tIFORNIA 
 FACILITY
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 DEAR ENEMY 
 
 DADDY LONG LEGS 
 
 JUST PATTY 
 
 PATTY AND PRISCILLA 
 
 THE FOUR POOLS MYSTERY 
 
 JERRY 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT PETER 
 
 LONDON 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON
 
 jXj * 
 
 
 
 f * 
 
 THE 
 WHEAT PRINCESS S 
 
 B 7 
 
 JEAN WEBSTER 
 
 Aathor of Daddy Long Legs, Jost / 
 * Patty, "Dear Enemy ^* 
 
 HODDER A>:D STOUGHTON 
 
 LIMITED LONDON
 
 O. HENRY 
 
 "The time is coming, let us hope, 
 when the whole English-speaking world 
 will recognise in O. HENRY one of the 
 greatest masters of modern fiction." 
 
 STEPHEN LCACOCK.. 
 
 HODDKK & STOUOHTQN publish all the 
 
 books bjr O. HKNKV in their famous 
 
 Popular Series 
 
 THE FOUR MILLION 
 THE TRIMMED LAMP 
 SIXES AND SEVENS 
 STRICTLY BUSINESS 
 ROADS OF DESTINY 
 CABBAGES AND KINGS 
 HEART OF THE WEST 
 THE GENTLE GRAFTER 
 OPTIONS 
 WHIRLIGIGS 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE CITY 
 ROLLING STONES 
 
 Cloth 
 LOKDOM: HODDER AND STOUGHTON
 
 STACK ANNEX 
 : 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 IF you leave the city by the Porta Maggiore and take the 
 Via Prasnestina, which leads east into the Sabine hills, at 
 some thirty-six kilometers distance from Rome you will 
 pass on your left a grey-walled village climbing up the 
 hillside. This is Palestrina, the old Roman Frcneste ; and 
 a short distance beyond also on the left you will find 
 branching off from the straight Romac highway a steep 
 mountain road, which, if you stick to it long enough, will 
 take you, after many windings, to Castel Madaina and Tivoli. 
 
 Several kilometers along this road you will see shooting 
 up from a bare crag above you a little stone hamlet crowned 
 by the ruins of a mediaeval fortress. The town Castel 
 Vivalanti was built in the days when a stronghold was 
 more to be thought of than a water-supply, and its people, 
 from habit or love, or perhaps sheer necessity, have lived 
 on there ever since, going down in the morning to their 
 work in the plain and toiling up at night to their homes on 
 the hill. So steep is its site that the doorway of one house 
 looks down on the roof of the house below, and its narrow 
 atone streets are in reality flights of stairs. The only 
 approach is from the front, by a road which winds and un 
 winds like a serpent and leads at last to the Porta della 
 Luna, through which all of the traffic enters the town. The 
 gate is ornamented with the crest of the Vivalanti a phoenix 
 rising out of the flame, supported on either side by a smiling 
 full moon and it is surmounted by a heavy machicolated 
 top, from which, hi the old days, stones and burning oil 
 might be dropped upon the heads of unwelcome guests. 
 
 The town is a picturesque little affair it would be hard 
 to find a place more so in the whole of this picturesque 
 region but, like all of the Sabine villages, it is very, very 
 poor. In the march of the centuries it has fallen out of step 
 and been left far behind ; to look at it, one would scarcely 
 dream that on clear days the walls and towers of modenj 
 Rome are in sight on the horizon. But in its time Castel 
 Vivalanti was not insignificant. This little hamlet has 
 history within it* walls. It has boldly outfaced
 
 I THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 robber barons and papal troops. It has been besieged and 
 conquered, and, alas, betrayed and that by its own prince. 
 Twice has it beers razed to the ground and twice rebuilt. 
 In one way or another, though, it has weathered the cen 
 turies, and it stands to-day grey and forlorn, clustering 
 about the walls of its ddnjon and keep. 
 
 Castel Vivalanti, as in the middle ages, still give* the title 
 to a Roman prince. The house of Vivalanti was powerfxil 
 in its day, and the princes may often be met with not 
 always to their credit in the history of the Papal States. 
 They were oftener at war than at peace with the holy tse, 
 ind there is the story of one pope who spent four weary 
 months watching the view from a very small window in 
 Vivalanti s donjon. But, in spite of their unholy quarrels, 
 they were at times devout enough, and twice a cardinal s 
 hat has been worn in the family. The house of lat years 
 has dwindled somewhat, both in fortune and importance ; 
 bat, nevertheless, Vivalanti is a name which is still spoken 
 with respect among the old nobles of Rome. 
 
 The lower slopes of the bill on which the village stands ar* 
 well wooded and green with stone-pines and cypresses, 
 alive orchards and vineyards. Here th princes built their 
 villas when the wars with the popes were safely at an end 
 and they could risk coming down from their stronghold on 
 the mountain. The old villa was built about a mile below 
 the town, and the gardens were laid out in terraces and 
 parterres along the slope of the hill. It has long been in 
 ruin, but its foundations still stand, and the plan of the 
 gardens may easily be traced. You will see the entrance at 
 the left of the road a massive stone gateway topped with 
 moss-covered urns and a double row of cone-shaped cy 
 presses bordering a once stately avenue now grown over 
 with weeds. If you pause for a moment and you cannot 
 help doing so you will see, between the portalB at the end 
 of the avenue, some crumbling arches, and even, if your, 
 ayes are good, the fountain itself. 
 
 Any contadino that you meet on the road will tell you the 
 ttory of the old Villa Vivalanti and the Bad Prince who 
 was (by the grace of God) murdered two centuries R#O 
 He will tell you a story not uncommon in Italy of store 
 houses bursting with grain while the peasants were starving, 
 of bow, one moonlight night, as the prince was strolling
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 7 
 
 on the xerrac* contentedly p&idering his wickednesses of 
 the day, a peasant from his own village up on the mountain, 
 creeping behind him, quiet as a cat, stabbed him in the 
 back and dropped his body in the fountain. He will tell 
 you how the light from the burning villa was seen as far as 
 Rocca di Papa in the Alban hills ; and he will add, with a 
 laugh and a shrug, that some people say when the moon is 
 full the old prince comes back and sits on the edge of the 
 fountain and thinks of his sins, but that, for himself, he 
 thinks it an old woman s tale. Whereupon he will cast & 
 quick glance over his shoulder at the dark shadow of the 
 cypresses and covertly cross himself as he wishes you, 
 A revtderla. 
 
 You cannot wonder that the young prince (two centuries 
 ago) did not build his new villa on the site of the old ; for 
 even had he, like the brave contadino, cared nothing for 
 ghosts, still it was scarcely a hallowed spot, and lovers 
 would not care to stroll by the fountain. So it happens 
 that you must travel some distance further along the same 
 road before you reach the gates of the new villa, built anno 
 domini 1693, in the pontificate of his Holiness Innocent 
 XII. Here you will find no gloomy cypresses : the approach 
 is bordered by spreading plane-trees. The villa itself is ft 
 rambling affair, and, though slightly time-worn, is stiD 
 decidedly Imposing, with its various wings, its balconies- 
 and loggia and marble terrace. 
 
 The new villa for such one must call it faces west and 
 north. On the west it looks down over olive orchards 
 and vineyards to the Roman Campagna, with the dome of 
 St. Peter s a white speck in the distance, and, beyond it, 
 to a narrow, shining ribbon of sea. On the north it looks 
 up to the Sabine mountains, with the height of Soracte 
 rising like an island on the horizon. For the rest, it is 
 surrounded by laurel and ilex groves with long shady walks 
 and leafy arbors, with fountains and cascades and broken 
 statues all laid out in the stately formality of the seven 
 teenth century. But the trees are no longer so carefully 
 trimmed as they were a century ago ; the sun rarely shines 
 In these green alleys, and the nightingales sing all day. 
 Through every season, but especially in the springtime, tha 
 garden-borders are glowing with colour. Hedges of roses, 
 oleanders and golden laburnum, scarlet pomegranate
 
 g THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 blossoms and red and white camellias, marguerite* and 
 lilies and purple irises, bloom together in flaming prolusion. 
 And twice a year, in the spring and the auturnn, the soft 
 yellow walls of the villa are covered with lavender wistaria 
 and pink climbing roses, and every breeze is filled with their 
 fragrance. 
 
 It is a spot in which to dream of old Italy, of cardinals 
 and pages and gorgeous lackeys, of gallant courtiers and 
 beautiful ladies, of Romeos and Juliets trailing back and 
 forth over the marble terrace and making love under the 
 Italian moon. But if there have been lovers, as is doubtless 
 the case, there have also been haters among the Vivalanti, 
 and you may read of more than one prince murdered by 
 hands other than those of his peasants. The walls of the 
 new villa, in the course of their two hundred years, have 
 looked down on their full share of tragedies, and the Viva 
 lanti annals are grim reading withal. 
 
 And now, having pursued the Vivalanti so far, you may 
 possibly be disappointed to hear that the story has nothing 
 to do with them. But if you are interested in learning 
 more of the family you can and his Excellency AnastasJc 
 di Vivalanti, the present prince and th? last, of the line, any 
 afternoon during the season in the casino at Monte Carlo. 
 He is a slight young man with a dark, sallow face and mam 
 fine lines under his eyes. 
 
 Then why, you may ask, if we are not concerned with the 
 Vivalanti, have we lingered so long in their garden ? Ah 
 but the garden does concern us, though the young prince 
 may not ; and it is a pleasant spot, you must acknowledge, 
 in which to linger. The people with whom we are concerned 
 are (I hesitate to say it for fear of destroying the glamour) 
 an American family. Yes, it is best to confess it boldly 
 are American millionaires. It is out the worst is told I 
 But why, may I ask in my turn, is there anything so in 
 herently distressing in the idea of an American family 
 (of millionaires) spending the summer in a seventeenth- 
 century Italian villa up in the Sabine hills especially 
 when the rightful heir prefers trente-at-un at Monte Carlo ? 
 Must they of necessity spoil the romance ? They are 
 human, and have their passions like the rest of us ; and one 
 of them at least is young, and men have called her beautiful 
 yes, in this very garden.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was late and the studio was already well filled 
 two new-comers were ushered into the room one a woman 
 still almost young, and still (in a kindly light) beautiful ; the 
 other a girl emphatically young, her youth riding triumphant 
 over other qualities which in a few years would become 
 significant, A slight, almost portentous, hush had fallen 
 over the room as they crossed the threshold and shook hands 
 with their host. In a group near the door a young man it 
 was Laurence Sybert, the first secretary of the American 
 Embassy broke off in the middle of a sentence with the 
 ejaculation : Ah, the Wheat Princess I 
 
 Be careful, Sybert ! She will hear you, the grey-haired 
 eonsul-general, who stood at bis elbow, warned. 
 
 Sybert responded with a laugh and a half -shrug ; but his 
 tones, though low, had carried, and the girl flashed upon the 
 group a pair of vivid hazel eyes containing a half-puzzled, 
 half-questioning light, as though she had caught the words 
 but not the meaning. Her vague expression changed to one 
 of recognition ; she nodded to the two diplomats as sh 
 turned away to welcome a delegation of young lieutenants, 
 brilliant in blue and gold and shining boots. 
 
 Who is she ? another member of the group inquired ai 
 he adjusted a pair of eye-glasses and turned to scrutinize 
 the American girl she was American to the most casual 
 observer, from the piquant details of her gown to the 
 masterly fashion in which she handled her four young men. 
 
 Don t you know ? There was just a touch of irony 
 In Sybert 3 tone. Miss Marcia Copley, the daughter of 
 the American Wheat King I fancy you ve seen his name 
 mentioned in the papers/ 
 
 Well, well I And so that s Willard Copley s daughter"? * 
 He readjusted his glasses and examined her again from this 
 new point of view. She isn t bad-looking, was his com 
 ment. The Wheat Princess ! He repeated the phrase 
 with a laugh. I suppose she has come over to marry an 
 Italian prince and make the title good ? 
 The originator of the phrase shrugged anew, with the 
 

 
 io THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Intimation that it was nothing to him who Miss Marcit 
 Copley married. 
 
 And who is the lady with her ? 
 
 It was Melville, the consul-general, who replied. 
 
 Her aunt, Mrs. Howard Copley. They livt In the 
 Palazzo Rosicorelli/ / 
 
 Ah, to be sure 1 Yes, yes, I know who they are. Her 
 husband s a reformer or a philanthropist, or something of 
 the sort, isn t he ? I ve seen him at the meets. I say, yo.u 
 know/ he added, with an appreciative smile, that * 
 rather good, the way the two brothers balance each other. 
 Philanthropist and Wheat King I 
 
 An English girl in the group turned and studied the 
 American girl a moment with a critical scrutiny. Marcia 
 Copley s appearance was daintily attractive. Her hat and 
 gown and furs were a burnished brown exactly the colour 
 of her hair ; every little accessory of her dress was un 
 obtrusively fastidious. Her whole bearing, her easy social 
 grace, spoke of a past in which the way had been always 
 smoothed by money. She carried with her a touch of 
 Imperiousness. a large air of commanding the world. Tht 
 English girl noted these things with jealous feminine eyes. 
 
 Really, she said, I don t see how she has the audacity 
 Io face people. I should think that every beggar in the 
 astreet would be a reproach to her. 
 
 There were beggars in Italy long before Willard Copley 
 eornered wheat/ Melville returned. 
 
 If what the Tribttna says i* true/ some on* ventured, 
 Howard Copley is as much implicated as his brother/ 
 
 I dare say/ another laughed ; millionaire philan 
 thropists have a way of taking back with the left hand what 
 they have given with the right/ 
 
 Sybert had been listening in a half-indifferent fashion to 
 the strictures on the niece, but in response to the implied 
 criticism of th uncle he shook his head emphatically. 
 
 Howard Copley is no more implicated in the deal than I 
 am/ he declared. He and his brother have had nothing to 
 do with each other for the last ten years. His philanthropy 
 to honest, and his money is as clean as any fortune can be/ 
 
 The statement was not challenged. Sybert was known to 
 be Howard Copley s friend, and he further carried the 
 reputation of being a warm partizan on the one or two
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS II 
 
 ubjecti which engaged his enthusiasm on those which 
 did not engage it he was nonchalant to a degree for a rising 
 diplomat. 
 
 The two Sybert and the consul-general with a nod 
 to the group presently drifted onward toward the door. 
 Tht secretary was bent upon departure at the earliest 
 possible opportunity. Teas were a part of the official rou 
 tine of his life, but by the simple devic* of coming late 
 and leaving early he escaped as much of their kksomeness 
 as possible. Aside from being secretary o! the Embassy; 
 Sybert wa a nephew of the ambassador, and it was the 
 latter calling which he found the more onerous burden of 
 the two. His Excellency had formed a troublesome habit 
 of?ihifting social burdens to the unwilling shoulders of the 
 younger man. 
 
 They paused at Mrs. Copley s elbow with outstretched 
 bauds, and were received with a flattering show of cordiality 
 from the aunt, though with but a fleeting nod from the niece; 
 *hc was, patently, too interested in her officers to hart 
 much attention left. 
 
 Where is your husband ? Sybert asked. 
 
 The lady raised her eyebrows in a picturesque gesture 
 
 Beggars/ she sighed. Something has happened to the 
 beggars again. Mr. Copley s latest philanthropic venture 
 had been the Anti-Begging Society. Bread-tickets had 
 b^en introduced, the beggars were being hunted down 
 and given work, and as a result Copley s name was cursed 
 from end to end of Rome. 
 
 Th* men smilingly murmured their commiserations. 
 
 And what are you two diplomats doing here ? Mr, 
 Copley asked. I thought that Mr. Dessart invited only 
 artists to his teas/ 
 
 Sybert s gloomy ah-, as he eyed the door, reflected th* 
 question. It was Melville who answered : 
 
 Oh, we are admirers of art, even if we are not prac 
 titioners. Besides, Mr. Dessart and I are old friends. We 
 used to know each other in Pittsburg when he was a boy 
 and I was a good deal younger than I am now/ 
 
 His gaze rested for a moment upon their host, who formed 
 one of the hilarious group about Miss Copley. He was an 
 eminently picturesque young fellow, fitted with the usual 
 artist attributes a velveteen jacket, a flowing necktie* 
 and rather long light-brown hair which constantly got intt
 
 ra THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 his eyes, causing him to shake his head impatiently as he 
 talked. He had an open, frank face, humorous blueeyet 
 and the inestimable, eager air o.f being in love with life. 
 
