The Italians Part 29

"Forgive me, love," he said, "I will be calmer. Lay your dear head against me. We will sit together here--under the trees."

"Yes," said Enrica in a faltering voice; "I have so much to say."

Then, suddenly recalling the blessing of his presence, a smile stole about her bloodless lips. She gave a happy sigh. "Yes, n.o.bili--we can talk now without fear. But I can talk only of you. I have no thought but you. I never dreamed of such happiness as this! O n.o.bili!" And she hid her face in the strong arm entwined about her.

"Speak to me, Enrica; I will listen to you forever."

Enrica clasped his hand, looked at it, sighed, pressed it between both of hers, sighed again, then raised it to her lips.

"Dear hand," she said, "how it is burnt! But for this hand, I should be nothing now but a little heap of ashes in the tower. n.o.bili"--her tone suddenly changed--"n.o.bili, I will try to love life now that you have given it to me." Her voice rang out like music, and her telltale eyes caught his, with a glance as pa.s.sionate as his own. "Count Marescotti," she said, absently, as giving utterance to a pa.s.sing thought--"Count Marescotti told me, only a week ago, that I was born to be unhappy. He said he read it in my eyes. I believed him then--not now--not now."

Why, she could not have explained, but, as the count's name pa.s.sed her lips, Enrica was sorry she had mentioned it. n.o.bili noted this. He gave an imperceptible start, and drew back a little from her.

"Do you know Count Marescotti?" Enrica asked him, timidly.

"I know him by sight," was n.o.bili's reply. "He is a mad fellow--a republican. Why does he come to Lucca?"

Enrica shook her head.

"I do not know," she answered, still confused.

"Where did you meet him, Enrica?"

She blushed, and dropped her eyes. As she gave him no answer, he asked another question, gazing down upon her earnestly:

"How did Count Marescotti come to know what your eyes said?"

As n.o.bili spoke, his voice sounded changed. He waited for an answer with a look as if he had been wronged. Enrica's answer did not come immediately. She felt frightened.

"Oh! why," she thought, "had she mentioned Marescotti's name?" n.o.bili was angry with her--she was sure he was angry with her.

"I met him at my aunt's one evening," she said at last, gathering courage as she stole her little hand into one of his, and knit her fingers tightly within his own. "We went up into the Guinigi Tower together. There were dear old Trenta and Balda.s.sare Lena with us."

"Indeed!" replied n.o.bili, coldly. "I did not know that the Marchesa Guinigi ever received young men."

As n.o.bili said this he fixed his eyes upon Enrica's face. What could he read there but a.s.surance of the perfect innocence within? Yet the name of Count Marescotti had grated upon his ear like a discord clashing among sweet sounds. He shook the feeling off, however, for the time. Again he was her gracious lover.

"Tell me, love," he said, drawing Enrica to him, "did you hear my signal last night?--the shot I fired below, out of the woods?"

"Yes, I heard a shot. Something told me it must be you. I thought I should have died when I heard my aunt order Adamo to unloose those dreadful dogs. How did you escape them?"

"The cunning beasts! They were upon my track. How I did it in the darkness I cannot tell, but I managed to scramble down the cliff and to reach the opposite mountain. The chasm was then between us. So the dogs lost the scent upon the rocks, and missed me. I left Lucca almost as soon as you. Trenta told me that the marchesa had brought you here because you would not give me up. Dear heart, how I grieved that I had brought suffering on you!"

He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, then continued:

"As long as it was day, I prowled about under the cliffs in the shadow of the chasm. I watched the stars come out. There was one star that shone brightly above the tower; to me that star was you, Enrica. I could have knelt to it."

"Dear n.o.bili!" murmured Enrica, softly.

"As I waited there, I saw a great red vapor gather over the battlements. The alarm-bell sounded. I climbed up through the wood, where the rocks are lower, and watched among the shrubs. I saw the marchesa carried out in Adamo's arms. I heard your name, dear love, pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth. I looked around--you were not there. I understood it all; I rushed to save you."

Again n.o.bili wound his arms round Enrica and drew her to him with pa.s.sionate ardor. The thought of Count Marescotti had faded out like a bad dream at daylight.

Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears.

