substitute for the ancient religious obligations of Catholic tradi- 76 DISTAFFS AND THREADS tion new obligations that were more extensive, less clearly defined, and heavier. At times she prayed devoutly, but always with the traditional forms and never spontaneously. Her prayers were for definite and immediate objects, and not for Divine love and for spiritual blessing. Her impulse, nevertheless, was sincere, and she found a help in prayer of this kind. She imagined, and the thought was odious to her, that Modernism was incompatible with traditional prayer. The only aspect of Modernism that could appeal to her was its element of rebellion, but she judged it an abortive, half-hearted rebellion at best. And so Signor Alberti was a Modernist! This helped her in her determination to despise him. The fruit had been placed on the table and Lelia rose. Her obstinate silence after that fiery glance, from which Massimo still smarted, was, to his mind, the necessary complement of that glance, and was characteristic of his conception of her as a marble sphinx. In rising with the others when Lelia rose, the young man recalled certain teasing words a friend had once spoken, the recollection of which often galled him : " You have not yet experienced it, but when you do fall in love, it will be sudden and overwhelming." As he passed into the drawing-room' behind Lelia he noticed certain tiny red spots upon her white neck. He was glad to see these, for they seemed to diminish somewhat the power of physical attraction which this strange creature possessed. Taking Don Aurelio's arm, he scolded him gently for not wishing to have him at Sant' Ubaldo. But Don Aurelio had found a useful excuse. " You would compromise me I " said he, laughing his hearty laugh that shook his whole frame. " Is it not true, Signorina ?" DISTAFFS AND THREADS 77 " It seems to me," she said, without looking at either of them, " that compromise cannot matter now." And she busied herself in pouring out the coffee. Don Aurelio, always slow to recognise a thrust, failed absolutely to recognise this one, which wounded Massimo more deeply than himself. He murmured humbly : " I am only in jest, only in jest, you know ! " and added, in his simplicity and inexperience of double entente: " Poor Massimo cannot compromise any one." Massimo was somewhat embarrassed, but said nothing. Lelia, however, smiled slightly, thus making Don Aurelio awai;e of his blunder. " Ah, well . . . yes . . . of course . . . what nonsense ! " he stammered, answering her with a laugh almost of regret for unspoken words. " I speak simply, and must be taken simply." Signor Marcello called them out to the terrace to see a fine effect of gathering storm-clouds. On the north the sun was beating upon the heights of Rotza in Val d'Astico, that stood out, brightly gilded, against the clear blue, while the brow of the same uplands was lit up towards the east by continuous summer lightning, flashing out of a sky of turquoise. Lelia hastened to obey the summons, pretending to have forgotten that she had not given Signor Alberti his coffee. When, a moment later, he ap- peared on the terrace with Don Aurelio, she withdrew,, and slipping into the dining-room, crossed to the threshold of the garden door. A thunderstorm; always made her nerves tingle with a; mad delight, and she liked to enjoy it alone, drawn to it like a small cloud saturated with electricity. If there had been wind, she would have rushed out as she did sometimes at night, letting her hair blow wild. But as no leaf stirred, and as she heard Signor Marcello's voice asking for her, she returned to the terrace. " The coffee, dear," said the old man. " Neither Alberti nor I have had ours." 78 DISTAPFS AND THREADS She murmured some excuse. In helping Massimoj her manner was not precisely rude, but there was something ungracious both in her face and bearing. Don Aurelio, who noted everything, with meekness indeed, but with keenness as well, reflected in his artless optimism that the memory of her lover could no longer be very vivid in her heart, if she could treat his dearest friend thus coldly. " Where was it," said Signor Marcello suddenly to Massimo^ " that you met that Benedetto from Subiaco ? " "At Jenne." " And what was he like ? " " Well, I will not say that I adored him, for I object to the word, but I loved him better than I have ever loved any one in this world, except my mother." Massimo had no idea the sphinx would speak. " Was he indeed a saint, then ? " said she. " I beg your pardon, Signorina," he retorted, " but I have never felt the necessity for saintliness in those I love." " But is it true he performed miracles ? " " No, he performed no miracles." "Did he really die in a woman's arms ? " Don Aurelio, amazed that a young girl should ask such a question, could not suppress an exclamation of protest. "Lelia!" Signor Marcello ejaculated severely. With flaming face Massimo exclaimed: " It is a vile calumny I I never heard it before 1" " I read it somewhere," said Lelia calmly. Don Aurelio intervened. " I would have you know, Signorina, that