 The convene ni on showing signs of becoming general, the 
 officers, with visible reluctance, made their bows and gave 
 place to the new-comers. The girl now found time to 
 extend a cordial hand to Melville, while to the secretary she 
 tossed a markedly careless, Good afternoon, Mr. Sybcrt. 
 \t Miss Marcia s offhand manner conveyed something a 
 trifle stronger than indifference, so Sybert s half-amused 
 smile as he talked to her suggested that hei unkindnes* 
 failed to hurt ; that she was too young to count. 
 
 And what is this I hear about your moving out to a villa 
 tor the spring ? he inquired, turning to Mrs. Copley. 
 
 Yes, we are thinking of it, but it is not decided yet. 
 
 We still have Uncle Howard to deal with/ added tht 
 girl. He was the first one who suggested a villa, but now 
 that exactly the rifjht one presents itself, we very much 
 suspect him of trying to back out. 
 
 That will never do, Miss Marcia/ said Melville, You 
 must hold him to his word, 
 
 We are going out to-morrow to inspect it, and if Aunt 
 
 Katherine and I are pleased She broke oft with 
 
 graceful gesture which intimated much. 
 
 Sybert laughed. Poor Uncle Howard I he murrmired. 
 
 The arrival of fresh guests called their host away, and 
 Mrs. Copley and Melville, turning aside to greet some friends, 
 left Miss Copley for the moment to a#fe d teU with Sybert. 
 He maintained his side of the conversation in a half-per 
 functory fashion, while the girl allowed a slight touch of 
 hostility to creep beneath her animation. 
 
 And where is the villa to be. Miss Marcia at Frascati, 
 I suppose ? 
 
 * Father away than Frascati ; at Castel Vivalanti." 
 
 Castel Vivalanti ! 
 
 Up in the Sabine hills between Palestrina and Tivoli. 
 
 Oh, I know where it is ; I have a vivid recollection o? 
 climbing the hill on a very hot day. I was merely ex 
 claiming at the locality ; it s rather remote, isn t it ? 
 
 Its remoteness is the best thing about it. Our object 
 ia moving into the hills is to escape from visitors, and if we 
 go no farther than Frascati we shan t do much escaping.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS IS 
 
 This to th family s most frequent visitor was scarcely * 
 hospitable speech, and a smile of amusement crept to tht 
 tcrners of Sybert s mouth. 
 
 Apparently just becoming aware of the content of b.et 
 speech, she added with slightly exaggerated sweetness : 
 Of course I don t mean you, Mr. Sybert. You come sc 
 often that I regard you as a member of the household. 
 
 The secretary apparently had it on his tongue to retort, 
 but, thinking better of it, he maintained a discreet silence, 
 while their host approached with the new arrivals a lady 
 whose name Miss Copley did not catch, but who was pre 
 sented with the explanatory remark, she writes, and 
 several young men who, she judged by their neckties, were 
 < artists also. The talk turned on the villa again, and Mis* 
 Copley was called upon for a description. 
 
 I haven t seen it myself, she returned ; but from the 
 steward s account it is the most complete villa in Italy. 
 ! t has a laurel walk and an ilex grove, balconies, fountains, 
 a marble terrace, a view, and even a ghost. 
 
 A ghost. ? queried Dessart. But I thought they wer 
 extinct that the railroads and tourists had driven them 
 all back to the grave. 
 
 Not the ghost of the " Bad Prince " ; we rent him with 
 the place and the most picturesque ghost you ever dreamed 
 of ! He hoarded hh wheat while the peasants were starving, 
 and they murdered him two hundred years ago. She 
 repeated the story, mimicking in inimitable fashion the 
 gestures and broken English of Prince Vivalanti s steward. 
 
 A somewhat startled silence hung over the close of the 
 recital, while her auditors glanced at each other in secret 
 amazement. The question uppermost in their minds was 
 whether it was ignorance or mere bravado that had tempted 
 her into repeating just that particular tale. It was a subject 
 which Miss Copley might have been expected to avoid. 
 Laurence Sybert alone was aware that she did not know 
 v/hat a dangerous topic she was venturing on, and he received 
 the performance with an appreciative laugh. 
 
 A very picturesque story. Miss Copley. The old fellow 
 got what he deserved. 
 
 Marcia Copley assented with a smiling gesture, and th* 
 woman who wrote skilfully bridged over a second pause. 
 
 You were complaining the other day, Mr. Dessart, that
 
 14 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 the foreigners are making the Italians too modern. Why de 
 you not catch th ghost ? He is surely a true antique/ 
 
 " But I am not an impressionist, he pleaded. 
 
 Who is saying anything against impressionists ? a 
 young man asked in somewhat halting English as he 
 paused beside the group. 
 
 No one/ said Dessart ; I was merely disclaiming all 
 knowledge of them and their ways. Miss Copley, allow ma 
 to present Monsieur Benoit, the last Prix de Rome he is 
 the man to paint your ghost. He s an impressionist and 
 paints nothing else, 
 
 I suppose you have ghosts enough in the Villa Medici, 
 without having to search for them in the Sabine hills. 
 
 Ah, out, mademoiselle ; the Villa Medici has ghosts ot 
 many kinds ghosts of dead hopes arid dead ambitions 
 among others. 
 
 I should think the ghost of a dead ambition might be too 
 illusive few even an impressionist to catch, she returned. 
 
 Perhaps an impressionist is better acquainted with them 
 than with anything else/ suggested Dessart, a trifle unkindly. 
 
 Not when he s young and a Prix d* Rome, smiled the 
 woman who wrote. 
 
 Mrs. Copley requiring her niece s presence on the othei 
 side of the room, the girl nodded to the group and withdrew. 
 The writer looked after her with an air of puzzled interest. 
 
 And doesn t Miss Copley read the papers ? she inquired 
 mildly. 
 
 Evidently she does not, Sybert rejoined with a laugh at 
 h made his adieus and withdrew. 
 
 Half an hour later, Marcia Copley, having made the 
 rounds of the room, again found herself, as tea was being 
 served, in the neighbourhood of her new acquaintance. 
 She dropped down on the divan beside her with a slight 
 feeling of relief at being for the moment out of the current 
 of chatter. Her companion was a vivacious little woman 
 approaching middle age ; and though she spoke perfect 
 English, she pronounced her words with a precision which 
 suggested a foreign birth. Her conversation was diverting ; 
 it g&v evidence of a, vast amount of worldly wisdom as well 
 as a wide acquaintance with other people s affairs. And 
 her range of subjects was wide. She flitted lightly from an
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 15 
 
 Artistic estimate of some intaglios of the Augustan age, that 
 had just been dug up outside the Port a Pia, to a comparison 
 of French and Italian dressmakers and a prophecy as to 
 which cardinal would be the next pope. 
 
 A portfolio of sketches lay on a little stand beside them, 
 end she presently drew them toward her, with the remark, 
 We will see how our young man has been amusing himself 
 lately 1 
 
 There were a half-dozen or so of wash-drawings, and one 
 or two outline sketches of figures in red chalk. None of 
 them was at all finished, but the hasty blocking in showed 
 considerable vigour, and the subjects were at least original 
 There was no Castle of St. Angelo with a boatman in the 
 foreground, and no Temple of Vesta set of! by a line of 
 scarlet seminarists. One of tho chalk drawings was of 
 an old chestnut woman crouched over her charcoal fire ; 
 another was of the octroi officer under the tall arch of the 
 San Giovanni gate, prodding the contents of a donkey-carl 
 with his &teel rod. There were corners of wall shaded by 
 cypresses, bits of architectural adornment, a quick sketch 
 of the lichen-covered elephant s head spouting water at Villa 
 Madama, They all, slight as they were, possessed a certain 
 distinction, and suggested a very real impression of Roman 
 atmosphere. Marcia examined them with interest. 
 
 They art extremely good/ she said as she laid the last 
 one down. 
 
 Yes, her companion agreed ; they are so good that 
 they ought to be better but they never will be. 
 
 How do you mean ? 
 
 I know Paul Dessart well enough to know that he will 
 never paint a picture. He has talent, and he s clever, but 
 he s at everybody s service. The workers have no time to 
 b* polite. However, the finished, it is not for you and me 
 tso quarrel with him. If he set to work in earnest he would 
 top giving teas, and that would be a pity, would it not ? 
 
 Indeed it would I she agreed. How pretty the studio 
 looks this afternoon I I have seen it only by daylight 
 before, and, like all the rest of us, it improves by candle 
 light. Her eyes wandered about the big room, with its 
 furnishings of threadbare tapestry and antique carved 
 chairs. The heavy curtains had been partly drawn over the 
 windows, making a pleasant twilight within. A subtle
 
 16 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 odour of linseed oi) and cigarette smoke, ming^d wth frh 
 fresh scent of violets, pervaded the air. 
 
 Paul Dessart, with the Prix de Rome man and a young 
 English sculptor of rising fame, presently joined them ; and 
 the talk drifted into Roman politics a subject concerning 
 which, the artists declared with one accord, they knew 
 nothing and cared less. 
 
 Oh, I used to get excited over their squabbles/ said the 
 Englishman ; but I soon saw that I should have to choose 
 between that and sculpture ; I hadn t time for both. 
 
 I don t even know who s premier, put in Dessart. 
 
 * A disgraceful lack of interest I maintained the Ameri 
 can girl. I have only been in Rome two months, and 1 am 
 an authority on the Triple Alliance and the Abj ssinian war ; 
 I know what Cavour wanted to do, and what Cnspi has 
 done. 
 
 That s not fair, Miss Copley, Dessart objected. You y^ 
 been going to functions at the Embassy, and one can 
 absorb politics there through one s skin. But I warn you, 
 it isn t a safe subject to get interested in ; it becomes -A 
 disease, like the opium habit/ 
 
 He s not so far from the truth/ agreed the sculptor. 
 * I was talking to a fellow this afternoon, named Sybert, 
 who perhaps you know him, Miss Copley ? 
 
 Yes, I know him. What about him ? 
 
 Oh er nothing, in that case/ 
 
 Pray slander Mr. Sybert if you wish I ll promise not to 
 tell. He s one of my uncle s friends, not one of mine/ 
 
 Oh, I wasn t going to slander him/ the young man 
 expostulated a trifle sheepishly. The only thing I have 
 against Sybert is the fact that my conversation bores him/ 
 
 Marcia laughed with a certain sense of fellow-feeling. 
 
 Say anything you please/ she repeated cordially. My 
 conversation bores him too/ 
 
 Well, what I was going to say is that he has had about 
 all the Roman politics that are good for him. It he doesn t 
 look out, he ll be getting in too deep/ 
 
 Too deep ? she queried. 
 
 It was Dessart who pursued the subject with just a touch 
 of malice. Laurence Sybert, apparently, was not o 
 popular a person as a diplomat should be. 
 
 He s lived in Rome a good many years, and jxrople art
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 17 
 
 beginning to wonder what he s up to. Th Embassy does 
 very well for a blind, for he doesn t tak* any more interest 
 in it than he does in whether or not Tammany runs New 
 York. All that Sybwt knows anything about or cares any 
 thing about is Italian politics, and tber* *re *ome who think 
 that he knows a good sight more about them than he ought. 
 He i in with the Church party, in with th Government 
 first friends with th Right, and then with the Left. 
 
 Monsieur Sybert is what you cll an eclectic, suggested 
 Benoit. He chooses th best of each. 
 
 I m not so sure of that, Dessart hinted darkly. He i 
 interested in other faction* besides th Vatican and the 
 QuirinaJ. There are one or two pretty anarchistic societies 
 in Rome, and I ve heard it whispered 
 
 You don t mean she asked, with wide-open eye*. 
 
 The woman who wrote shook her head, with a laugh. I 
 suspect that Mr. Sybert s long residenc* in Rome might bt 
 reduced to a simpler formula than that. It was a very 
 wise person who first said, " Chercket la femnu," 
 
 Oh, really ? said Marcia, with a new note of interest. 
 Laurence Sybert was not a man whom she had ever credited 
 with having emotions, and the suggestion came as a surprise. 
 
 Rumour says that he still takes a very strong interest 
 in th pretty little Contessa Torrenieri. All 1 know is that 
 nine or ten years ago, when she was Margarita Carretti, h 
 was openly among her admirers ; but she naturally preferred 
 a count or at least her parents did, which in Italy amounts 
 to the same. 
 
 The girl s eyes opened still wider ; the Contessa Torre 
 nieri was also a frequent guest at the palazzo. But Dessart 
 received the suggestion with a very sceptical smile. 
 
 4 And you think that he is only waiting until, in the 
 ripeness of time, old Count Torrenieri goes the way of all 
 counts ? I know you are the authority on gossip, madame, 
 but, nevertheless, I doubt very much if that is Laurence 
 Sybert s trouble. 
 
 You don t really mean that he is an anarchist ? Marcia 
 demanded. 
 
 I give him up, Miss Copley. The young man shrugged 
 his shoulders and spread out his hands in a gesture purely 
 Italian. 
 
 * Are you talking politics ? * asked Mr*. Copley && she
 
 IS THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Joined the group in company with Mr. and Mrs. Melville. 
 
 Always politics, laughed her niece or is it Mr. Sybert 
 BOW? 
 
 Thev rt practically interchangeable, said Dessart. 
 
 And did I hear you calling him an anarchist, Mist 
 Marcia ? Melvilk demanded. 
 
 She repudiated the charge with a laugh. I m afraid Mr. 
 Dessart J s the guilty one. 
 
 Here, here ! that will never do t Sybert s special 
 friend of mine. I can t allow you to be accusing him of 
 anything like that/ 
 
 A little applied anarchy wouldn t be out of place, the 
 young man returned. I feel tempted to use some dyna 
 mite myself when I see the way this precious government is 
 scattering statues of Victor Emmanuel broadcast through 
 the land. 
 
 If you are going to get back into politics, said Mrs. 
 Copley, rising, I fear we must leave, I know from experi 
 ence that it is a long subject. 
 
 The two turned away, escorted to the carriage by Dessart 
 and the Frenchman, while the rest of the group resettled 
 themselves is the empty places. The woman who wrote 
 listened moment to the badinage and laughter which 
 loated back through the open door ; then, Mr. Detsart s 
 heiress is very attractive, she suggested. 
 
 Why Mr. Dfcssart s ? Melville inquired 
 
 Perhaps ! was a little premature/ she conceded 
 * though, I venture to prophesy, not incorrect/ 
 
 My dear l*dy/ said Mr*. Melville impressively, you do 
 ttot know Mrs. Copley, Hr ni*ct is more likely to marry 
 ta Italian prince than a namelest young artist/ 
 
 She s no more likely to marry an Italian prince than 
 the is a South African chief/ her husband affirmed. Miss 
 Marcia is a young woman who will marry whom she pleases 
 though/ he added upon reflection, I am not at all sure 
 k will be Paul Dessart/ 
 
 She might do worse/ said his wife. Paul is a nice boy/ 
 
 Ah and she might do better. I ll tell you exactly the 
 man/ he added, in a burst of enthusiasm, and that is 
 Laurence Sybert/ 
 
 The suggestion was met by an amused smile from the 
 ladies and a shrug from tha sculptor.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 19 
 
 My dear James/ said Mrs. Melville, you may be a very 
 good business man, but you are no match-maker. That if 
 a rnattei you would best? leave to the wontenu A* fw yoat 
 Laurence Sybert, h hasn t the ghost of a chance and be 
 doess t want it. 
 
 I m doubting h* ha* other nth t fry just now/ threw? 
 vut tht sculptor . 
 
 8 Sybwt i all right;* said Melville emphatically . 
 
 Th* woman who wrot* laughed % she rose. It will b* 
 an interesting matter to watch/ *h announced ; but you 
 may mark my words that eur host is the 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A CAIKIAGK rumbled into the stone-paved courtyard of the 
 Palaxx Rosicorclli *. good twenty minutes befor* six 
 t dock tb next evening, and thf Copleys descended and 
 dimbed the stairs, at peace with Villa Vivalaati and ita 
 thirty miles. Though it w& still light out i doors, iaxide 
 the palace, with it*. deep*cmbrajiurd wi&dowt and heavy 
 curtains, it wat alrtadv |uit dark At they entered tht 
 itag salon the only light i& th* room eam from A *veu- 
 biancte candlestick B the ta-t&blt, which thr* it r> 
 faction upon Gerald s white Bailor-suit and littU bare knees 
 as he sat back solemnly is a carved Savonarola chair. At 
 the sound of their arrival he wriggled dows quickly and 
 precipitated himself ftg&int Mrs Copley. 
 
