"HILDA.
"P.S.--When you come, will you please bring on my turquoise brooch and my green bracelet. The little writing-desk, too, I should like, if not too much trouble. Of course you need not trouble about the house. It will be quite safe as it stands, under the care of your housekeeper and servants, till we get back again to England. Once more, darling, good-by.
"H."
This astonishing letter was read by Zillah with a tumult of emotions that may be imagined but not described. As she finished it the reaction in her feelings was too much to be borne. A weight was taken off her soul. In the first rush of her joy and thankfulness she burst into tears, and then once more read the letter, though she scarce could distinguish the words for the tears of joy that blinded her eyes.
To go to Naples--and to Hilda! what greater happiness could be conceived of? And that thoughtful Hilda had actually written to Gualtier! And she was alive! And she was in Naples! What a wonder to have her thus come back to her from the dead! With such a torrent of confused thoughts Zillah's mind was filled, until at length, in her deep gratitude to Heaven, she flung herself upon her knees and poured forth her soul in prayer.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BETRAYED.
Zillah's excitement was so great that, for all that night, she could not sleep. There were many things for her to think about. The idea that Hilda had been so marvelously rescued, and was still alive and waiting for her, filled her mind. But it did not prevent her from dwelling in thought upon the frightful scenes through which she had passed. The thought of her dear friend's lonely voyage, drifting over the seas in an open boat, unprotected from the storm, and suffering from cold, from hunger, and from sorrow till sense left her, was a painful one to her loving heart. Yet the pain of these thoughts did not disturb her. The joy that arose from the consciousness of Hilda's safety was of itself sufficient to counterbalance all else. Her safety was so unexpected, and the one fact was so overwhelming, that the happiness which it caused was sufficient to overmaster any sorrowful sympathy which she might feel for Hilda's misfortunes. So, if her night was sleepless, it was not sad. Rather it was joyful; and often and often, as the hours passed, she repeated that prayer of thankfulness which the first perusal of the letter had caused.
Besides this, the thought of going on to join Hilda was a pleasant one. Her friend had been so thoughtful that she had arranged all for her.
No companion could be more appropriate or more reliable than Mr. Gualtier, and he would certainly make his appearance shortly. She thought also of the pleasure of living in Naples, and recalled all that she had ever heard about the charms of that place. Amidst such thoughts as these morning came, and it was not until after the sun had risen that Zillah fell asleep.
Two days after the receipt of that letter by Zillah, Gualtier arrived. Although he had been only a music-teacher, yet he had been associated in the memory of Zillah with many happy hours at Chetwynde; and his instructions at Pomeroy Court, though at the time irksome to her, were now remembered pleasantly, since they were connected with the memories of her father; and on this occasion he had the additional advantage of being specially sent by Hilda. He seemed thus in her mind to be in some sort connected with Hilda. She had not seen him since the Earl's illness, and had understood from Hilda that he had gone to London to practice his profession.
As Gualtier entered, Zillah greeted him with a warmth which was unusual from her to him, but which can readily be accounted for under the circumstances. He seemed surprised and pleased. His small gray eyes twinkled, and his sallow cheeks flushed with involuntary delight at such marks of condescension. Yet in his manner and address he was as humble and as servile as ever. His story was shortly told. He had received, he said, a short note from Miss Krieff, by which he learned that, owing to an act of thoughtlessness on her part, she had gone adrift in a boat, and had been picked up by a ship on its way to Naples, to which place she had been carried. He understood that she had written to Lady Chetwynde to come and join her. Gualtier hoped that Lady Chetwynde would feel the same confidence in him which Miss Krieff had expressed in making known to him that they had been living under an assumed name. Of course, unless this had been communicated to him it would have been impossible for him to find her. He assured her that with him her secret was perfectly inviolable, that he was perfectly reliable, and that the many favors which he had received from General Pomeroy, from the late Earl, and from herself, would of themselves be sufficient to make him guard her secret with watchful vigilance, and devote himself to her interests with the utmost zeal and fidelity.
