“Jack dear,” she said, quietly, “do you realize that this is almost the first time we have really been by ourselves since we took that walk toFiesole?”
“But at least you have had an opportunity to show your villa to your friends!”
“Don’t joke, Jack—I am not in the mood for it this afternoon. I don’t know why, but I have been feeling very serious these last few days. Tell me, dear—are you perfectly happy?”
Armstrong looked surprised. “Why, yes—perfectly happy. What a curious notion!”
“I know it is, but humor me just this once. Are you as fond of me now as you were that day atFiesole?”
“You silly child!” Jack drew her to him and kissed her. “Whatever has possessed you to-day?”
“I don’t know, but you see I measure everything by that day atFiesole. I believe it was the happiest day I ever spent. Since then, somehow, I have felt that we were not so near together. Of course, you have been away a good deal at the library and looking up things with Inez, which was just what I wanted you to do; and then we have had a good many here to entertain, which was also what I wanted; but I can’t help feeling that you have not found here at home just what you should have found to make you perfectly happy. Tell me, dear, have I been to blame?”
Armstrong paused as if weighing something heavily in his mind. “Perhaps I have no right to go on with this work,” he remarked, at length, “but the only way to stop it would be to leave Florence.”
“You know I don’t mean that, Jack.”
“I know you don’t. I am speaking simply for myself.”
He was again silent, and Helen hesitated to break in upon his reverie. He seemed for the moment to be far away from her, and she felt an intangible barrier between them.
“I could not make any one understand.” Armstrong was speaking more to himself than to her. “Ever since I left Florence years ago I have felt something pulling me back, and ever since I have been here I have been under influences which I can explain no more than I can resist. It must be this, if anything, that you feel.”
“I think I understand,” Helen hastened to reassure him. “Sometimes when I have been playing something on the piano I have the strangest sensation come over me. I seem to lose my own individuality and to be merged into another’s. I feel impelled to play on, andan unspeakable dread comes over me lest some one should try to stop me. Is it not something like that which you feel?”
“Yes,” replied Armstrong, “only a thousand times stronger than any one could put in words.”
“I know exactly what you mean—and there is nothing for which you need blame yourself. You warned me before we left Boston that you had left here a second personality. I know that you confidently expected your own enthusiasm to excite my interest when once in the atmosphere. I wish that it had, dear, but I fear I am hopelessly modern.”
Armstrong looked at his wife intently, yet he gave no evidence that he had heard her words.
“I have started on a great task at the library, Helen. The spirit of work is on me, and I feel that I have a chance to prove myself one of that glorious company. I may find myself unequal to the opportunity, but if we stay here in Florence I cannot keep away from it. If my absence from you makes you unhappy I must separate myself from these associations.”
“No, indeed,” cried Helen. “I would not have you stop your work for worlds. Even though I am unable to appreciate it, you know how interested I am in anything which adds to your happiness—and I am so proud of you, dear! That was one reason why I was glad that Inez could spend a little time with us. She, at least, can help you.”
“She can indeed,” replied Armstrong, frankly, “and she has already. I have never seen a girl with such natural intellectual gifts. Her arguments are so logical, her reasoning so clear, that I find even her disagreements most entertaining. What a pity she is not a man!”
“I knew you would like her,” answered Helen. “Sometimes I think you ought to have married a girl like her instead of me, but”—Helen looked at him smilingly and drew closer to him—“but I am awfully glad that you didn’t, Jack!”
“What nonsense, Helen!” cried Armstrong, coming to himself and drawing her to him. “Who is fishing now? I would ask no better chum than your charming, brown-eyed friend, but I am quite content that I possess as wife this sweet girl here in my arms who is trying to find a cloud in this cloudless sky.”
“Oh no, Jack.” Helen straightened up reproachfully. “But I like to hear you say these things—just as you did that day atFiesole! And even if I should find a cloud it would be sure to have a silver lining, wouldn’t it, dear?”
Armstrong smiled. “Yes, sweetheart, and, as Uncle Peabody says, ‘all you would have to do would be to turn it around lining side out.’”
Inez Thayer found herself overwhelmed by a varied mingling of conflicting emotions as she settled herself in the victoria, and listened without remark to the enthusiastic and joyous monologue to which her companion gave free rein. She felt herself absolutely helpless, borne along resistlessly like a rudderless ship by a force which she could neither control nor fully comprehend. She still longed for a valid excuse to leave Florence, yet in her heart she questioned whether she would now be strong enough to embrace the opportunity even if it came. She had dreaded the certain appearance of De Peyster, yet she had been eager to enter into the inevitable final discussion so that the episode might be closed forever. She said to herself that she hated Armstrong for the mastery which he unconsciously possessed over her, yet every thought of him thrilled her with a delight which nothing in her life had before given her. The color came to her cheeks even now, and De Peyster, watching her intently, thought it was in response to his own remark and felt encouraged.
The drive took them, as a matter of course, to theCascine, where fashionable Florence parades up and down the delightful avenues formed by the pines and the ilexes. On this particular afternoon the heat encouraged them to take refuge on the shadier side towardthe mountains, reserving the drive along theArnountil the brilliant coloring of the setting sun should show them bothBellosguardoand the city itself in their fullest glory. De Peyster was intoxicated by the enjoyment of his environment, and seemed quite content to accept his companion’s passive submission to his mood. At length his exuberance of spirits became mildly contagious, and Inez threw off her apprehensions and forgot the dangers and perplexities which she felt surrounded her.
But her feeling of security was short-lived. De Peyster no sooner became conscious of her change of manner than he seized it as a long-awaited opportunity. Beginning where he had left off at the last attack, he rehearsed the history of his affection from the day he had first met her until the present moment. For the first time Inez experienced a sympathy toward him rather than a sorrow for herself. He was, even with his limitations, so deadly in earnest, his devotion was so unquestionable, his very persistency was so unlike his other characteristics, seeming a part of a stronger personality, that it forced her admiration. And yet how far below the standard she had set!
“You have not believed me, Ferdinand, when I have told you over and over again that what you ask is absolutely impossible.” Inez spoke kindly but very firmly. “I truly wish it might be otherwise, but it is kinder that I make you understand it now instead of having this unhappiness for us both continue indefinitely. I know you mean every word, but I say to you now finally and irrevocably—it can never be.”
De Peyster looked into her face searchingly. “You never said it like that before, Inez.”