 Ob., mamma I Sybert cam* t tea, an* I made it ; am* 
 he said it was lots better van Marcia s te&, an he dwa&fc 
 seven cupt, an I dwank four/ 
 
 A chorut of laughter greeted this revelation, and a huty 
 voice called from th depths of an easy chair, Oh, 1 say, 
 Gerald, you mustn t tell such shocking tales, or your mother 
 will never leave me alone with th tea-things again/ And 
 the owner of the voice pulled himself together and walked 
 across the room te shake hands with the new-comers. 
 
 Laurence Sybert, as he advanced toward hie hostess., 
 threw a long thin shadow against the well. He had ft 
 spare, dark, clean-shaven face with deep- act, aulies ayes \ 
 he was a delightfully perfected type of the cosmopolitan j 
 it would have taken a second, or very possibly a third, 
 glance to determine his nationality. But if th expression 
 of his face were Italian, Oriental, anything you please, Ms
 
 tto THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 build was undoubtedly Anglo-Saxon. Further, a cert .tun 
 wiiinesfc beneath his movements proclaimed him, to any one 
 familiar with the loose-hung riders of the plains, unmistak 
 ably American, 
 
 Your son Zanders me, Mrs. Copley/ he said as h held 
 out his hand ; I didn t drink but six, upon my honour. 
 
 Helio, Sybcrt 1 Any tiling happened in Rome to-day ? 
 What s the news on the Rialto ? wa<s Mr. Copley s greeting. 
 
 Marcia. regarded him with & laugh as she drew off hr 
 {loves and lighted, the spirit- !amp. 
 
 We ve been away iince nine this morning, and here s 
 Uncle Howard thirsting for news already 1 What he will 
 do when we really get out of the city, I can t imagine. 
 
 Oh, and so you ve taken the villa, kav* you ? 
 
 Murcia, nodded. 
 
 * And you should see it ! It looks like a pupal palace. 
 Tbii is the first tim* that Prince Vivalanti baa ever con 
 tented to rent it to strangers ; it s hist official seat. 
 
 1 Very condescending of him/ the young man laughed ; 
 and do you accept his responsibilities nlong with tht 
 place ? 
 
 From the fattore n account 1 should say that his respon 
 sibilities rest but lightly on the Prince of Vivalanti/ 
 
 Ah that B true enough. 
 
 Do you know him ? 
 
 Only by hearsay, I know the village ; and a more 
 desperate little place it would be hard to find in all th* 
 SaJbine hills. The people s love for their prince is tempered 
 by the need of a number of improvements which he doesn t 
 supply/ 
 
 I dare say they are pretty poor/ sh* conceded ; but 
 they art unbelievably picturesque I Every person thert 
 locks as if he had just walked out of a water-colour sketch. 
 Even Uncle Howard was pleased, and he has lived here o 
 long that h is losing his enthusiasms/ 
 
 It is a pretty decent sort of a place/ Copley agreed, 
 1 though I have a sneaking suspicion that we may find it 
 rather far. But the rest of the family liked it. and my aim 
 in life 
 
 Nonsense, Uncle Howard ! you know you were crazy 
 over it yourself. You signed the lease without a. protest 
 Didn t he, Aunt Katherine ?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS ** 
 
 I signed the lease, my dear Marcia. at th- point of th 
 pistol. 
 
 The point of the pistol ? 
 
 You threatened, if we got a mile an inch, I believt you 
 said nearer Rome, you would give a party every day ; aurtd 
 if that isn t the point of a pistol to a poor, worn-out man 
 like me, I don t know what is. 
 
 It would certainly seem like it, Sybert Agreed. And 
 turning to Ma.rcia, he added, I am afraid that you rul with 
 a very despotic hand, Miss Marcia. 
 
 Marcia s eyebrow* went up a barely perceptible trifk, 
 but she laughed and returned : No, indeed, Mr. Sybert : 
 you are mistaken there. It is not I, but Gerald, who play* 
 the part of despot in the Copley household. 
 
 At this point, Granton, Mrs. Copley s English maid, 
 appeared in th doorway. Marietta is waiting to g:v 
 Master Gerald his supper/ she announced. 
 
 Gerald fled to his mother and raised a cry of protest. 
 
 * Mamma, please let me stay up to dinner wif you to 
 night. 
 
 For A moment Mrs. Copley looked as if she might consent, 
 but catching sight of Gran ton s relentless face, she returned : 
 No, my dear, you have had enough festivity for one even 
 ing. You must have your tea and go to bed like a good 
 little boy. 
 
 Gerald abandoned his mother and entrenched himself 
 behind Sybert. Cause Sybert i here, an I like Sybert./ 
 he wailed desperately. 
 
 But Granton stormed even this fortress. Come, Master 
 Gerald ; youi supper s getting cold/ and she laid a firm 
 hand on his shoulder and marched him away. 
 
 There s tht real despot/ laughed Copley. I tremble 
 before Granton myself. 
 
 Pietro appeared with a plate of toasted muftins and the 
 evening mail. Mr. Copley settled himself in a wicker chair, 
 with a pile of letters on the arm at his right ; and, as he 
 ran his eyes over them one by one, h tor* them in pieces 
 and formed a new pile at his left. They were begging 
 letters for the most part. He received a great many, and 
 this was his usual method of answering them : not that h 
 was an ungenerous man ; it was merely a matter of prin 
 ciple with him not to be generous in this particular way
 
 m THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 At he sat disposing f envelope after envelope with 
 vigorous hand*, Copley s appearance suggested a series of 
 somewhat puzzling contrasts : seriousness and humour ; 
 i" isitiveoesfe and force an active impulse to forgt ahead 
 a&d accomplish things, a counter- impulse to shrug hie 
 shoulders and wonder why. He was a puzzle to most of 
 his fnetids ; at times even one to his wife ; but sh* h&d 
 accepted his eccentricities along with his millions, and 
 though ihe did not always understand either his motives 
 of his actions, sh* made no complaint. To most men a 
 fortun* is a blessing. To Copley it was rather in the nature 
 9i a curst. He might have amounted to Almost Anything 
 h&d he had to work for it ; bat for the one held of activity 
 which a fortune w America seems to entail upon it* ownsr 
 -that of entering tfat arena and doubling and tripling it 
 h* was singularly unfitted both by temperament and in 
 clination IK this h* differed from his elder brother. And 
 there was out other point in which the two were at variance. 
 Though their father had been in the tye* of the law a just 
 and upright man, still, its the bttl of competition, many 
 had fallen that he might stand, and thu younger son had 
 grown up with the knowledge that from a humanitariac 
 Standpoint the money was not irreproachable He had 
 the feeling which his brother characterized a absurd 
 that with his tbar of the fortune he would like, in a mea 
 sure, to make it up to mankind. 
 
 Howard Copley s nr*t move in the game of benefiting 
 humanity had b&, not very originally, an attempt at 
 solving tht negro problem ; but the negroes were eve* ft 
 leisurely race, and Copley was a man impatient for rt- 
 ults, H* finally abandoned them to the course of evolu 
 tion, and engagea in a spasmodic orgy of East Side politics. 
 Becoming disgusted, and failing of an election, he looked 
 aimlessly about for a further object in life. It was at tint 
 point that Mrs, Copley breathlessly suggested a year in 
 F&ris foi the sake of Gerald s French ; the child was only 
 four, but one could not, as she justly pointed out, begin the 
 Study of the languages too early. Her husband apatheti 
 cally consenting, they embarked for Paris by the round 
 about route of the Mediterranean, landed in Naples, and 
 there they stayed. He had found a fascinating occupation 
 ready to his hand that of helping on the work of good
 
 government in this still turbulent portion of United Italy. 
 After a year the family drifted to Rome, and settled them 
 selves in th piavie uobiia of the Paiazxo Ro*icorelli with 
 something t aa air oi permanence, Copley was At !&st 
 thoroughly contented ; ha had no racial prejudices, and 
 Rorn was su fair a field of reform %* New York and in 
 finitely mort diverting. If tht Italian* did aot always 
 understand his motives, still hy accepted has services 
 with * fair *how of fratitude. 
 
 As (or Mrs. Copley, she had by no means intended their 
 sojourn to b an emigration, but ihe reflected that her 
 husband had to be amused ia some way, and hat reforming 
 Italian posterity was perhaps an harmless a way as hs 
 could have devised. Sht settled herself very contentedly 
 to th enjoyment of the somewhat shifting foreign tociety 
 of the capital, mth only act occasional plaintive reference 
 to her friends in New York and to Gerald s French. 
 
 Marcia, leaning back in he/ chair, watched her ancla 
 dispose of his correspondence with a visible air -if amuse 
 ment. He had a thin nervous face traced with fine lines, 
 ft sharply cut jaw, and a mouth which twitched easily into 
 mile. To-night, however, as h ripped epe envelope 
 after envelope, h frowned oftener than ht trailed ; and 
 presently, as he unfolded one letter, he suppressed t quick 
 exclamation f anger. 
 
 Read that/ he said shortly, tossing it to tht other man. 
 
 Sybert perused it with QO visible change of expression, 
 And leaning over, he dropped it inte tht open grate, 
 
 Marcia laughed outright. Your mail doesn t *em to 
 afford you much satisfaction, Uncle Howard. 
 
 A larg* share of it s anonymous, and not all f iff 
 polite. 
 
 That J# what you must expect I! you will hound those 
 poor old beggars tc death. 
 
 The two men shot each other a look of rather grim amuse 
 ment. The letter in question had nothing to do with 
 beggars, but Mr. Copley had no intention of discussing its 
 ontents with his niece. 
 
 I find that the usual reward of virtue in this world if 
 an anonymous letter, he remarked, shrugging the matte* 
 from his mind and settling himself comfortably to his tea. 
 
 The guest refused the cup proffered him.
 
 14 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 I haven t the courage, h declared, after Gerald s 
 revelations. 
 
 By the, way, Sybert, said Copley, I have been hearing 
 tome bad stories about you to-day. My niece doesn t like 
 to havt me associate with you. 
 
 Marcia looked at her uncle helplessly ; when he once com 
 menced teasing there was no telling where he would stop. 
 
 I an* sorry/ said Sybert humbly. What is the 
 trouble ? * 
 
 She has found out that you are an anarchist/ 
 
 Both incn laughed, and Marcia flushed slightly. 
 
 Please, Miss Marcia/ Sybert begged, give me time ta 
 get out of th country before you xpos rue to the police/ 
 
 There s o cause for fear/ sht returned. I didn t 
 believe th story when 1 heard, it, (or I knew that yo 
 havn t energy enough to run away from a bomb, much 
 less throw one. That s why it surprised ma that othe* 
 people should believe it/ 
 
 But saost people have a better opinion of me than yo 
 have/ he expostulated. 
 
 No, indeed, Mr. Sybert ; I have a better opinion of 
 you than most people. I really consider you harmless/ 
 
 Th young man laughed and bowed hist thanks, while 
 he turned his attention to Mrs. Copley. 
 
 I hop that Villa Vivalanti will prov more successful 
 than the on in Naples." 
 
 Mrs. Copley looked at him reproachfully. That horriblt 
 man \ I never think of him without wishing we were safely 
 back in America/ 
 
 Then please don t think of him/ her husband returned. 
 He is where lie won t trouble you any more/ 
 
 What man ? asked Marcia, emerging from a dignified 
 silence. 
 
 Is it possiblt Miss Marcia has never heard of th tattooed 
 man ? Sybert inquired jrravely. 
 
 The tattooed man I What art you talking about ? 
 
 It has a somewhat theatrical ring/ Mr. Copley admitted, 
 
 It is nothing to make light of/ said his wife. It s a 
 wonder to m that we escaped with our lives. Three years 
 *go, while we were in Naples/ she added to her niece, your 
 uncle, with his usual recklessness, got mixed up with on 
 f the secret societies. Oui villa was out toward Posilipo,
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 35 
 
 and one afternoon 1 was driving home at about dusk I had 
 been shopping in the city and just as we reached a loneijf 
 place in the road, between two high walls 
 
 Mr. Copley broke in : A masked man armed to the teeth 
 sprang up in the path, with a horrible oath/ 
 
 Not really ! Marcia cried, leaning forward delightedly 
 1 Aunt Katherine, did a masked man 
 
 He wasn t masked, but I wish he had been ; he would 
 have looked Jess ferocious. He came straight to the side 
 of the carriage, and taking off his hat with a very polite 
 bow, he said that unless we left Naples in three days your 
 uncle s life would no longer be safe. His shirt was open 
 at the throat, and there was a crucifix tattooed upside down 
 on his breast. You can imagine what a desperate character 
 he must hav been here in Italy of all places, where the 
 people are so religious. 
 
 The two men laughed at the climax. 
 
 What did you do ? Marcia asked. 
 
 I was too shocked to speak, and Gerald, poor child, 
 screamed all the way home. 
 
 And did you leave the city ? 
 
 As it happened, we were leaving anyway, her uncl* 
 put in ; but we postponed our departure long enough foi 
 me to hunt the fellow down and put him in jail. 
 
 You may be thankful that they had the decency to 
 warn you, Sybert remarked. 
 
 It s like a dime novel ! Marcia^ sighed. To be mixed 
 up with murders and warnings and tattooed men and secret 
 societies Why didn t you send for me, Uncle Howard ( 
 
 Well, you see, 1 didn t know that you had grown up 
 into such a charming person though I am not sure that 
 it would have made any difference. I had all that I could 
 do to take care of one woman. 
 
 That s the way, she complained. Just because one s 
 a girl one is always shut "up in the house while there s any 
 thing exciting going on, 
 
 If you are so fond of bloodshed, Sybert suggested, you 
 may possibly have a chance of seeing some this spring. 
 
 This spring ? Is the Camorra making trouble again ? 
 
 Oh, no ; not the Camorra. But unless all signs fail, 
 there is a prospect of some fairly exciting riots. 
 
 Really ? Hre in Rome ?
 
 t6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 * Well, no ; probably not in Rome there are too many 
 soldiers Mor likely in the Neapolitan provinces. I am 
 sorry, he added, sinct you seem to find them BO enter* 
 taining, that we can t promise you a riot on your own door 
 step , but I dare say, when it comes to the point, you ll find 
 Naples near enough. 
 
 I give you (air warning. Uncle Howard, the said, il 
 there are any riots in Naples, I m going down to see them, 
 What is the trouble ? What ar they rioting about ? 
 
 If there are any riots/ said her uncle, you, my deai 
 young lady, will amuse yourself at Villa Vivalanti until 
 they are over, and he abruptly changed the subject. 
 
 The talk drifted back to the villa again. Mrs. Copley 
 afforded their guest a more detailed description. 
 
 Nineteen bedrooms aside from the servants quarters, 
 and room in the stable for thirty horses ! she finished, 
 
 The princes of Vivalanti must have kept up an estab 
 lishment in their pre- Riviera days. 
 
 Mustn t they ? agreed Marcia cordially. The new 
 villa was proving an unexpectedly soothing topic. We ll 
 keep up an establishment too/ she added. We re going 
 to give K house-party when the Roystons come down from 
 Pans, and I know what we ll do I We ll give a ball for 
 my birthday won t we, Uncle Howard ? And have 
 everybody out from Rome, and the ilex grove all lighted 
 with coloured lamps 1 
 
 Not if I have anything to say about it/ said Mr. Copley. 
 
 But you won t have/ said Marcia. 
 
 The only reason that I consented to take this villa was 
 that I thought it was far enough away to escape parties for 
 a time. You said 
 
 I said if you got nearer Rome we d give a party every 
 day, while as it is I m only planning one party for all the 
 three months/ 
 
 Sybert and I won t come to it/ he grumbled. 
 
 Perhaps you and Mr. Sybert won t be invited/ 
 
 I don t know where you d find two such charming men, 
 aJd Mrs. Copley. 
 
 4 Rome s full of them/ returned Marcia imperturbably. 
 
 Who are the Roystons, Miss Marcia ? Sybert inquired. 
 
 They are the friends I came over with last fall. Yon 
 know Mr. Dessart ?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS if 
 
 The artist ? Yes, I know him. 
 Well, Mrs. Royston is his aunt, and she has two daugh 
 ters who 
 
 Are his cousins/ suggested Mr. Copley. 
 