To Zillah, however, the voluble assurances of Gualtier's vigilance, secrecy, and fidelity were quite unnecessary. It was enough that she had known him for so many years. Her father had first made him known to her. After him her second father, Earl Chetwynde, had made him her teacher. Last of all, at this great hour in her life, Hilda herself had sent him to accompany her. It would have been strange indeed if, under such circumstances, any doubt whatever with regard to him had for one moment entered her mind.
On the day after the receipt of Hilda's letter Zillah had gone for the first time to the rectory, and told the joyful news to her kind friends there. She read the letter to them, while they listened to every word with breathless interest, often interrupting her with exclamations of pity, of sympathy, or of wonder. Most of all were they affected by the change which had come over Zillah, who in one night had passed from dull despair to life and joy and hope. She seemed to them now a different being. Her face was flushed with excitement; her deep, dark eyes, no longer downcast, flashed with radiant joy; her voice was tremulous as she read the letter, or spoke of her hope of soon rejoining Hilda. These dear old people looked at her till their eyes filled with tears; tears which were half of joy over her happiness, and half of sadness at the thought that she was to leave them.
"Ah, my child," said Mrs. Harvey, in a tremulous voice, "how glad I am that your dear sister has been saved by our merciful God; but how sad I feel to think that I shall lose you now, when I have come to love you so!"
Her voice had such inexpressible sadness, and such deep and true affection in its tones, that Zillah was touched to the heart. She twined her arms fondly about the neck of the old lady, and kissed her tenderly.
"Ah, my dearest Mrs. Harvey," said she, "how can I ever repay you for all your loving care of me! Do not think that I did not see all and feel all that you did for me. But I was so sad."
"But, my poor child," said the rector, after a long conversation, in which they had exhausted all the possibilities of Hilda's "situation," "this is a long journey. Who is this Mr. Gualtier? Do you know him? Would it not be better for me to go with you?"
"Oh, my kind friend, how good you are!" said Zillah, again overwhelmed with gratitude. "But there is no necessity. I have known Mr. Gualtier for years. He was my music-teacher for a long time before my dear father left me. He is very good and very faithful."
So no more was said on that matter.
Before Gualtier came Zillah had arranged every thing for her journey. She decided to leave the house just as it was, under the care of the housekeeper, with the expectation of returning at no very distant date. The rector promised to exercise a general supervision over her affairs. She left with him money enough to pay the year's rent in advance, which he was to transmit to the owner. Such arrangements as these gave great comfort to these kindly souls, for in them they saw signs that Zillah would return; and they both hoped that the "sisters" would soon tire even of Italy, and in a fit of homesickness come back again. With this hope they bade her adieu.
On leaving Tenby, Zillah felt nothing but delight. As the coach drove her to the station, as the railway train hurried her to London, as the tidal train took her to Southampton, as the packet bore her across the Channel, every moment of the time was filled with joyous anticipations of her meeting Hilda. All her griefs over other losses and other calamities had in one instant faded away at the news that Hilda was safe. That one thing was enough to compensate for all else.
Arriving at Paris, she was compelled to wait for one day on account of some want of connection in the trains for Marseilles. Gualtier acted as cicerone, and accompanied her in a carriage through the chief streets, through the Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysées, and the Bois de Boulogne. She was sufficiently herself to experience delight in spite of her impatience, and to feel the wonder and admiration which the first sight of that gay and splendid capital always excites. But she was not willing to linger here. Naples was the goal at which she wished to arrive, and as soon as possible she hurried onward.
On reaching Marseilles she found the city crowded. The great movements of the Italian war were going on, and every thing was affected by it. Marseilles was one of the grand centres of action, and one of the chief depots for military supplies. The city was filled with soldiers. The harbor was full of transports. The streets were thronged with representatives of all the different regiments of the French army, from the magnificent steel-clad Cuirassiers, and the dashing Chasseurs de Vincennes, to the insouciant Zouaves and the wild Turcos. In addition to the military, the city was filled with civil officials, connected with the dispatch of the army, who filled the city, and rendered it extremely difficult for a stranger to find lodgings.