“Yes, I have—not once, but many times, and in almost the same words.”
“But it is not the words that count, Inez. I don’t care how many times you say it in the way you always have said it before. I expected to hear it again. But this tone, Inez, this manner is quite different; and for the first time I have a feeling that perhaps you do mean it after all.”
“I do mean it, and I have meant it every time I have said it.”
Inez was relentless, but she felt that this was the one time when matters could be finally settled, and the carriage had already begun the climb toSettignano.
De Peyster still gazed at her with uncertainty. Then a sudden light came to him and showed in his face, mingling with the evident pain which the thought brought him.
“I have it,” he said, bending toward her to watch her expression more intently; “I have it. You are in love with some one else!”
Inez felt her face burn with the suddenness of the accusation. She hesitated, and in that moment’s hesitation De Peyster had his answer. Still he was not satisfied. He must hear the words spoken.
“You told me last time that there was no one else,” he said, reproachfully, “and I know you spoke the truth. Now there must be some one, and if there is I am entitled to know it. So long as my love for you cannot harm you, no power on earth can take it away from me; but if there is another who has a better right than I, that is a different matter. Tell me, Inez—I insist—do you love some one else?”
There was no retreat. Any denial of words would beuseless, and it was the only way to end things after all. She lifted her eyes to his and spoke calmly, though the color had fled from her cheeks and her face was deathly pale. “Yes, Ferdinand, you are entitled to know it. I do love some one else, and I love him better than my life!”
“I knew it!” De Peyster exclaimed, dejectedly.
There was a long pause, during which he struggled bravely with himself.
“Tell me who it is,” he said, at length. “Of course, this makes it different.”
Inez could not help admiring the unexpected strength.
“No, Ferdinand, I cannot. This is my secret, and you must not question further.”
“But it must be some one here, for you told me just before you sailed that there was no one.”
“Perhaps here—perhaps elsewhere. You must leave it there, Ferdinand. If you care for me, as you say you do, I ask you to leave it there.”
De Peyster bowed submissively and shared her evident desire for silence during the few moments which remained of their drive.
Helen and Jack met them at the villa, and were greatly disappointed that Ferdinand declined their pressing invitation to stay for supper in the garden. A promise that he would take tea with them on the following afternoon was all they could secure from him, and when Inez rushed up-stairs promptly upon his departure Jack looked at Helen meaningly.
“She must have turned him down good and hard this time, eh?”
“Poor Ferdy!” Helen replied, sympathetically. “I had no idea he could get so cut up over anything.”
The automobile, even in the two days it had been a member of the Armstrong family, completely demoralized the entire establishment. Jack was beside himself with excitement and joy, his early experiments both with chauffeur and car being eminently satisfactory. He contented himself with short runs down to the city and back the first day after his man had succeeded in putting the car into its normal condition, but his impatience to start out again immediately after each return, even though luncheon was most unceremoniously shortened, produced almost as much dismay in the household as his bad temper while trying to reconstruct the machine.
“I want you all to have a ride in it at the earliest possible moment,” he explained; “but before I risk any one’s neck but my own I must satisfy myself that the car is all right and that the chauffeur knows his business.”
The only event which diverted Armstrong was the return to the villa of Inez and De Peyster, for their evident discomforture caused him real concern. On general principles he was interested in the outcome of the obvious errand which had brought De Peyster to Florence, and beyond this he had already come to look upon Miss Thayer as a most agreeable companion and assistant whose happiness and equilibrium he regretted to see disturbed.
After De Peyster’s unceremonious departure and Inez’ abrupt disappearance, he and Helen strolled out into the garden, where the table was already laid for supper.
“There is no use waiting for Inez,” said Helen. “Poor child! It is a shame to have her unhappy when we are so contented. But where is Uncle Peabody?”
“I met him on theLung’ Arnoand offered to take him home, but he said he was bound for Olschki’s. Trying to find out ifLuigi Cornarowrote anything he had not discovered, he said.”
“Perhaps he will come before we have finished. You sit there, Jack, where you can watch the sunset behindSan Miniato, and I will sit next to you so that I can watch it, too.”
Helen drew the light chair nearer, and smilingly looked up at him. “There,” she said. “Is this not cozy—just you and I?”
Armstrong smiled back into her radiant eyes with equal contentment. “This is absolute perfection, but you don’t imagine we can eat like this, do you?”
“I don’t feel a bit hungry,” she replied, cheerfully, making no attempt to move. “Uncle Peabody says we ought not to eat when we don’t feel like it, and I don’t feel like it now.”
“But what does Uncle Peabody say about not eating when you have been knocking about in an automobile all day and have the appetite of a horse?”
“Oh, you men!” cried Helen, straightening up with a pout. “I don’t believe there is a bit of sentiment in a man’s make-up, anyhow. Eat—eat—eat—” and she piled his plate high with generous portions from every dish within reach.
Uncle Peabody’s step upon the path gave warning of his approach.
“So I am in time after all,” he said. “I was afraid I should be obliged to eat my evening repast in solitary loneliness. But is this the way you follow my precepts?” he continued, as his eye fell upon Armstrong’s plate. “Can’t you take it on the instalment plan—or are youanticipating forming a partnership with a stomach-pump?”
“It is my fault, uncle,” replied Helen, contritely. “I can’t make Jack romantic, so I tried to stuff him to keep him good-natured. That is always the next best thing with a man.”
“Oh ho!” Uncle Peabody looked shocked as he drew a chair up to the little table. “So I have come right into a family quarrel, have I? Naughty, naughty, both of you!”
“I wish I could quarrel with him,” said Helen, “but he is too agreeable, even in his aggravating moods.”
“What have you to say to that pretty speech, John Armstrong?” asked Uncle Peabody.
“What can I say?” answered Jack, between mouth-fuls, “except that, speaking for myself, I am always much more romantic when I am not hungry. If Herself will indulge me for five minutes longer I will promise to be as sentimental as the most fastidious could desire.”
“I do not care for manufactured sentiment,” replied Helen; “and it is too late now anyway, for my own appetite has returned and my anger is appeased.”
“Miss Thayer evidently has not returned yet?” ventured Uncle Peabody, interrogatively, as the supper progressed.
“Yes, she is up-stairs in tears, and Ferdy has gone away to throw himself into theArno,” Helen replied.
“Dear me, dear me!” murmured Uncle Peabody. “What a pity! I am not sure that I would have returned had I known that I should find so much trouble.”