 * Yes ; to b sure, and very charming girls. They spend 
 great deal of tim over here at least Mrs, Royston and 
 EleanoF do. Margaret has been in college. 
 
 And Mr. Royston, asked Copley t stays in America and 
 attends to his business ? 
 
 - Yes ; Mrs. Royston and Eleanor go ovr quite often to 
 keep him from getting lonely. 
 
 Very generous of them/ Sybert laughed. 
 
 * They ve spent winters in Cairo and Vienna and Pads 
 and a lot of different places, pxiraued Marcia. Eleanor/ 
 she added ruminatingly, has been out nine seasons, and 
 she has had a good deal of experience/ 
 
 Dear, dear ! said her ancle ; and you are proposing 
 to expos* all Rome 
 
 She s very attractive/ said Marcia, and then she glanced 
 ai Sybert and laughed. if she should happen to takt a 
 fancy to you, Mr. Sybert 
 
 The young man rose to his feet and looked about for his 
 hat. Goodness 1 he murmured, what would she do ? 
 
 * There s no telling/ Marcia regarded him with a specu 
 lative light in her eyes. 
 
 A young woman \vho has been practising for nine season* 
 certainly ought to bav her hand in/ Copley agreed. P<sr- 
 haps, after all, Sybert, it It best w should not meet her.* 
 
 Sybert found his hat and paused for a moment. 
 
 You can t frighten me that way, Miss Marcia/ h* said, 
 with a shake of his head. I have been out thirteen seasons 
 myself/ 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MAT I come in for tea, Cousin Marcia ? Gerald inquired, 
 with a note of anxiety in bis voice, as they climbed the 
 stone staircase of the Palazzo Rosicorelli. They htd be 
 spending the afternoon in the Borghese gardens, and the 
 boy s very damp sailor-suit bore witness to the fact that he 
 had been indulging in the forbidden pleasure of gatchmg 
 goldfish in the fountain. 
 Indeed you may not/ she returned emphatically.
 
 38 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 may go with Marietta and have some dry clothes put on 
 before your mother sees you. 
 
 Gerald, realizing the wisdom of this course, allowed him- 
 elf to be quietly spirited off the back way, in spite of the 
 fact that he heard the alluring sound of Sybert a voice in 
 the direction of the salon. Marcia went on in without 
 waiting to take off her hat, and she met the Melvilles in the 
 suite-room, on the point of leaving. 
 
 " Good aiternoon. Why do you go so early ? she asked. 
 
 Oh, we ar corning back later ; we are just going home 
 to dress. Your uncle is giving a dinner to-night a very 
 formal affair. 
 
 Is that so ? she laughed. I have not been invited/ 
 
 You will be ; don t feel hurt, It s a general invitation 
 issued to all comers. 
 
 Marcia found no one within but her aunt and uncle and 
 Mr. Sybert. 
 
 What is this I hear about your giving a dinner to-night, 
 Aunt Katherine ? she asked as she settled herself in & 
 Wicker chair and stretched out her hand for a cup of tea. 
 
 " You must ask your uncle. I have nothing to do with 
 it/ Mrs. Copley disclaimed. He invited the guests, wad 
 be must provide the menu. 
 
 What is it, Uncle Howard ? 
 
 Merely a little farewell dinner. I thought we ought to 
 put on a bright face our last night, you know. 
 
 One would think you were going to be led to execution 
 At dawn. 
 
 * We will hope it s nothing worse than exile/ said Sybert. 
 
 Who are your guests, and when were they invited ? 
 
 My guests are the people who dropped in late to tea ; I 
 did not think of it early enough to make the invitation very 
 general. The list, I believe, includes the Melvilles, Signer* 
 Androit and the Contessa Torrenieri, Sidney Carthrope the 
 iculptor, and a certain young Frenchman, a most alluring 
 youth, who called with him, but whose name for the moment 
 escapes me/ 
 
 Adolphe Benoit, said Sybert. 
 
 The Prix de Rome ? asked Marcia. " Oh. I know him I 
 
 1 met him a few weeks ago at a tea ; he s very entertaining. 
 
 2 suppose, she added, considering the list, that he will fall 
 to my share ?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 8$ 
 
 Jnless you prefer Mr. Sybert. 
 
 An embarrassing predicament, Miss Marcia/ Sybert 
 laughed. If it will facilitate matters we can draw lots/ 
 
 Not at all/ said Marcia graciously, I know the Contessa 
 would rather have you ; and as she is the guest I will let 
 her choose. I hope youi dinner will be a success/ she added 
 to her uncle, but 1 can t help feeling that you show a 
 touching faith in the cook/ 
 
 Thank you. my dear ; I arn of an optimistic turn of 
 mind, and Francois has never failed me yet. How did the 
 Borgheses gallery go ? 
 
 Very well. I met Mr. Dessart there and I met the 
 King outside/ 
 
 Ah, I hope His Majesty was enjoying good health ? " 
 
 H seemed to be. I didn t stop to speak to him, but 
 there was a boy in a group of seminarists near us who called 
 out, " Viva U papa," just as he passed/ 
 
 And what happened ? Sybert inquired. Did the 
 King s guard behead him on the spot, or did they only send 
 him to the galleys for life ? 
 
 The King s guard fortunately had eyes only for the 
 King, and the old priest gathered his flock together and 
 tcuttled off down one of the side paths, as frightened as A 
 hen who sees a hawk/ 
 
 1 And with good reason but wait till the lads grow up, 
 and they ll do something besides shout and run/ 
 
 There was an undertone in Sybert s voice different from 
 his usual listless drawl. Marcia glanced up at him quickly 
 and Dessart s insinuations flashed through her mind. 
 
 Do you mean you would rather have Leo XIII king 
 instead of Humbert ? she asked. 
 
 " Heavens, no 1 No one wants the temporal power back 
 not even the Catholics themselves/ 
 
 I should think that when the Italians have gone through 
 o much to get their king, they might be satisfied with him. 
 They ought to hav more patience, and not expect thft 
 country to b rich in a minute. Everything can t be. done 
 dl at once ; and as for blaming the government because th 
 African war didn t turn out well why, no one could foresee 
 the result. It was a mistake instead of a crime/ 
 
 Sybert was watching her lazily, with an amused smile 
 tbout his lips. Will you pardon me, Miss Marcia, if I asfe
 
 if those are. your own conclusions, or th opinions of out 
 young friend th American artist ? 
 
 He does not plot against the King, at any rate ! she 
 retorted. 
 
 Please, Miss Marcia/ he begged, don t think so badly 
 of me as that. Really, I m not an anarchist. I don t want 
 to blow His Majesty up. 
 
 Go home and dress, Sybert/ Copley murmured, taking 
 him by the arm, I have to go and interview the cook, 
 and I don t dare leave you and my niece together. There s 
 no telling what would happen. 
 
 She s a suspicious young woman/ Sybert complained. 
 * Can t you teach her to take your friends on trust ? 
 
 For tht matte* of that, she doesn t even take her uncli 
 en trust. 
 
 And no wonder ! oaid Marcia. * I forgot to tell you 
 my other adventure, just AS the carriage turned into the 
 Coiso we got jammed in close to the curb and had to stop. 
 I looked up and aw & man standing on the side-walk, 
 glaring at me over the top of a tK$?rspaper simply glaring 
 and suddenly h jumped to the tide of the carriage and 
 thrust the paper in my hands. He said something in Ita 
 lian, but too fast fcr me to catch, and before I could move. 
 Marietta had snatched it up and dashed it back in his face. 
 The paper was named the Cry $/ the People \ I just caught 
 one word in it, and that was she paused dramatically 
 Copley ! Now, Uncle Howard/ she finished, do yon 
 4hink you ought to be trusted ? When it gets to the point 
 that the people in the street 
 
 She stopped suddenly. She had caught a quick glance 
 between her unc! and Sybert. What is it ? she asked, 
 Do you know what it means ? 
 
 It means damned impudence t laid her uncle. I ll 
 have that editor arrested if he doesn t keep still/ and the 
 two men stood eyeing each other a minute in silence. Then 
 Copley gave a short laugh. Oh, well/ he said, I don t 
 believe the Grid* del Popolo can destroy my character. 
 Nobody reads it/ He looked at his watch. You d bettsr 
 go and dress, Marcia, My party begins promptly at eight/ 
 
 You needn t use any *uch clumsy method as that of 
 getting rid of me/ she laughed. I m not going to stay 
 where I m not wanted. All I have to say/ she called bacfc
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 31 
 
 from the doorway, is that you d better stop badgering 
 those poor old beggars, or you ll be getting a warning to 
 leavt Rome as well as Naples. 
 
 Marcia rang for Granton. 
 
 Have you time to fix my hair now ? she inquired is 
 the maid appeared, or does Mrs. Copley need you ? 
 
 Mrs. Copley hasn t begun to dress yet ; she is watching 
 Master Gerald eat his supper. 
 
 Oh, very well, then, there is time enough ; I ll gel 
 through before she is ready for you. Do my hair sort of 
 Frenchy, she commanded as she sat down before the mirror, 
 What dress do you think I d better wear ? she continued 
 presently. That white one I wort last week, or the new 
 green one that came from Paris yesterday ? 
 
 I should think the white one, Miss Marcia, and save the 
 new one for some party. 
 
 It would be more sensible, Marcia agreed ; but/ she 
 added with a laugh, I think I ll wear tht new one. 
 
 Granton got it out with an unsmiling face which was 
 meant to convey the fact that she could not countenance 
 this American prodigality. She had lived ten years with 
 an elderly English duchess, and had thought that she knew 
 the ways of the aristocracy. 
 
 The gown was a filmy green mousseline touched with rose 
 velvet and yellow lace. Marcia put it on and surveyed 
 herself critically. What do you think, Granton ? she 
 asked. 
 
 It s very becoming, Miss Marcia, Granton returned 
 primly. 
 
 Yes, Marcia sighed and very tight ! She caught 
 up her fan and turned toward the door. Don t be hurt 
 because I didn t take your advice, she called back over her 
 shoulder. I never take anybody s, Granton. 
 
 She found her uncle alone in the salon, pacing the floor 
 in a restless fashion, with two frowning lines between his 
 brows. He paused in his walk as she appeared, and his 
 frown gave place, readily enough, to a smile. 
 
 You look very well to-night, he remarked approvingly. 
 You er have a new gown, haven t you ? 
 
 Oh, yes. Uncle Howard/ she laughed. It s all the 
 gown. Send your compliments to my dressmaker, 45
 
 32 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Avenue de 1 Opera. I thought I would wear it in honous 
 of Mr. Sybert ; it s so seldom we have him with us. 
 
 Mr. Copley received this statement with something like a 
 grunt. 
 
 There I Uncle Howard, I didn t mean to hurt your 
 feelings. Mr. Sybert is the nicest man that ever lived. 
 And what I particularly like about him, is the fact that 
 he is so genial and expansive and thoughtful for others 
 always trying to put people at their ease. 
 
 Mr. Copley refused to smile. I am sorry, Marcia, that 
 you don t like Sybert, he said quietly. It s because you 
 don t understand him. 
 
 I darft say ; and I suppose he doesn t like jne, for the 
 same reason. 
 
 He is a splendid fellow ; I ve never known a better one 
 and a man can judge. 
 
 Marcia laughed. Uncle Howard, do you know what you 
 remind me of ? An Italian father who is trranging a 
 marriage for his daughter, and having chosen the man, is 
 recommending him for her approval. 
 
 Oh, no ; I don t go to the length of asking you to fall in 
 love with him though you might do worse but I should 
 be pleased if you would treat him er 
 
 Respectfully, as I would my father. 
 
 More respectfully than you do your uncle, at any rate. 
 He may not be exactly what you d call a lady s man 
 
 A lady s man I Uncle Howard, you make me furious 
 when you talk like that ; as if I only liked men with dimples 
 in their chins, who dance well and get ices for you 1 I m 
 sorry if I don t treat Mr. Sybert seriously enough ; but 
 really I don t think he treats me seriously, either. You 
 think I don t know anything, just because I can t tell the 
 difference between the Left and the Right. I ve only just 
 come to Rome, and I don t see how you can expect me to 
 know about Italian politics. You both of you laugh when 
 ever I ask the simplest question. 
 
 But you ask such exceedingly simple questions, dear. 
 
 How can I help it when you give me such absurd 
 answers ? 
 
 I m sorry. We ll try to do better in the future. I 
 suppose we ve both of us been a little worried this spring, 
 and you probe us on a tender point.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS $3 
 
 But who ever heard of a man s being really worried over 
 politics tht is, unless he s running for something ? They 
 should be regarded as an amusement to while away your 
 Unsure, You and Mr. Sybert are so funny, Uncle Howard ; 
 you takt your amusements so seriously. 
 
 " Politics " is a broad word, Marcia, he returned, with 
 slight fiown ; and when it stands for oppression and 
 injustice nd starving peasants it has to be taken seriously. 
 
 It it really *o bad. Uncle Howard ? 
 
 Good heavens, Marcia ! It s awful I 
 
 She was startled at his tone, and glanced up at him 
 quickly. He was staring at the light, with a hard look irt 
 his eyes and his mouth drawn into a straight line. 
 
 I m sorry, Uncle Howard ; I didn t know. What can I 
 4o? 
 
 What can any of us do ? he asked bitterly. We can 
 give one day, and it s eaten up before night. And we can 
 keep on giving, but what does it amount to ? The whole 
 thing is rotten from the bottom. 
 
 Can t the people get work ? 
 
 No ; and when they can, their earnings ar eaten up in 
 taxes. The people in the southern provinces are literally 
 starving, I tell you ; and it s worse this year than usual, 
 thanks to men like your father and me. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 For a moment he felt almost impelled to tell her the truth. 
 Then, as he glanced down at her, he stopped himself quickly : 
 She looked so delicate, so patrician, so aloof from everything 
 that was sordid and miserable ; she could not help, and it 
 was better that she should not know. 
 
 What do you mean ? she repeated. What has papa 
 been doing ? 
 
 Oh, nothing very criminal, he returned. Only ctt a 
 time like this one feels as if one s money were a reproach. 
 Italy s in a bad way just now ; the wheat crop failed last 
 year, and that makes it inconvenient for people who live on 
 macaroni. 
 
 Do you mean th people really haven t anything to eat ? 
 
 Not much. 
 
 How terrible. Uncle Howard ! Won t th government 
 do anything ? 
 
 The government is doing what it can. There was a rirtf 
 
 2
 
 34 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 In Florence last month, and they lowered the grain tax; 
 King Humbert gave nine thousand lire to feed the people of 
 Pisa a couple of weeks ago. You can do the same for some 
 other city, if you want to play at being a princess. 
 
 I thought you believed in finding them work instead of 
 giving them money/ 
 
 Oh, as a matter of principle, certainly. But you can t 
 have em dying on your door-step, you know. 
 
 And to think we re having a dinner to-night, when we re 
 not the slightest bit hungry I 
 
 I m afraid our dinner wouldn t go far toward feeding the 
 hungry in Italy. 
 
 How does my dress look, my dear ? asked Mrs. Copley, 
 appearing in the doorway. I have been so bothered over 
 it ; she didn t fix the lace at all as I told her. These 
 Italian dressmakers are not to be depended upon. I really 
 should have run up to Paris for a few weeks this spring, only 
 you were so unwilling, Howard. 
 
 Marcia looked at her aunt a moment with wide-open eyes. 
 Heavens ( she thought, do I usually talk this way ? 
 No wonder Mr. Sybert doesn t like me f And then she 
 laughed. I think it looks lovely, Aunt Katherine, and I 
 tm sure it is very becoming. 
 
 The arrival of guests precluded any further conversation 
 on the subject of Italian dressmakers. Tht Contessa 
 Torrenieri was small and slender and olive-coloured, with a 
 cloud of black hair and dramatic eyes. She had a pair of 
 nervous little hands which were never still, and a magnetic 
 manner which brought the men to her side and created a 
 tendency among the women to say spiteful things. Marcia 
 was no exception to the rest of her sex, and her comments on 
 the contessa s doings wrt frequently not prompted by a 
 spirit of charitableness. 
 