the ma;n of whom you speak may have erred in matters of doctrine; on that point I can express no opinion. But, had the Church pointed out his errors to him, he would have been the first to recognise them. As to his private life, after his conversioji it 5Kas DISTAFFS AND THREADS 79 bne of perfect purity. I can answer for that, at least." Signer Marcello, who was following the discus- sion with a nervous twitching of every line of his expressive face, now cut it short in a voice of authority. Saying that he wanted to speak privately with Don Aurelio, he proposed that Lelia should take Alberti for a. walk in the garden. Lelia cast him a half-dazed glance, and then looked towards Massimo as if beseeching his support. " It is too hot," she objected. The young man protested that he was quite ready to go alone, but Signor Marcello would listen to no excuses. A heavy bank of clouds was rapidly darken- ing the villa's green surroundings, and the rain was more to be feared than the heat. " You know the Montanina well ? " said Lelia, as she passed out by the south door that opens upon the green slope, studded with pines and mountain- oaks, and crowned, far above, with chestnuts. " You have seen the sundial, and "Blessed Alberto Magno, and the goat's head, through whose mouth flow the waters of the Riderella ? " All this she delivered like a tiresome and oft-repeated lesson, and, walking in front of him, did not appear to notice that he made no answer. She took the path leading upwards, on one side of the villa. " Do you know the Fonte Modesta also ? " she inquired, as they passed near the small cave, filled with the spring's soft murmur- ing. On she went, pointing out this feature and that, regardless of Alberti's silence, and with all the perfunctoriness of a professional guide. While she was speaking the words " the source of the Riderella " he interrupted her. He had been waiting to speak only until they should have reached a sufficient distance from the house. 80 DISTAFFS AND THREADS " Signorina," said he, " I did not insist with Signor Marceilo because I saw that I should cause him pain, but I wish you to understand that you need not put yourself out for me. If you will allow me, I will finish the walk alone." Lelia answered coldly : " As you like." The path being narrow, she stepped aside to let him pass, standing with downcast eyes, like a statue of marble. " Thank you," said the young man, quivering with indignation, and he passed her without a look. Why had this girl taken it into her head to treat him thus? Did she think he was going to make love to her? He could not fancy any other reason. And those foolish questions concerning Benedetto had simply been a piece of pointed impudence. Make love to her indeed I But that fiery glance I In thinking of it Massimo recalled the music he had heard in the night. What lay concealed in the soul oi this mysterious creature? Her stiffness and indifference, her silent discourtesy, and her insolent words were not only intentional but incomprehensible as well. What reason had she to suppose he inteiided making love to her? What sign had he given? A suspicion flashed upon him. Don Aurelio had taken it into his head that his friend should marry young. Was it possible he had chosen this girl for him, that some inkling of his plan had reached her? No, it was impossible, and that for a hundred reasons, and if on account of nothing else, at least for the friendship between Don Aurelio and Signor Marceilo. The conclusion, then? The conclusion was that one thing only was clear — the girl's pointed hostility. This he might have regarded as armour against budding affection had affection had time to bud. But as it was . . . ? He sat down to rest upon a rustic bench beneath the chestnut -tree. The great clouds were veiling Torraro, the shadows of the trees swayed in the wind DISTAFFS AND THREADS 81 on the flower -strewn banks, the white villa was smiling brightly down below in the sunshine, and the dull roar of the torrent and of the whirlpools of Perale rose through the silence of chestnut -groves. But Massimo could enjoy neither the shade nor the fresh breeze, nor the grand and gentle beauty of all things. He felt that beauty was a stranger to the bitterness of his heart, felt himself a stranger to beauty. He wondered what course he should pursue. He would not go back to the Montanina, and he must either persuade Don Aurelio to take him in or he must return to Milan. He took pleasure in recalling all the bitterness of his heart, mingling that which lay at the bottom, almost outside the bounds of memory, with the bitterness of the present hour. He tried to concentrate his thoughts on Don Aurelio's sad plight, for Signorina Lelia's discourtesy was really not worth worrying about. But Don Aurelio I The old temptation rose up again, grim and violent. iWould it not be better to break away at once and for all from the people who persecute such men as Don Aurelio, the very salt of the earth? But imme- diately he felt the grave eyes of Don Aurelio him- self fixed upon him, the eyes of the victim