CHAPTER XXVII

A NEW ORDEAL

The old city of Meran faces Southward to the yellow hills of Italy,

across a broad vale, between two mountain-walls and torrent-waters. With

one hand it takes the bounding green Passeyr, and with the other the

brown-rolling Adige, and plunges them together in roaring foam under the

shadow of the Western wall. It stands on the spur of a lower central

eminence crowned by a grey castle, and the sun has it from every aspect.

The shape of a swan in water may describe its position, for the

Vintschgau and the stony Passeyrthal make a strong curve on two sides as

they descend upon it with their rivers, and the bosom of the city

projects, while the head appears bending gracefully backward. Many

castles are in view of it; the loud and tameless Passeyr girdles it with

an emerald cincture; there is a sea of arched vineyard foliage at his

feet.

Vittoria reached the Castle of Sonnenberg about noon, and found empty

courts and open doors. She sat in the hall like a supplicant, disregarded

by the German domestics, who beheld a travel-stained humble-faced young

Italian woman, and supposed that their duty was done in permitting her to

rest; but the duchess's maid Aennchen happening to come by, questioned

her in moderately intelligible Italian, and hearing her name gave a cry,

and said that all the company were out hunting, shooting, and riding, in

the vale below or the mountain above. "Ah, dearest lady, what a fright we

have all been in about you! Signora Piaveni has not slept a wink, and the

English gentleman has made great excursions every day to find you. This

morning the soldier Wilhelm arrived with news that his master was

bringing you on."

Vittoria heard that Laura and her sister and the duchess had gone down to

Meran. Countess Lena von Lenkenstein was riding to see her betrothed

shoot on a neighbouring estate. Countess Anna had disappeared early, none

knew where. Both these ladies, and their sister-in-law, were in mourning

for the terrible death of their brother, Count Paul Aennchen repeated

what she knew of the tale concerning him.

The desire to see Laura first, and be embraced and counselled by her, and

lie awhile in her arms to get a breath of home, made Vittoria refuse to

go up to her chamber, and notwithstanding Aennchen's persuasions, she

left the castle, and went out and sat in the shaded cart-track. On the

winding ascent she saw a lady in a black riding habit, leading her horse

and talking to a soldier, who seemed to be receiving orders from her, and

presently saluted and turned his steps downward. The lady came on, and

passed her without a glance. After entering the courtyard, where she left

her horse, she reappeared, and stood hesitating, but came up to Vittoria

and said bluntly, in Italian:

"Are you the signorina Campa, or Belloni, who is expected here?"

The Austrian character and colouring of her features told Vittoria that

this must be the Countess Anna or her sister.

"I think I have been expected," she replied.

"You come alone?"

"I am alone."

"I am Countess Anna von Lenkenstein; one of the guests of the castle."

"My message is to the Countess Anna."

"You have a message?"

Vittoria lifted the embroidered cigar-case. Countess Anna snatched it

from her hand.

"What does this mean? Is it insolence? Have the kindness, if you please,

not to address me in enigmas. Do you"--Anna was deadly pale as she turned

the cigarcase from side to side--"do you imagine that I smoke, 'par

hasard?'" She tried to laugh off her intemperate manner of speech; the

laugh broke at sight of a blood-mark on one corner of the case; she

started and said earnestly, "I beg you to let me hear what the meaning of

this may be?"

"He lies in the Ultenthal, wounded; and his wish was that I should

deliver it to you." Vittoria spoke as gently as the harsh tidings would

allow.

"Wounded? My God! my God!" Anna cried in her own language. "Wounded?-in

the breast, then! He carried it in his breast. Wounded by what? by what?"

"I can tell you no more."

"Wounded by whom?"

"It was an honourable duel."

"Are you afraid to tell me he has been assassinated?"

"It was an honourable duel."

"None could match him with the sword."

"His enemy had nothing but a dagger."

"Who was his enemy?"

"It is no secret, but I must leave him to say."

"You were a witness of the fight?"

"I saw it all."

"The man was one of your party!

"Ah!" exclaimed Vittoria, "lose no time with me, Countess Anna, go to him

at once, for though he lived when I left him, he was bleeding; I cannot

say that he was not dying, and he has not a friend near."

Anna murmured like one overborne by calamity. "My brother struck down one

day--he the next!" She covered her face a moment, and unclosed it to

explain that she wept for her brother, who had been murdered, stabbed in

Bologna.

"Was it Count Ammiani who did this?" she asked passionately.

Vittoria shook her head; she was divining a dreadful thing in relation to

the death of Count Paul.

"It was not?" said Anna. "They had a misunderstanding, I know. But you

tell me the man fought with a dagger. It could not be Count Ammiani. The

dagger is an assassin's weapon, and there are men of honour in Italy

still."

