The report of the pistol had startled
Minnie, and for a moment had greatly agitated her.
The cry of Mrs. Willoughby elicited a response from
her to the effect that all was right, and would, no
doubt, have resulted in a conversation, had it not
been prevented by Girasole.
Minnie then relapsed into silence
for a time, and Ethel took a seat by her side on the
floor, for Minnie would not go near the straw, and
then the two interlocked their arms in an affectionate
embrace.
“Ethel darling,” whispered
Minnie, “do you know I’m beginning to get
awfully tired of this?”
“I should think so, poor darling!”
“If I only had some place to
sit on,” said Minnie, still reverting to her
original grievance, “it wouldn’t be so
very bad, you know. I could put up with not having
a bed, or a sofa, or that sort of thing, you know;
but really I must say not to have any kind of a seat
seems to me to be very, very inconsiderate, to say
the least of it.”
“Poor darling!” said Ethel again.
“And now do you know, Ethel
dear, I’m beginning to feel as though I should
really like to run away from this place, if I thought
that horrid man wouldn’t see me?”
“Minnie darling,” said
Ethel, “that’s the very thing I came for,
you know.”
“Oh yes, I know! And that
dear, nice, good, kind, delightful priest! Oh,
it was so nice of you to think of a priest, Ethel dear!
I’m so grateful! But when is he coming?”
“Soon, I hope. But do try not to
talk so.”
“But I’m only whispering.”
“Yes, but your whispers are too loud, and I’m
afraid they’ll hear.”
“Well, I’ll try to keep
still; but it’s so awfully hard, you know,
when one has so much to say, Ethel dear.”
Minnie now remained silent for about five minutes.
“How did you say you were going to take me away?”
she asked at length.
“In disguise,” said Ethel.
“But what disguise?”
“In an old woman’s dress but
hu-s-s-s-sh!”
“But I don’t want
to be dressed up in an old woman’s clothes; they
make me such a figure. Why, I’d be
a perfect fright.”
“Hu-s-s-s-sh! Dear, dear
Minnie, you’re talking too loud. They’ll
certainly hear us,” said Ethel, in a low, frightened
whisper.
“But do do promise
you won’t take me in an old woman’s clothes!”
“Oh, there there
it is again!” said Ethel. “Dear, dear
Minnie, there’s some one listening.”
“Well, I don’t see what
harm there is in what I’m saying. I only
wanted ”
Here there was a movement on the stairs
just outside. Ethel had heard a sound of that
kind two or three times, and it had given her alarm;
but now Minnie herself heard it, and stopped speaking.
And now a voice sounded from the stairs.
Some Italian words were spoken, and seemed to be addressed
to them. Of course they could make no reply.
The words were repeated, with others, and the speaker
seemed to be impatient. Suddenly it flashed across
Ethel’s mind that the speaker was Girasole,
and that the words were addressed to her.
Her impression was correct, and the
speaker was Girasole. He had heard the sibilant
sounds of the whispering, and, knowing that Minnie
could not speak Italian, it had struck him as being
a very singular thing that she should be whispering.
Had her sister joined her? He thought he would
go up and see. So he went up softly, and the whispering
still went on. He therefore concluded that the
“Italian woman” was not doing her duty,
and that Mrs. Willoughby had joined her sister.
This he would not allow; but as he had already been
sufficiently harsh he did not wish to be more so,
and therefore he called to the “Italian woman.”
“Hallo, you woman there! didn’t
I tell you not to let the ladies speak to one another?”
Of course no answer was given, so
Girasole grew more angry still, and cried out again,
more imperatively:
“Why do you not answer me?
Where are you? Is this the way you watch?”
Still there was no answer. Ethel
heard, and by this time knew what his suspicion was;
but she could neither do nor say any thing.
“Come down here at once, you hag!”
But the “hag” did not
come down, nor did she give any answer. The “hag”
was trembling violently, and saw that all was lost.
If the priest were only here! If she could only
have gone and returned with him! What kept him?
Girasole now came to the top of the
stairs, and spoke to Minnie.
“Charming mees, are you awake?”
“Yes,” said Minnie.
“Ees your sistaire wit you?”
“No. How can she
be with me, I should like to know, when you’ve
gone and put her in some horrid old room?”
“Ah! not wit you? Who are you whisperin’
to, den?”
Minnie hesitated.
“To my maid,” said she.
“Does de maid spik Inglis?” asked Girasole.
“Yes,” said Minnie.
“Ah! I did not know eet.
I mus have a look at de contadina who spiks Inglis.
Come here, Italiana. You don’t spik Italiano,
I tink. Come here.”
Ethel rose to her feet.
Girasole ran down, and came back after
a few minutes with a lamp. Concealment was useless,
and so Ethel did not cover her face with the hood.
It had fallen off when she was sitting by Minnie, and
hung loosely down her shoulders from the strings which
were around her neck. Girasole recognized her
at one glance.
“Ah!” said he; and then
he stood thinking. As for Ethel, now that the
suspense was over and the worst realized, her agitation
ceased. She stood looking at him with perfect
calm.
“What dit you come for?” he asked.
“For her,” said Ethel, making a
gesture toward Minnie.
“What could you do wit her?”
“I could see her and comfort her.”
“Ah! an’ you hope to make
her escape. Ha, ha! ver well. You mus
not complain eef you haf to soffair de consequence.
Aha! an’ so de priest bring you here ha?”
Ethel was silent.