“Now that you have had this much, I think I will let you in for the rest,” suggested Armstrong. “I will take you out to the garage after you have finished.”
“More trouble there?”
“Yes—punctured a tire on the way up the hill.”
“And you never said a word about it!” cried Helen. “No wonder you did not feel romantic!”
“Good! Peace is once more established, which is worth more than a new tire. Come, my appetite is satisfied—suppose we all go out to the garage.”
Annettainterrupted their progress at the door.
“A gentleman to see the signora,” she announced—“the same gentleman who took theSignorinaThayer to ride this afternoon—and would the signora see him alone?”
“Poor Ferdy,” Helen sighed, aloud. “He wants me to intercede for him. You go on, Jack, and perhaps I may join you later. Show Mr. De Peyster out here,Annetta.”
Ferdinand hardly waited to be ushered through the hallway. He was visibly suffering as he approached Helen with outstretched hand.
“I am so sorry, Ferdy,” was all she could say before he interrupted her.
“Forgive me, Helen, for coming to you before I have regained control of myself; but I have made a sudden decision, and unless I carry it out at once I won’t be able to do it.”
“A sudden decision, Ferdy?”
“Yes, I am leaving Florence on the night train for Paris; but I could not go without seeing you again and leaving with you a message for—Inez.”
“The night train to-night? Surely you are not going away without seeing Inez again?”
Helen’s sympathy was strong in the face of his almost uncontrollable emotion.
“Yes, to-night, Helen; and I shall never see her again unless she sends for me.”
“But what has happened to make things so hopeless now? She has refused you before, Ferdy, and I have always admired your pluck that you refused to give her up.”
“But it is different now—there is a reason why I must give her up. There was none before, except that she did not think she cared for me. I was certain I could make her do that—in time. But now—”
“What is it now?” Her interest was sincere.
“You must know, Helen. Why do you pretend that you don’t?”
“Why, what do you mean? I am not pretending. I know of nothing.”
De Peyster was incredulous. “It’s all right, Helen. We men would do the same thing, I suppose, to protect another chap’s secret; but it is pretty rough on me, just the same.”
Helen’s mystification was complete. “Look here, Ferdy,” she said; “this has gone too far. Inez has evidently confided to you something which she has never told me. I have not had a word with her since she returned, and I know nothing of what has happened except what I have surmised.”
“Do you mean to tell me that Inez has been here all this time as your guest without your knowing that she has fallen in love with some one over here?”
“Inez in love! Ferdy, you are crazy! Who is it, and where did she meet him?”
“I don’t know—she would not tell me, but it is some one she has met over here.”
“I don’t believe a word of it. She must have said itto make you understand that she could not marry you.”
Ferdinand shook his head. “No. A girl could fool me on some things, I suppose; but when she speaks as Inez spoke she means every word she says. ‘I do love some one else,’ she said, ‘and I love him better than my life.’ Do you think Inez would say that if she did not mean it, Helen?”
Helen leaned against the arm of the settle. “I don’t understand it, Ferdy—I don’t understand it.”
“But I do, and I am not strong enough to see her again or to stay here in Florence. I will not trouble her again unless she sends for me—anything sent in care of Coutts will always reach me. Or after she is married, and I am myself again, I would like to see her and congratulate—him. Forgive me, Helen, I am all unstrung to-night. Good-bye.”
De Peyster was gone before Helen realized it. She sank upon the settle and rested her face on her hand. Inez in love, and with some one she had met in Italy! Who was it—when was it? She had come directly to the villa upon her arrival. She had said that she had met no one who interested her on the steamer. In Florence she had met no one otherwise than casually. All her time had been spent either with her or with Jack. Helen lifted her head suddenly. “With Jack,” she repeated to herself. She rose quickly and looked off into the distance. The last bright rays were disappearing behindSan Miniato. “I love him better than my life,” Inez had said to Ferdinand. Helen grasped the railing of the balustrade for support. “With Jack!” she repeated again. “Oh no, no, no—not that!” she cried aloud—“not that!”
“How is the work at the library progressing?”
Helen asked her husband at breakfast a few mornings later.
“Famously,” Armstrong replied, pleased that she had referred to the subject.
“Is it nearly finished?”
“Finished?” Jack laughed indulgently. “You evidently don’t realize what a big thing I have undertaken. I find myself appalled by its possibilities.”
“Indeed.” Uncle Peabody looked up surprised. “Does this mean that you are likely to lengthen your stay in Florence beyond your original plans?”
“No, I think not,” Armstrong replied. “We have been here less than a month now, and I ought to be able to put my material into shape during the two months which remain—especially with the splendid assistance Miss Thayer is giving me. I can add the finishing touches after we return home, if necessary.”
“Will it take as long as that?” asked Helen, her color mounting.
“Surely you are not counting upon me for any such length of time!” exclaimed Inez, almost in the same breath. “My cousins are expecting me to join them in Berlin any day now.”
“You would not desert your post of duty?”
“I must follow the direction toward which it points.”
“Just what is this ‘big thing’ you have undertaken?” interrupted Uncle Peabody. “You forget that I have not yet been taken into your confidence.”
Armstrong turned to his questioner seriously. “I have really stumbled upon something which has not been done before and which ought to have been undertaken long ago. You see,Cerinihas there at the library hundreds of letters which belong to theBuonarrotiarchives. Many of them were written byMichelangelo, and many more were written to him. The correspondence is between him and men in all walks of life—popes, kings, princes, tradesmen, and even some from the workmen in theCarraraquarries.”
“And you and Miss Thayer are translating these letters?” Uncle Peabody anticipated.
“Yes; but that is not the work which most interests me, except indirectly. Any number of volumes have been published upon the life and manners and customs of every age before and since that in whichMichelangelolived, yet practically nothing concerning this particular period. The artistic importance of the epoch has been written up with minute detail, but the intimate life of the people and its significance seems to have been wholly overlooked—probably because it was overshadowed. Very few of these letters have ever been printed, and they ought to form the basis of a great work upon this subject.Cerinihas turned them over to me to see what I can do with them. At first I started with the idea of going through everything myself, but that would be a hopeless task unless we plan to live in Florence indefinitely. Now, Miss Thayer reads over the letters and takes out the important data, leaving me free to workon the book itself. We are really making splendid progress, and I shall be bitterly disappointed if Miss Thayer has to go away and leave me to finish it alone.”