She called to a servant in the castle-yard, and sent him down with orders

to stop the soldier Wilhelm.

"We heard this morning that you were coming, and we thought it curious,"

she observed; and called again for her horse to be saddled. "How far is

this place where he is lying? I have no knowledge of the Ultenthal. Has

he a doctor attending him? When was he wounded? It is but common humanity

to see that he is attended by an efficient doctor. My nerves are unstrung

by the recent blow to our family; that is why--Oh, my father! my holy

father!" she turned to a grey priest's head that was rising up the

ascent, "I thank God for you! Lena is away riding; she weeps constantly

when she is within four walls. Come in and give me tears, if you can; I

am half mad for the want of them. Tears first; teach me patience after."

The old priest fanned his face with his curled hat, and raised one hand

as he uttered a gentle chiding in reproof of curbless human sorrow. Anna

said to Vittoria, coldly, "I thank you for your message:" she walked into

the castle by his side, and said to him there: "The woman you saw outside

has a guilty conscience. You will spend your time more profitably with

her than with me. I am past all religious duties at this moment. You

know, father, that I can open my heart. Probe this Italian woman; search

her through and through. I believe her to be blood-stained and

abominable. She hates us. She has sworn an oath against us. She is

malignant."

It was not long before Anna issued forth and rode down to the vale. The

priest beckoned to Vittoria from the gates. He really supposed her to

have come to him with a burdened spirit.

"My daughter," he addressed her. The chapter on human error was opened:"

We are all of one family--all of us erring children--all of us bound to

abnegate hatred: by love alone are we saved. Behold the Image of

Love--the Virgin and Child. Alas! and has it been visible to man these

more than eighteen hundred years, and humankind are still blind to it?

Are their ways the ways of comfort and blessedness? Their ways are the

ways of blood; paths to eternal misery among howling fiends. Why have

they not chosen the sweet ways of peace, which are strewn with flowers,

which flow with milk?"--The priest spread his hand open for Vittoria's,

which she gave to his keeping, and he enclosed it softly, smoothing it

with his palms, and retaining it as a worldly oyster between spiritual

shells. "Why, my daughter, why, but because we do not bow to that Image

daily, nightly, hourly, momently! We do not worship it that its seed may

be sown in us. We do not cling to it, that in return it may cling to us."

He spoke with that sensuous resource of rich feeling which the

contemplation of the Image does inspire. And Vittoria was not led

reluctantly into the oratory of the castle to pray with him; but she

refused to confess. Thereupon followed a soft discussion that was as near

being acerb as nails are near velvet paws.

Vittoria perceived his drift, and also the dear good heart of the old

man, who meant no harm to her, and believed that he was making use of his

professional weapons for her ultimate good. The inquisitions and the

kindness went musically together; she responded to the kindness, but

rebutted the inquisitions; at which he permitted a shade of discontent to

traverse his features, and asked her with immense tenderness whether she

had not much on her mind; she expressing melodious gratitude for his

endeavours to give her comfort. He could not forbear directing an

admonishment to her stubborn spirit, and was obliged, for the sake of

impressiveness, to speak it harshly; until he saw, that without sweetness

of manner and unction of speech, he left her untouched; so he was driven

back to the form of address better suited to his nature and habits; the

end of which was that both were cooing.

Vittoria was ashamed to tell herself how much she liked him and his

ghostly brethren, whose preaching was always of peace, while the world

was full of lurid hatred, strife, and division. She begged the baffled

old man to keep her hand in his. He talked in Latinized Italian, and only

appeared to miss the exact meaning of her replies when his examination of

the state of her soul was resumed. They sat in the soft colour of the

consecrated place like two who were shut away from earth. Often he

thought that her tears were about to start and bring her low; for she

sighed heavily; at the mere indication of the displacement of her hand,

she looked at him eagerly, as if entreating him not to let it drop.

"You are a German, father?" she said.

"I am of German birth, my daughter."

"That makes it better. Remain beside me. The silence is sweet music."

The silence was broken at intervals by his murmur of a call for patience!

patience!

This strange scene concluded with the entry of the duchess, who retired

partly as soon as she saw them. Vittoria smiled to the old man, and left

him: the duchess gave her a hushed welcome, and took her place. Vittoria

was soon in Laura's arms, where, after a storm of grief, she related the

events of the journey following her flight from Milan. Laura interrupted

her but once to exclaim, "Angelo Guidascarpi!" Vittoria then heard from

her briefly that Milan was quiet, Carlo Ammiani in prison. It had been

for tidings of her lover that she had hastened over the mountains to

Meran. She craved for all that could be told of him, but Laura repeated,

as in a stupefaction, "Angelo Guidascarpi!" She answered Vittoria's

question by saying, "You could not have had so fatal a companion."