Zillah was taken to the Hôtel de France, but it was full. Gualtier went round to all the other hotels, but returned with the unpleasant intelligence that all were likewise filled. But this did not very greatly disturb Zillah, for she hoped to be on board the steamer soon, and whether she found lodgings or not was a matter of indifference to her in comparison with prosecuting her journey. After several hours Gualtier returned once more, with the information that he had succeeded in finding rooms for her in this hotel. He had made an earnest appeal, he said, to the gallantry of some French officers, and they had given up their rooms for the use of the fair Anglaise. It was thus that Zillah was able to secure accommodation for the night.
All that evening Gualtier spent in searching for the Naples steamer. When he made his appearance on the following morning it was with news that was very unpleasant to Zillah. He informed her that the regular steamers did not run, that they had been taken up by the French government as transports for the troops, and, as far as he could learn, there were no provisions whatever for carrying the mails. He could scarcely think it possible that such should be the case, but so it was.
At this intelligence Zillah was aghast.
"No mail steamers?" said she. "Impossible! Even if they had taken up all of them for transports, something would be put on the route."
"I can assure you, my lady, that it is as I said. I have searched every where, and can not find out any thing," said Gualtier.
"You need not address me by my title," said Zillah. "At present I do not choose to adopt it."
"Pardon me," said Gualtier, humbly. "It is taken for granted in France that every wealthy English lady is titled--every French hotel-keeper will call you 'miladi,' and why should not I? It is only a form."
"Well," said Zillah, "let it pass. But what am I to do here? I must go on. Can I not go by land?"
"You forget, my lady, the war in Lombardy."
"But I tell you, I _must_ go on," said Zillah, impatiently. "Cost what it may--even if I have to buy a steamer."
Gualtier smiled faintly.
"Even if you wished to buy a steamer, my lady, you could not. The French government has taken up all for transports. Could you not make up your mind to wait for a few days?"
"A few days!" cried Zillah, in tones of despair--"a few days! What! after hurrying here through France so rapidly! A few days! No. I would rather go to Spain, and catch the steamer at Gibraltar that Miss Krieff spoke of."
Gualtier smiled.
"That would take much longer time," said he. "But, my lady, I will go out again, and see if I can not find some way more expeditious than that. Trust to me. It will be strange if I do not find some way. Would you be willing to go in a sailing vessel?"
"Of course," said Zillah, without hesitation. "If nothing else can be found I shall be only too happy."
Upon this, Gualtier departed with the intention of searching for a sailing vessel. Zillah herself would have been willing to go in any thing. Such was her anxiety to get to Hilda, that rather than stay in Marseilles she would have been willing to start for Naples in an open boat. But on mentioning her situation to Mathilde she encountered, to her surprise, a very energetic opposition. That important personage expressed a very strong repugnance to any thing of the kind. First, she dreaded a sea voyage in a sailing vessel; and secondly, having got back to France, she did not wish to leave it. If the regular mail vessel had been going she might not have objected, but as it was she did not wish to go. Mathilde was very voluble, and very determined; but Zillah troubled herself very little about this. To get to Hilda was her one and only desire. If Mathilde stood in the way she would go on in spite of her. She was willing to let Mathilde go, and set out unattended. To get to Naples, to join Hilda, whether in a steamer or a sailing vessel--whether with a maid or without one--that was her only purpose.
On the following morning Gualtier made his appearance, with the announcement that he had found a vessel. It was a small schooner which had been a yacht belonging to an Englishman, who had sold it at Marseilles for some reason or other to a merchant of the city. This merchant was willing to sell it, and Gualtier had bought it in her name, as he could find no other way of going on. The price was large, but "my lady" had said that she was willing to buy a steamer, and to her it would be small. He had ventured, therefore, to conclude the bargain. He had done more, and had even engaged a crew, so that all was in readiness to start.
At this news Zillah was overjoyed. Her longing to be with Hilda was so great that even if she had been a miser she would have willingly paid the price demanded, and far more. The funds which she had brought with her, and which Gualtier had kindly taken charge of, amounted to a considerable sum, and afforded ample means for the purchase of the vessel. The vessel was therefore regularly purchased, and Zillah at last saw a way by which she could once more proceed on her journey. Gualtier informed her that the remainder of that day would be needed for the completion of the preparations, and that they would be ready to leave at an early hour on the following morning. So Zillah awaited with impatience the appointed time.
