To Leeward Part 30

The two sat down opposite to each other. Diana was tired and hungry; she had taken off her bonnet on arriving, and had gone straight to Marcantonio, and now she would not leave him until she had seen him safe in his room for the night. But in spite of the long journey, the fatigue, and the great anxiety, she was the same, as queenly and unruffled as ever, as smoothly and perfectly dressed, as quiet and stately in her ways. No wonder she was the envy of half the women in Europe. The half who did not envy her were those who had never seen her.

She watched Marcantonio as she sat opposite to him. It surprised her to see that he ate well,--more than usual, in fact, and she attributed it to a sudden improvement which had perhaps been brought about by her arrival. She had expected that he would refuse to eat anything, and would support his strength on strong coffee and tobacco. She thought that at all events he would not be ill,--but, again, as she looked at his face, its death-like yellowness frightened her, and the injected veins of his eyeb.a.l.l.s made his eyes look absolutely red.

They hardly spoke during the meal, for the servants came and went often, and they could not speak any language together that would not be understood.

After a time they were left alone, and they prepared to part for the night. Diana laid her hand affectionately on her brother's forehead, as though to feel whether it were hot. He looked so ill that it hurt her to see him.

"You are worn out, dear boy," said she. "Go to bed and sleep."

"I will try," he said, rather submissively than otherwise. "But we will go to-morrow, of course," he added quickly, turning to her with a half-startled look.

"Of course," said she, rea.s.suring him.

"Because," he said, "I told the detectives to telegraph to me there, and I gave them my address at the hotel."

"Detectives?" repeated Diana, starting a little and looking surprised.

"What do you want them for?"

"Diavolo!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Marcantonio savagely, "to find him, to be sure."

"Batis...o...b.. is not the man to run away, or to need much finding," said Diana, gravely, with an air of conviction. She did not like the idea.

"When men mean to be found they leave an address," said her brother, between his teeth.

There was truth in what he said. Batis...o...b.. ought to have let Marcantonio know his whereabouts, it was the least a brave man could do, and Batis...o...b.. was undeniably brave. Diana felt a sharp sense of pain; the idea that her brother was hunting down with detectives, like a common malefactor, the man who had once loved her so well--the idea that she was helping to find him in order that Marcantonio might kill him if he could--it was frightful to her. She was bitterly atoning for one innocent girlish fancy of long ago.

"Marcantonio," she said, almost entreatingly, "do not do it. Give up the police. I am sure he will meet you without that"--

"Ah yes!" he interrupted, "you know him. Of course you will not help me!

I forgot that you were come to s.h.i.+eld him,--you--I know you will not help me!"

He spoke fiercely and brutally, as he had never spoken to her before.

But mad or not mad, Diana would not submit to such words from any one.

She turned white, and faced him in the light of the two great lamps that burned on the table. The whole power and splendid force of her nature gleamed in her eyes, and thrilled in the low, distinct tones of her voice.

"What you say is utterly base, and ign.o.ble, and untrue," she said slowly.

He hung his head, for he knew he was wrong. He did not know what he said; indeed he had hardly known what he was doing all that day.

"I am sorry, Diana," he said, at last, quite humbly. "I am not myself to-day."

Her anger melted away instantly. Himself! No indeed, poor fellow, he was not himself, and perhaps never would be his old self again. He was so utterly wretched as he stood there before her with his head bent and his hands clasped together, so forlorn and forsaken and pitiful, the moment the sustaining force of his anger left him, that no human creature could have seen him without giving him all sympathy and comfort. Diana went close to him and put her arms about him, and kissed him, and her tears wet his cheek. He suffered her to lead him quietly away to his rooms, and she left him in the care of his faithful old servant.

"The signore is ill," she said. "Some one must watch in the outer room all night, in case he wants anything."

Diana herself was exhausted, in spite of her strength and extraordinary nerve. There were times when she broke down, as she had done at Sorrento when she heard Julius and Leonora outside her window, but it was always after the struggle was over, when she was alone. Moreover she had the advantage of a perfectly serene past life, during which no serious trouble had come near her, and her strength had increased with her maturity. It all stood her in good stead now, and helped her to bear what she had to suffer. She went to bed and slept a dreamless sleep which completely restored her. It is the privilege of very calm and evenly balanced natures to take rest when it can be had, and to bear wakefulness and fatigue better in the long run than extremely active and physically energetic people.