"I could not have had so devoted a protector."

"There is such a thing as an evil star. We are all under it at present,

to some degree; but he has been under it from his birth. My Sandra, my

beloved, I think I have pardoned you, if I ever pardon anyone! I doubt

it; but it is certain that I love you. You have seen Countess Anna, or I

would have told you to rest and get over your fatigue. The Lenkensteins

are here--my poor sister among them. You must show yourself. I was

provident enough to call at your mother's for a box of your clothes

before I ran out of wretched Milan."

Further, the signora stated that Carlo might have to remain in prison.

She made no attempt to give dark or fair colour to the misery of the

situation; telling Vittoria to lie on her bed and sleep, if sleep could

be persuaded to visit her, she went out to consult with the duchess.

Vittoria lay like a dead body on the bed, counting the throbs of her

heart. It helped her to fall into a state of insensibility. When she

awoke, the room was dark; she felt that some one had put a silken cushion

across her limbs. The noise of a storm traversing the vale rang through

the castle, and in the desolation of her soul, that stealthy act of

kindness wrought in her till she almost fashioned a vow upon her lips

that she would leave the world to toss its wrecks, and dedicate her life

to God.

For, O heaven! of what avail is human effort? She thought of the Chief,

whose life was stainless, but who stood proscribed because his aim was

too high to be attained within compass of a mortal's years. His error

seemed that he had ever aimed at all. He seemed less wise than the old

priest of the oratory. She could not disentangle him from her own

profound humiliation and sense of fallen power. Her lover's imprisonment

accused her of some monstrous culpability, which she felt unrepentingly,

not as we feel a truth, but as we submit to a terrible force of pressure.

The morning light made her realize Carlo's fate, to whom it would

penetrate through a hideous barred loophole--a defaced and dreadful beam.

She asked herself why she had fled from Milan. It must have been some

cowardly instinct that had prompted her to fly. "Coward, coward! thing of

vanity! you, a mere woman!" she cried out, and succeeded in despising

herself sufficiently to think it possible that she had deserved to

forfeit her lover's esteem.

It was still early when the duchess's maid came to her, bringing word

that her mistress would be glad to visit her. From the duchess Vittoria

heard of the charge against Angelo. Respecting Captain Weisspriess,

Amalia said that she had perceived his object in wishing to bring the

great cantatrice to the castle; and that it was a well-devised audacious

scheme to subdue Countess Anna:--"We Austrians also can be jealous. The

difference between us is, that it makes us tender, and you Italians

savage." She asked pointedly for an affirmative, that Vittoria was glad

to reply with, when she said: "Captain Weisspriess was perfectly

respectful to you?" She spoke comforting words of Carlo Ammiani, whom she

hoped to see released as soon as the excitement had subsided. The chief

comfort she gave was by saying that he had been originally arrested in

mistake for his cousin Angelo.

"I will confide what is now my difficulty here frankly to you," said the

duchess. "The Lenkensteins are my guests; I thought it better to bring

them here. Angelo Guidascarpi has slain their brother--a base deed! It

does not affect you in my eyes; you can understand that in theirs it

does. Your being present--Laura has told me everything--at the duel, or

fight, between that young man and Captain Weisspriess, will make you

appear as his accomplice--at least, to Anna it will; she is the most

unreasoning, the most implacable of women. She returned from the

Ultenthal last night, and goes there this morning, which is a sign that

Captain Weisspriess lives. I should be sorry if we lost so good an

officer. As she is going to take Father Bernardus with her, it is

possible that the wound is serious. Do you know you have mystified the

worthy man exceedingly? What tempted you to inform him that your

conscience was heavily burdened, at the same time that you refused to

confess?"

"Surely he has been deluded about me," said Vittoria.

"I do but tell you his state of mind in regard to you," the duchess

pursued. "Under all the circumstances, this is what I have to ask: you

are my Laura's guest, therefore the guest of my heart. There is another

one here, an Englishman, a Mr. Powys; and also Lieutenant Pierson, whom,

naughty rebel that you are, you have been the means of bringing into

disgrace; naturally you would wish to see them: but my request is, that

you should keep to these rooms for two or three days: the Lenkensteins

will then be gone. They can hardly reproach me for retaining an invalid.

If you go down among them, it will be a cruel meeting."

Vittoria thankfully consented to the arrangement. They agreed to act in

accordance with it.