Zillah awaked early on the following morning, but Mathilde was not to be found. Instead of Mathilde, a letter was awaiting her, which stated, in very respectful language, that the dread which that personage felt at going in a sailing vessel was so strong, and her love for her own dear country so great, that she had decided to remain where she was. She therefore had come to the conclusion to leave "miladi" without giving warning, although she would thereby lose what was due her, and she hoped that "miladi" would forgive her, and bear her in affectionate remembrance. With wishes and prayers for "miladi's" future happiness, Mathilde begged leave to subscribe herself "miladi's" most devoted and grateful servant.
Such was the final message of Mathilde to her indulgent mistress. But, although at any other time Zillah would have been both wounded and indignant at such desertion of her at such a time, yet now, in the one engrossing thought that filled her mind, she thought but little of this incident. At Naples, she thought, she could very easily fill her place. Now she would have to be without a maid for two or three days, but after all it would make no very great difference. She could rely upon herself, and endure a few days' discomfort very readily for Hilda's sake. It was with such feelings as these that she awaited the arrival of Gualtier. When he came, and heard of the departure of Mathilde, he appeared to be filled with indignation, and urged Zillah to wait one day more till he could get another maid for her. But Zillah refused. She was determined to go on, and insisted on starting at once for the yacht. Finding his remonstrances unavailing, the faithful Gualtier conducted her to the schooner, and, as all things were in readiness, they put out to sea immediately.
The schooner was a very handsome one, and on looking over it Zillah felt delighted with Gualtier's good taste, or his good fortune, whichever it might have been. It was, as has been said, a yacht, which had been the property of an Englishman who had sold it at Marseilles. The cabin was fitted up in the most elegant style, and was much more roomy than was common in vessels of that size. There was an outer cabin with a table in the middle and sofas on either side, and an inner cabin with capacious berths. The watchful attention of Gualtier was visible all around. There were baskets of rare fruits, boxes of bonbons, and cake-baskets filled with delicate macaroons and ratafias. There were also several books--volumes of the works of Lamartine and Chateaubriand, together with two or three of the latest English novels. He certainly had been particular to the last degree in attending to all of her possible wants.
After inspecting the arrangements of the cabin, Zillah went out on deck and seated herself at the stern, from which she watched the city which they were fast leaving behind them. On casting a casual glance around, it struck her for a moment that the crew were a remarkably ill-looking set of men; but she was utterly inexperienced, and she concluded that they were like all sailors, and should not be judged by the same standard as landsmen. Besides, was not her faithful Gualtier there, whose delicate attention was so evident even in the most minute circumstance which she had noticed? If the thought of the evil looks of the crew came to her, it was but for a moment; and in a moment it was dismissed. She was herself too guileless to be suspicious, and was far more ready to cast from her all evil thoughts than to entertain them. In her innocence and inexperience she was bold, when one more brave but more experienced would have been fearful.
The wind was fair, and the yacht glided swiftly out of the harbor. The sea was smooth, and Zillah could look all around her upon the glorious scene. In a few hours they had left the land far behind them, and then the grander features of the distant coast became more plainly visible. The lofty heights rose up above the sea receding backward, but ever rising higher, till they reached the Alpine summits of the inland. All around was the blue Mediterranean, dotted with white sails. All that she saw was novel and striking; she had never sailed in a yacht before; the water was smooth enough to be pleasant, and she gave herself up to a childlike joy.
On rising on the following morning they were far out of sight of land. A delicious repast was placed before her for her breakfast. After partaking she sat on deck, looking out upon the glorious sea, with such a feeling of dreamy enjoyment as she had scarcely ever known before. Her one chief thought was that every hour was bringing her nearer to Hilda. When tired of the deck she went below, and lay down in her cabin and read. So the hours passed. On that day Gualtier surpassed himself in delicate attention to every possible wish of hers. She herself was surprised at the variety of the dishes which composed her dinner. She could not help expressing her thanks.
Gualtier smiled, and murmured some scarce audible words.