"Oh, do not weep, Enrica!" he cried. "Let the past go, love. Did the marchesa think that bolts and bars, and Adamo, and watch-dogs, would keep n.o.bili from you?" He gave a merry laugh. "I shall not leave Corellia until we are affianced. Fra Pacifico knows it--I told him so last night. Cavaliere Trenta is expected to-day from Lucca. Both will speak to your aunt. One may have done so already, for what I know, for Fra Pacifico had left his house before I rose. He must be here. Is this a time to weep, Enrica?" he asked her tenderly. How comely n.o.bili looked! What life and joy sparkled in his bright eyes!

"I am very foolish--I hope you will forgive me," was Enrica's answer, spoken a little sadly. Her confidence in herself was shaken, since Count Marescotti's name had jarred between them. "Let us walk a little in the shade."

"Yes. Lean on me, dearest; the morning is delicious. But remember, Enrica, I will have smiles--nothing but smiles."

As n.o.bili bore her up on his strong arm, pacing up and down among the flowering trees that, bowing in the light breeze, shed gaudy petals at their feet--n.o.bili looked so strong, and resolute, and bold--his eyes had such a power in them as he gazed down proudly upon her--that the tears which trembled upon Enrica's eyelids disappeared. n.o.bili's strength came to her as her own strength. She, who had been so crushed and wounded, brought so near to death, needed this to raise her up to life. And now it came--came as she gazed at him.

Yes, she would live--live a new life with him. And n.o.bili had done it--done it unconsciously, as the sun unfolds the bosom of the rose, and from the delicate bud creates the perfect flower.

Something n.o.bili understood of what was pa.s.sing within her, but not all. He had yet to learn the treasures of faith and love shut up in the bosom of that silent girl--to learn how much she loved him--only _him_. (A new lesson for one who had trifled with so many, and given and taken such facile oaths!)

Neither spoke, but wandered up and down in vague delight.

Why was it that at this moment n.o.bili's thoughts strayed to Lucca, and to Nera Boccarini?--Nera rose before him, glowing and velvet-eyed, as on that night she had so tempted him. He drove her image from him.

Nera was dead to him. Dead?--Fool!--And did he think that any thing can die? Do not our very thoughts rise up and haunt us in some subtile consequence of after-life? Nothing dies--nothing is isolated. Each act of daily intercourse--the merest trifle, as the gravest issue--makes up the chain of life. Link by link that chain draws on, weighted with good or ill, and clings about us to the very grave.

Thinking of Nera, n.o.bili's color changed--a dark look clouded his ready smile. Enrica asked, "What pains you?"

"Nothing, love, nothing," n.o.bili answered vaguely, "only I fear I am not worthy of you."

Enrica raised her eyes to his. Such a depth of tenderness and purity beamed from them, that n.o.bili asked himself with shame, how he could have forgotten her. With this blue-eyed angel by his side it seemed impossible, and yet--

Pressing Enrica's hand more tightly, he placed it fondly on his own.

"So small, so true," he murmured, gazing at it as it lay on his broad palm.

"Yes, n.o.bili, true to death," she answered, with a sigh.

Still holding her hand, "Enrica," he said, solemnly, "I swear to love you and no other, while I live. G.o.d is my witness!"

As he lifted up his head in the earnestness with which he spoke, the sunshine, streaming downward, shone full upon his face.

Enrica trembled. "Oh! do not say too much," she cried, gazing up at him entranced.

With that sun-ray upon his face, n.o.bili seemed to her, at that moment, more than mortal!

"Angel!" exclaimed Count n.o.bili, wrought up to sudden pa.s.sion, "can you doubt me?"

Before Enrica could reply, a snake, warmed by the hot sun, curled upward from the terraced wall behind them, where it had basked, and glided swiftly between them. n.o.bili's heel was on it; in an instant he had crushed its head. But there between them lay the quivering reptile, its speckled scales catching the light. Enrica shrieked and started back.

"O G.o.d! what an evil omen!" She said no more, only her shifting color and uneasy eyes told what she felt.

"An evil omen, love!" and n.o.bili brushed away the snake with his foot into the underwood, and laughed. "Not so. It is an omen that I shall crush all who would part us. That is how I read it."

Enrica shook her head. That snake crawling between them was the first warning to her that she was still on earth. Till then it had seemed to her that n.o.bili's presence must be like paradise. Now for a moment a terrible doubt crept over her. Could happiness be sad? It must be so, for now she could not tell whether she was sad or happy.