The signora was a late riser. The duchess had come on a second visit to

Vittoria when Laura joined them, and hearing of the arrangement, spurned

the notion of playing craven before the Lenkensteins, who, she said,

might think as it pleased them to think, but were never to suppose that

there was any fear of confronting them. "And now, at this very moment,

when they have their triumph, and are laughing over Viennese squibs at

her, she has an idea of hiding her head--she hangs out the white flag! It

can't be. We go or we stay; but if we stay, the truth is that we are too

poor to allow our enemies to think poorly of us. You, Amalia, are

victorious, and you may snap your fingers at opinion. It is a luxury we

cannot afford. Besides, I wish her to see my sister and make acquaintance

with the Austrianized-Italian--such a wonder as is nowhere to be seen out

of the Serabiglione and in the Lenkenstein family. Marriage is, indeed, a

tremendous transformation. Bianca was once declared to be very like me."

The brow-beaten duchess replied to the outburst that she had considered

it right to propose the scheme for Vittoria's seclusion on account of the

Guidascarpi.

"Even if that were a good reason, there are better on the other side,"

said Laura; adding, with many little backward tosses of the head, "That

story has to be related in full before I denounce Angelo and Rinaldo."

"It cannot be denied that they are assassins," returned the duchess.

"It cannot be denied that they have killed one man or more. For you,

Justice drops from the bough: we have to climb and risk our necks for it.

Angelo stood to defend my darling here. Shall she be ashamed of him?"

"You will never persuade me to tolerate assassination," said the duchess

colouring.

"Never, never; I shall never persuade you; never persuade--never attempt

to persuade any foreigner that we can be driven to extremes where their

laws do not apply to us--are not good for us--goad a subjected people

till their madness is pardonable. Nor shall I dream of persuading you

that Angelo did right in defending her from that man."

"I maintain that there are laws applicable to all human creatures," said

the duchess. "You astonish me when you speak compassionately of such a

criminal."

"No; not of such a criminal, of such an unfortunate youth, and my

countryman, when every hand is turned against him, and all tongues are

reviling him. But let Angelo pass; I pray to heaven he may escape. All

who are worth anything in our country are strained in every fibre, and

it's my trick to be half in love with anyone of them when he is

persecuted. I fancy he is worth more than the others, and is simply

luckless. You must make allowances for us, Amalia--pity captive Judah!"

"I think, my Laura, you will never be satisfied till I have ceased to be

Babylonian," said the duchess, smiling and fondling Vittoria, to whom she

said, "Am I not a complaisant German?"

Vittoria replied gently, "If they were like you!"

"Yes, if they were like the duchess," said Laura, "nothing would be left

for us then but to hate ourselves. Fortunately, we deal with brutes."

She was quite pitiless in prompting Vittoria to hasten down, and

marvelled at the evident reluctance in doing this slight duty, of one

whose courage she had recently seen rise so high. Vittoria was equally

amazed by her want of sympathy, which was positive coldness, and her

disregard for the sentiments of her hostess. She dressed hesitatingly,

responding with forlorn eyes to Laura's imperious "Come." When at last

she was ready to descend, Laura took her dawn, full of battle. The

duchess had gone in advance to keep the peace.

The ladies of the Lenkenstein family were standing at one window of the

morning room conversing. Apart from them, Merthyr Powys and Wilfrid were

examining one of the cumbrous antique arms ranged along the wall. The

former of these old English friends stepped up to Vittoria quickly and

kissed her forehead. Wilfrid hung behind him; he made a poor show of

indifference, stammered English and reddened; remembering that he was

under observation he recovered wonderfully, and asked, like a patron,

"How is the voice?" which would have been foolish enough to Vittoria's

more attentive hearing. She thanked him for the service he had rendered

her at La Scala. Countess Lena, who looked hard at both, saw nothing to

waken one jealous throb.

"Bianca, you expressed a wish to give a salute to my eldest daughter,"

said Laura.

The Countess of Lenkenstein turned her head. "Have I done so?"

"It is my duty to introduce her," interposed the duchess, and conducted

the ceremony with a show of its embracing these ladies, neither one of

whom changed her cold gaze.

Careful that no pause should follow, she commenced chatting to the ladies

and gentlemen alternately, keeping Vittoria under her peculiar charge.

Merthyr alone seconded her efforts to weave the web of converse, which is

an armistice if not a treaty on these occasions.

"Have you any fresh caricatures from Vienna?" Laura continued to address

her sister.

"None have reached me," said the neutral countess.

"Have they finished laughing?"

"I cannot tell."

"At any rate, we sing still," Laura smiled to Vittoria. "You shall hear

us after breakfast. I regret excessively that you were not in Milan on

the Fifteenth. We will make amends to you as much as possible. You shall

hear us after breakfast. You will sing to please my sister, Sandra mia,

will you not?"

Vittoria shook her head. Like those who have become passive, she read

faces--the duchess's imploring looks thrown from time to time to the

Lenkenstein ladies, Wilfrid's oppressed forehead, the resolute neutrality

of the countess--and she was not only incapable of seconding Laura's

aggressive war, but shrank from the involvement and sickened at the

indelicacy. Anna's eyes were fixed on her and filled her with dread lest

she should be resolving to demand a private interview.