who was all meekness towards his persecutors ; and the impulse of rebellion was defeated. But to cease fight- ing the enemies of the Church for the Church's own sake, to stand by and watch the struggle — this was no temptation, but a wise counsel. But what should he do in the world, then? Ignore the world, obtain an appointment as parish doctor — why not? In some village, among the hills, would it not be happiness to taste something of the joys of love? Presently he saw Don Aurelio come out of the villa, look upwards, and start in his direction, and he went down to meet him. Don Aurelio appeared astonished to see him ^lone. " And the Signorina? " Massimo said he had begged her not to put her- Idla. 7 82 DISTAFFS AND THREADS self out for him, and hastened to add that, being alone, he had had time to think of his own plans. He was resolved to leave the Montanina that very evening, and still hoped to occupy Carnesecca's room. Don Aurelio answered firmly, and at the same time regretfully, that he had just now promised Signor Marcello that Massimo would stay at least a fortnight at the Montanina, if not all the time he had arranged to spend at Lago di Velo. Massimo repeated that this was out of the question. If Don Aurelio would not have him as his guest during the few days that remained of his ministry, he would go back to Milan. Don Aurelio seized this favour- able opportunity. "Is it an interest in any special person that calls you back to Milan? " he asked. Massimo answered promptly in the negative and smiled. " Really, no? You can assure me of that? " " Really, no ! My hand upon it ! " cried the young man, extending his hand, which Don Aurelio pressed. " In that case," he said, " you must not disappoint this old man so cruelly." But Massimo was so determined that the priest was forced to conclude something unpleasant had happened. He asked if the Signorina's questions about Benedetto had offended him. No, she had spoken in ignorance, repeating newspaper gossip. Perhaps there had been further discussion in the garden? No, there had not. But Don Aurelio pressed him so hard that at last Massimo confessed the real reason. The girl could not bear him, and had let him see it. This Don Aurelio refused to believe, and made him describe all Lelia's hostile tactions, which appeared insignificant enough in the telling ; but the priest admitted that certain things that might almost pass unobserved may be keenly felt. It was only with difficulty that he extracted DISTAFFS AND THREADS 83 a promise from Massimo to postpone his departure until the morrow. He should be free to leave the next night if his impressions were confirmed. He advised him, at all events, to pay a farewell visit to the Villino delle Rose immediately, and pointed out the little house, showing like a red berry on the edge of the plain of Arsiero, that looks towards Seghe. Don Aurelio urged his friend to start at once, that he might be sure of finding Donna Fedele at home. When Massimo had g'one the priest returned to Signor Marcello, with whom he had a long talk. Then he left him to go back to Sant' Ubaldo. Signor Marcello sent for Lelia. He told her how dear Alberti was to him, and said she must surely under- stand why. He wished him to remain some time at the Montanina, and he therefore begged her to be gracious to him. The old man spoke in low tones and with great gentleness, as one who wishes his manner to convey the seriousness of unspoken words. Lelia, who had stood listening, pale and motionless, murmured that she had not been conscious of un- graciousness towards Signor Alberti. Signor Mar- cello looked at her, but did not answer. Presently he said, with the same gentleness as before : I " I ask it as a favour." Hardly above a whisper she answered, " Yes, Papa." Then going to her room, she locked the door and burst into a violent fit of weeping. IV Massimo returned from the Villino delle Rose shortly before the dinner-hour. Signor Marcello came out to meet him, and drawing his arm through his own, repeated lovingly to him how delighted he was to have him at the Montanina. He meant to show 84 DISTAFFS AND THREADS him many treasured old letters, wherein he, Massimoj was mentioned. A few days ago he would not have believed himself able to do this, but now, largely owing to Massimo's presence at the Montanina, he felt quite strong. The young man, who was both touched and troubled, was at a loss how to introduce the painful but necessary question of his departure. He was still casting about in his mind for a sugges- tion when the bell rang for dinner. Then it was too late to speak, and he postponed the difficult announcement until later. Lelia was late for dinner. She was dressed in black and wore a bunch of pansies in her belt. She was very pale, and ate scarcely anything. With a visible effort she forced herself to put some ques- tions to Massimo as to how he had spent the after- noon, paying but slight attention to his answers. Signor Marcello glanced frequently at the black gown and at the flowers she wore, with a look half tender, half regretful. He