CHAPTER XLIV.THE ITALIAN VILLA.
Within sight of the library window, and down upon the sloping grounds that rolled in broken hollows to the sea, Catharine had noticed the building of a pretty Italian villa, that for a month or two of the spring had been throwing out some new wing or cornice through the trees that were to embower it. Even the workmen’s hammers could now and then be heard in the stillness of the morning, when nothing but the birds and those who toil for their daily bread are abroad.
In a still life like hers, everything has its interest. From almost unconsciously watching the progress of such portions of the building as the irregularities of the ground made visible, Catharine began to wonder who this pretty residence was for, and how its inmates might hereafter affect her own singular life. It was the only dwelling in sight, and threatened to encroach somewhat upon the isolation of her home. Thus the subject became one of peculiar interest to her; while the old people now and then wondered who wasbuilding a house so near them, and if their close neighborhood to strangers might not interfere with the entire freedom which poor Elsie now enjoyed.
Elsie herself heard the conversation regarding this new house, with wild attention. It seemed to startle her, and she murmured some vague comments as the others conversed, which betrayed a degree of unrest and excitement, that filled the good old people with fresh anxiety.
At length, in the month of June, just when the roses were in their richest flush of beauty, the workmen seemed to have completed their task. No more sounds came on the wind to remind the family that human life was so near. The glaring freshness of unpainted wood was toned down into a warm, gray tint, scarcely visible beyond the tall elms and fruit thickets that covered the intervening grounds. From any effect it had upon Catharine’s life, the house might never have existed; it was a pretty object in the distance, nothing more; and yet it always gave her a faint pang when she looked that way. The same strange sensation occasioned by her husband’s picture seemed in some way associated with this house; yet it was perfectly new, and had no possible connection with her or hers more than the forest-trees that had supplied the timbers.
One afternoon the family were all gathered in the common sitting-room, loitering about the tea-table, till twilight stole on, and the air was heavy with falling dew. Elsie was sitting as usual at her mother’s feet, looking vaguely up to her face, and smiling that wan, hollow smile, that had neither intelligence nor warmth, and yet was so grateful to the gentle old mother.
Mr. Ford had been dreamingly reading the religious paper, which brought his weekly allowance of literature; but as the golden dusk stole on, he laid the venerated sheet upon the table, and was serenely reflecting over its contents.
Catharine sat by the window, restless, and with a vaguefeeling of expectation, the more remarkable because no guests were ever invited to the lone dwelling, and because her reason told her that this impulsive feeling, that some one interested in her was coming, must be perfectly groundless. Still she sat wistfully gazing out into the dusk. Every sound, if but the fluttering of a bird upon its nest, made her start. She went forth in imagination into the world again, and mixed in the great drama of life, from which she had so long absented herself.
As she sat thus, leaning upon the window-sill, there came up through the evening mist two figures, a lady and a child, moving onward softly like shadows gliding over the grass.
Catharine held her breath and gazed upon them in silence. Were these the persons whom she had been unconsciously expecting? Who were they? And why did they creep so noiselessly across the sward?
The lady was in mourning, not the heavy black which shrouds the person as in a midnight of despair; but her garments were of soft, pale gray, that floated around her like a mist, leaving her gentle face in relief, dim but beautiful.
The child moved like a tropical bird beside his companion; his dress was of crimson, rich with the most delicate embroidery, that lay upon its borders like the plumage on the neck of a flamingo. The light was too dim for more than a general view of the strangers; but as they came slowly house ward, her heart beat fast, and she felt a sudden warmth mount into her cheek, as if something kindred and pleasant were stirring her spirit to its depths.
Impelled by a sudden impulse, at once urgent and unaccountable, the young woman arose and went out upon the front door-steps, as one who receives an expected guest.
The lady and the child paused,—they had not intended to enter the house, but, lured on by the quietness and lovely glimpses of scenery that surrounded it, they had been led unconsciously in front.
“Look, look, mamma. See that beautiful lady! She is coming to speak with you; come!”
As the child spoke, he drew eagerly upon the hand which led him; and Catharine, impelled by the same influence that had brought her to the door, descended the steps and met them.
The lady smiled.
“My little boy is so delighted with the fruit-trees and flowers, that I cannot keep him off your grounds,” she said, mistaking Catharine for the mistress of the house. “It is an intrusion, I fear?”
Catharine did not answer. She was looking downward, with a sort of fascination, into the beautiful eyes of the boy, who neither smiled nor spoke, but returned her look so earnestly that his face grew sad, and he seemed ready to burst into tears.
“We will retire at once!” said the lady, hurt by her silence; “I am sure it is an intrusion.”
Catharine lifted her eyes from the child, and cast a wistful, inquiring glance upon the mother, as if the words of this excuse, so sweetly uttered, had fallen upon her ear, but not upon her sense.
“He is yours!” she said, with a strange smile; “dear soul, he is yours!”
Again her eyes were turned on the boy, who met them with a steady, earnest gaze, half tearful, half smiling.
The young widow gave a troubled assent, and turning slowly, appeared about to retrace her steps.
“Do not go yet!” pleaded Catharine, catching her breath, and for the first time realizing her position and the strangeness of her conduct. “The grounds are pleasant always at sunset, and so little disturbed, that you can find the charm of a wild wood almost in them. I should like to show you some of the finest views.”
The lady smiled, and bent her head in acceptance of this kind offer.