"You refuse to sing?" said Laura; and under her breath, "When I bid you

not, you insist!"

"Can she possibly sing before she grows accustomed to the air of the

place?" said the duchess.

Merthyr gravely prescribed a week's diet on grapes antecedent to the

issuing of a note. "Have you never heard what a sustained grape-diet will

do for the bullfinches?"

"Never," exclaimed the duchess. "Is that the secret of their German

education?"

"Apparently, for we cannot raise them to the same pitch of perfection in

England."

"I will try it upon mine. Every morning they shall have two big bunches."

"Fresh plucked, and with the first sunlight on them. Be careful of the

rules."

Wilfrid remarked, "To make them exhibit the results, you withdraw the

benefit suddenly, of course?"

"We imitate the general run of Fortune's gifts as much as we can," said

Merthyr.

"That is the training for little shrill parrots: we have none in Italy,"

Laura sighed, mock dolefully; "I fear the system would fail among us."

"It certainly would not build Como villas," said Lena.

Laura cast sharp eyes on her pretty face.

"It is adapted for caged voices that are required to chirrup to tickle

the ears of boors."

Anna said to the duchess: "I hope your little birds are all well this

morning."

"Come to them presently with me and let our ears be tickled," the duchess

laughed in answer; and the spiked dialogue broke, not to revive.

The duchess had observed the constant direction of Anna's eyes upon

Vittoria during the repast, and looked an interrogation at Anna, who

replied to it firmly. "I must be present," the duchess whispered. She

drew Vittoria away by the hand, telling Merthyr Powys that it was unkind

to him, but that he should be permitted to claim his fair friend from

noon to the dinner-bell.

Laura and Bianca were discussing the same subject as the one for which

Anna desired an interview with Vittoria. It was to know the conditions

and cause of the duel between Angelo Guidascarpi and Captain Weisspriess,

and whither Angelo had fled. "In other words, you cry for vengeance under

the name of justice," Laura phrased it, and put up a prayer for Angelo's

escape.

The countess rebuked her. "It is men like Angelo who are a scandal to

Italy."

"Proclaimed so; but by what title are they judged?" Laura retorted. "I

have heard that his duel with Count Paul was fair, and that the grounds

for it were just. Deplore it; but to condemn an Italian gentleman without

hearing his personal vindication, is infamous; nay, it is Austrian. I

know next to nothing of the story. Countess Ammiani has assured me that

the brothers have a clear defence--not from your Vienna point of view:

Italy and Vienna are different sides of the shield."

Vittoria spoke most humbly before Anna; her sole irritating remark was,

that even if she were aware of the direction of Angelo's flight, she

would not betray him.

The duchess did her utmost to induce her to see that he was a criminal,

outlawed from common charity. "These Italians are really like the Jews,"

she said to Anna; "they appear to me to hold together by a bond of race:

you cannot get them to understand that any act can be infamous when one

of their blood is guilty of it."

Anna thought gloomily: "Then, why do you ally yourself to them?"

The duchess, with Anna, Lena, and Wilfrid, drove to the Ultenthal.

Vittoria and Merthyr had a long afternoon of companionship. She had been

shyer in meeting him than in meeting Wilfrid, whom she had once loved.

The tie between herself and Wilfrid was broken; but Merthyr had remained

true to his passionless affection, which ennobled him to her so that her

heart fluttered, though she was heavily depressed. He relieved her by

letting her perceive that Carlo Ammiani's merits were not unknown to him.

Merthyr smiled at Carlo for abjuring his patrician birth. He said: "Count

Ammiani will be cured in time of those little roughnesses of his adopted

Republicanism. You must help to cure him. Women are never so foolish as

men in these things."

When Merthyr had spoken thus, she felt that she might dare to press his

hand. Sharing friendship with this steadfast nature and brotherly

gentleman; who was in the ripe manhood of his years; who loved Italy and

never despaired; who gave great affection, and took uncomplainingly the

possible return for it;--seemed like entering on a great plain open to

boundless heaven. She thought that friendship was sweeter than love.

Merthyr soon left the castle to meet his sister at Coire. Laura and

Vittoria drove some distance up the Vintschgau, on the way to the

Engadine, with him. He affected not to be downcast by the failure of the

last attempt at a rising in Milan. "Keep true to your Art; and don't let

it be subservient to anything," he said, and his final injunction to her

was that she should get a German master and practise rigidly.

Vittoria could only look at Laura in reply.

"He is for us, but not of us," said Laura, as she kissed her fingers to

him.

"If he had told me to weep and pray," Vittoria murmured, "I think I

should by-and-by lift up my head."

"By-and-by! By-and-by I think I see a convent for me," said Laura.