talked a great deal and with affectionate admiration of Donna Fedele, speaking of her former beauty, the youth that still shone in her brown eyes, and sweet voice. Looking at Lelia, he said how sorry he was that the lady no longer came to the Montanina as before. " To tell the truth," said Lelia, "it is for us tQ go to see her." Signor Marcello's face beamed with satisfaction and gratitude, and taking the hand that she allowed to rest limply in his, he pressed it tenderly. Then the conversation turned upon Don Aurelio's dismissal. "Who is this archpriest? " Massimo inquired. " G^summaria ! " cried Signor Marcello, covering his eyes with his big, thin hands, a gesture that spoke volumes. And " G^summaria I " was all he would say, nor did Massimo press him. Lelia 's eyes werei downcast, but her face was not sphinxlike ; it wore rather the expression of one who disapproves and DISTAFFS AND THREADS 85 is grieved. This expression of hers goaded Massimo into saying that Don Aurelio was a priest whom the most uncompromising conservatives, even the intran- sigenti, had no excuse for persecuting. He was a follower of Rosmini, and had never been suspected of Modernism even in Rome, when he was living there. A few questions from Signor Marcello easily led the young man to speak of his own life in Rome, of Subiaco, and of Jenne ; how he had come to know Don Aurelio, Dom Clemente, and Bene- detto, and the adventures of his dead friend from the time he disappeared from his house at Oria, in Valsolda, in order that he might dedicate him- self to God, to his death in Rome, in the gardener's cottage at Villa Mayda. He told the story of his last hours, and placed in its true light the part Jeanne Dessalle had played. It was almost dark when he finished his story. Cofifefe and lights had been forgotten, and Signor Marcello and Lelia re- mained silent. Presently Giovanni entered, and asked if he should light the lamps. " No," said Lelia promptly, in a hushed voice. Then she asked Massimo if he had known Jeanne Dessalle. He replied that he had seen her that night at Villa Mayda. Was she beautiful? He really could not say. She had simply passed him in one of the ante- rooms. It was not yet dark, but, as it was raining hard, there was little light in the room. Her figure had struck him as graceful. Lelia then inquired what had become of her. No one knew. And where was Benedetto buried? Massimo hesitated an instant. " At Campo Verano . . ;, for the time being," he said. " For the time being? " The same astonished question fell from the lips of both his listeners. Massimo did not answer. " And what will Don Aurelio do? " Lelia asked. »iWhere will he go?" 86 DISTAFFS AND THREADS " I do not know." The room was full of shadows, and the three rose from the table in silence. Giovanni having been ordered to light the drawing- room, had lighted a large lamp near the fireplace. Signor Marcello begged Leiia to play for their guest, and at the same time he rang the bell, intending to have the lamp by the piano lighted. Lelia hastened to prevent this. " No, Papa, please not ! " She preferred this dim light, and Signor Marcello did not insist, but went out to the terrace, with stooping shoulders, to watch the darkness over in the west that was dotted with the lights of Arsiero. " What sort of music would you like? " said Lelia. " Serious or light? " " Signorina," Massimo said, " you must not put yourself out for me." Remembering their conversation in the garden, Lelia said to herself : " He evidently has no other expression." '* Perhaps you are not fond of music? " she said. " Perhaps not." He smiled slightly as he spoke, and his smile hurt her like a blow upon the cheek. Without a word, she opened the piano and began playing some- thing from Schumann's " Carnival " from memory. She played it too nervously and without sweetness. When she had finished Massimo thanked her dryly. That would have been the moment to go to Signor Marcello and press the question of departure, but he hesitated. The girl's conduct was beginning to strike him in a new light. The black dress and the pansies had jarred upon him as a sort of un- necessary hint to himself, but her questions during dinner, the interest she had shown in his story, and now her way of answering his " perhaps not," show- DISTAFFS AND THREADS 87 ing that she had understood his feelings and his irony, her choice of the author and of the passionate music, the very nervousness of the execution, and the immobility that followed it, gave him the impi'es- sion of a state of mind that was neither hostile nor indifferent. He could not help thinking it a little strange of Signor Marcello to leave them together as he had done. For a minute or so Lelia let the fingers of her right hand run softly along the high notes, and then she inquired carelessly if he wished to hear something else. He rememjbered that melody by Bellini he had heard in the night. " Will you play ' Sola, furtiva: al tempio '? " " ' Norma '? " She sought the beginning, but after the first notes struck a wrong one, tried others at random, and murmuring, " I