Part 12

‘Now the _she_ is “bella,” with many hairs running in billows like waves on the shore of the lake, only not white-topped, and her face is like unto a violet and a star. Yet also is she like unto something that springs swiftly and far, or unto that which waves its wings in the sunlight, making many colours, and floats past like the twinkling of an eyebrow. Also have I seen in shops figures of porcelain of a delicate transparence, so that a man can look at things through them, that are greatly like her; so it seems also the _he_ finds her, for whenever she points and bids him to be looking at the things around, he regards straightly and without winking at her eyeballs, or--so often as _I_ am observing at her _eyelashes_, which she then, it seems, wears long upon her cheeks.

‘Ai! I have seen one or two fairer amongst my own race; but never amongst these strangers, wearing nets on their faces, with blue looking-glasses for their eyes, and very thick garments of a sad colour.

‘And so on and on past the great Mother, Nicolas drawing with a good stomach to where rises the long hill to San Felice, and ever comes clearer the great chime, it being now the second pulling of it.

‘Then the _he_--mad, as I have said--descends and marches with me, patting my Nicolas and saying, “Good, good, how old?” With that he regards his teeth. Now I know well what I must be saying, when one of these regards where once were Nicolas’ teeth, and says, “How old?” For I am of great intelligence and have learnt it by stomach,--so “_Eightee_” I say. “What?” says the _he_, and his eyes grow of a roundness, then he laughs and wheels his toes to the she, and says something of a great wit, and both laugh again. Then a curious thing passes, for the she says, “Ah! Eight_ine_! but _impossible_!” and like to a shot gun rolls from the chariot moving, and both run and look at Nicolas’ knees, and again at his teeth. Do they think then that he eats his knees?

‘Then again both say Eightine! but _impossible_! and I say Eightine, _si, si_! and nod myself so that they shall not think small of Nicolas, or that he is too young a horse and fiery, as I was of a fear they might. Yet they wag their tops very often and as I think, sadly, and the _she_ looks at Nicolas softly and timidly, and smites him very gently, and they walk up all that great hill--both--even “_la bella_.”

‘But then it is all same thing, they are English and mad; who knows what is in them?

‘Now am I thirsty again; but at the end we have become in San Felice, and after much questioning of the peoples walking in the streets--who know nothing--I find at the end the place where they wish to drink, the bells being quite at hand, and very full of noise.

‘So I leave them for mine own drinking. Yet they do not hurry to their drinking, but go slowly, and as it were without eagerness, looking at each other, and the “bella’s” eyes shine like two stars in a heaven of violets.

‘What did they, while for three hours I and Nicolas ate bravely and drank much, is of a supposition. But now we are again to returning ready, and see! they come, the “bella” with many flowers in her hands; and still their eyes shine, and their noses smell the flowers, and they say, “_Allez, Pietro, allez!_”

‘So, with a crackling of the whip-stick, we roll through the streets, and down to the other road leading through the valley of the fair view to the bridge that cuts in two the great Mother, and so home again. Now I have a liking for this road, and so has Nicolas; it is of a gentle sloping, with many spots where he that is intelligent can ‘_goutez un peu_,’ and so we go pleasantly.

‘The Fiery One is hiding him behind the tall Father and his brethren, and there comes over the earth a great sweet colour as of the sparkling Asti in this my glass, and all things drink deeply of the flushing light--even those lying back with eyes very serene, and arms invisible cunningly--and I, Pietro, even more deeply, for have I not also of the light inside me?

‘Only Nicolas goes like the pighead he is, without reason, now on one side, now on the other, and jumps as does the flea when you catch his tail.

‘Well--well--he is a sure beast, and the way is very long--and safe--and aww--drowsy, and the light has got into my eyes, and also, I think a little into my top--aw--w--w--well, I _will_ perchance sleep a little--’tis a sure--beast--and the way--a--w--w....’

EPILOGUE.

The champagne light faded slowly from the snow-crowned tops, and from the green and grey sides of the hills, and the violet shadows crept on over the great blue lake below; the shining in _her_ eyes was fading too, giving place to a look of great rest and faith, and _his_ face turned to hers was the face of a man gazing at the Holy Grail.

So, obliviously, unconsciously onwards, the cup of a perfect joy full to overflowing.

The carriage rolled slowly along the white and dusty road by the lake-side, the tired horse picking his own way, the pleasantly drunken Pietro heavily asleep on his box.

In the fast gathering dusk they came to the iron railway bridge that carved the lake into two halves. The carriage road and railway track lay parallel across the bridge, divided only by a high partition of iron-work running its entire length. The gates of each lay open, and a level crossing tempted the unguided horse past the gate of the road on to the lines of the railway.

Perhaps some sting of a dormant yet uneasy conscience, or the jolt of the wheel, caused his slumbering driver to awaken suddenly; the reins, jerked sharply and mechanically to the left, brought the horse’s head round into and through the wrong gate. In a minute the carriage was being dragged along the single railway track with no room to turn.

A frightened cry from the driver, and the grey, terrified by the jerking at his mouth, and the unwonted nature of the road, plunged forward wildly. Losing his balance, Pietro fell over to the side of the line with a groan of terror, and crawled, shrinking, to an iron girder at the side, to which he clung with trembling arms.

‘Sit still, my darling, it’s a fair course and no favour; can’t go wrong, Sweet, there isn’t room to upset; we shall be all right at the end.’

She gave a little shiver and clasped her hands tightly round his neck.

‘Courage, sweetheart; we’ve laughed the day through, and we’ll laugh it through to the finish; is it not so, O my love?’

The darkness closed in, the horse plunged and snorted in his mad career, the carriage rocked and rattled fearfully. He strained her close to him with a laugh, looking with eyes of love into her face,--and the same sweet look of rest and faith was upon it.

‘Hast thou been happy all this long day, child?’ he said.

‘Ay--ah! How happy!! There is no telling.’

Then suddenly her face changed; over it closed the grim shadow of the morning, and even in that moment of fear and excitement a black reaction was upon her. With a low moan she whispered:

‘My own, I want to die now, _now_, with thee in my arms, thy face to me, thy lips to mine, and no one to see but the sky and the lake; I can’t face to-morrow and the ending--I can’t--I can’t!’

The passionate whisper rose into a cry, the breathing choked in a sob, and the calm of her face broke, and vanished suddenly, as the calm of the great lake breaks and vanishes before the icy blast sweeping down the mountain gully.

For answer he held her closer and closer in his arms.

‘Gold help me! neither can I, thy wish is mine.’...

From out of the darkness in front, swelling gradually above the rattling of the carriage and the snorting of the horse, came a muttering sound.

‘The gods are merciful,’ he said; ‘a train’s on us; it’s all over--there will be _no_ ending.’

Nearer and nearer came the terrible roar, stunning all the faculties of heart and brain, and still the maddened horse sprang forward to his doom.

With a supreme effort HE tore himself free from the bond of numbness and cried to HER fast in his arms; and through her eyes in that one last look her soul crept to his.

‘Demi-gods to-day! better this ending than to-morrow’s;--if there be a future life, darling, it is ours together--body to body, soul to soul.... One kiss, my darling--closer, closer--ah----’

With a stagger the greedy roar fled past into the purple night, its hungering stilled--and from over the shadowy lake under the watchful and silent stars a requiem chime came floating:

[Music]

J. Miller & Son, Printers, Edinburgh.

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious punctuation errors and omissions have been fixed.

Page 117: “annyway there will” changed to “anyway there will”

Page 157: “in the camp turne” changed to “in the camp turned”

Page 209: “Oue into a world” changed to “Out into a world”