Their faces drooped.

Vittoria cried: "Ah! did he mean that my singing at La Scala was below

the mark?"

At this, Laura's laughter came out in a volume. "And that excellent

Father Bernardus thinks he is gaining a convert!" she said.

Vittoria's depression was real, though her strong vitality appeared to

mock it. Letters from Milan, enclosed to the duchess, spoke of Carlo

Ammiani's imprisonment as a matter that might be indefinitely prolonged.

His mother had been subjected to an examination; she had not hesitated to

confess that she had received her nephew in her house, but it could not

be established against her that it was not Carlo whom she had passed off

to the sbirri as her son. Countess Ammiani wrote to Laura, telling her

she scarcely hoped that Carlo would obtain his liberty save upon the

arrest of Angelo:--"Therefore, what I most desire, I dare not pray for!"

That line of intense tragic grief haunted Vittoria like a veiled head

thrusting itself across the sunlight. Countess Ammiani added that she

must give her son what news she could gather;--"Concerning you," said

Laura, interpreting the sentence: "Bitter days do this good, they make a

proud woman abjure the traditions of her caste." A guarded answer was

addressed, according to the countess's directions, to Sarpo the

bookseller, in Milan. For purposes of such a nature, Barto Rizzo turned

the uneasy craven to account.

It happened that one of the maids at Sonnenberg was about to marry a

peasant, of Meran, part proprietor of a vineyard, and the nuptials were

to be celebrated at the castle. Among those who thronged the courtyard on

the afternoon of the ceremony, Vittoria beheld her faithful Beppo, who

related the story of his pursuit of her, and the perfidy of Luigi;--a

story so lengthy, that his voluble tongue running at full speed could

barely give the outlines of it. He informed her, likewise, that he had

been sent for, while lying in Trent, by Captain Weisspriess, whom he had

seen at an inn of the Ultenthal, weak but improving. Beppo was the

captain's propitiatory offering to Vittoria. Meanwhile the ladies sat on

a terrace, overlooking the court, where a stout fellow in broad green

braces and blue breeches lay half across a wooden table, thrumming a

zither, which set the groups in motion. The zither is a melancholy little

instrument; in range of expression it is to the harp what the winchat is

to the thrush; or to the violin, what that bird is to the nightingale;

yet few instruments are so exciting: here and there along these mountain

valleys you may hear a Tyrolese maid set her voice to its plaintive thin

tones; but when the strings are swept madly there is mad dancing; it

catches at the nerves. "Andreas! Andreas!" the dancers shouted to

encourage the player. Some danced with vine-poles; partners broke and

wandered at will, taking fresh partners, and occasionally huddling in

confusion, when the poles were levelled and tilted at them, and they

dispersed. Beppo, dancing mightily to recover the use of his legs, met

his acquaintance Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz, and the pair devoted

themselves to a rivalry of capers; jump, stamp, shuffle, leg aloft, arms

in air, yell and shriek: all took hands around them and streamed,

tramping the measure, and the vine-poles guarded the ring. Then Andreas

raised the song: "Our Lady is gracious," and immediately the whole

assemblage were singing praise to the Lady of the castle. Following

which, wine being brought to Andreas, he drank to his lady, to his lady's

guests, to the bride, to the, bridegroom, to everybody. He was now ready

to improvize, and dashed thumb and finger on the zither, tossing up his

face, swarthy-flushed: "There was a steinbock with a beard." Half-a-dozen

voices repeated it, as to proclaim the theme.

Alas! a beard indeed, for there is no end to this animal. I know him;"

said the duchess dolefully.

"There was a steinbock with a beard;

Of no gun was he afeard

Piff-paff left of him: piff-paff right of him

Piff-paff everywhere, where you get a sight of him."

The steinbock led through the whole course of a mountaineer's emotions

and experiences, with piff-paff continually left of him and right of him

and nothing hitting him. The mountaineer is perplexed; an able man, a

dead shot, who must undo the puzzle or lose faith in his skill, is a

tremendous pursuer, and the mountaineer follows the steinbock ever. A

'sennderin' at a 'sennhutchen' tells him that she admitted the steinbock

last night, and her curled hair frizzled under the steinbock's eyes. The

case is only too clear: my goodness! the steinbock is the-- "Der Teu .

. . !" said Andreas, with a comic stop of horror, the rhyme falling

cleverly to "ai." Henceforth the mountaineer becomes transformed into a

champion of humanity, hunting the wicked bearded steinbock in all

corners; especially through the cabinet of those dark men who decree the

taxes detested in Tyrol.

The song had as yet but fairly commenced, when a break in the 'piff-paff'

chorus warned Andreas that he was losing influence, women and men were

handing on a paper and bending their heads over it; their responses

hushed altogether, or were ludicrously inefficient.