 To-night the contessa evidently had something on her 
 mind. She barely finished her salutations before transfer 
 ring her attention to Marcia. Come, Signorina Copley, and 
 sit beside me on the sofa ; we harmonize so well this with 
 a glance from her own rose-coloured gown to Marcia s rose 
 trimmings. I missed you from tea this afternoon/ she 
 added. I trust you had a pleasant walk/ 
 
 A pleasant walk ? Marcia questioned, off her guard. 
 
 I passed you as I was driving in the Borghese. But you
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 35 
 
 did not see me ; you were too occupied. She shook her 
 head, with a smile. It will not do in Italy, my dear. An 
 Italian girl would never walk alone with a young man/ 
 
 Fortunately I am not an Italian girl. 
 
 You are too strict, contessa, Sybert, who was sitting 
 near, put in with a laugh, If Miss Copley chooses, there is 
 DO reason why she should not walk in the gardens with a 
 young man. 
 
 A girl of the lower classes perhaps, but not of Signorina 
 Copley s class. With her dowry, she will be marrying an 
 Italian nobleman one of these days. 
 
 Marcia flushed with annoyance. I have not the slight* 
 est intention of marrying an Italian nobleman/ she returned. 
 
 One must marry some one, said her companion, 
 
 Mr. Melville relieved the tension by inquiring, And who 
 was the hero of this episode, Miss Marcia ? We have not 
 heard his name. 
 
 Marcia laughed good-humouredly. Your friend Mr. 
 Dessart. The Melvilles exchanged glances. I met him 
 in the gallery, and as the carriage hadn t come and Gerald 
 was playing in the fountain and Marietta was flirting with a 
 gendarme (Dear me t Aunt Katharine, I didn t mean to say 
 that), we strolled about until the carriage came. I m sort 
 I had no intention of shocking the Italian nobility ; it was 
 quite unpremeditated. 
 
 If the Italian nobility never stands a worse shock than 
 that, it is happier than most nobilities/ said her uncle. And 
 the simultaneous announcement ef M. Benoit and dinnef 
 created a diversion. 
 
 It was a small party, and every one felt the absence of 
 that preliminary chill which a long list of guests invited two 
 week? beforehand is likely to produce. They talked back 
 and forth across the table, and laughed and joked in the 
 unpremeditated way that an impromptu affair calls forth. 
 Marcia glanced at her uncle once or twice in half perplexity. 
 He seemed so entirely the careless man of the world, - he 
 turned a laughing face to answer one of Mrs. Melville * 
 tallies, that she could scarcely believe he was the same man 
 who had spoken so seriously to her a few minutes before. 
 She glanced across at Sybert. He was smiling at tome 
 remark of the eontessa s, to which he retorted in Italian. 
 1 I clon t see how any sensible man can b interested in th*
 
 36 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 contessa ! wa& her inward comment as sh* transferred h 
 attention to the youag Frenchman at her side. 
 
 Whenever the conversation showed a tendency to linger 
 on politic*, Mrs. Copley adroitly redirected it, as she knew 
 from experience that the subject was too combustible by far 
 to* a dinner-party. 
 
 Italy, Italy t These men talk nothing but Italy, she 
 complained to the young Frenchman on her right. Does 
 il not make you homesick for the boulevards ? 
 
 I suffered the nostalgic once, he confessed, but Rome 
 is a good cure. 
 
 Marcia shook her head in mock despau. And you, too, 
 2dL Benoit ! Patriotism is certainly dying out. 
 
 Not while you live, said her uncle. 
 
 Oh, I know I m abnormally patriotic, sh admitted : 
 but you re all so sluggish in that respect, that you fore* it 
 upon one. 
 
 There are other useful virtues beside* patriotism/ Sybert 
 suggested. 
 
 Wait until you have spent a spring in the Sabine hills, 
 Miss Copley, Melville put in, and you will be as bad as the 
 rest of us. 
 
 Ah, mademoiselle/ Benoit added fervently, spring-time 
 in the Sabine hills will be compensation sufficient to most of 
 us for not seeing paradise/ 
 
 I believe, with my uncle, it s a kind of Roman fever ! * 
 ah cried. I never expected to hear a Frenchman renounce 
 his native land/ 
 
 It is not that I renounce France/ the young man remon 
 strated. " I lofe France as much as ever, but I open my 
 arms to Italy as well. To lofe another land and peoples 
 besides your own makes you, not littler, but, as you say, 
 wider broader. We are we are Ah, mademoi 
 selle ! he broke off, if you would let me talk in French I 
 could say what I mean ; but how can one be eloquent in this 
 halting tongue of yours ? 
 
 Coraggio, Benoit ! You are doing bravely/ Sybert 
 laughed. 
 
 We are/ the young man went on with a sudden inspira- 
 tiou, what you call in English, citizens of the world. You, 
 mademoiselle, are American, La Signora Contessa is Italian,. 
 Wv Car-throne w English. I am French, but we are a.11 citi/en*
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 37 
 
 of the same world, and in whatever land we find ourselves, 
 there we recognize one another for brothers, and are alwayi 
 at home ; for it is still the world. 
 
 The young man s eloquence was received with an appre 
 ciative laugh. And how about paradise ? some on* 
 suggested. 
 
 Ah, my friends, it is there th at we will be strangers I * 
 Benoit returned tragically. 
 
 Citizens of the world, Sybert turned the stem of his win* 
 glass meditatively as he repeated the phrase. It seems to 
 mt, in spit* of Miss Marcia, that one can t do much better 
 than that. If you re a patriotic cititen of the world, I 
 should think you d done your duty by mankind, and might 
 reasonably expect to reap a reward in Benoit s paradise. 
 
 He laughed and raised his glass. Here s to the World, 
 our fatherland ! May we all be loyal citizens 1 
 
 I think, said Mrs. Melville, since this is a farewell 
 dinner and we are pledging toasts, we should drink to Villa 
 Vivalanti and a happy spring in the Sabin hills. 
 
 Copley bowed his thanks. If you will all visit the villa 
 we will pledge it in the good wine of Vivalanti. 
 
 And here s to the Vivalanti ghost i said the young 
 Frenchman, May it !if long and prosper 1 
 
 Italy s the place for such ghosts to prosper, Copley 
 returned. 
 
 Here s to the poor people of Italy may they hav 
 tsnough to eat I said Marcia. 
 
 Sybert glanced up in sudden surprise, but she did not look 
 at him ; she was smiling across at her uncle. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE announcement that a principt A merlcano was coming tt 
 live in Villa Vivalanti occasioned no little excitement in th 
 village. Wagons with furnishings from Rome had beea 
 seen to pass on the road below the town, and the contadini 
 in the wayside vineyard* had stopped their work to stare, 
 and had repeated to each other rumours of the fabuloue 
 wealth this signor principc was said to possess. The furni- 
 turn they allowed to pass without much controversy. Butt 
 they shook their heads dubiously when two wagons full cf 
 trees and shrubs wound up the roadway toward tbt
 
 Si THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 villa. This foreigner must be a grasping person as if there; 
 were not trees enough already in the Sabine hills, that he 
 must bring out more from Rome 1 
 
 Th dissection of the character of Prince Vivalanti s new 
 tenant occupied so much of the people s time that the spring! 
 pruning of the vineyards c^me near to being slighted. The 
 fount am head of all knowledge on the subject was the land 
 lord of the Croc* 4 Oro. He himself had had the honour of 
 entertaining their excellencies at breakfast, on the occasion 
 f their first visit to Castel Vivalanti, and with unvarying 
 eloquence he nightly recounted the story to an interested 
 group of loungers in the trattoria kitchen : of how he had 
 made the omelet without garlic because princes have deli 
 cate stomachs and cannot eat the food one would cook for 
 rdinary men ; of how they had sat at that very table, and 
 the young signorina principtssa, who was beautiful as the 
 holy angels in paradise, had told him with her own lips that 
 it was the best omelet she had ever eaten ; and of how they 
 had paid fifteen lire for their breakfast without so much AS a 
 word of protest, and then of their own accord had given 
 three lire more for mancia. Eighteen lire. Cerpo di 
 Bacco I that was the kind of guests he wished would drop in 
 very day. 
 
 But when Domenieo Paterno, the baker of Castel Viva 
 lanti, heard the story, he shrugged his shoulders and spread 
 aut his palms, and asserted that a prince was a prince all 
 aver the world ; and that the A mtric&no had allowed 
 himself to be cheated from stupidity, not generosity. For 
 his part, he thought the devil was the same, whether he 
 talked American or Italian. But it was reported, on the 
 other hand, that Bianca Rosini had also talked with the 
 fortstieri when she was washing clothes in the stream. 
 They had stopped their horses to watch the work, and the 
 tdgnorina had smiled and asked if the water were not cold ; 
 Itor her part, she was sure American nobles had kind hearts. 
 
 Domenico, however, was not to b* convinced by any such 
 eounter-evidence as this. Smiles are cheap/ he returned 
 sceptically. Does any one know of their giving money ? 
 
 No one did know of their giving money, but there were 
 plenty of boys to testify that they had run by the side of the 
 carriage fully a kilometre asking for soldi, and the tignort 
 only shaken his head to pay them for their trouble.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 39 
 
 * Si, t4, what did I tell you ? Domenico finished in 
 triumph. American princes are like any others perhaps ft 
 little more stupid, but for tht rest, exactly the same. 
 
 There were no facts at hand to confute such logic. 
 
 And one night Domenico appeared at the Croce d On 
 with a fresh piece of news ; his son, Tarquinio, who kept an 
 osteria in Rome, had told the whole story. 
 
 His name is Copli Signor Edoardo Copli and it is 
 because of him Domenico scowled that I pay for my 
 flour twice the usual price. When the harvests failed last 
 year, and he saw that wheat was going to be scarce, he sent 
 to America and he bought all the wheat in the land and ho 
 put it in storehouses. Ha is holding it there now while the 
 price goes up up up. And when the poor people in 
 Italy get very, very hungry, and are ready to pay whatever 
 he asks, then perhaps very charitably he will agree to 
 sell. Gib, that is the truth, he insisted darkly. Every- 
 body knows it in Rome. Doubtless he thinks to escape from 
 his sin up here in the mountains but he will see it will 
 follow him wherever he goes. Machd I It is the story of 
 the Bad Prince over again/ 
 
 Finally one morning one Friday morning some of the 
 children of the village who were in the habit of loitering on 
 the highway in the hope of picking up stray soldi, reported 
 that the American s horses and carriages had come out from 
 Rome, and that the drivers had stopped at the inn of San? 
 Agupito and ordered wine like gentlemen. It was further 
 rumoured that the principe himself intended to follow in the 
 afternoon. The matter was discussed with considerable 
 interest before the usual noonday siesta. 
 
 It is my opinion, said Tommaso Ferri, the blacksmith, 
 as he sat in the baker s doorway, washing down alternate 
 mouthfuls of bread and onion with Vivalanti wine it it 
 my opinion that the Signor Americano must bt a very 
 reckless man to venture on so important a journey on 
 Friday and particularly in Lent. It is well known that if 
 a poor man starts for market on Friday, he will break his 
 eggs on th* way ; and because a rich man has no eggs to 
 break, is that any reason the buon Dio should overlook his 
 sin ? Things are more just in heaven than on earth, he 
 added solemnly ; and in my opinion, if the foreigner cornel 
 to-day, he will not prosper in the villa.
 
 40 THE WHEAT "RINCESS 
 
 Doraenico nodded approvingly. 
 
 Si, si, Tommaso is right. The Americano has already 
 tempted heaven far enough in this matter of the wheat, and 
 It will not b the part of wisdom for him to add to the 
 account. Apoplexies are as likely to fall on prince* as on 
 bakers, and a dead prince is no different from any other dead 
 maa only that he goes to purgatory/ 
 
 it wa& evident, however, that the foreigner was in truth 
 going to tempt Fate ; for in the afternoon two empty 
 carriages came back from the villa and turned toward 
 Palestrina, obviously bound for the station. All the 
 rag&zzi of Castel Vivalanti waited on the road to *ee them 
 pass and beg for coppers ; and it was just as Domenico had 
 foretold : they never received a single soldo. 
 
 The remarks about th principt Americano were not 
 complimentary in Castel Vivalanti that night ; but the Httlt 
 vellow-haired principino was handled more gently. The 
 black-haired little Italian boy told how be had laughed 
 when they turned somersaults by thf side of the carriage, 
 and how he had cried when his father would not l*t him 
 throw soldi ; and the general opinion seemed to be that if h 
 died young, be at least had a chanc of paradisa. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MEANWHILE, the unconscious subjects of Castel Vivalanti s 
 apoplexies were gaily installing themselves in their new, 
 old dwelling. The happy hum of life bad again invaded the 
 house, and its walls once more echoed to the ring of a child s 
 laughter. They were very matter-of-fact people these 
 Americans, and they took possession of the ancestral home 
 of the Vivalanti as i.f it were as much their right as a seaside 
 cottage at Newport. Upstairs Granton and Marietta were 
 unpacking trunks and hamper* and laying Paris gowns in 
 antique Roman clothes-chests ; in the villa kitchen Fran- 
 $ois was rattling copper pots and kettles, and anxiously 
 trying to adapt his modern French ideas to a mediaeval 
 Roman stove ; while from every room in succession sounded 
 the patter of Gerald s feet and his delighted squeals over 
 each new discovery. 
 
 For the past two weeks Roman workmen and Castel 
 Vivalanti cleaning- women had been busily carrying out 
 Mrs. Copley s order*. The florid furniture and e*oured
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 41 
 
 Vhandeliers of the latter Vivalanti had been banished to the 
 attic (or what answers to an attic in a Roman villa), while 
 the faded damask of a former generation had been dusted 
 and restored. Tapestries covered the walls and hung over 
 the balustrade of the marble staircase. Dark rugs lay on 
 tht red tile floors ; carved chests and antique chairs and 
 tables ol coloured marble, supported by gilded griffins, were 
 scattered through the rooms. In the bedrooms the heavy 
 draperies had been superseded by curtains of an airier tex 
 ture, while wicker chairs and chintz-covered couches lent . 
 an-Roman air of comfort to the rooms. 
 
 In spite of his humorous grumbling about the trials of 
 moving-day, Mr. Copley found himself very comfortable as 
 he lounged on the parapet toward sunset, smoking a pre- 
 prandial cigarette, and watching the shadows as they fell 
 over the Campagna. Gerald was already up to his elbows in 
 the fountain, and the ilex grove was echoing his happy 
 shrieks as he prattled in Italian to Marietta about a 
 marvellous two-tailed lizard he had caught in a cranny 
 of the stones. Copley smiled as he listened, for Caste) 
 Vivalanti to the contrary his little boy was very near h 
 heart. 
 
 Marcia in the house had been gaily superintending the 
 unpacking, and running back and forth between the rooms, 
 *s excited by her new surroundings as Gerald himself. 
 
 What time does Villa Vivalanti dine ? she inquired 
 while on a flying visit to her aunt s room. 
 
 Eight o clock when any of us are in town, and half-past 
 leven other nights. 
 
 I suppose it s half -past seven to-night, alor* I Shall i 
 make a grande toilette in honour of the occasion ? 
 
 Put on something warm, whatever else you do ; I dis 
 trust this climate after sundown. \ 
 
 You re such a distrustful person, Aunt Katherine t I 
 can t understand how one can have the heart to accuse this 
 innocent old villa of harbouring malaria. 
 
 She returned to her own room and delightedly rummaged 
 out a dinner-gown from the ancient wardrobe, with a little 
 laugh at the thought of the many different styles it had held 
 in its day. Perhaps some other girl had once occupied this 
 room ; very likely a young Princess Vivalanti, two hundred 
 fears before, had bung silk-embroidered gowns in this very
 
 4t THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 wardrobe. It was a big, rather bare, delightfully Italian 
 apartment with tall windows having solid barred shutters 
 overlooking the terrace. The view from the window! 
 revealed a broad expanse of Campagna and hills. Marcia 
 dressed with her eyes on the landscape, and then stood a 
 long time gazing up at the broken ridges of the Sabines, 
 glowing softly in tht afternoon light. Picturesque little 
 mountain hamlets of battered grey stone were visible here 
 and there clinging to the heights ; and in the distance the 
 walls and towers of a half-ruined monastery stood out clear 
 against the sky. She drew a deep breath of pleasure. To 
 be an artist, and to appreciate and reproduce this beauty, 
 suddenly struck her as an ideal life. She smiled at herself 
 as she recalled something she had said to Paul Dessart in tht 
 gallery the day before ; she had advised him an artist to 
 exchange Italy for Pittsburg ! 
 