“I am sure Inez will stay as long as she can, Jack,” Helen said, quietly. “She knows how welcome she has been, but we must not urge her beyond what she thinks is best.”
She broke off suddenly; then, with an assumed nonchalance, said: “I wonder if I could not help in some way and thus get the work completed just that much sooner. Of course, I don’t understand Italian, but perhaps I could do some copying or something. Don’t you think three would accomplish more than two, Jack, even if one of them was a weak sister?”
Helen looked over to her husband with obvious expectancy, but she could not fail to notice the momentary hush.
“I know how ridiculous my proposition sounds,” she continued, bravely, “but I would really like to try.”
“Why, of course,” Armstrong replied, hastily. “Miss Thayer’s suggestion to leave and your willingness at last to come to my rescue have combined to give me two unexpected shocks—one unpleasant, the other delightful. Let me see. Miss Thayer and I have been developing a kind of team work, so this means a little readjustment.”
“Never mind, if it is not perfectly convenient.” Helen made an effort to appear indifferent.
“Of course it is convenient,” Jack hastened to add, ashamed of his hesitation. “You know how much I have wanted you to do this, and I am perfectly delighted. I am sure it can be arranged and that you can help us a great deal.”
“I wish you knew Italian, Helen, so that you could take my place,” added Inez. “Then Mr. Armstrong would not accuse me of deserting my post of duty.”
“Not at all,” protested Armstrong, impulsively. “Even then I could not get along without your assistance. We can easily find something for Helen to do which will help the work along and encourage her in her budding enthusiasm. This is splendid! Helen interested at last in my dusty old divinities! Perhaps we can even infect Uncle Peabody.”
“Perhaps,” assented Uncle Peabody; “but for the present I shall devote myself to my own researches—even though your masterpiece is forced to suffer thereby. But I will ride down with you as far as theDuomo.”
No one in the automobile, unless it was the chauffeur, could help feeling a certain tenseness in the situation as the car conveyed the party to its destination. Helen’s action was the result of a sudden decision, quite at variance with all the conclusions at which she had arrived during the wakeful hours of the preceding nights. Armstrong had so long since given up all thought of having his wife co-operate with him in this particular expression of himself, and the work upon which he and Miss Thayer were engaged had settled down into so regular a routine, that he was really disturbed by Helen’s change of base, although he had been entirely unwilling to admit it. Inez inwardly resented the intrusion, at the same time blaming herself severely for her attitude; and Uncle Peabody, who saw in the whole affair only a clever ruse on Helen’s part instigated by a tardily aroused jealousy, was in danger, for the first time, of not knowing just what to do.
As a result of all these conflicting emotions, the effortsat conversation during the ride would have seemed ludicrous had the situation been less serious. Armstrong kept up a continuous and irrelevant conversation into which each of the others joined weakly with equal irrelevance. Each was trying to talk and think at the same time. The car reached thePiazza del Duomoalmost abruptly, as it seemed, and Uncle Peabody alighted with considerable alacrity, waving a good-bye which was mechanically acknowledged as the machine slowly moved into the narrowBorgo San Lorenzo. At the library, Armstrong led the way through the cloister and up the stone stairs to the little door whereMaritelliwas this time waiting to give them entrance.
“I will take you to meetCerini,” said Armstrong.
“While I,” interrupted Inez, “will seek out our table and get all in readiness for our triple labors.”
A gentle voice called “Avanti,” in answer to Jack’s tap upon the door ofCerini’s study, and the old man rose hastily as he saw a new figure by Armstrong’s side.
“My wife, padre.” Jack smiled at the admiration inCerini’s face as he took Helen’s hand and raised it to his lips. “She could not longer resist the magnet which draws us to you and to your treasures.”
“Your wife,” repeated the old man, looking from Helen to Armstrong. “I have looked forward to this day when I might meet her here. But where is your sister-worker? Surely she has not given up the splendid task which she has so well begun?”
Helen flushed consciously atCerini’s praise of Inez. “No, father; Miss Thayer is already at her work, and Mr. Armstrong is equally eager to return to it. May I not stay a little while with you?”
“Have you time to show her some of the things here which we know and love so well?” asked Armstrong.
“Most certainly.”
He turned to Helen. “If you will accept my guidance we can let these humanists resume their labors while we enjoy the accomplishments of those who have gone before.”
Armstrong left them, andCeriniconducted Helen through the library, explaining to her the various objects of interest. It was quite apparent to Helen that the old man was studying her minutely, and she felt ill at ease in spite of his unfailing courtesy.
“You have known my husband for a long while, have you not?” Helen asked as they passed from one case to another.
“Yes, indeed—even before he came to know himself.”
“Then you must know him very well.”
Helen smiled, but the old man was serious.
“Better than you know him, even though you are his wife. But see this choir-book. It was illuminated byLorenzo Monaco, teacher ofFra Angelico. Can anything be more wonderful than these miniatures, in the beauty of their line and color?”
Helen assented with a show of interest, but she was not thinking of the blazoned page before her. The old man’s words were burning in her heart. Passing through a smaller room to reachCerini’s study, they came suddenly to a corner lighted only by a small window where Armstrong and Inez were at work. So intent were they that the approach of Helen and the librarian had not been noticed.Ceriniheld up his hand warningly.
“Quiet!” he commanded, softly. “Let us not disturbthem. I have never seen two individualities cast in so identical a mould. One sometimes sees it in two men, but rarely in a man and a woman.”
Helen felt her breath come faster as she watched them for a moment longer. Inez was pointing out something in the text of the original letter which lay before them. Armstrong’s head was bent, studying it intently. Then Inez spoke, and her companion answered loud enough for Helen to hear.
“Splendid! And to think that we are the first ones to put these facts together!”
The expression of sheer joy upon her husband’s face held Helen spellbound, andCeriniwas obliged to repeat his suggestion that they return to his study by another route.
“It is just as you have seen it, day after day,” said the librarian as he closed the door quietly, and Helen seated herself in the Savonarola chair beside his desk. “When I heard from him that he was to be married I hoped that his wife might be able to enter into this joy of his life; but, since that could not be, it is well that he has found a friend so sympathetic.”
Helen told herself that the old man could not intend deliberately to wound her as he was doing.
“Why are you so sure that his wife cannot enter into it also?” she asked, quietly.