Two days passed, and they were now far on their way. Gualtier assured her respectfully that on the following morning they would see the Apennines on the Italian shore. The voyage had not been so rapid as it might have been, but it had been exceedingly pleasant weather, and their progress had been satisfactory. That evening Zillah watched the sun as it set in glory below the watery horizon, and retired for the night with the thought that in two days more she would be with Hilda.
She slept soundly that night.
Suddenly she waked with a strange sensation. Her dreams had been troubled. She thought that she was drowning. In an agony she started up. Water was all around her in the berth where she was lying. The dim light of dawn was struggling through the sky-light, and she looked around bewildered, not knowing at first where she was. Soon, however, she remembered, and then a great horror came over her. _The vessel was sinking!_
All was still. She gave a wild cry, and started up, wading through the water to the door. She cried again and again, till her cries became shrieks. In vain. No answer came. Flinging a shawl around her she went into the outer cabin, and thence ascended to the deck.
No one was there.
No man was at the wheel. No watchers were visible. The vessel was deserted!
An Awful Fear Came Over Her.
[Illustration: "An Awful Fear Came Over Her."]
Louder and louder she shrieked. Her voice, borne afar over the wide waste of waters, died out in the distance, but brought no response. She hurried to the forecastle. The door was open. She called over and over again. There was no reply. Looking down in the dim morning twilight she could see plainly that the water had penetrated there.
An awful fear came over her.
The sails were lowered. The boat was gone. No one was on board besides herself. The schooner was sinking. She had been deserted. She had been betrayed. She would never see Hilda. Who had betrayed her? Was Hilda really at Naples? Had she really written that letter and sent Gualtier to her? A thousand horrid suspicions rushed through her mind. One thought predominated--_she had been betrayed!_
But why?
CHAPTER XXIX.
TWO NEW CHARACTERS.
In spite of Gualtier's assurances, a steamer was running regularly between Naples and Marseilles, and the war had made no disturbance in the promptitude and dispatch of its trips. It belonged to a line whose ships went on to Malta, touching at Italian ports, and finally connecting with the steamers of the Peninsular and Oriental Company. The day after Zillah had left Marseilles one of these left Naples on its way to the former port, having on hoard the usual number and variety of passengers.
On the stern of this vessel stood two men, looking out over the water to where the purple Apennines arose over the Italian coast, where the grand figure of Vesuvius towered conspicuous, its smoke cloud floating like a pennon in the air. One of these men was tall, broad-shouldered, sinewy, with strong square head, massive forehead, firm chin, and eyes which held in their expression at once gentleness and determination; no very rare compound in the opinion of some, for there are those who think that the strongest and boldest natures are frequently the tenderest. He was a man of about fifty, or perhaps even sixty, but his years sat lightly on him; and he looked like a man whom any one might reasonably dread to meet with in a personal encounter. The other was much younger. His face was bronzed by exposure to a southern sun; he wore a heavy beard and mustache, and he had the unmistakable aspect of an English gentleman, while the marked military air which was about him showed that he was without doubt a British officer. He was dressed, however, as a civilian. His hat showed that he was in mourning; and a general sadness of demeanor which he manifested was well in keeping with that sombre emblem.
"Well, Windham," said the former, after a long silence, "I never thought that there was a place on this green earth that could take hold of me like that Italian city. I don't believe that there is a city any where that comes up to Naples. Even New York is not its equal. I wouldn't leave it now--no, _Sir!_--ten team of horses couldn't drag me away, only my family are waiting for me at Marseilles, you see--and I must join them. However, I'll go back again as soon as I can; and if I don't stay in that there country till I've exhausted it--squeezed it, and pressed out of it all the useful and entertaining information that it can give--why, then, my name's not Obed Chute."
The one called Windham gave a short laugh.
"You'll have a little difficulty in Lombardy, I think," said he.
"Why?"
"The war."
"The war? My friend, are you not aware that the war need not be any obstacle to a free American?"
"Perhaps not; but you know that armies in the field are not very much inclined to be respecters of persons, and the freest of free Americans might find himself in an Austrian or a French prison as a spy."