don't know it," took her hands from the keyboard. Massimo was tempted to say, " You knew it well enough in the night ! " But mean- while the girl had tried again in an absent-minded way, and again had failed. Then, almost in a whisper, and studying the palm of her hand, she said : " Was not your Benedetto a heretic? " " No I " cried Massimo. " His teaching may sometimes have erred, but he lived in obedience to the Church, and preached that obedience always." " Then would you mind explaining to me why they persecuted him as a heretic? " The tone of the question was hostile, but Massimo ianswered, nevertheless . " Willingly. Now, if you like I " " No, no I To-morrow or the day after. Now I am going to play for Papa." With a scale of chords Lelia put an end to the dialogue that had been carried on softly and rapidly. Then she began an £tade by Heller, and Massimo concluded that the Signorina did not really wish 88 DISTAFFS AND THREADS to hear his explanations, but, at any rate, it would be impossible to interrupt her now, and tell her the day after to-morrow would be too late. " This is for Papa, you know," she said, still playing. " I don't care for it." Massimo listened for some time, and then rose to go to Signor Marcello. He paused before the fireplace, where the light fell full upon the frieze of marguerites interwoven with the motto, Forse che si, forse che no, (" Perhaps yes, perhaps no ")." The motto was so entirely in harmony with his own: uncertainty that he looked curiously to see how it ended. He said to himself : " If it is cut short at yes, I will go. If it is not cut short, and ends in: no, I will remain." He was conscious of reflecting! that, according to all probability, it would end in no. The motto finished with perhaps! Massimo stood gazing upon it, somewhat baffled, but presently he saw that there was another test he could apply. The marguerites in the frieze were all losing their leaves, but the one where the motto ended still retained a few. He might pluck these in imagination, and see if the answer were yes or no. A soft voice whispered close behind him : "' Are you consulting the oracle? " The young man turned quickly. Donna Fedele stood smiling at him, her finger at her lips, for Heller's Btude was not yet finished. She had arrived while Lelia was playing Schumanri, and had been chatting with Signor Marcello until, seeing Massimo contemplating the frieze, she had come behind him. " I am really here on your account," she said, still smiling. The music ceased, and she turned from the fireplace towards Lelia, who had risen. ' This strange motto, which Gabriele d'Annunzio has chosen for the title of his latest novel, may be found running through the rich decorations of the wooden ceiling of a room near Isabella d'Este's boudoir in the ducal palace at Mantua. — Translator's Note. DISTAFFS AND THREADS 89 She kissed her affectionately, as if no shadow had ever touched her friendship for the girl. Congratu- lating her on her playing, she took her arm and returned with her to the fireside. Signor Marcello stood looking into the drawing-room. " Did you know," Donna Fedele began, addressing Lelia, " that Signor Alberli's mother and I were friends? He is going to dine with me to-morrow, for we must have a long talk about his mother. She was such a dear, poor thing 1 " Massimo, who was both troubled and surprised, could only murmur : " Thank you, but " " Just fancy," she went on, as if she had not heard his but, " Signor Albert! was kind enough to come and see me to-day, and I, who ever since last night have been meaning to invite him, entirely forgot to do so. I am so absent-minded I I came myself this evening instead of writing, because I had to go to Arsiero any way, and so had the carriage. But now it is late, and I must be off." She kissed Lelia again, pressed Signor Marcello's hand, and holding out her own to Massimo, said, with her charming smile, and a slight dropping of her chjn towards her breast : " At seven, then." " We will let him go for once," said Signor Marcello, in a tone of satisfaction. Donna Fedele went out with Lelia, who walked with her as far as the carriage, that she had left at the main entrance. Massimo resigned himself to postponing his depar- ture, at least for a day, and persuaded himself that he was glad to do so only because it would please Don Aurelio. Signor Marcello made him sit with him on the terrace, and put his hand on the young man's shoulder. 90 DISTAFFS AND THREADS "Dear Alberti," he said with a sigh. Massimo took his other hand in both of his and answered : " I do not forget, sir." The old hand pressed the young one convul- sively, and a long silence followed. They could heax no steps on the gravel. Signer Marcello glanced into the drawing-room, but there was no one there. " Did he ever speak to you of Lelia's family? " he said in an undertone. At first Massimo did not understand the allusion. Then, suddenly enlightened, he exclaimed : " Yes, yes — several times 1 " " How much did he tell you? " " He said it was just on account of the family, that you oppose