Cerinilooked at her in evident surprise. “Because what I have seen during these weeks, and what you have seen to-day, can happen but once in a lifetime. You are more beautiful than his companion, but you are not so intellectual.”
It was impossible to take offence at the old man’s frankness because of his absolute sincerity. He spokeof her beauty exactly as he spoke of one of the magnificent bindings he had just shown her, and of Inez’ intellectuality as if it were the content of one of his priceless tomes.
“I came to the library to-day for the definite purpose of joining in their work—” Helen began, hesitatingly.
“Surely not!” repliedCerini, emphatically. “You would not disturb these labors which mean so much in the development of them both? It would mean stopping them where they are.”
“Could I not assist them at some point, even to a slight extent, and participate in this development myself?”
Ceriniwas mildly indulgent at her lack of understanding. “My daughter,” he said, kindly, “some one has written that it is no kindness to a spider, no matter how gentle the touch, to aid it in the spinning of its web. Any one can work at translating, truly—almost any one can write a book—but few can accomplish what your husband and Miss Thayer are doing now. The book they are engaged upon in itself is the least of value. They do not themselves realize, as I do, that it is the influence of this work upon their own characters which is making it a success. They were humanists before they knew the meaning of the word. They come into the highest expression of themselves here in this atmosphere. You were born for other things, my daughter—perhaps far more important things—but not for this.”
“You cannot understand, father,” Helen replied, desperately. “I am his wife, and it is my place, rather than that of any other woman, to share with him anydevelopment which affects his life as deeply as you say this does. It must be so.”
“Forgive me if I offend you, but this is not a matter which you or I can settle. It is perhaps natural that I cannot understand your viewpoint. The nature of my life and work gives me little knowledge of women; but this is not a question of sex—it is the kinship of intellects. You are his wife, and, as you say, it is your privilege to share with your husband any development, but it must be along a path which you are able to tread. I mean this in no unkind way, my daughter. I doubt not that you, perhaps, in all other ways, are quite capable of doing so, but this one single portion of his life it is quite impossible that you should share.”
Helen had no response. Her heart told her that allCerinisaid was literally true. She felt herself to be absolutely unfitted to understand or to supplement that particular expression of her husband’s character. But the matter-of-fact suggestion of the librarian that Inez should fulfil to him that which she, his wife, lacked, almost paralyzed her power to think or speak.Ceriniseemed instinctively to read what was passing through her mind.
“You think me unreal, my daughter—you think me impractical. I may be both. Here, within these old walls, I am not limited by the world’s conventions, so perhaps I disregard them more than is right. Those whom I love signify nothing to me as to their personal appearance or their families or their personalities except in so far as these attributes may be expressions of themselves. Life to me would not be worth the living if in debating whether or not I ought to do a certain thing I was obliged to consider also what the world would think or what some other person might think.Let me ask you a question: Was your motive in coming here this morning the result of a desire to put yourself in touch with the spirit of your husband’s work, or was it to separate these two persons in the labor they have undertaken?”
Cerini’s question brought Helen to herself.
“If you are really free from the world’s conventions,” she responded, quickly, “you will understand my answer. My husband is everything to me that a wife could ask, and his happiness is the highest object my life contains. Miss Thayer is the dearest friend I have, and my affection for her is second only to the love I bear my husband. While this side of his nature was not unknown to me, until we came to Florence—even until to-day—I have never fully appreciated its intensity. Yet when I feel that to a certain extent, at least, his welfare depends upon a gratification of this expression, is it unnatural that I, his wife, should wish to be the one person to experience that development with him?”
“You did not feel this strong desire when you first came to Florence?”
“I did not understand it.”
“Would your present comprehension have come at all if his companion had been a man rather than a woman?”
Helen flushed. “You are not so free from the world’s conventions as you think.”
“But you do not answer the question,” the old man pursued, relentlessly.
“You think, then, that my desire is prompted by jealousy? Let us speak frankly,” continued Helen asCeriniheld up his hand deprecatingly. “The distinction in my own mind may be a fine one and difficult for another to comprehend, but I can say truly that no jealousthought has entered into any of my considerations. I could not love my husband and be jealous of him at the same time. On the other hand, it is probably quite true that were his companion a man I should not have recognized so strongly the importance of joining him in this particular work.”
Cerinirose quietly, and took from the bookcase near his desk a copy of a modern classic.
“The author has expressed an idea here which I think explains your position exactly.” He turned the pages quickly. “See here,” he said, drawing closer to Helen and pointing to a paragraph marked with a double score in the margin. “‘No man objects to the admiration his wife receives from his friends; it is the woman herself who makes the trouble.’ Now I suppose the reverse of that proposition is equally true.”
Helen smiled. “You mean that the reason I am not jealous of my husband in this instance is because he has given me no occasion?”
“Exactly.”
“That is perfectly true.”
“But you fear that it may not always be true?”
Helen was no match for the old man in argument, yet she struggled to meet him.
“Perhaps,” she said; “there is always that danger. Why not avoid it by making this other companionship unnecessary?”
“But suppose you yourself are not temperamentally fitted to gratify this particular craving in your husband’s life?”Ceriniwatched the effect of his words upon his companion. She was silent for several moments before she raised her eyes to his.
“I know that you are right,” she answered, simply.“I have felt it always, but my husband has insisted that in my case it was lack of application rather than of temperament. I came here to-day to try the experiment, and you have shown me that my own judgment is correct.”
“It is correct,” agreedCerini, delighted by Helen’s unexpected acquiescence. “It was your husband’s heart rather than his head which led him astray in his advice. You have just shown me your intelligence by coming so promptly to this conclusion; now you are going to manifest your devotion to him by leaving him undisturbed in this work which he has undertaken. It can only last during a limited period at best. It is the expression of but one side of his nature. Before many weeks have passed you and he will be returning to your great country into a complexity of conditions where this experience will become only a memory. These conditions will call to the surface the expression of his other characteristics into which you can fully enter. By not interfering with this character-building now going on, you, his wife, will later reap rich returns.”
A tap sounded on the door of the study.
“There is your husband now,” saidCerini, taking Helen’s hand. “Tell me that you forgive me for my frankness.”
Helen pressed his hand silently as he turned from her to admit Armstrong.
“Here you are!” cried Jack, as he entered with Inez. “We became so engrossed that I am ashamed to say I completely forgot our new convert.”
“Your forgetfulness has given me the opportunity to become well acquainted with your charming wife,” repliedCerini. “Is your work completed for the day?”
