CHAPTER X

The Signora Ferrati made a pleasant travelling companion, and her two little girls were unusually quiet and well-behaved, for Italian children, who are generally allowed far more of their elders' society and privileges, especially as regards eating and sitting up until late hours, than is at all good for them.

Dr. Ferrati was unable to accompany his family, but had promised to come to Venice in a fortnight's time. The journey up was uneventful, and the two parties separated at the railway station, the Signora taking a _vaporetto_ directly to the Lido, while Fru Bjork and the girls, went to a small, but comfortable, hotel on the Grand Ca.n.a.l.

That evening Astrid and Ragna hung over the balcony of the latter's room, gazing in ecstasy at the fairyland spread before their eyes.

Nearly opposite, rose the white dome of S. Maria della Salute, gleaming shadowy pale against a star-powdered sky; the dark water below, fretted with silver ripples, flowed silently by, and over its surface sped the slim dark shapes of gondolas, the gondolier swaying to the rhythm of his oar, each gondola bearing its little lamp behind the tall steel prow.

Down the ca.n.a.l, from the Rialto, came the _barche_ full of musicians, gay with j.a.panese lanterns, and the high transparent emblem "S. Mareo"

or the "Sirena," and surrounded by a growing flotilla of gondolas. The still air throbbed with the haunting strains of voices, mandolins and guitars. A strong, clear tenor voice, rose above the others, the notes vibrating with pa.s.sion, as they rose and fell.

Astrid squeezed Ragna's hand.

"Oh, isn't it just too heavenly for words!" she murmured.

The charm of it all, in its setting of soft, luminous Italian night, penetrated both the girls, but in different ways. To Astrid, it was a delightfully romantic impression, to be recalled with pleasure; to Ragna, the poignancy of the beauty was tinged with bitterness, and the very loveliness of it was as a two-edged sword, recalling other Italian nights and their a.s.sociations. Try as she would, she could not banish the past, nor had custom yet made her callous to the memory of what had happened.

The girls stood on the balcony, until the music stopped, and the boats drifted away, then they kissed one another good-night, and Astrid went to her own room.

Ragna, although tired out by the long day's journey, could not sleep; instead, she lay watching through her mosquito netting the white patch of light on the floor, and the shadow of the balcony bal.u.s.trade with its fretted pattern. She was thinking of Valentini. He had been at the station that morning to see her off, and his farewell had been so loverlike as to bring a look of surprised inquiry to Fru Bjork's face.

The flowers he had given her were in a vase on the balcony, as their strong perfume made it impossible to keep them in the room. She turned uneasily as she thought of his pressure of her hand, of the intensity of his dark burning eyes on hers, of the words he had said to her when, for an instant, he had managed to draw her aside from the others of the party.

"Signorina, this is not good-bye, but au revoir. You will come back, I know it, I feel it, and when you come back, it will be to _me_.

Remember," he added with solemnity, "if ever you are in trouble, if ever you need a friend, I am here!"

At the time, his manner had struck her as curious, and even more so now, as she thought it over.

"If ever I should be in trouble--" she murmured, "but, why should he think of my being in trouble? Surely, my trouble is over and done with!

Can he know, can he suspect?--But no, that is quite impossible. I wonder what he supposes and what he means? Go back to Florence to him? No, I am not going back."

She wondered if his words might have the virtue of a prophecy, then laughed at herself. Presently, she turned her hot pillow and threw back the sheet, for the night was close.

The change of air gave fresh energy to the whole party except Ragna, who continued pale and languid. Fru Bjork worried over it, and longed for the coming of Dr. Ferrati whose advice she intended to ask, whether Ragna wished it or no. As the Doctor had recommended sea-bathing for Astrid, the three ladies made daily trips to the Lido, and the girls thoroughly enjoyed their dips in the warm Adriatic. Ragna had always been a strong swimmer, but here, to her surprise, found that she tired almost at once, but set it down to the heat. After the long delicious bath was over the girls wrapped themselves in bath-robes, and lay on the sands to bake, their heads shielded from the sun by broad-brimmed straw hats. The strong soft heat and the salt air made them sleepy, the sands seemed to vibrate in the sunshine, a delightful weariness weighted their limbs, a drowsy consciousness of complete physical well-being filled them. It was to Ragna the happiest moment of the day.

The atmosphere alone of Venice gave her a feeling of rest and peace; the silent gliding of gondolas through the ca.n.a.ls, the long drawn-out sonorous cries of the gondoliers, the soft wash of the water against the richly tinted walls, all lulled her senses. She realized that afternoon is the time to see Venice, the strong light of morning throws into intolerable relief the decay of the city; the St. Martin's Summer of the glorious Republic requires the mellow haze of the hours before sunset, as a fading beauty is best seen by candle light, and often in the afternoon, she would slip away to some old church, and in solitary musing to steep herself in the wonderful atmosphere of golden autumn.

Most often of all, she went to S. Maria Formosa, and would sit for hours in contemplation of Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara. She loved the strong, voluptuous, calm woman, beautiful with the beauty of the corn-harvest, standing clear-eyed and self-possessed in her rich russet draperies. All the richness and fulness of the earth seemed symbolized in this glorious creature, this Woman of women. "Ceres," the girl called her, for in her appearance, there is nothing of the saintly, nothing of the ascetic, rather the promise of abundant voluptuous joy--not pleasure, but something deeper, graver, more fundamental, the earnest of a bounteous harvest of life.

