The White Sister Part 20

'A nun, I suppose,' observed Giovanni carelessly. 'Old and hideous too, no doubt. Poor Ugo!'

'Not so much to be pitied as you think,' said the Princess. 'She is still young, and must have been very pretty! She is worth looking at, I a.s.sure you.'

Her own astonishment and recent emotion were already forgotten in the pleasure of looking forward to the recognition which must take place within a few moments. She had hated her niece long and unrelentingly, and she had never forgiven Giovanni for what she called in her heart his betrayal; but the reckoning was to be settled in full at last, and she knew that if Sister Giovanna could choose, she would rather pay it with her flesh and blood than meet what was before her now.

Giovanni was looking towards the door when the nun opened it, and the strong morning light fell full on her face as she came forward.

Naturally enough, her eyes were at first turned downwards towards Ugo's face, for she had already seen the Princess and Pieri was a familiar figure. She was aware that a bearded officer was standing on the other side of the chair, but she did not look at him.

Giovanni's expression changed quickly; at first he saw only a strong likeness to Angela, a striking resemblance that made him wonder whether the nun could possibly be an elder sister of hers, of whom he had never heard; but by quick degrees he became sure that it was herself. She spoke to the wounded man.

'Shall we go up to your room at once?' she asked in her soft voice, bending over him.

Before Ugo could answer, a name he did not know rang out, in a tone he had never heard. He did not recognise his brother's voice, it was so full of pa.s.sion and joy, mingled with amazement, yet trembling with anxiety.

'Angela!'

Sister Giovanna straightened herself with a spring and stood transfixed, facing Giovanni. The chair was between them. In an instant, that was an age to both, sharp lines furrowed her brow, her cheeks grew hollow, and her pale, parted lips were distorted with pain. Her face was like the Virgin Mother's, at the foot of the Cross.

It was only for a moment; she threw up her arms, stiff and straight, as a man who is shot through the heart. One loud cry then, and she fell backwards.

Pieri was in time and caught her before her head struck the pavement; but though he was strong and she was slightly made, the impetus of her fall dragged him down upon one knee. Giovanni could not reach her at once, for the hospital chair with the bars by which it was carried was between them and the foremost of the orderlies stood exactly in his way. He almost knocked the man over as he dashed forwards.

The Princess was already bending over the unconscious Sister, with every appearance of profound sympathy; she was trying to loosen the wimple and gorget that confined the nun's cheeks and throat too closely, but the fastenings were unfamiliar and she could not find them. Giovanni, pale and determined, pushed her aside as he stooped to lift the woman he loved. Pieri helped him, and the Princess rose and stepped back to look on, now that she had shown her willingness to be of use. Ugo gazed at the scene with wide, astonished eyes, turning half round in his chair and grasping its arms to hold himself in the position.

'Open the gla.s.s door!' said the Doctor to the nearest orderly.

They carried Sister Giovanna into the cloistered garden, towards the stone seat by the well, where the three old nuns used to sit in the afternoon. Before they reached the place, she opened her eyes and met Giovanni's, already haggard with fear for her, but brightening wildly as her consciousness returned; for he had believed that she had fallen dead before him.

Even through the closed gla.s.s doors the Mother Superior had heard her cry and known her voice, for the window had been open to the April sunshine. The Mother could be swift when there was need, and she was downstairs and at the well almost as soon as the two men could get there, walking slowly with their burden. Exerting a strength that amazed them, she took the young nun into her arms and sat down with her, and laid the drooping head tenderly to her heart. Her own face was as still and white as marble, but neither Giovanni nor Pieri saw her eyes.

'You may go,' she said. 'I will take care of her.'

In the presence of the strange officer she would not ask the Doctor what had happened.

'She fainted suddenly,' he said.

'Yes. I understand. Leave her to me.'

Pieri saw that Giovanni could not move of his own free will; so he pa.s.sed his arm through the young man's and whispered in his ear while he drew him away.

