"Shall I blow my horn and try to make some one come?" asked Schuyler's chauffeur.

"No, I think not," Vanno said on reflection. "I have an idea that if people are there, they won't come down for that. I can get over all right if you'll back the car close to the gates."

The chauffeur's expression withdrew itself like a snail within its sh.e.l.l, but suddenly he became interested enough to forget his hunger. He had supposed that the young lady wished to pay a mere call at a time of day inconvenient to him: but evidently there was something under the surface of this excursion. He had not stopped the engine, and turning the motor with the bonnet toward France, he carefully backed against the iron grating. In a moment Vanno had climbed on to the top of the car, had swung himself over the gate, and dropped down on the other side. The chauffeur, who, like most of his countrymen, hated to be made conspicuous, rejoiced that this was accomplished when the road was empty. He would not have enjoyed being stared at even by a peasant in a cart.

Peter was out in the road, watching Vanno's manoeuvres. "I wish I could do that!" she exclaimed.

"I'll let you in, or send some one to unlock the gates if possible," he promised. Then as he walked swiftly up the avenue his thoughts rushed far ahead, and he forgot Peter.

The motor moved a little away from the gates, and waited. It waited a long time and no sign of life showed on the blank face of the house. For many minutes Peter stood in the road, looking up, hoping to see Vanno, or a servant coming with a key. But nothing happened, and when she had grown very tired of standing, she reluctantly went back to the car. She sat leaning forward, her face at the window, gazing at the house; and at last she began to be angry with Vanno. Surely he might come or send, knowing how anxious she must be to hear of Mary. It was too inconsiderate to leave her there in suspense!

Vanno hoped that he might find Mary in the garden; for mounting from lower to higher levels, above the cypresses and olives which formed a wind screen for upper terraces near the house, he saw viewpoints furnished with seats of old, carved marble, pergolas roofed with ma.s.ses of banksia, and one long arbour, darkly green, with crimson camelias flaming at the far end like a magic lamp. At any moment a slender white figure might start up from a marble bench, or gleam out like a statue against a background of clipped laurel or box. He began to feel so strongly conscious of a loved and loving presence, that he was as much surprised as disappointed when he reached the steps leading up to the house-terrace without having seen Mary. If he had been willing to harbour superst.i.tious fancies then, he would have believed that Mary had sent her spirit to meet him in this mournfully sweet garden; but less than at any other time would he listen to whispers of superst.i.tion.

Vanno pulled the old-fashioned bell of the front door, and heard it ring janglingly with that peculiar plaintiveness which bells have in empty houses. It seemed to complain of being roused from sleep, when waking could give no promise of hope or pleasure.

Twice Vanno rang, and then there came the sound of unlocking and unbolting. A handsome and very dark young woman of the peasant cla.s.s looked out at him questioningly, with eyes of topaz under black brows that met in a straight line across her forehead. The eyes lit when Vanno spoke to her in Italian, and she beamed when he inquired for Miss Grant.

"The beautiful Signorina!" she exclaimed. "The gracious Signore is a relative who has come for her?"

"We are to be married," he answered with the frank simplicity of Italians in such matters.

"Heaven be praised!" the woman cried. "Will the Signore step into the house?"

"She is here, then?" Vanno asked, entering the vestibule that opened into the white coldness of the hall.

"She has been here for three nights and two days."

"Thank G.o.d!" Vanno muttered under his breath. An immense relief, like a bath of balm, eased the pain of suspense. He felt that he had come to the end of his trouble. After all, what did Angelo or any one in the world matter, except Mary? He trusted himself to make her realize this.

A few minutes more and she would be in his arms, on his heart, and her scruples would be burnt to ashes in the fire of his love.

"Will you tell the Signorina that Prince Giovanni Della Robbia has come?" he said.

The woman threw out her hands in a gesture of apology and regret.

"The Signora will not let me go into the room," she answered, and a look of sullen ferocity opened a door into depths of her nature where fire smouldered. She lifted her eyes to Vanno's, and for a long instant the Prince and the peasant gazed fixedly at each other. At the end of that instant Vanno knew that this woman hated the "Signora" and her commands; and Apollonia knew that this man would protect her through any disobedience.

"Why does the Signorina keep her room?"

"It seems that she is not well."

"When did you see her last?"