"I really believe the poor brute has come to a Christian finish--this

Ahasuerus of steinbocks!" said the duchess.

The transition to silence was so extraordinary and abrupt, that she

called to her chasseur to know the meaning of it. Feckelwitz fetched the

paper and handed it up. It exhibited a cross done in blood under the word

'Meran,' and bearing that day's date. One glance at it told Laura what it

meant. The bride in the court below was shedding tears: the bridegroom

was lighting his pipe and consoling her; women were chattering, men

shrugging. Some said they had seen an old grey-haired hag (hexe) stand at

the gates and fling down a piece of paper. A little boy whose imagination

was alive with the tale of the steinbock, declared that her face was

awful, and that she had only the, use of one foot. A man patted him on

the shoulder, and gave him a gulp of wine, saying with his shrewdest air:

"One may laugh at the devil once too often, though!" and that sentiment

was echoed; the women suggested in addition the possibility of the bride

Lisa having something on her conscience, seeing that she had lived in a

castle two years and more. The potential persuasions of Father Bernardus

were required to get the bride to go away to her husband's roof that

evening: when she did make her departure, the superstitious peasantry

were not a merry party that followed at her heels.

At the break-up of the festivities Wilfrid received an intimation that

his sister had arrived in Meran from Bormio. He went down to see her, and

returned at a late hour. The ladies had gone to rest. He wrote a few

underlined words, entreating Vittoria to grant an immediate interview in

the library of the castle. The missive was entrusted to Aennchen.

Vittoria came in alarm.

"My sister is perfectly well," said Wilfrid. "She has heard that Captain

Gambier has been arrested in the mountains; she had some fears concerning

you, which I quieted. What I have to tell you, does not relate to her.

The man Angelo Guidascarpi is in Meran. I wish you to let the signora

know that if he is not carried out of the city before sunset to-morrow, I

must positively inform the superior officer of the district of his

presence there."

This was their first private interview. Vittoria (for she knew him) had

acceded to it, much fearing that it would lead to her having to put on

her sex's armour. To collect her wits, she asked tremblingly how Wilfrid

had chanced to see Angelo. An old Italian woman, he said, had accosted

him at the foot of the mountain, and hearing that he was truly an

Englishman--"I am out of my uniform," Wilfrid remarked with intentional

bitterness--had conducted him to the house of an Italian in the city,

where Angelo Guidascarpi was lying.

"Ill?" said Vittoria.

"Just recovering. After that duel, or whatever it may be called with

Weisspriess, he lay all night out on the mountains. He managed to get the

help of a couple of fellows, who led him at dusk into Meran, saw an

Italian name over a shop, and--I will say for them that the rascals hold

together. There he is, at all events."

"Would you denounce a sick man, Wilfrid?"

"I certainly cannot forget my duty upon every point"

"You are changed!"

"Changed! Am I the only one who is changed?"

"He must have supposed that it would be Merthyr. I remember speaking of

Merthyr to him as our unchangeable friend. I told him Merthyr would be

here."

"Instead of Merthyr, he had the misfortune to see your changeable friend,

if you will have it so."

"But how can it be your duty to denounce him, Wilfrid. You have quitted

that army."

"Have I? I have forfeited my rank, perhaps."

"And Angelo is not guilty of a military offence."

"He has slain one of a family that I am bound to respect."

"Certainly, certainly," said Vittoria hurriedly.

Her forehead showed distress of mind; she wanted Laura's counsel.

"Wilfrid, do you know the whole story?"

"I know that he inveigled Count Paul to his house and slew him; either he

or his brother, or both."

"I have been with him for days, Wilfrid. I believe that he would do no

dishonourable thing. He is related----".

"He is the cousin of Count Ammiani."

"Ah! would you plunge us in misery?"

"How?"

"Count Ammiani is my lover."

She uttered it unblushingly, and with tender eyes fixed on him.

"Your lover!" he exclaimed, with vile emphasis.

"He will be my husband," she murmured, while the mounting hot colour

burned at her temples.

"Changed--who is changed?" he said, in a vehement underneath. "For that

reason I am to be false to her who does me the honour to care for me!"

"I would not have you false to her in thought or deed."

"You ask me to spare this man on account of his relationship to your

lover, and though he has murdered the brother of the lady whom I esteem.

What on earth is the meaning of the petition? Really, you amaze me."

"I appeal to your generosity, Wilfrid, I am Emilia."

"Are you?"

