CHAPTER XIX.ANOTHER LOVE CHASE.
On the morning succeeding the conversation related at the close of the last chapter, Erminie was seated at work in her own room, and singing as she sewed, when the housemaid entered and laid a card before her.
“‘Vittorio Corsoni,’ our Italian professor! Where is he, Catherine?” inquired Erminie, with her eyes on the bit of enameled pasteboard that bore the name she read.
“I showed him into the drawing-room, miss; which he says he would very much like to see you for a few minutes, if so be you can do him the honor,” replied the girl.
“Certainly, Catherine—our ex-master! I will go at once,” said the minister’s daughter, rising.
Always dressed with exquisite neatness, Erminie had no occasion to keep her visitor waiting. She followed the maid down the stairs, and passed into the drawing-room.
The young Italian professor was seated, leaning back in one of the easy chairs. He looked haggard and careworn, but quite as handsome and interesting as ever, with his long, curling black hair, large, luminous, dark eyes, and slight and elegant form.
Erminie walked straight toward him. She liked the young Italian, who was, indeed, a great favorite with all ladies. He arose to meet her.
“I am very, very glad to see you, signior,” she said, cordially holding out her hands.
He bowed over them as he took them.
“I called to-day, Miss Rosenthal, to pay my respects to yourself and your learned father, and also to make some inquiries after——” His voice faltered and broke down, and then, after an inward struggle for composure, he added, huskily—“one who is infinitely dearer to me than my own soul!”
Erminie pitied this lover. How could she help it? She said, gently:
“After Alberta Goldsborough?”
“Yes, my dear Miss Rosenthal. I have heard no wordof her since our violent separation in the latter part of September, and this is January. I have used every means to soften the hearts of her parents, but all in vain! I have written them many letters, but they have been returned to me unopened. I have besieged their house in Richmond, but have always been denied admittance, and once I have been threatened with the police! I, a Corsoni! But, in the pursuit of my dear love, I would suffer any ignominy that would not touch my honor!”
“I will tell you all about her. I see no reason in the world why you should not know. Alberta is a boarder at the Convent of the Visitation.”
“Thanks! a thousand thanks! It is much to know where she is. I can at least walk outside the walls and gaze up to the windows in the hope of seeing my queen love. Perhaps I may be permitted to write to her. Perhaps I may have the divine happiness of being allowed to call on her!” exclaimed the excitable Italian, springing up.
“Oh, no; do not hope it. I am sorry to discourage you, but I know that she is permitted to correspond only with a few trusted friends, and that all her letters and her correspondents’ letters pass through the hands of the mother superior. And she is allowed to see only a certain small number of visitors upon fixed days, and in the presence of one of the sisters,” said Erminie.
The young professor heaved a profound sigh, and inquired:
“Have you the great happiness of being one of the blessed number who are permitted to visit this angel?”
Erminie could not restrain a smile at the hyperbolical language of this lover as she answered:
“Yes, I am allowed to visit her; but only in the presence of one or two of the sisters.”
“Then, my dear Miss Rosenthal, may I entreat you to be our good genius and convey one little, little message to my love?” said Corsoni, clasping his hands imploringly.
“I am very sorry to refuse you, signior; but, even if it were right for me to take your message, I should not be allowed to deliver it,” answered Erminie, very gravely.
“Ah! what an unfortunate man I am! Miss Rosenthal, if you cannot take a message, since you would not be permitted to deliver it, can you not take one little,little letter? You could easily deliver a little, little letter unknown to the sentinel sisters,” entreated the lover, again clasping his hands and bringing his beautiful eyes to bear upon her with all the force of which they were capable.
“I cannot, signior! I am very sorry to refuse you, but I cannot. It would be a very great breach of faith on my part to do as you wish me. I am trusted by Alberta’s parents, and I must be faithful to my trust,” said Erminie, seriously.
“You draw hair breadth lines of distinction, my too good Miss Rosenthal,” said the signior, rising, in ill-suppressed displeasure, to take his leave.
“Have faith and hope, and the patience that springs from both, signior. In time all will be well,” said Erminie, gently.
“I thank you, my much-too-good Miss Rosenthal! I will have faith and hope; but I will have no patience! I will not wait for time; but all shall be well because I will make it so! Good-morning, my very-much-too-good young lady!”
And Vittorio Corsoni, with a deeply-injured look, bowed himself out.
Erminie, smiling at the Italian’s half-suppressed vehemence, went upstairs to her needlework.
Corsoni, after leaving the Lutheran minister’s house, walked rapidly to a cab stand, threw himself into a carriage, and gave the order:
“To the Convent of the Visitation.”
And the carriage started.