 Mr. Copley, who was strolling on the terrace, glanced up, 
 and catching sight of his niece, paused beneath her balcony 
 while he quoted : 
 
 " Bat, soft I what light through yonder window breaks f 
 It I* the Mt, and Juliet Is the un," 
 
 Marcia brought her eyes from the distant landscape to a 
 contemplation of her uncle ; and then she stepped through 
 the glass doors, and leaned over the balcony railing with * 
 little laugh. 
 
 You make a pretty poor Romeo, Uncle Howard/ she 
 called down. I m afraid the real one never wore a dinner- 
 facket nor smoked a cigarette/ 
 
 Mr. Copley spread out his hands in protest. 
 
 For the matter of that, I doubt if Juliet ever wore a 
 gown from where was it 42, Avenue de 1 Opeia ? How 
 does the new house go ? he asked. 
 
 Beautifully. I feel like a princess on a balcony waiting 
 for the hunters to come back from the chase/ 
 
 I can t get over the idea that I m a usurper myself, and 
 that the rightful lord is languishing in a donjon somewhere 
 in the cellar. Come down and talk to me. I m getting 
 lonely so far from the world/ 
 
 Marcia disappeared from the balcony and reappeared 
 three minutes later on the loggia. She paused on the top 
 ittp and slowly turned around in order to take in the whole 
 Th loggia, in it* rehabilitation, made an excellent
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 43 
 
 lounging-place for a lazy summer morning. It was furn 
 ished with comfortably deep Oriental rush chairs, a crimson 
 rug and awnings, and, at cither side of the steps, whitt 
 azaleas growing in marble cinerary urns. 
 
 Isn t this the most fun you tver had, Uncle Howard ? 
 she inquired as she brought her eyes back to Mr. Copley 
 waiting on the terrace below. We ll have coffee served out 
 here in the morning, and then when it gets sunny in the 
 afternoon we ll move to the end of the terrace under the ilex 
 trees. Villa Vivalanti is the most thoroughly satisfying 
 place I ver lived in/ She ran down the steps and joined 
 him. Aren t those little trees, nice ? she asked, nodding 
 toward a row of oleanders ranged at mathematical interval! 
 along the balustrade. I think that Aunt {Catherine and I 
 planned things beautifully 1 
 
 H every one were as well pleased with bis own work at 
 you appear to be, this would be a contented world. There i 
 Dotning like the beautiful enthusiasm ef youth. 
 
 It s a very good thing to have, just the same, said 
 Marcia, good-naturedly ; and without mentioning any 
 names, I know one man who would be less disagreeable if he 
 had more of it. 
 
 None of that ! said her uncle. Our pact was that if I 
 stopped grumbling about the villa being so abominably fat 
 from Rome, you wert not to utter any er 
 
 Unpleasant truths about Mr. Sybert ? Very well, III 
 not mention him again ; and you ll please not refer to the 
 thirty- nine kilometres it s a bargain. Gerald, I judge, has 
 found the fountain/ she added as a delighted shriek issued 
 from the grove. 
 
 And a menagerie as well/ 
 
 If he will only keep them out of doors I I shall dream ol 
 finding lizards in my bed/ 
 
 (f you only dream of them you will be doing well. I 
 dare say the place is full of bats and lizards and owls and all 
 manner of ruin-haunting creatures/ 
 
 You re such a pessimist, Uncle Howard. Between yoo 
 and Aunt Katherine, the poor villa won t have a shred ol 
 character left. For my part, I approve of it all particu 
 larly the ruins. I am dying to explore them do you think 
 It s too late to-night ? 
 
 Far too late ; you d get malaria, to say nothing of
 
 44 
 
 Ing dinner. Here comes Pietro now to announce the event.* 
 
 As the family entered the dining-room they involuntarily 
 paused on the threshold, struck by the contrast between the 
 ttew and the old. In the days of Cardinal Vivalanti th 
 room had been the chapel, and it still contained its Gothic 
 ceiling, appropriately redecorated to its new uses with grape- 
 wreathed treUisej, and, in the central panelling, Bacchus 
 crowned with vines. The very modern dinner-table, with 
 its glass and silver and shaded candles, looked ludicrously 
 out of place in the long, dusky, vaulted apartment, which, in 
 ipite of its rakish frescoes, tenaciously preserved the air of & 
 chapel. The glass doors at the end were thrown wide to a 
 little balcony which overlooked the garden and the ilex 
 grove ; and the room was flooded with a nightingale s song. 
 
 Marcia clasped her hands ecstatically. 
 
 Isn t this perfect ? Aren t you glad we came, Aunt 
 Katherine ? I feel like forgiving all my enemies I Uncle 
 Howard, I m going to be lovely to Mr. Sybert. 
 
 Don t promise anything rash, he laughed. You ll get 
 acclimated in a day or two. 
 
 Gerald, in honour of the occasion, and because Marietta, 
 under the stress of excitement, had forgotten to give him bis 
 supper, was allowed to dine en fttmilU. Elated by the 
 onwonted privilege and by his new surroundings, he babbled 
 gaily of the ride in the cars and the little boys who turned 
 summelsorts by the roadside, and of the beautiful two- 
 tailed lizard of the fountain, whose charms he dwelt on 
 lovingly. But he had missed his noonday nap, and though 
 he struggled bravely through the first three courses, hi* head 
 nodded over the chicken and salad, and he was led away by 
 Marietta still sleepily boasting, in a blend of English and 
 Italian, of the bdlissimi aniwali he would catch doman* 
 moroipg in the fountain. 
 
 It IS t pity, said Marcia, as the sound of his prattle died 
 tway, Gerald hasn t some one his own age to play with/ 
 
 Yes, it is a pity, Copley returned. I passed a lonely 
 hildhood myself, and I know how barren it is. 
 
 That is the chief reason that would make me want to go 
 back to New York, said his wife. 
 
 Her husband smiled. I suppose there are children to be 
 found outside of New York ? 
 There are the Kirkups in Rome, she agreed ; but thy
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 45 
 
 arc so boisterous ; and they always quarrel with Gerald 
 whenever they come to play with him. 
 
 I am not sure, myself, but that Gerald quarrels with 
 them/ returned her husband. However fond he might be 
 oi his offspring, he cherished no motherly delusions. But 
 perhaps you are right, he added, with something ol a sigh. 
 
 It may be necessary to take him back to America before 
 long. 1 myself have doubts if this cosmopolitan atmosphere 
 it the best in which to bring up a boy. 
 
 I should have wished him to spend a winter in Paris for 
 his French/ *aid Mrs. Copley, plaintively ; but I dare ay 
 he can learn it later. Marcia didn t begin till she wa* 
 twelve, and she has a very good accent, I am sure/ 
 
 Mr. Copley twisted the handle of bis glass in silence. 
 
 I suppose, after all/ be said, finally, to no one in particu 
 lar, if you manage to bring up a boy to be a decent citizen 
 you ve done something in the world/ 
 
 I don t know/ Marcia objected, with a half -laugh. If 
 one man., whom we will suppose is a decent citizen, brings up 
 one boy to be a decent citizen, and does nothing else, I don t 
 lee that much is gained to the world. Your one man has 
 merely shifted the responsibility/ 
 
 Mr. Copley shrugged a trifle. Perhaps the boy might b 
 better able to bear it/ 
 
 Of course it would b easier for the man to think so/ she 
 agreed, * But if everybody passed on his responsibilities 
 there wouldn t be much progress. The boys might do the 
 same, you know, when they grew up/ 
 
 Mrs. Copley rose. If you two are going to talk meta- 
 physics, I shall go into th salon and have coffee alone/ 
 
 It s not metaphysics ; it s theology/ her husband re 
 turned. Marcia is developing into a terrible preacher/ 
 
 I know it/ Marcia acknowledged. I m growing deplor 
 ably moral ; I think it must be the Roman air. 
 
 It doesn t affect most people that way/ her uncle 
 laughed. I don t care for any coffee, Katherine. I will 
 arnoke a cigarette on the terrace and wait for you out ther*./ 
 
 He disappeared through the balcony doors, and Marcia 
 a-nd her aunt proceeded to th salon. 
 
 Marcia. poured the coffee, and her aunt said as she re 
 ceived her cup, I really believe your uncle is getting tired 
 of Rome and will be ready to go back before long/
 
 46 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 I don t believe he s tired of Rome, Aunt Katherine. I 
 think he s just a little bit well, discouraged. 
 
 Nonsense, child I he has nothing to be discouraged 
 about ; he is simply getting restless again. I know the 
 signs I I ve never known him to stay as long as this in one 
 place before. I only hope now that he will not think of any 
 ridiculous new thing to do, but will be satisfied to go back to 
 New York and settle down quietly like other people. 
 
 It seems to me/ said Marcia, slowly, as if he might do 
 more good there, because he would understand better what 
 the people need. There are plenty of things to be done even 
 in New York. 
 
 Oh, yes ; when he once got settled he would find any 
 amount of things to take up his time. He might even try 
 yachting, for a change ; I am sure that keeps men absorbed. 
 
 Marcia sipped her coffee in silence and glanced out of the 
 window at her uncle, who was pacing op and down the 
 terrace with his hands in his pockets. He looked a rather 
 lonely figure in the half-darkness. It suddenly struck her, 
 as she watched him, that she did not understand him ; she 
 had scarcely realized before that there was anything to 
 understand. 
 
 Mrs. Copley set her cup down on the table, and Marcift 
 rose. Let s go out on the terrace, Aunt Katherine. 
 
 You go out, my dear, and I will join you later. I want 
 to see if Gerald is asleep. I neglected to have a crib sent out 
 for him, and the dear child thrashes around so what with a 
 bed four feet high and a stone Boor 
 
 It would be disastrous I Marcia agreed. 
 
 She crossed the loggia to the terrace and silently fell into 
 step beside her uncle. It was almost dark, and a crescent 
 moon was hanging low over the top of Guadagnolo. A faint 
 lemon light still tinged the west, throwing into misty relief 
 the outline of the Alban hills. The ilex grove was black 
 gruesomely black and the happy song of the nightingales 
 and the splashing of the fountain sounded uncanny coming 
 from the darkness ; but the white, irregular mass of the 
 rilla formed a cheerful contrast, with its shining lights, which 
 threw squares of brightness on the marble terrace and the 
 trees. 
 
 Marcia looked about with a deep breath. It s beautiful, 
 isn t it, Uncle Howard ? They paused a moment by the
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 47 
 
 parapet and stood looking down over the plain. Isn t tht 
 tampagna lovely, she added, half covered with mist ? 
 
 Yes, it s lovely and the mist means death to th 
 peasants who live beneath it. 
 
 She exclaimed half impatiently : 
 
 Unclt Howard, why can t you let anything be beautiful 
 here without spoiling it by pointing out an ugliness beneath ? 
 
 I m sorry ; it isn t my fault that the ugliness exists. 
 Look upon the mist as a blessed dew from heaven, ii it 
 makes you any happier. 
 
 Of course I should rather know the truth, but it seems as 
 If the Italians art happy in spite of things. They strike me 
 *s the happiest people I havt ever seen/ 
 
 Ah, well, perhaps they are happier than wt think/ 
 
 I m sure they are, said Marcia, comfortably. Anglo- 
 Saxons, particularly New Englanders, and most particularly 
 Mr. Howard Copley, worry too much/ 
 
 It s at least a fault the Italians haven t learned/ he 
 replied. But, after all, as you say, it may be the better 
 fortune to have less and worry less I d like to believe it/ 
 
 ON the morning after their arrival, Marcia had risen early 
 and set out on horseback to explore the neighbourhood. 
 As Castel Vivalanti, accordingly, was engaged in its usual 
 Saturday-morning sweeping, a clatter of horses hoofs 
 suddenly sounded on the tiny Corso (the paving is so villain 
 ous that a single horse, however daintily it may step, sounds 
 like a cavalcade), arid running to the door, the inhabitants of 
 the village beheld the new signonna Americana gaily riding 
 up the narrow way and smiling to the right and left, for all 
 the world like the queen herself. The women contented 
 themselves with standing in the doorways and staring open- 
 mouthed, but the children ran boldly after, until the signor- 
 ina presently dismounted and bidding the groom hold her 
 horse, sat down upon a door-step and talked to them with as 
 much friendliness as though she had known them all her life. 
 Sht ended by asking them what in the world they liked best 
 to eat, and they declared in a single voice for Cioccolata. 
 Accordingly they moved in a body to the baker s, and, to 
 Domenico s astonishment, ordered all of the chocolate in the 
 hop. And while he was excitedly counting it out tht
 
 *8 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 signorina kept talking to him about the weather and the 
 .cenery and the olive crop until he was so overcome by the 
 honour that he could do nothing but bob his head ani 
 murmur, 54, si, eccelenza ; si, si, eccelcnza, to everything 
 he said. 
 
 And as soon as she had mounted her horse again and 
 ridden away, with a final wave of her hand to the little 
 black-eyed children, Domenico hurried to the Croce 4 Oro to 
 inform the landlord that he also had had the honour of 
 entertaining tht $ignorina Americana, who had bought 
 chocolate to the amount ol five lire five lire ! And had 
 given it aH away ! The blacksmith s wife, who had fol 
 lowed Domenico to hear the news, remarked that, for her 
 part, she thought it a sin to spend so much for chocolate ; 
 the aignorina might have given the money just as well, and 
 they could have had meat for Sunday. But Domenico was 
 more ready this time to condone the fault. Si, si, h 
 returned, with a nod of his head : the signorina meant well, 
 no doubt, but she could not understand the needs ol poor 
 people. He supposed that they lived on chocolate all the 
 time at the villa, and naturally did not realize that persons 
 who^worked for their living found meat more nourishing. 
 
 When Marcia returned home with the announcement that 
 he had visited Castel Vivalanti, her uncle replied, with an 
 elaborate frown, 1 suppose you scattered soldi broadcast 
 through the streets, and have started fifty young Italians 
 on the broad road to Pauperism/ 
 
 Not a single soldo I she reassured him. I distributed 
 nothing more demoralizing than a few cakes of chocolate. 
 " You ll make a scientific philanthropist if you keep on, 
 Mr. Copley laughed, but his inner reflections coincided some 
 what with those of tht blacksmith s wife. 
 
 Marcia/s explorations were Likewise extended in otbei 
 directions, and before the first week was over she had visited 
 most of the villages from Palestrina to Subiaco. As a result, 
 the chief article of diet in the Sabine mountains bade fair to 
 become sweet chocolate ; while Domenico, the baker, 
 instead of being grateful for this unexpected flow of custom, 
 complained to his friends of the trouble it caused. No 
 ooner would he send into Rome for a fresh supply than th 
 signorina would come and carry the whole of it off. At thai 
 rite, it was clearly impossible to keep it in stock.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 4< 
 
 By means of largesses of chocolate to the children, wi 
 possibly by a smile and a friendly air, Marcia bad established 
 in a very short time a speaking acquaintance with the whole 
 neighbourhood. And on sunny mornings, as she rode be 
 tween the olive orchards and the wheat fields, more than ou 
 worker straightened his back to call a pleased Buona 
 passeggiaia, signorina/ to the lair-haired stranger princess r 
 who came from th land across tht water where, it was 
 rumoured, gold could be dug from th ground like potatoes 
 and every one was rich. 
 
 All about that region the advent of the foreigners was the 
 subject of chief interest especially because they were 
 American!, for many of the people were thinking of becom 
 ing Americani themselves. The servants of the villa, whe 
 they condescended to drink a glass of wine at the inn of the 
 Croc d Oro, were almost objects of veneration, because they 
 could talk so intimately of the life these stranger princes 
 led th stranger princes would have been astonished could 
 they have heard some of the details of these recitals. 
 