"Even so; but he would soon get out, and have an interesting reminiscence. That is one of the things that he would have to be prepared for. At any rate, I have made up my mind to go to Lombardy, and I'll take my family with me. I should dearly like to get a Concord coach to do it in, but if I can't I'll get the nearest approach to it I can find, and calmly trot on in the rear of the army. Perhaps I'll have a chance to take part in some engagement. I should like to do so, for the honor of the flag if nothing else."
"You remind me of your celebrated countryman, who was, as he said, 'blue moulded for want of a fight.'"
"That man, Sir, was a true representative American, and a type of our ordinary, everyday, active, vivacious Western citizen--the class of men that fell the forests, people the prairies, fight the fever, reclaim the swamps, tunnel the mountains, send railroads over the plains, and dam all the rivers on the broad continent. It's a pity that these Italians hadn't an army of these Western American men to lead them in their struggle for liberty."
"Do you think they would be better than the French army?"
"The French army!" exclaimed Obed Chute, in indescribable accents.
"Yes. It is generally conceded that the French army takes the lead in military matters. I say so, although I am a British officer."
"Have you ever traveled in the States?" said Obed Chute, quietly.
"No. I have not yet had that pleasure."
"You have never yet seen our Western population. You don't know it, and you can't conceive it. Can you imagine the original English Puritan turned into a wild Indian, with all his original honor, and morality, and civilization, combining itself with the intense animalism, the capacity for endurance, and the reckless valor of the savage? Surround all this with all that tenderness, domesticity, and pluck which are the ineradicable characteristics of the Saxon race, and then you have the Western American man--the product of the Saxon, developed by long struggles with savages and by the animating influences of a boundless continent."
"I suppose by this you mean that the English race in America is superior to the original stock."
"That can hardly be doubted," said Obed Chute, quite seriously. "The mother country is small and limited in its resources. America is not a country. It is a continent, over which our race has spread itself. The race in the mother country has reached its ultimate possibility. In America it is only beginning its new career. To compare America with England is not fair. You should compare New York, New England, Virginia, with England, not America. Already we show differences in the development of the same race which only a continent could cause. Maine is as different from South Carolina as England from Spain. But you Europeans never seem able to get over a fashion that you have of regarding our boundless continent as a small country. Why, I myself have been asked by Europeans about the health of friends of theirs who lived in California, and whom I knew no more about than I did of the Chinese. The fact is, however, that we are continental, and nature is developing the continental American man to an astonishing extent.
"Now as to this Lombard war," continued Obed Chute, as Windham stood listening in silence, and with a quiet smile that relieved but slightly the deep melancholy of his face--"as to this Lombard war; why, Sir, if it were possible to collect an army of Western Americans and put them into that there territory"--waving his hand grandly toward the Apennines--"the way they would walk the Austrians off to their own country would be a caution. For the Western American man, as an individual, is physically and spiritually a gigantic being, and an army of such would be irresistible. Two weeks would wind up the Lombard war. Our Americans, Sir, are the most military people in the wide universe."
"As yet, though, they haven't done much to show their capacity," said Windham. "You don't call the Revolutionary war and that of 1812 any greater than ordinary wars, do you?"
"No, Sir; not at all," said Obed Chute. "We are well aware that in actual wars we have as yet done but little in comparison with our possibilities and capabilities. In the revolutionary war, Sir, we were crude and unformed--we were infants, Sir, and our efforts were infantile. The swaddling bands of the colonial system had all along restrained the free play of the national muscle; and throughout the war there was not time for full development. Still, Sir, from that point of view, as an infant nation, we did remarkable well--re-markable. In 1812 we did not have a fair chance. We had got out of infancy, it is true; but still not into our full manhood. Besides, the war was too short. Just as we began to get into condition--just as our fleets and armies were ready to _do_ something--the war came to an end. Even then, however, we did re-markable well--re-markable. But, after all, neither of these exhibited the American man in his boundless possibility before the world."
"You think, I suppose, that if a war were to come now, you could do proportionally better."
"Think it!" said Obed; "I know it. The American people know it. And they want, above all things, to have a chance to show it. You spoke of that American who was blue-moulded for want of a fight. I said that man was a typical American. Sir, that saying is profoundly true. Sir, the whole American nation is blue-moulded, Sir. It is spilin for want of a fight--a big fight."