He reclined back in his seat, looking grim, moody and sardonic, until, at the end of about three-quarters of an hour, the carriage reached to within a hundred yards of the convent wall. There he stopped it, got out and dismissed it, and continued his way on foot, until he reached the front of the convent. There he walked up and down before the building, gazing up at the windows and debating with himself whether he should boldly go up to grand entrance and ask to see Miss Goldsborough, with the great probability of being refused and suspected and watched; or whether he should wait to mature a plot he had formed of seeing her by stratagem. The first plansuited him well, except in the small chance of success it offered; and the second plan would have suited him, for his Italian spirit delighted in stratagem, but that his impetuous nature detested the process of waiting.
While he was thus debating with himself, he noticed the front door open, and little girls, singly or in twos and threes, and then in larger numbers, issue forth and hurry away in various directions.
And he easily divined that this hour was the midday recess of the institution, and that these children were the day pupils going to their respective homes in the neighborhood for dinner, and that in an hour or two they would return for the afternoon session of the school.
And that “second plan” which had been vaguely forming in his mind, immediately took distinct shape and color, and sprung to maturity.
He hastened to the nearest restaurant and ordered luncheon for himself. And while it was being got ready he asked for writing materials and wrote a letter. Very soon he dispatched his luncheon, and then, with his prepared letter in his hand, he started once more for the convent. On his way thither he stopped at a confectioner’s and bought a quantity of French candy, with which he filled his pockets.
When he got back before the convent walls he found, as he had expected, the day pupils returning to school for the afternoon session. They came in as they had gone out—singly, or in twos or threes, or in larger numbers.
Vittorio stood under a tree, apparently engaged in reading a newspaper, but really in watching the countenances of the returning children. Nearly all had gone in, and Vittorio began to despair of the success of his plan. At length all seemed to have gone in, for not another one appeared, and the door was closed, and Vittorio quite despaired of the success of his plan. But, as he was turning away, with a most heartbroken expression of countenance, he met a beautiful little girl of about nine years of age, dressed in deep mourning, and carrying a satchel of books. He knew that she must be a day pupil of the convent school, and that she was behind time. This little girl, meeting the handsome, melancholy and most interesting young Italian, looked up in his face withthat wistful expression of sympathy which is so often seen in the faces of children when they are contemplating the troubled brows of older people.
Vittorio Corsoni knew in an instant that he had met the sort of little girl for whom he had patiently waited.
He immediately addressed her:
“My dear child, are you a pupil of that convent school?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the tiny woman, gently, while her wistful face seemed to say, “Poor fellow! what can I do to help you?”
“Do you know a young lady who boards there by the name of—Miss Alberta Goldsborough?” he inquired, in a low voice.
“Oh, yes, sir,” she answered, quickly, while her speaking face expressed the thought, “Oh, this is the sweetheart she is hidden from!” For you may be sure, my readers, that there are very few secrets in this world; and the real reason why Miss Goldsborough had been sent to that convent school was whispered about among the older pupils, and this little girl had heard of it; and all her sympathies were with the lovers.
“You love Miss Goldsborough, of course, and would do anything to make her happy, I am sure,” said the Italian, in a persuasive voice, fixing his large, lustrous, melancholy eyes with mesmeric effect upon the sensitive child’s face.
“No, I do not love her so very much. She is so still and proud,” began the truthful child.
“That is because she is ill-used and unhappy, my dear,” said Vittorio, persuasively, keeping his beautiful, sorrowful eyes fixed upon the little girl.
“I am unhappy, too! I have lost my dear mother!” said the child.
“Have you, my darling? Then may the blessed Mother of Christ be your mother, and comfort you,” said Vittorio, plaintively.
“But that does not make me sullen! And although Miss Goldsborough will not let me love her much, I do think I would do anything to please her; and I do know I would do anything in the world to please you, so you wouldn’t look so very, very miserable!”
“Would you, my little angel? You are a little angel of goodness! Would you take a letter from me to Miss Goldsborough?”
“Oh, yes, sir, that I would!”
“And could you give it to her—secretly?”
“Oh, yes, sir, I know I could!”
“Without any one but herself seeing you do it?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“Then, little darling of my eyes and heart, will you take this to her?” said Vittorio, handing his prepared letter to the little girl.
“Yes, indeed, I will, sir! and nobody shall know anything about it but Miss Goldsborough,” answered the child, with her countenance all radiant with the delight of delighting, as she hid the letter in her bosom.
“I shall be here this evening, when the school is dismissed, waiting to see you. Will you bring me the answer to that letter?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, sir, that I will, if she writes it and gives it to me.”
“Thanks, little Seraph! And now look here! here are some delicious Frenchbonbons—whole boxes full of them. Take them, my dear, and share them with your schoolmates,” said Vittorio, emptying his pockets of their sweet contents.