 And so the Copley dynasty began at Caste) Vivalanti. 
 The life soon fell into a daily routine, as life in even the best 
 of places will. Three meals and tea, a book in the shadinesa 
 of the ilex grov* to the tune of th splashing fountain, a 
 isesta &t noon, a drive in the afternoon, a.ad a long night s 
 sleep wero the sum of Vivalanti i resources. Marcia liked 
 it. Italy had got its hold apon her, and for the present sh 
 was content to drift. But Mr. Copley, after a few days o* 
 lounging on th balustrade, smoking countless cigarettes 
 and hungrily reading such newspapers as drifted out on th 
 somewhat casual mails, had his horse saddled one morning 
 and rode to Palestrina to the station. After that h went 
 into Rome almost every day, and th peasants in the way 
 side vineyards carne to know him as well as his niec ; but 
 they did not take off their hats and smile as they did to her, 
 for he rode past with unseeing eyes. Rich men, they said, 
 had no thought for such as they, and they turned back to 
 their work with a sullen scowl. Work at th best is hard 
 enough, and it is a pity when the smile that makes it lighten 
 is withheld ; Howard Copley would have been the last to do 
 It had he realized. But his thoughts were bent on other 
 things, and how could the peasants know that while hi
 
 j* THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 galloped by so carelessly his mind was planning a way to get 
 them bread ? 
 
 Marcia spent many half-hours th first lew weeks in 
 loitering about the ruins of the old villa. It was a dream- 
 haunted spot which spoke pathetically of a bygone time with 
 bygone ideals. She could never quite reconcile the crumb 
 ling arches, the fantastic rock-work, and the grass-grown 
 terraces with tht * Young Italy of Monte Citorio thirty 
 miles away. To eyes fresh from the New World it seemed 
 half unreal. 
 
 One afternoon she had started to walk across the fields to 
 Castel Vivalanti, but the fields had proved too sunny and 
 ih had stopped in tht shade of the cypresses instead. 
 Even the ruins seemed to be revivified by the warm touch of 
 pring. Blue and white anemones, rose-coloured cyclamen, 
 yellow laburnum, burst from every cranny of the stones, 
 Marcia glanced about with an air of delighted approval. A 
 Pan with his pipes was all that was needed to make the 
 picture complete. She dropped down on the coping of the 
 fountain, and with her chin in her hands gazed dreamily at 
 the moss- bearded merman who, two centuries before, had 
 spouted water from his twisted conch-shell. She was 
 suddenly startled from her reverii by hearing a voice ex 
 claim, Buon giortto, gignorina 1 and she looked up quickly 
 to find Paul Dessart. 
 
 Mr. Dessart I she cried in amazement. Where in tht 
 world did you come from ? 
 
 The inn of S**it Agnpito at Palestrina. Benoit and I 
 are making it the centre of a sketching expedition. We get 
 a sort of hill fever every spring, and when the disease reache* 
 & certain point we pack up and set out for tht Sabines. 
 
 And how did you manage to find us ? 
 
 Purely chance/ he returned more or less truthfully. I 
 picked out this road as a promising field, and when I came to 
 the gateway, being an artist, I couldn t resist the temptation 
 of coming in. I didn t know that it was Villa Vivalanti or 
 that I should find you here. He sat down on tht edge of 
 the fountain and looked about. 
 
 Well ? Marcia inquired. 
 
 I don t wonder that you wanted to exchange Rome for 
 ihis I May I make a little sketch, and will you stay and talk 
 is me until it is finished ?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS |x 
 
 That depends upon how long it takes you to make a little 
 ketch. I chall subscribe t no carte-blanckt promises/ 
 
 He got out a box of water-colours from one pocket of hit 
 Norfolk jacket and a large pad from tht other, and having 
 filled his cup at the little rush-choked stream which once had 
 fed th fountain, set to work without more ado. 
 
 I beard from the Roystons this morning/ *aid Marcia, 
 presently, and immediately she was sorry that she had not 
 started some other subject. In their former conversation! 
 Paul s relations with his family had never proved a very 
 fortunate topic. 
 
 Any bad news ? " he inquired flippantly. 
 
 They will reach Rome in a week or so/ 
 
 * Holy Week I might have known it ! Miss Copley/ h 
 looked at her appealingly, you know what an indefatigable 
 woman my aunt is. She will make me escort her to every 
 religious function that blessed city offers ; it isn t her way 
 to miss anything/ 
 
 Marcia smiled slightly at the picture ; it was lifelike. 
 
 I shall be stopping in Palestrina when they come/ he 
 added. 
 
 She let this observation pass in a disapproving silence. 
 
 Oh, well/ he sighed, I ll stay and tote them around If 
 you think I ought. The Bible says, you know, " Love yom 
 relatives and show mercy unto them that despitefulty use 
 you." 
 
 Marcia flashed a sudden laugh and then looked grave. 
 
 Paul glanced up at her quickly. I suppose my aunt toldl 
 you no end of bad things about me ? 
 
 Was there anything to tell ? 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. I ve committed the unpar 
 donable sin of preferring art in Rome to coal in Pittsburg/ 
 
 He dropped the subject tnd turned back to bis picture, 
 and Marcia sat watching him as he industriously splashed ia 
 colour. Occasionally their eyes met when ht raised his 
 head, and if his own lingered a moment longer than con 
 vention warranted being an artist, he was excusable, foi 
 she was distinctly an addition to the moss-covered fountain. 
 The young man may have prolonged the situation some 
 what ; in any case, the sun s rays were beginning to slant 
 when he finally pocketed his colours and presented the 
 picture with a bow. It was a dainty little sketch of a ruined!
 
 fa THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 grotto and a broken statue, with the sunlight flickering 
 through the trees on the flower-sprinkled grass. 
 
 Really, is it for me ? she asked. It s lovely, Mr, 
 Dessart ; and when I go away from Rome I cam remember 
 both you and the villa by it. 
 
 When you go away ? he asked, with an audible note of 
 anxiety in his voice. But I thought you had come to livt 
 with your uncle. 
 
 Oh, for the present/ she returned. But I m going back 
 to America in the indefinite future/ 
 
 He breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. 
 
 * The indefinite future doesn t bother me. Before it 
 cornea you ll change your mind everybody does. It i 
 merely the present I want to be sur of/ 
 
 Marcia glanced at him a moment with a half-provocative 
 laugh ; and then, without responding, sht turned her head 
 and appeared to study the stone village up on the height. 
 Sht was quit* conscious that he was watching her, and she 
 was equally conscious that her pale-blue muslin gown and 
 her rosebud hat formed an admirable contrast to the frown 
 ing old merman. When she turned back there was a shade 
 of amusement in her glance. Paul did not speak, but he did 
 oot lower his eyes nor in any degree veil his visible admira 
 tion. She rose with & half-shrug and brushed back a stray 
 lock of hair that was blowing in her eyes. 
 
 I m hungry/ she remarked in an exasperatingly matter- 
 of-fact tone. Let s go back and get some tea/ 
 
 Will Mrs. Copley receive a jacket and knickerbockers ? 
 
 * Mrs. Copley will bt delighted. Visitors are a godsend 
 at Villa Vivalanti/ 
 
 They passed from the deep shadt of the cypresses to the 
 sun-flecked laurel path that skirted th wheat field. As 
 they strolled along, in no great hurry to reach the villa, 
 they laughed and chatted lightly ; but the most important 
 things they said occurred in the pauses when no words were 
 spoken. The young man carried his hat in his hand, care 
 lessly switching the branches with it A* he passed. Hi 
 shining light- brown hair almost the colour of Marcia s 
 own -lay on his forehead in a tangled mass and stirred 
 gently in th wind. She noted it in an approving sidewise 
 glance, and quickly turned away again lest he should look 
 up and catch her eyes upon him.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS $3 
 
 In the ilex grove they paused for a moment as the sound 
 of mingled voices reached them from the terrace. 
 
 Listen, Marcia whispered, with her finger on her lips ; 
 and as she recognized the tones she made a slight grimace. 
 My two enemies ! The Contessa Torrenieri and Mr. 
 Sybert. The contessa has a villa at Tivoli. This is very 
 kind of her, is it not ? Nine miles is a long distance just to 
 pay a call. 
 
 As they advanced toward the tea-table, placed under th 
 trees at the end of the terrace, they found an unexpectedly 
 august party not oniy the Contessa Torrenieri and the 
 iccretary of the Embassy, but the American consul-general 
 as well. The men had evidently but just arrived, as Mrt. 
 Copley was still engaged with their welcome. 
 
 Mr. Melville, you come at exactly the right timf. We 
 are having mushroom ragout to-night, which, if I remember, 
 is your favourite dish but why didn t you bring your wife ? 
 
 My wife, my dear lady, is at present in Capri and showt 
 ao intention of coming home. Your husband, pitying my 
 loneliness, insisted on bringing me out for the night. 
 
 I am glad that he did we shall hope to see you later, 
 however, when Mrs. Melville can come too. Mr. Sybert/ 
 sht added, turning toward the younger man, you can t 
 know how we miss not having you drop in at all hours of the 
 day. We didn t realize what a necessary member of the 
 family you had become until we had to do without you. 
 
 Marcia, overhearing this speech, politely suppressed a 
 mile as she presented the young painter. He was included 
 ia the general Reclaim. 
 
 This is charming I Mrs. Copley declared. I was just 
 complaining to the Contessa Torrenieri that not a soul had 
 visited us since we came out to the villa, and here are three 
 almost before th words are out of my mouth ! 
 
 Pietro, appearing with a trayful of cups, put an end to 
 these amenities ; and, reinforced by Gerald, they had an 
 unusually festive tea-party. Mr. Copley had once remarked 
 concerning Paul Dessart that he would be an ornament 
 to any dinner- table, and he undoubtedly proved himself an 
 ornament to-day, 
 
 Melville, introducing the subject of a famous monastery 
 lately suppressed by the government, gave rise to & dis 
 cussion involving many and various opinions. The contessa
 
 $4 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 and Dessart hotly defended the homeless monks ; whilt 
 the other men, from a political point of view, were inclined 
 to applaud the action of the premier. Their arguments 
 were strong, but the little contessa, two slender hands 
 gesticulating excitedly, atanchly held her own ; though a 
 White in politics, her sympathies, on occasion, stuck 
 persistently to the other side. The church had owned the 
 property for five centuries, the government for a quarter of 
 a century. Which had the better right ? And aside from 
 thft justice of the question Dessart backed her up foi 
 ascetic reasons alone, the monks should be allowed to stay. 
 Who wished to have the boauties of frescoed chapels and 
 carved choir-stalls pointed out by blue-uniformed govern- 
 mrot officials whose coats didn t fit ? It spoiled the 
 pot-try. Names of cardinals and prelates and Italian 
 princes passed glibly ; and the politicians finally retired 
 beaten. Marcia, listening, thought approvingly that the 
 young artist was a match for the diplomats, and she could 
 not help but acknowledge further that whatever faults the 
 contessa might posses*, dullness was not among them. 
 
 It was Gerald, however, who furnished the chief diversion 
 that afternoon Upon being forbidden to tak a third 
 m&ritozz&, he rose reluctantly, shook the crumbs from his 
 blouse, and drifted ff toward the ilex grove to occupy 
 himself with the collection of lizards which he kept in a box 
 under a stone garden seat. The group about the tea-table 
 was shortly startled by a splash and a scream, and they 
 hastened with one accord to the scene of the disaster. Mr. 
 Copley, arriving first, was in time to pluck his son from the 
 fountain, like Achilles, by a heel. 
 
 What s the matter, Howard ? Mrs. Copley called as 
 the others anxiously hurried up. 
 
 Nothing serious, he reassured her. Gerald has merely 
 been trying to identify himself with his environment. 
 
 Gerald, dripping and sputtering, came out at this point 
 with the astounding assertion that Marietta had pushed him 
 in. Marietta chimed into the general confusion with t 
 volley of Latin ejaculations. She push him in ! Madonn* 
 mict, what a fib ! Why should she do such a thing as that 
 when it would only put her to the trouble of dressing him 
 again ? She had told him repeatedly not to fall into the 
 fountain, but the moment her back was turned he disobeyed,
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 55 
 
 Amid a chorus of laughter and suggestions, of wails 
 and protestations, the nurse, the boy, and his father and 
 mother set out for tht bouse to settit tht question, leaving 
 the guests at the scene of the tragedy. As thev strolled 
 back to the terrace the contessavery adroitly held Sybert 
 on one side and Dessart on the other, while with a great 
 deal of animation and gesture she recounted a diverting bit 
 of Roman gossip. Melville and Marcia followed after, the 
 latter with a speculative eye on the group in front, and an 
 amused appreciation of the fact that the young artist would 
 very much have preferred dropping behind. Possibly the 
 contessa divined this too ; in any case, she held him fast. 
 The consul-general was discussing a criticism he had recently 
 read of the American diplomatic service, and his opinion of 
 tht writer was vigorous. Melville s views were likely to be 
 both vigorously conceived and vigorously expressed. 
 
 In any case/ he summed up his remarks, America 
 has no call to be ashamed of her representative to Italy. 
 His Excellency is a fine examph of the right man in the 
 right place/ 
 
 And his Excellency s nephew ? she inquired, her eye* 
 cm the lounging figure in front of them. 
 
 Is an equally fine example of the right man in the wrong 
 place. 
 
 I thought you were one of the people who stood up fat 
 him. 
 
 You thought I was one of the people who stood up foi 
 him ? Well, certainly, why not ? Melville s tone con 
 tained the suggestion of a challenge ; he had fought so 
 many battles in Sybert s behalf that a belligerent attitude 
 aver the question had become subconscious, 
 
 Oh, I don t know, said Marcia vaguely. Lots f 
 people don t like him. 
 
 Melville struck a match, lit a cigar, and vigorously puffed 
 it into a glow ; then he observed : Lots of people are 
 idiots/ 
 
 Marcia laughed and apologized 
 
 Excuse me, but you are all so funny about Mr. Sybert. 
 One day I hear the most extravagant things in his praise, 
 and the next, the most disparaging things in his dispraise. 
 It s difficult to know what to believe of such a changeable 
 person as that/
 
 56 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Just let m tell you one thing, Miss Marcia, and that is t 
 that in this world a man who has no enemies is not to b 
 trusted I don t know how it may be in the world to come. 
 As for Sybert, yon may safely believe what his friends say 
 of him/ 
 
 In that case he certainly does not show his be&t side to 
 the world. 
 
 H* probably thinks his best sid nobody s business but 
 h ; own. And then, as a thought re-occurred to him, he 
 glanced at her a moment in silence, while a brief smiie 
 flickered across his aggressively forceful face. She could 
 not interpret tht smile, but it was vaguely irritating, and 
 as he did not have anything further to say, she pursued he* 
 theme rough- shod. 
 
 When you see a person who doesn t take any interest 
 in his own country ; whose only aim i to be thought t 
 cosmopolitan, & man of the world ; whose business in lif* 
 is to attend social functions and make after-dinner speeches 
 well, naturally, you can t blame people for not taking 
 him very seriously. She finished with a gesture of disdain. 
 
 You were telling me a little while ago, Miss Marcia, 
 about some of the people in Castel Vivalanti. You appear 
 to be rather proud of your broad-mindedness in occasionally 
 being able to detect the real man underneath the peasant 
 don t you think you might push your penetration just on 
 step further and discover a real man, a personality, beneath 
 the man of the world ? Once in a while it exists. 
 
 You can t argue me into liking Mr. Sybert/ she laughed ; 
 " Uncle Howard has tried it and failed/ 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Copley returned shortly to their guests ; 
 mid the contessa, bemoaning th nine miles, announced that 
 the must go. Mr. Copley suggested that nine miles would 
 be no longer after dinner than before, but the lady waa 
 obdurate and her carriage was ordered. Sht took he; 
 departure amid a graceful flurry of farewell. The contessa 
 had an unerring instinct for effect, and her exits and her 
 entrances were divertingly spectacular. She bade Mrs. 
 Copley, Marcia, and the consul-general good-bye upon the 
 terrace, and trailed across the marble flagging, attended 
 at a careful distance from her train by the three remaining 
 men. Sybert handed her into the carriage, Dessart arrange? 
 the lap-robe, while Copley brought ap the rear, gingerly
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 57 
 
 bearing her lace parasol. With a gay little tilt of her 
 white-plumed hat toward the group on the terrace and ao 
 all-inclusive flash of black eyes, she was finally oft, followed 
 by the courtly bows of her three cavaliers. 
 