“Yes, but we shall be at it again to-morrow. You will come with us of course?” he asked, turning to his wife.
“I am not quite sure, Jack,” Helen replied. “MonsignorCerinihas suggested to me another way in which I can help you, which may prove to be equally important.”
She turned to Inez with an unflinching smile. “Our friend has been explaining to me the nature of what you and Jack are doing together. You must certainly plan to stay on for a while longer. I am sure Jack could never finish it without you.”
The human heart can play no more difficult rôle than to keep on with its every-day monotonous pulsations, so far as the world sees, when in reality every throb is a measured duration of infinite pain. Ten days had passed since De Peyster had so unconsciously been the cause of completely changing the even tenor of Helen’s existence, and during this time she had drifted helplessly in the deep waters of uncertainty. What was the wise thing to do? Helen knew Inez too well to deceive herself into thinking that what was said to Ferdinand had been simply an expedient to accomplish his dismissal, and her observations since then had confirmed her early convictions. Inez was in love with Jack. Jack was obviously fond of her companionship. Their work in the library had brought them constantly together, and at home an increasing proportion of the time had been devoted to a consideration and discussion of the various topics which had developed and into which Helen did not enter. Yet there was nothing in all this which was not perfectly natural; in fact, it was, as Helen said to herself, wholly the outcome of what she had originally suggested.
Helen’s convictions regarding Inez were confirmed, not by what her friend did, but rather by the efforts she made to avoid doing certain things. Never for an instantdid Helen question Inez’ loyalty to her, and she could scarcely refrain from entering into the tremendous struggle in which she saw her engaged. Each woman’s heart was passing through fire, and Helen felt a new and strange bond of sympathy between her friend and herself because of their mutual suffering. But the struggle must continue. Helen must come to some decision wiser than any which had yet suggested itself to her before disclosing to any one, and to Inez least of all, that she possessed any knowledge of the situation.
Fortunately, at this crisis, the automobile became the controlling excitement. During the intervening days Jack had resisted the temptation, devoting himself assiduously to his self-appointed task, and satisfying himself with short excursions after his labors at the library were over. Now he could resist no longer. The book was assuming definite proportions, and, as he explained to himself and the others, the work would be all the better for a little holiday. So it was that the Armstrongs, with Miss Thayer and Uncle Peabody, made runs toSiena,Padua, and to all the smaller towns less frequented by visitors and consequently of greater interest. Miss Thayer forgot in the excitement the experience she was passing through; Uncle Peabody forgotLuigi Cornaroand the Japanese; Armstrong, for the time being, appeared indifferent to the hitherto compelling interests at the library; and Helen, at intervals, forgot her suffering and the heavy burden which lay upon her heart in her feeling of helplessness. New sensations, in this twentieth century, are rare, and the automobile is to be credited with supplying many. The exhilaration, the abandon, which comes with the utter annihilation of time and space, forces even those affairs of life which previouslyhad been thought important to become miserably commonplace. The danger itself is not the least of the fascination.
“I would rather be killed once a week in an automobile,” asserted Uncle Peabody while the fever was on him, “than die the one ordinary death allotted to man.”
With the temporary cessation of the library work, there had been no occasion for separate interests. This, Helen felt, was most fortunate, as it gave her ample opportunity to arrive at her conclusions. It was all her own fault, she repeated to herself over and over again. Had she made an earlier effort to enter into Jack’s interests, even though it had proved her inability, matters need never have arrived at so serious a pass. Now she was convinced that it was too late to become a part of them; she had done an irreparable injury to Inez, whom she loved as a sister, and had taken chances on disrupting her own and her husband’s domestic happiness.
“As Jack said, I have found a cloud in the cloudless sky,” she thought.—“And poor Inez!”
Thus the burden resolved itself into two parts—solicitude for Inez and how best to undo the harm Helen felt she had wrought. Her first attempt had proved a failure, and she could not see the next step. While the motoring fever lasted there was nothing to do but to plan; for the excitement was infectious, and one trip followed another in rapid succession. Household regularity became conspicuous by its absence. Meals were served at all hours and were rushed through with reckless haste, entirely upsetting Uncle Peabody’s theories.
“You treat your stomach like a trunk,” he protested to Armstrong one morning, “and you throw the foodinto it just about the way an average man does his packing.”
“But you finish your breakfast just as soon as any of us,” was the retort.
“Yes, but if you observe carefully you will note that I actually eat about one-quarter as much as you do in the same given time. And what I have eaten will satisfy me about four times as long, because I have thoroughly masticated it and assimilated all the nourishing portions of the food. When I think of the gymnastic performances your poor stomach must go through in order to tear into shreds the chunks of food you have bolted down I admit my sympathy is fully aroused.”
“Sympathy is always grateful,” Armstrong replied, unconvinced, “but every moment we lose discussing nutrition is a moment taken off the finest trip we have tried yet. The car is in splendid condition, the weather is ideal, andPisaawaits us at the other end of our excursion.”
“So it is to bePisa, is it?” Uncle Peabody arose. “Do you know, Jack, I like you for the way you plan these charming rides, and that almost makes up for your lack of judgment in some other directions. An ordinary man would spend at least the day before in studying maps, asking advice, and in making plans generally. You, on the contrary, wait until breakfast is over, throw down your napkin, and then with a proper show of impatience say, ‘Why do you keep me waiting? The car is ready to take us to the moon.’ All this fits in exactly with my principles: it is the unexpected which always brings satisfaction.”
“Uncle’s praise is distinctly a man’s approval,” Helen protested. “From a woman’s standpoint Jack’s methodsrepresent the acme of tyranny. No inquiries as to where we prefer to be spirited, no suggestions that our opinions are worth consulting, no suspicion that we are other than clay in the potter’s hands; simply, ‘The machine is ready. Please hurry.’ Yes, we are coming,” Helen hurriedly added, seeing Jack’s impatience over the bantering, “we are coming!”
Giuseppe,Annetta, and the cook were avowed enemies of the motor-car, not only because of the effect it had produced upon the household arrangements, but also because of the intrusion of the French chauffeur which it had forced upon them. They would die rather than show the slightest interest in it, yet on one pretext or another they never allowed the machine to start out without regarding it with secret admiration and respect.Giuseppe, on this particular morning, was gathering roses on the terrace,Annettawas closing a shutter on the veranda, while the cook’s red face peered around the corner of the villa.Giuseppecrossed himself as the engine started up, then jumped and fell squarely into his rose-basket as the chauffeur maliciously pressed the bulb, and the machine moved majestically past him, out of the court-yard, and into the narrow road.