'You must obey for the present,' he said. 'She is in no danger.'

For he had understood the truth at once, as was easy enough; and Giovanni went with him, looking back again and again and unable to speak, not yet knowing all.

When the Princess had seen the Mother Superior crossing the garden, she had drawn back within the door, and the Doctor shut it when Giovanni had come in. The woman of the world had believed that she could still face the man after what she had done, and perhaps find words that would hurt him; but when she saw his eyes, she was frightened, for she had known him well. When he went straight towards her she made one step backwards, in bodily fear of him; but he spoke quietly and not rudely.

'It was your duty to warn us both,' he said.

That was all, but he stood looking at her, and her fright grew; for men who live long in the wilderness gather a strength that may inspire terror when they come back to the world. The Princess turned from him without answering, and left the hall.

One of the orderlies had called another nurse from within, and Ugo was taken to his room, still surprised, but already understanding, as Pieri did. The latter soon took his leave, the nurse followed him for instructions, and the brothers were alone together.

'When I left her,' Giovanni said, 'we were engaged to be married. I wrote to her just before I sailed, but she has not received the letter yet.'

'What shall you do?' asked Ugo, watching him with sympathy.

'Do? Marry her, of course! Do you suppose I have changed my mind?'

'But she is evidently a nun,' objected Ugo. 'She must have taken irrevocable vows. These nurses are not like Sisters of Charity, I believe, who make their promise for a year only and then are free during one night, to decide whether they will renew it.'

Giovanni Severi laughed, but not lightly, nor carelessly, nor scornfully. It was the short, energetic laughter of a determined man who does not believe anything impossible.

CHAPTER XIII

After a long time, Sister Giovanna lifted her head very slowly, sat up, and pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes, while the Mother Superior still kept one arm round her, thinking that she might faint again at any moment. But she did not.

'Thank you,' she said, with difficulty. 'You are very good to me, Mother. I think I can walk now.'

'Not yet.'

The elder woman's hand was on her wrist, keeping her in her seat.

'I must go back to my work,' she said, but not much above a whisper.

'Not yet. When you are better, you must come to my room for a little while and rest there.'

Sister Giovanna looked old then, for her face was grey and the deep lines of suffering were like furrows of age; she seemed much older than Mother Veronica, who was over forty. A minute or two pa.s.sed and she made another effort, and this time the Mother helped her. She was weak but not exactly unsteady; her feet were like leaden weights that she had to lift at every step.

When they were alone in the small room and the door was shut, the Mother Superior closed the window, too; for the cloister was very resonant and voices carried far. She made Sister Giovanna sit in the old horse-hair easy-chair, leaning her head against the round black and white worsted cushion that was hung across the back by a cotton cord. She herself sat in the chair she used at her writing-table.

She did not know what had happened in the hall, but what she saw told her that the Sister's fainting fit had not been due only to a pa.s.sing physical weakness. She herself seemed to be suffering when she spoke, and not one of all the many Sisters and novices who had come to her in distress, at one time or another, had ever seen her so much touched by pity, so humane, forbearing, and kind.

'If you would like me to understand what has happened, my dear child, you can trust me,' she said. 'If you would rather keep your secret, tell me if I can help you.'

Sister Giovanna looked at her gratefully and tried to speak, but it was hard; not that she was choking, or near to shedding tears, but her lips felt stiff and cold, like a dying man's, and would not form words. But presently they came at intervals, one by one, though not distinctly, and so low that it was not easy to hear them.

Yet Mother Veronica understood. Giovanni Severi, the man Angela had loved, the man who had been called dead for five years--he had come back from death--she had seen him with his brother--he had known her.

She was not going to faint again, but she sank forward, bending almost double, her hands on the arms of the chair, her young head bowed with woe. There was something awful in her suffering, now that she was silent.

The Mother Superior only said three words, but her voice broke as she p.r.o.nounced the last.

'My poor child----'