She gave him her hand. He took it, and felt at once the limit of all that

he might claim. Dropping the hand, he said:

"Will nothing less than my ruin satisfy you? Since that night at La

Scala, I am in disgrace with my uncle; I expect at any moment to hear

that I am cashiered from the army, if not a prisoner. What is it that you

ask of me now? To conspire with you in shielding the man who has done a

mortal injury to the family of which I am almost one. Your reason must

perceive that you ask too much. I would willingly assist you in sparing

the feelings of Count Ammiani; and, believe me, gratitude is the last

thing I require to stimulate my services. You ask too much; you must see

that you ask too much."

"I do," said Vittoria. "Good-night, Wilfrid."

He was startled to find her going, and lost his equable voice in trying

to detain her. She sought relief in Laura's bosom, to whom she

recapitulated the interview.

"Is it possible," Laura said, looking at her intently, "that you do not

recognize the folly of telling this Lieutenant Pierson that you were

pleading to him on behalf of your lover? Could anything be so monstrous,

when one can see that he is malleable to the twist of your little finger?

Are you only half a woman, that you have no consciousness of your power?

Probably you can allow yourself--enviable privilege!--to suppose that he

called you down at this late hour simply to inform you that he is

compelled to do something which will cause you unhappiness! I repeat, it

is an enviable privilege. Now, when the real occasion has come for you to

serve us, you have not a single weapon--except these tears, which you are

wasting on my lap. Be sure that if he denounces Angelo, Angelo's life

cries out against you. You have but to quicken your brain to save him.

Did he expose his life for you or not? I knew that he was in Meran," the

signora continued sadly. "The paper which frightened the silly peasants,

revealed to me that he was there, needing help. I told you Angelo was

under an evil star. I thought my day to-morrow would be a day of

scheming. The task has become easy, if you will."

"Be merciful; the task is dreadful," said Vittoria.

"The task is simple. You have an instrument ready to your hands. You can

do just what you like with him--make an Italian of him; make him renounce

his engagement to this pert little Lena of Lenkenstein, break his sword,

play Arlecchino, do what you please. He is not required for any

outrageous performance. A week, and Angelo will have recovered his

strength; you likewise may resume the statuesque demeanour which you have

been exhibiting here. For the space of one week you are asked for some

natural exercise of your wits and compliancy. Hitherto what have you

accomplished, pray?" Laura struck spitefully at Vittoria's degraded

estimation of her worth as measured by events. "You have done

nothing--worse than nothing. It gives me horrors to find it necessary to

entreat you to look your duty in the face and do it, that even three or

four Italian hearts--Carlo among them--may thank you. Not Carlo, you

say?" (Vittoria had sobbed, "No, not Carlo.") "How little you know men!

How little do you think how the obligations of the hour should affect a

creature deserving life! Do you fancy that Carlo wishes you to be for

ever reading the line of a copy-book and shaping your conduct by it? Our

Italian girls do this; he despises them. Listen to me; do not I know what

is meant by the truth of love? I pass through fire, and keep constant to

it; but you have some vile Romance of Chivalry in your head; a modern

sculptor's figure, 'MEDITATION;' that is the sort of bride you would give

him in the stirring days of Italy. Do you think it is only a statue that

can be true? Perceive--will you not--that this Lieutenant Pierson is your

enemy. He tells you as much; surely the challenge is fair? Defeat him as

you best can. Angelo shall not be abandoned."

"O me! it is unendurable; you are merciless," said Vittoria, shuddering.

She saw the vile figure of herself aping smirks and tender meanings to

her old lover. It was a picture that she dared not let her mind rest on:

how then could she personate it? All through her life she had been frank;

as a young woman, she was clear of soul; she felt that her, simplicity

was already soiled by the bare comprehension of the abominable course

indicated by Laura. Degradation seemed to have been a thing up to this

moment only dreamed of; but now that it was demanded of her to play

coquette and trick her womanhood with false allurements, she knew the

sentiment of utter ruin; she was ashamed. No word is more lightly spoken

than shame. Vittoria's early devotion to her Art, and subsequently to her

Italy, had carried her through the term when she would otherwise have

showed the natural mild attack of the disease. It came on her now in a

rush, penetrating every chamber of her heart, overwhelming her; she could

see no distinction between being ever so little false and altogether

despicable. She had loathings of her body and her life. With grovelling

difficulty of speech she endeavoured to convey the sense of her

repugnance to Laura, who leaned her ear, wondering at such bluntness of

wit in a woman, and said, "Are you quite deficient in the craft of your

sex, child? You can, and you will, guard yourself ten times better when

your aim is simply to subject him." But this was not reason to a spirit

writhing in the serpent-coil of fiery blushes.

Vittoria said, "I shall pity him so."

She meant she would pity Wilfrid in deluding him. It was a taint of the

hypocrisy which comes with shame.

The signora retorted: "I can't follow the action of your mind a bit."

Pity being a form of tenderness, Laura supposed that she would

intuitively hate the man who compelled her to do what she abhorred.

They spent the greater portion of the night in this debate.