"Yesterday morning, Principe. I went then to her room to prepare her bath, and to take her coffee with bread which I had toasted."

"Was she not well then?"

"When I inquired after her health she said she had not slept. And the night before it had been the same. She was pale, very pale, and there were shadows under her eyes, but she did not complain of illness. While I was there the Signora came and since then the young lady has not been out of her room."

"What is that Signora's name?" Vanno asked.

"I do not know, Principe, I have not been told, and I do not understand the sound of English words, though I have learned a little French."

"Is the lady's husband here?"

"Oh, yes, a very sad, tired-looking gentleman who seems to be ill himself; but he is a doctor. I know that, for when I offered to make a tisane of orange flowers for the Signorina to soothe her nerves and bring her sleep, she thanked me, but said the Signore had got her a sleeping draught made up the day before, when he went back over the French frontier. She told me that he was a doctor, and had prescribed for her."

"A doctor!" Vanno repeated, suddenly puzzled. He had been confident that the "Signore and Signora" were Lord and Lady Dauntrey. But he had never heard that Dauntrey had studied medicine and practised in South Africa.

"Where is the Signore now?" he asked quickly.

"He was with his wife in the room of the Signorina a short time ago."

"Take me to the door of that room, and I will talk with one of them."

"Oh, with the greatest joy, Principe. I have not been happy leaving them alone with her, but what could I do? I am only a servant."

"Why were you not happy leaving them alone with her? Did you think they might do her harm?"

Apollonia shrugged her shoulders, and tears sparkled in her eyes, yellow as the eyes of a lioness. "How can I tell, Principe? She said they were her friends. And the Signore has not a bad face. But it is his wife who rules. And something in myself tells me she is wicked, and does not truly love the Signorina. I have been a wondering whether I should go into that room in spite of those two, and force them to leave her. I would not have minded frightening them with a big knife I keep in the kitchen for cutting bread, only that would have alarmed the Signorina.

And perhaps they are not bad after all. Then I should have been wrong. I have thought so much yesterday and to-day about this thing that I seem to have wheels spinning in my head. I thank the blessed saints who have sent the Principe."

"We will go now to the Signorina's door," said Vanno.

"At once, Principe; but we will find it locked."

"How do you know that?"

"I have tried it, softly, more than once, both to-day and last night.

Never once have the two left the Signorina alone. Always one was with her. Through the night the Signora was there--with the key turned. One only has come for meals."

"The gate, too, has been locked," said Vanno. "Is that a custom here?"

"No, Principe, it has always been open since I came to serve the Captain Hannaford. It is the only way of entrance, and there is no gate-bell.

Not that people often come. But since the Signorina and her friends arrived, it has been locked. It is the Signora who has the key. She seemed to be afraid of thieves, though we have nothing here which thieves can take, unless she herself has brought it. I wondered at first how the Principe had got in, but as soon as he told me he was the betrothed of the Signorina, I knew he would not be stopped by a locked gate."

"I climbed over," Vanno admitted, simply. "Those people must have heard me ring the doorbell, I suppose?"

"It is likely. The Signorina's room is far away, but the bell makes a great noise."

As they talked in low voices which the echoes could not catch and repeat, Apollonia was conducting Vanno upstairs, through an upper hall, and along a corridor. At the end of this pa.s.sage she paused, without speaking, and indicated a door. The Prince went close to it, and called in a clear tone: "Mary, it's I, Vanno. I've come to find you and take you away."

There was no answer; but it seemed to him that there was a faint rustle as of whispering on the other side. He tried the handle. It did not yield; and Apollonia's yellow eyes sent out a flash of excited expectation. She looked an amazon, waiting the signal to fall upon an enemy.

"Lady Dauntrey, I ask that you will open the door," Vanno said.

Almost immediately a key turned in the lock, the door opened quickly, letting Eve Dauntrey step out, and was closed again by her husband. It would also have been locked, but before Dauntrey could turn the key, Vanno twisted the handle round violently, pushed the door back and thrust his foot into the aperture.

"Take care, Prince," Lady Dauntrey said softly. "You mustn't frighten her. I a.s.sure you we're acting for her good."

Her voice was so calm, so gentle and even sincere that in spite of himself Vanno was impressed. He ceased to push against the door, but kept his foot in the opening.