She sought the mellow golden glow of S. Mereo, at that hour, when the level rays of the declining sun fill the air with a mystic radiance, seemingly the golden impalpable dust of centuries of prayer. The softened splendour filled her soul, and warmed it, as generous wine warms the veins, and the heavy odour of the incense drugged her restless memory to temporary oblivion. She followed from afar, the offices, and once was tempted to make the sacred sign with the holy water at the door, as she left. She dipped her fingers in the stoup, then smiled and wiped them on her handkerchief, ashamed of the impulse; did not her reason tell her that all these observances were mere foolishness? Still she could not deny the craving of her heart for some sort of mystic communion with the souls of the simple worshippers about her. She loved to watch the rays mount until they touched, with a fleeting radiance, the gold mosaics of the domes, then disappeared, carrying the glory with them. But afterwards, in the sudden darkness, the star-like tapers about the high altar gained a mystic significance, and the little floating lights in gla.s.ses, like glow-worms in the dusk, before the smaller shrines, seemed tiny beacons set for the wandering soul, or were they merely will-o'-the-wisps, luring one to a sense of false security? The spirit of it all breathed consolation and peace, but she saw it as through a gla.s.s; she longed to enter the sanctuary, but felt herself barred out by impalpable barriers. The haven seemed to lie before her eyes, but the path was hidden. "There was the door to which I found no key," she quoted to herself.

One afternoon, as she sat there in a side chapel, a girl entered, and disregarding the kneeling benches, threw herself against the altar itself, clutching the edge of the Sacred Table with straining clasped hands, her head bowed between her arms, her long, dark shawl dragging down the steps behind her, like a black trail of despair. The faint light from the tapers shone on the girl's auburn hair, following the burnished waves and tendrils. Her slender shoulders were heaving with sobs.

Ragna watched her awhile, then rose from her chair and put her hand softly on the girl's shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked. "Let me help you. Tell me what your trouble is."

The girl raised her head, and her streaming dark eyes met Ragna's.

Seeing the sympathy in the fair face bent over her, she rose and let herself be led away to a corner near the entrance where there were some chairs.

"What is the matter?" asked Ragna.

"Oh, Signorina, it is very great," sobbed the girl, "but it is nothing a young lady like you could understand."

"What is it? Tell me," said Ragna gently.

"Oh, Signorina, I can't! I should be ashamed, you would despise me. What can a young lady like you know of--"

"Come, tell me, I shall not despise you," said Ragna; she was conscious already of an odd sense of fellowship. The girl raised her head, and looked at her steadily, as though testing the sincerity of the words.

"Signorina, my lover, Zuan, he is--he is going away, to America--he no longer wishes to marry me, and--" she drew aside the shawl, showing the altered lines of her figure.

"Oh!" said Ragna pitifully.

"And Signorina, my father turns me out of his house, he says I have brought disgrace on him, that no one will marry me now. I have nowhere to go. But that is nothing. I can work. It is Zuan--he doesn't love me any more, he is tired of me--" her voice trailed off into a wail. Ragna stroked her hand.

"Signorina, why should he cease to love me when I love him as much as ever? It must be another woman who has taken him from me! If I find her, I will kill her, I swear it! I will kill him too, and then I will kill myself!"

"But your child?" said Ragna, "have you thought of it?"

"The _creatura_? Poor little lamb to be wronged by its father before it is born! See you, Signorina," she turned defiantly, "it is his child, and he shall recognize it or die! No other woman shall have him!" Her eyes flashed.

Ragna tried another tack.

"If you are patient, and wait, he may come back to you; what would you gain by killing him? They will send you to prison, and your child will be born in disgrace."

"Perhaps you are right, Signorina," returned the girl doubtfully. "But how can I wait? Where can I go? My father has turned me out of his house, and no one will give me work now. No, it is better that I make an end of it."

She rose, but Ragna caught her hand, and pulled her down.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Carolina, Signorina, Carolina Manin di Guiseppe."

"Listen to me, Carolina, I will do something for you, I will see that you get work, but you must promise me to do nothing foolish. I can help you as long as you are only unfortunate, but I can't help a murderess."

"A murderess, Signorina?" The girl's eyes dilated.

"A murderess, yes, that is what you would be if you killed your lover.

Would you like people to say that your child's mother was a murderess?"

"Madonna santissima, no!"

"Well, then, you will promise me?"

"I will swear it by the Madonna, Signorina."

"Take this money then," she emptied the contents of her purse into the girl's hand, "it will keep you for some days, until I can find something for you to do." She scribbled her name and address on a leaf torn from her note book. "Here, this is my address--you can come to see me--let me see, this is Monday--come to see me Sunday. You know how to find the Hotel Roma?"

"Oh, Signorina, you are an Angel of G.o.d, whom the blessed Madonna has sent me in my need!" She seized Ragna's hands, and covered them with kisses. "G.o.d will reward you, Signorina!"