“I don’t blame these people for resenting the invasion of motor-cars and other evidences of modern progress,” said Inez as they reached the level; “it is all so out of keeping with everything around them and with everything they have been brought up to regard as right and proper.”
“But ‘these people’ represent only one portion of the Italians, Miss Thayer,” replied Uncle Peabody. “Italian civic life contains two great contrasting factors—one practical, the other ideal. Each in its way is proudof the past; the first thinks more of the present and the future, while the second, opposed on principle to innovations, only accepts, and then under protest, those which come from Italian sources. This car we are riding in is of French manufacture. Were it Italian, you would find that it would have been greeted with smiles instead of scowls just now. And yet I like their patriotism.”
“But it does seem a sacrilege for the wonderful old towers and walls here in Florence to be torn down to make room for prosaic twentieth-century trolley-cars,” Helen added.
“And Mr. Armstrong says there is talk of a board road being built for automobiles betweenMestreand Venice. What will dear old Italy be when ‘modern civilization’ has finished with her?” Inez asked.
“From present tendencies,” remarked Uncle Peabody, gravely, “I expect to live to see the day when the Venetian gondola will be propelled by gasolene; when the Leaning Tower ofPisawill either be straightened by some enterprising American engineer or made to lean a bit more, so that automobiles may make the ascent, even as the Colosseum at Rome is already turned over to Buffalo Bill or some other descendant of Barnum’s circus for regular performances, including the pink lemonade and the peanuts.”
“Don’t!” Inez cried. “It would be far better to go to the other extreme, which Mr. Armstrong would like to see.”
The road was level and smooth, now that the rough streets of the city lay behind them, and there was nothing to think of until after reachingEmpoli. Armstrong had been running the machine, and he turned his head just in time to hear Inez’ last remark.
“I can imagine what the conversation is, even though I have not heard much of it,” he said, “and I am sure that I agree with Miss Thayer. How about getting back to our work at the library to-morrow?” he added.
Inez flushed at the suddenness of the question, and Helen caught her breath. The time for her decision, then, was near at hand.
“I am as eager as you are to resume it,” replied Inez, her face lighting with pleasure.
“Then it is all arranged,” Armstrong said, decisively. “Helen and Uncle Peabody may have the machine to-morrow, and we will start in again where we left off.”
TheArnowinds around and about in a hundred curves between Florence andPisa, leaving the road for some little distance at times, but ever coming back to it in flirtatious manner. The fields stretch away between the river and the road in undulating green. Small hamlets likeSan Romano,La Rotta, andNavacchio, and the more pretentious settlements ofSigna,Empoli, andPontederagive variety to the ride and add by their old-time strangeness to the beauties which Nature so bountifully supplies. But the climax comes at the end of the journey, after crossing the tracks at the very modern station and the bridge which spans theArno. Over the roofs of the quaint twelfth-century houses rise the Cathedral and the Leaning Tower and the pillared dome of the Baptistry.
The motor-car was halted in front of the little doorway of theHôtel Nettuno, where the host appeared with all his affability, offering opportunities for removing the dust accumulated by the ride, and a choicecolazioneto be ready as soon as might be desired. Helen was preoccupiedduring the preparations for luncheon, but Inez’ excitement over her first visit toPisa, and Armstrong’s eagerness to watch the effect of the early impressions, saved her changed demeanor from attracting any attention.
“It is hard to realize that this is the city ofUgolinoand the Tower of Hunger after this sumptuous repast,” remarked Jack, lighting his cigarette with much satisfaction as coffee was being served.
“Probably the ‘Nettuno’ was not in existence at that time,” suggested Uncle Peabody.
“Is this not where the wonderful echo is to be heard?” inquired Inez.
“Yes—at the Baptistry,” Armstrong replied; “and you are sure to enjoy it—the sacristan makes up such a funny face when he intones.”
“The echo atMontecatini, I understand, is taking a long vacation,” observed Uncle Peabody.
“How so?” inquired Inez, innocently.
“The regular echo was ill, and the sacristan failed to coach the new boy properly. The visitor called, ‘What is the hour?’ and the echo came back, ‘Four o’clock’!”
Jack and Inez led the way from the hotel, through the narrow walled streets and under the gateway to thePiazza del Duomo, where all the splendor of the marvellous group of buildings burst upon them. Helen pleaded fatigue and asked to be left in theDuomowhile the others set out to climb the Leaning Tower and to inspect theCampo Santo; so Uncle Peabody insisted on staying with her. They sat down on one of the wooden benches beneath the lamp ofGalileo, and Helen rested her head upon her hand. Uncle Peabody watched hercuriously for a moment. Finally he took her hand quietly in his. Helen started.
“I would do it if I were you, Helen,” he said, deliberately.
“Do what?” she asked, surprised into confusion.
“Just what you were thinking of doing when I interrupted you.”
“Do you know what I was thinking, then?”
“No.” Uncle Peabody spoke in a very matter-of-fact way. “But I am sure it is the right thing to do.”
Helen looked at him steadily, uncertain of just how far he had surmised her secret thought. There was nothing in the calm, unruffled expression which gave her even an inkling as to whether her peculiar sensation was caused by his intuition or her own self-consciousness. Then her gaze relaxed, and she laughed half-heartedly.
“You have mislaid your divining-cap this time,” Helen said at length. “If you had really read my mind your advice would have been quite different.”
Uncle Peabody was undisturbed. “In that case you will exercise your woman’s prerogative and change it within the next twenty-four hours. When that has taken place you will find that my advice fits it exactly.”
“I wish I had your confidence, Uncle Peabody.” Helen rose suddenly and held out her hand to her companion. “Come, let us go into the sunlight, where things look more cheerful.”
Uncle Peabody watched the figure militant as Helen preceded him down the broad aisle, past the small altars, and out into the air. He recalled this same attitude when Helen had been a child, and he remembered the determination and the strength of will which went with it at that time. He had forgotten this characteristic in meetinghis niece grown to womanhood and in the midst of such apparently congenial surroundings. Now he felt that he knew the occasion for its reappearance.