“Ah! you fear to say you fear you
harma de priest ha?”
Minnie had thus far said nothing,
but now she rose and looked at Girasole, and then
at Ethel. Then she twined one arm around Ethel’s
waist, and turned her large, soft, childish eyes upon
Girasole.
“What do you mean,” she
said, “by always coming here and teasing,
and worrying, and firing off pistols, and frightening
people? I’m sure it was horrid enough for
you to make me come to this wretched place, when you
know I don’t like it, without annoying
me so. Why did you go and take away poor darling
Kitty? And what do you mean now, pray, by coming
here? I never was treated so unkindly in my life.
I did not think that any one could be so very,
very rude.”
“Charming mees,” said
Girasole, with a deprecating air, “it pains me
to do any ting dat you do not like.”
“It don’t pain you,”
said Minnie “it don’t pain you
at all. You’re always teasing
me. You never do what I want you to.
You wouldn’t even give me a chair.”
“Alas, carissima mia,
to-morrà you sall haf all! But dis place
is so remote.”
“It is not remote,”
said Minnie. “It’s close by roads
and villages and things. Why, here is Ethel;
she has been in a village where there are houses,
and people, and as many chairs as she wants.”
“Oh, mees, eef you will but
wait an’ be patient eef you will but
wait an’ see how tender I will be, an’
how I lof you.”
“You don’t love
me,” said Minnie, “one bit. Is this
love not to give me a chair? I have
been standing up till I am nearly ready to drop.
And you have nothing better than some wretched promises.
I don’t care for to-morrow; I want to be comfortable
to-day. You won’t let me have a single
thing. And now you come to tease me again, and
frighten poor, dear, darling Ethel.”
“Eet ees because she deceif
me she come wit a plot she steal
in here. Eef she had wait, all would be well.”
“You mustn’t dare
to touch her,” said Minnie, vehemently.
“You shall leave her here. She shall
stay with me.”
“I am ver pain oh,
very; but oh, my angel sweet charming
mees eet ees dangaire to my lof.
She plot to take you away. An’ all my life
is in you. Tink what I haf to do to gain you!”
Minnie looked upon Girasole, with
her large eyes dilated with excitement and resentment.
“You are a horrid, horrid man,”
she exclaimed. “I hate you.”
“Oh, my angel,” pleaded
Girasole, with deep agitation, “take back dat
word.”
“I’m sorry you ever saved
my life,” said Minnie, very calmly; “and
I’m sorry I ever saw you. I hate
you.”
“Ah, you gif me torment.
You do not mean dis. You say once you lof
me.”
“I did not say I loved
you. It was you who said you loved
me. I never liked you. And
I don’t really see how I could be engaged
to you when I was engaged to another man before.
He is the only one whom I recognize now. I don’t
know you at all. For I couldn’t be bound
to two men; could I, Ethel dear?”
Ethel did not reply to this strange question.
But upon Girasole its effect was very
great. The manner of Minnie had been excessively
perplexing to him all through this eventful day.
If she had stormed and gone into a fine frenzy he
could have borne it. It would have been natural.
But she was perfectly unconcerned, and her only complaint
was about trifles. Such trifles too! He felt
ashamed to think that he could have subjected to such
annoyances a woman whom he so dearly loved. And
now he was once more puzzled. Minnie confronted
him, looking at him fixedly, without one particle of
fear, with her large, earnest, innocent eyes fastened
upon his with the calm, cool gaze, of some
high-minded child rebuking a younger child-companion.
This was a proceeding which he was not prepared for.
Besides, the child-innocence of her face and of her
words actually daunted him. She seemed so fearless,
because she was so innocent. She became a greater
puzzle than ever. He had never seen much of her
before, and this day’s experience of her had
actually daunted him and confounded him. And
what was the worst to him of all her words was her
calm and simple declaration, “I hate you!”
“Yes,” said Minnie, thoughtfully,
“it must be so; and dear Kitty would have said
the same, only she was so awfully prejudiced.
And I always thought he was so nice. Yes, I think
I really must be engaged to him. But as for you,”
she said, turning full upon Girasole, “I hate
you!”
Girasole’s face grew white with rage and jealousy.
“Aha!” said he. “You
lof him. Aha! An’ you were
engage to him. Aha!”
“Yes, I really think so.”
“Aha! Well, listen,”
cried Girasole, in a hoarse voice “listen.
He he de rival de
one you say you are engage he is dead!”
And with this he fastened upon Minnie
his eyes that now gleamed with rage, and had an expression
in them that might have made Ethel quiver with horror,
but she did not, for she knew that Girasole was mistaken
on that point.
As for Minnie, she was not at all
impressed by his fierce looks.
“I don’t think you really
know what you’re talking about,” said she;
“and you’re very, very unpleasant.
At any rate, you are altogether in the wrong when
you say he is dead.”
“Dead! He is dead!
I swear it!” cried Girasole, whose manner was
a little toned down by Minnie’s coolness.
“This is getting to be awfully
funny, you know,” said Minnie. “I
really think we don’t know what one another is
talking about. I’m sure I don’t,
and I’m sure he don’t, either; does
he, Ethel darling?”
“De Inglis milor,” said Girasole.
“He is dead.”
“Well, but I don’t mean him at all,”
said Minnie.
“Who who?” gasped Girasole.
“Who who who?”
“Why, the person I mean,”
said Minnie, very placidly, “is Rufus K. Gunn.”
Girasole uttered something like a howl, and retreated.