As for Marcantonio, he tossed upon his bed and dreamed broken dreams that woke him again and again with a sudden start; he dreamed he had found his man, and the excitement of the moment waked him. Then he dreamed he was quarrelling with his sister, and was suddenly wide awake at the sound of her reproachful voice. He was talking to Leonora, pleading with her, and using all his eloquence to win her back, and she laughed scornfully at him--and that waked him too.

But at last he slept soundly for an hour or two, just before daybreak, and awoke feeling tired, but more restful. The dawn came stealing through the windows, and he got up and moved about a little, with a sensation of enjoyment in the cool, fresh air.

He looked into the gla.s.s, and started at his own face that he saw reflected there. It seemed like a hideous mask of himself, all drawn and distorted and pale. But had he looked at himself on the previous day he might have seen an improvement now. He was deadly pale, but no longer yellow, and his eyes had lost the redness which had frightened his sister. He looked ill, but not crazy, and he felt that he could trust himself to-day not to say the things he had said yesterday.

He would go to Turin of course--that was settled--unless Diana were too tired; but he would not have admitted such a condition when he went to bed the night before.

He rang the bell and ordered his things to be got ready. The old servant, who had slept on a sofa outside, looked haggard and unshaved, and stared suspiciously as he heard the order. But he did not dare to make any remarks, as he would have done if his master had been well.

Marcantonio had been ill once before, when he was a boy of fifteen, and had on that occasion, when he was delirious, shown a remarkable tendency to throw everything within reach at the people about him when he did not instantly get what he wanted. The old man remembered the fact, and was silently obedient, for the Signor Marchese looked as though he were ill again. The mildest people are often the most furious in the delirium of a fever.

CHAPTER XX.

After all, Julius was not quite certain whether Leonora had fainted, or was asleep. She had been comfortably settled in the boat at the first, and a quarter of an hour had pa.s.sed in hoisting and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the sails, and bringing the craft before the wind. She might have fallen asleep from sheer fatigue and weariness,--Julius could not tell. He bent far down over the stern, and fetched up a few drops of water from the sea with one hand, while the other supported Leonora's drooping head,--the tiller could take care of itself for a moment,--and he sprinkled her face softly and watched her; once more--and she opened her eyes as from a pleasant dream, and looking up to his she smiled, and closed them again. He bent down and spoke almost in a whisper.

"Darling, are you quite comfortable?" She moved her head in a.s.sent, the quiet smile still playing on her lips. Then she lay quite still for a while, and listened to the rush of the water, and the occasional dull, wooden sound as the rudder moved a little on its hinges. The boat rolled softly from side to side, in a long, easy motion and glided swiftly down the bay.

Presently Leonora moved, sat up, and looked about her, at the sea, and the land, and the fiery-crested mountain.

"Where are we going, Julius?" she asked, with a smile at the question.

"I am sure I don't know," said he, laughing. "There are lots of places we can go to. Ischia, Capri,--Naples if you like. Select, dearest, there is a good boat between us and the water, and we have the world before us."

"But we must go somewhere where we can get some breakfast," said she gravely. "And where I can buy things," she added, laughing again. "Do you know that this is all I have got in the world to wear?"

"That is serious indeed," said Julius. "There are provisions and things to drink in the boat, but there is no millinery. We had better go to Naples."

"I think I could manage for one day," said Leonora, doubtfully. "I have brought heaps of handkerchiefs, and hairpins, and cologne water,--they are all in the bag."

"Handkerchiefs and hairpins!" repeated Julius, and laughed at the idea.

A woman leaves her husband, who wors.h.i.+ps her, scatters trouble and tears and madness broadcast, and she thinks of handkerchiefs and hairpins, and remembers where she has put them.

"Yes," said Leonora, "they will be very useful. We could go to Ischia first, and to Naples to-morrow night,--or rather to-night, I should say. That is,--if you think"--

"What, dear?" asked Julius.

"If you think it is quite--far enough."

"We cannot go very far. It is six or seven hours from here to Ischia, if the wind holds. We should be there between six and seven o'clock."

"I think that would be best," said Leonora in a tone of decision. She was silent for a moment. Presently she looked up into Batis...o...b..'s face, and her own was white and beautiful in the moonlight. "I wonder," she said, "whether any one heard that noise the dogs made? Oh, the poor, poor kitten,--it makes me quite cry to think of her!"

"Poor thing!" said Julius sympathetically. "But its ghost will not haunt the gardens, for it was amply avenged."

"Yes indeed!" said Leonora. "Oh, Julius, you are so strong,--I like you."

"Thanks," said Julius, "you are awfully good to like me." He laughed, but his hand caressed her hair tenderly, and Leonora was happy.