Inez and Jack soon joined them, and together they returned to the hotel. A few moments later the car was gliding back toward Florence again, in the refreshing cool of the afternoon, with changed color effects to give new impressions to the panorama of the morning. They were almost home when Armstrong turned suddenly to Helen:
“How absolutely stupid of me!” he said, abruptly. “I met Phil Emory on theLung’ Arnoyesterday and asked him to take dinner with us to-night.” Armstrong looked at his watch. “We shall be just about in time, anyhow, but I am sorry not to have told you about it.”
When Helen Cartwright had accepted Phil Emory as escort for the Harvard Class Day festivities, on the occasion of his graduation, every one had considered the matter of their engagement as settled; that is to say, every one except Helen and Emory. This view of the matter did not occur to Helen, even as a remote possibility, and Phil Emory had absolute knowledge to the contrary, since Helen herself had answered his question very clearly, even though not satisfactorily, some months before this event took place. But she liked him immensely none the less, and saw no reason why she should not throw confetti at him from the circus-like seats of the Stadium, or eat strawberries and ices with him and her other friends at the various Class Day spreads. In fact, she saw every reason for doing so, inasmuch as she thoroughly enjoyed it; and Emory was proud enough to act as host under any conditions whatever.
After graduation Emory probably had as good a chance as any one until Jack Armstrong entered the field. The younger man had become more and more intense in his devotion, but when he found himself out-classed by the force of Armstrong’s attack he accepted his defeat generously and philosophically. No one contributed more to the jollity of the wedding breakfast orextended heartier congratulations to the bride and bridegroom.
Emory’s visit at theVilla Godilombra, when he first arrived in Italy, was one of the pleasantest experiences of his whole trip thus far. Never had he seen a more glorious spot, and never had he seen Helen so radiantly beautiful. He had remarked to Eustis more than once during their stay that an Italian background was the one thing needful to show off Helen’s charms to the greatest perfection. When he returned to Florence, therefore, he determined to see her again, making his belated duty call the excuse; so the fortunate meeting with Armstrong and the invitation which resulted fitted in most agreeably with his plans.
The automobile passed Emory in hisvetturahalf-way up the hill. “Good-bye, old chap! Must hurry, as we have company coming for dinner!” cried Armstrong, gayly, as the machine glided past him, giving him only a vision of waving hands before he became enveloped in the cloud of dust. When he arrived at the villa he found Helen and Jack awaiting him as if they had been at home all the afternoon.
“This is a pleasant surprise, Phil,” said Helen, cordially. “Until Jack told me you were in Florence I supposed you and Dick Eustis had at least reached London by this time.”
“No,” Emory replied, as they walked into the garden; “I only went as far north as Paris. Eustis continued on to London, and is there now, I expect, but I ran across Ferdy De Peyster in Paris. He had a frightfully sick turn, and I had to take care of him for a while.”
“Ferdy was sick, you say?” Helen was eagerly interested. “You don’t mean dangerously so?”
“No—not as things turned out; but I will admit I was a bit anxious about him for a time. He had been terribly cut up over something, and then caught a beastly cold on his lungs, and I thought he was in for a severe case of pneumonia. He was pretty sandy about it, and in a week he came around all right. I took him over toAix, where I left him, and then I decided to sail home from Naples instead of Southampton.”
“Did he tell you what the trouble was?” Helen was anxious to know how confidential De Peyster had been.
“Oh, anaffaire de cœurhe said; but he did not tell me who the girl was. He spoke of his call on you and Miss Thayer, here, shortly after we departed, but the poor chap was not very communicative.”
“Forgive me for deserting you, Emory,” interrupted Armstrong as he approached them from the house, closely followed byAnnettabearing a tray. “This is one part of the dinner which I never leave to any one else. These Italians know a lot of things better than we do, but mixing cocktails is not one of their long suits.”
“By Jove! that is a grateful reward to a dusty throat!” said Emory, replacing the glass on the tray.
“And now to dinner,” announced Helen. “Annettabids us enter.”
Uncle Peabody and Miss Thayer joined them at the table.
“I must tell you, Mr. Cartwright,” said Emory, after the greetings were over, “that what you said about eating when I was here before made quite an impression on me, and I have been trying your methods a little.”
“Good for you!” cried Uncle Peabody.
“I really think I ought to make a confession,” Emory continued. “I had heard about your work and all that,but I had an idea that you were more or less of a crank, and that your theories were the usual ones which go with a new fad. But when you talked about understanding and running properly one’s own motive power it appealed to me as being sensible. Then your idea that the appetite is given one to tell him what the system needs sounded reasonable to me; and when you insisted that this same appetite had a right to be consulted as to when enough fuel was on board I woke up to a realization that I had not always been that respectful to myself.”
Uncle Peabody smiled genially. “Have you found the experiment very disagreeable?”
“By no means,” replied Emory, decidedly. “Of course, I started in on it more as a joke than anything else, but I have been surprised to find how much more I really enjoy my food. Why, there are flavors in a piece of bread which I never discovered until I chewed it all to pieces.”
“That is on the same principle exactly that a tea-taster or a wine-taster discovers the real flavor of the particular variety he is testing. That is one thing which gave me my idea. He sips a little and then thoroughly mixes it with the saliva, and in that way tastes the delicate aroma which the glutton never knows either in drink or food.”
“How does the system work with the elaborate Continentaltable d’hôte, Mr. Emory?” queried Miss Thayer.
Uncle Peabody answered for him: “You became an object of suspicion to the head-waiter, and thegarçonthought you were criticising the food.”
“Exactly,” laughed Emory. “But, all joking aside, Mr. Cartwright, I have become a confirmed disciple.I never felt so well, and I am eating about half as much as I used to.”
“This seems to be developing into an experience meeting,” Armstrong remarked. “Why don’t you write out a testimonial for the gentleman?”
“I would gladly do so, but from what I hear he stands in no need of any such document.”
Emory turned to Uncle Peabody. “It is a case of being ‘advertised by our grateful friends,’ is it not, Mr. Cartwright?”
“How long will you be in Florence, Phil?” asked Helen. “Are you just passing through again, or is this where you make your visit to the City of Flowers?”
“I have no definite plans. My steamer doesn’t sail for a month, and I am moving along as the wind blows me. Are the Sinclair girls still here?”
“No; they sailed for home last week.”
“Why don’t you stay in Florence for a while and help Helen exercise the automobile?” suggested Armstrong. “Miss Thayer and I are working every day at the library, and it will prevent her becoming lonesome.”