 Marcia, with Sybert and Dessart on either hand, con 
 tinued to stroll up and down the terrace, while her aunt 
 and uncle entertained Melville amid the furnished comfort 
 of the loggia. Sybert would ordinarily have joined the 
 group on the loggia, but he happened to be in the middle 
 of a discussion with Dessart regarding the new and, accord 
 ing to most people, scandalous proposition for levelling ib? 
 Seven Hills. The two men seemed to be diametrically 
 opposed to all their views, and were equally far apart in 
 their methods of arguing. Dessart would lunge into flights 
 of exaggerated rhetoric, piling up adjectives and metaphors 
 until by sheer weight he had carried his listeners off their 
 feet ; while Sybert, with a curt phrase, would knock the 
 corner-stone from under the finished edifice. The latter s 
 method of fencing had always irritated Marcia beyond 
 measure. He had a fashion of stating his point, and then 
 abandoning his adversary s eloquence in mid-air, as if it 
 were not worth his while to argue further. To-day, having 
 come to a deadlock in the matter of the piano rcgolatort, 
 they dropped the subject, and pausing by the terrace 
 parapet, they stood looking down on the plain below. 
 
 Dessart scanned it eagerly with eyes quick to catch 
 every contrast and tone ; he noted the varying purples of 
 the distance, the narrow ribbon of glimmering gold where 
 sky and plain met the sea, the misty whiteness of Rome, 
 the sharply cut outline of Monte Soracte. It was perfect 
 as a picture composition, perspective, colour-scheme- 
 nothing might be bettered. He sighed a contented sigh. 
 
 Even I, he murmured, couldn t suggest a single 
 change. 
 
 A slight smile crept over Sybert s sombre face. 
 
 I could suggest a number. 
 
 The young painter brought a reproachful gaze to bear 
 upon him. 
 
 Ah, he agreed, and I can imagine the direction they d 
 take ! Miss Copley/ he added, turning to Marcia, let me 
 tell you of the thing I saw the other day on the Roman 
 Campagna : a sight which was enough to make a right
 
 58 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 minded man sick. I saw there was a tragic pau*a-~ 
 a McCormick reaper and binder I 
 
 Sybert uttered a short laugh. 
 
 I am glad that you did ; and I .only wish it were possible 
 for one to see more. 
 
 Man I Man 1 You don t know what you are saying 1 
 Paul cried. There were tears in his voice. A McCormick 
 reaper, I tell you, painted red and yellow and blue the 
 man who did it should have been compelled to drink bia 
 paint/ 
 
 Marcia laughed, and he added disgustedly : The thing 
 sows and reaps and binds all at once. One shudders to 
 think of its activities and that in the Agra Romana, 
 which picturesque peasants have spaded and planted and 
 mowed by hand for thousands of years. 
 
 Not, however, a particularly economical way of cul 
 tivating the Campagna, Sybert observed. 
 
 Economical way of cultivating the Campagna 1 Dessart 
 repeated the words with a groan. Is there no place in 
 the world sacred to beauty t Must America flood every 
 corner of the habitable globe with reapers and sewing- 
 machines and trolley-cars ? The way they re sophisti 
 cating these adorably antique peasants is criminal. 
 
 That s the way it seems to me, Marcia agreed cordially, 
 Uncle Howard says they haven t enough to eat ; but they 
 certainly do look happy, and they don t look thin. I can t 
 help believing he exaggerates the trouble. 
 
 An Italian, Miss Copley, who doesn t know where his 
 next meal is coming from, will lie on his back in the sun 
 shine, thinking how pretty the sky looks ; and he will get 
 as much pleasure from the prospect as he would from his 
 dinner. If that isn t the art of being happy, I don t know 
 what is. And that is why I hate to have Italy spoiled. 
 
 Well, Dessart, I fancy we all hate that, Sybert returned. 
 Though I am afraid we should quarrel over definitions. 
 He stretched out his hand toward the west, where the plain 
 joined the sea by the ruins of Ostia and the Pontine Marshes. 
 It was a great, barren, desolate waste ; unpeopled, un 
 cultivated, fever-stricken. 
 
 Don t you think it would be rather a fine thing, he 
 asked, to see that land drained and planted and lived on 
 again as it was perhaps two thousand years ago ?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 59 
 
 Marda shook her head. I should rather have it left 
 Just as it is. Possibly a few might gain, but think of the 
 poetry and picturesqueness and romance that the many 
 would lose! Once in a while, Mr. Sybert, it seems as If 
 utility might give way to poetry especially on the Rom an 
 Campagna. It is more fitting that it should be desolate 
 and bare, with only a few wandering shepherds and herds, 
 and no buildings but ruined towers and Latin tombs a 
 art of burial-place for Ancient Home. 
 
 The living have a few rights even in Rome. 
 
 * They seem to have a good many/ Dessart agreed, Oh, 
 I know what you reformers want ! -You d like to see the 
 city full of smoke-stacks and machinery, and the Campagna 
 laid out in garden plots, and everybody getting good 
 wages and six per sent, interest ; with aU the people 
 dressed alike in ready-made clothing instead of peasant 
 costume, and nobody poor and nobody picturesque. 
 
 Sybert did not reply for a moment, as with half-shut eye 
 he studied the distance. He was thinking of a ride he had 
 taken three days before. He had gone out with a hunting- 
 party to one of the great Campagna estates, owned by a 
 Roman prince whose only interest in the land was to draw 
 from it every possible eentesim* of income. They had 
 stopped to water their horses at a cluster of straw huts 
 where the farm labourers lived, and Sybert had dismounted 
 and gone into one of them to talk to the people. It was 
 dark and damp, with a dirt floor and rude bunks along the 
 idea. There, fifty human beings lived crowded together, 
 breathing the heavy, pestilential air. They had come down 
 in bands from their mountain homes, searching for work, 
 and had sold their lives to the prince for thirty cents a day. 
 
 The picture flashed across him now of their pale, apathetic 
 faces, of the dumb reproach in their eyes, and for a second 
 he felt tempted to describe it. But with the reflection that 
 neither of the two before him would care any more about 
 it than had the landlord prince, he changed his expression 
 into a careless shrug. 
 
 It will be some time before we ll see that, he answered 
 !>essart s speech. 
 
 * But you d like it, wouldn t you ? Marcia persisted, 
 
 * Yea ; wouldn t you ? 
 
 * No/ she laughed, I can t say that 2 should 1 I d-
 
 60 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 cidedly prefer the peasants as they are. They are far more 
 attractive when they are poor, and since they ar happy in 
 spite of it, I don t see why it is our place to object/ 
 
 Sybert eyed the pavement impassively % moment : then 
 he raised his head and turned to Marcia. He swept her 
 a glance from head to foot which took in every detail of 
 her dainty gown, her careless grace a she leaned against 
 the balustrade, and he made no endeavour to conceal the 
 look of critically cold contempt in his yes. Marcia re 
 turned his glance with an air of angry challenge ; not a 
 word was spoken, but it was an open declaration of war. 
 
 THE Roystons approached Rome by easy stages along tht 
 Riviera, ami as their prospective movements were but 
 vaguely outlined even to themselves, they suffered their 
 approach to remain unheralded. Paul Dessart, since his 
 talk with Marcia, had taken a little dip into the future, 
 with the result that he had decided to swallow any hurt 
 feelings he might possess and pay dutiful court to his 
 relatives. The immediate rewards of such a course were 
 evident. 
 
 One sunny morning early in April (he had been right in 
 his forecast of the time : Palm Sunday loomed a week 
 ahead) a carriage drew up before the door of his studio, 
 and Mrs. Royston and the Misses Royston alighted, 
 squabbled with the driver over the fare, and told him he 
 need not wait. They rang the bell, and during the pause 
 that followed stood upon the door-step, dubiously scanning 
 the neighbourhood. It was one of the narrow, tortuous 
 streets between the Corso and the river ; a street of many 
 colours and many smells, with party-coloured washings 
 fluttering from the windows, with pretty tumble- haired 
 children in gold ear-rings and shockingly scanty clothing 
 sprawling underfoot. The house itself presented a blank 
 face of peeling stucco to the street, with nothing but the 
 heavily barred windows below and an ornamental cornice 
 four stories up to suggest that it had once been a palace 
 and a stronghold. 
 
 Mrs. Royston turned from her inspection of the street 
 to ring the bell again. There was, this time, a suggestion 
 *f impatience ia her touch. A second wait, and the door
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS x 
 
 seas finally opened by one of the fantastic little shepherd 
 models, who haunt the Spanish steps. He took ofi his hat 
 with a polite Permesso, signore, as he darted up the stairs 
 ahead of them to point the way and open the door at the 
 top. They arrived at the end of the five flights somewhai 
 short of breath, and were ushered into a swept and gar 
 nished workroom, where Paul, in a white blouse, his sleeve* 
 rolled to the elbows, was immersed in a large canvas, almost 
 too preoccupied to look up. H received bis relatives with 
 an air of delighted surprise, stood quite still while his aunt 
 implanted a ponderous kiss upon his cheek, and after 
 glance at his cousins, kissed them of his own accord. 
 
 Mrs. Royston sat down and surveyed the room. It was 
 Irreproachably workmanlike, and had been so for a week. 
 Visibly impressed, she transferred her gaze to her nephew 
 
 Paul, you art improved, she said at length. 
 
 My dear aunt, I am five years older than I was fiv 
 years ago. 
 
 Well, with a sigh of relief, I actually believe you are 1 
 
 Paul, I had no idea you were such a desirable cousin, 
 was Margaret s frank comment, as she returned from an 
 inspection of the room to a reinspection of him. Eleanoi 
 said you wore puffed velveteen trousers. You don t, do you ? 
 
 Never had a pair of puffed velveteen trousers in my life. 
 
 Oh, yes, you did 1 said Eleanor. You can t fib down 
 the past that way. Mamma and I met you in the Luxem 
 bourg gardens in broacl daylight wearing puffed blue vd- 
 veteen trousers, with a bottle of wine in one pocket and fi 
 loaf of bread in the other. 
 
 Let the dead past bury its dead ! he pleaded. I go 
 to an English tailor on the Corso now. 
 
 Marcia Copley wrote that she was very much pleased 
 with you, but she didn t tell us how good-looking you were/ 
 said Margaret, still frank. 
 
 Paul reddened a trifle as he repudiated the charge with a, 
 laughing gesture. 
 
 Don t you think Miss Copley s nice ? pursued Mar 
 garet. You d better think so, she added, for she s on* 
 of our best friends. 
 
 Paul reddened still more, as he replied indifferently that 
 Miss Copley appeared very nice. He hadn t sees taach a! 
 her, of course.
 
 6* THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 I hope. said his aunt. that you have been polite/ 
 
 * My dear aunt/ he objected patiently, * I really don t gc 
 out of my way to be impolite to people/ and he took the 
 Baedeker from her hand and sat down beside her. What 
 places do you want to see first ? he inquired, 
 
 They were soon deep in computations of th* galleries, 
 ruins, and churches that should be visited in conjunction, 
 and half an hour later, Paul and Margaret in one carriage, 
 with Mrs. Royston and Eleanor hi a second, were trotting 
 toward the Colosseum ; while Paul was reflecting that the 
 path of duty need not of necessity be a thorny one. 
 
 During the next week or so Villa Vivalanti saw little more 
 of Marcia than of her uncle. She spent the greater part 
 of her time in Rome, visiting galleries and churches, with 
 studio teas and other Lenten relaxations to lighten the 
 rigour ol sight-seeing. Paul Dessart proved himself an 
 attentive cicerone, and his devotion to duty was not un 
 rewarded ; the dim crypts and chapels, the deep- em 
 brasured windows of galleries and palaces afforded many 
 chances for stolen scraps of conversation. And Paul was 
 not one to waste his opportunities. The spring was idea) ; 
 Rome was flooded with sunshine and flowers and the 
 Italian joy of being alive. The troubles of Italy s paupers, 
 which Mr. Copley found so absorbing, received, during these 
 days, little consideration from his niece. Marcia was too 
 busy living her own life to have eyes for any but happy 
 people. She looked at Italy through rose-coloured glasses, 
 and Italy, basking in the spring sunshine, smiled back 
 sympath eticaily . 
 
 One morning an accident happened at the villa, and 
 though it may not seem important to the world in general, 
 still, as events turned out, it proved to be the pivot upon 
 which destiny turned. Gerald fell over the parapet, landing 
 eight feet below butter-side down with a bleeding nose 
 and a broken front tooth. He could not claim this time 
 that Marietta had pushed him over, as it was dearly proven 
 that Marietta, at the moment, was sitting in the scullery 
 doorway, smiling at Francois. In consequence Marietta 
 received her wages, a ticket to Rome, and fifty lire to dry 
 feer tears. A new nurse was hastily summoned from Castel 
 VlvalantL Sh was a niece of Domem c, the baker, and
 
 had served in the household of Prince Barberini at Pales* 
 trina, which was recommendation enough. 
 
 As to the broken tooth, it * as a first tooth and shaky at 
 that. Most people would have contented themselves with 
 the reflection that the matter would right itself in the course 
 of nature. But Mrs. Copley, who perhaps had a tendency 
 to be over-solicitous on a question involving her son i 
 health or beauty, decided that Gerald must go to the 
 dentist s. Gerald demurred, and Marcia, who had pre 
 viously had no thought of going into Rome that afternoon, 
 offered to accompany the party, for the sake she said 
 of keeping up his courage in the train. As they were 
 preparing to start, she informed Mrs. Copley that she 
 thought she would stay with the Roystons all night, since 
 they had planned to visit the Forum by moonlight soma 
 evening, and this appeared a convenient time. In the 
 Roman station she abandoned Gerald to his fate, and drove 
 to the Hdtti de Londres ei Paris. 
 
 She found the ladies just sitting down to their midday 
 breakfast and delighted to see her. It developed, how 
 ever, that they had an unbreakable engagement for the 
 evening, and the plan of visiting the Forum was accordingly 
 out of the question. 
 
 No matter, said Marcia, drawing off her gloves ; I 
 can come in some other day ; it s always moonlight in 
 Rome ; and they settled themselves to discussing plans 
 for the afternoon. The hotel porter had given Margaret 
 a permesso for the royal palace and stables, and being 
 interested in the domestic arrangements of kings, she was 
 insistent that they visit the Quirinal. But Mrs. Royston, 
 who was conscientiously bent on first exhausting tha 
 heavier attractions set forth in Baedeker, declared for the 
 Lateran museum. The matter was still unsettled when 
 they rose from the table and were presented with the cards 
 of Paul Dessart and M. Adolphe Benoit. 
 
 Paul s voice settled the question : the city was too full 
 of pilgrims for any pleasure to be had within the walls ; 
 why not take advantage of the pleasant weather to drive 
 out to the monastery of Tre Fontane ? But the matter 
 did not eventually arrange itself as happily as he had hoped, 
 since he found himself in one carriage and Marcia in the 
 other. At the monastery the monks were saying office in
 
 *A THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 *itf main chapel when they arrived, and they paused a few 
 minutes to listen to the deep rise and fall of the Gregorian 
 chant as it echoed through the long, bare nave. The dim 
 interior, the low, monotonous music, the unseen monks, 
 made an effective whole, Paul, awake to the possibilities 
 of the occasion, did his best to draw Marcia into conversa 
 tion, but she was tantalizingly unresponsive. The guide 
 book in Mrs, Royston s hands and the history of the orde? 
 appeared to absorb her whole attention. 
 
 Fortune, however, was finally on his side. Mrs. Royston 
 elected to stop, on their way back to the city, at St. Paul s 
 without the Walls, and the whole party once more alighted, 
 Witnin the basilica, Mrs. Royston, guide-book in hand, 
 commenced her usual conscientious iaspection, while 
 Eleanor and the young Frenchman strolled about, com 
 menting on the architecture. Margaret had heard that one 
 of the mosaic popes in the frieze had diamond eyes, and she 
 was insistently bent on finding him. Marcia and Paul 
 followed her a few minutes, but they had both seen tin; 
 church many times before, and both were at present but 
 mildly interested in diamond-eyed popes. 
 
 The door of the cloisters stood ajar, and they presently 
 left the others and strolled into the peaceful enclosure with 
 its brick-flagged floor and quaintly twisted columns. It 
 was tranquil and empty, with no suggestion of the outside 
 world. They turned and strolled down the length of the 
 flagging, where the shadow of the columns alternated with 
 gleaming bars of sunshine. The sleepy, old-world atmos 
 phere cast its spell about them ; Marcia s tantalizing humour 
 and Paul s impatience fell away. They walked on in 
 silence, until present!) the silence made itself awkward and 
 Marcia began to talk about the carving of the columns, the 
 flowers in the garden, the monks who tended them. Paul 
 responded half abstractedly, and he finally broke out with 
 what he was thinking of : a talk they had had that after 
 noon several weeks before in the Borghese gardens. 
 
 Most men wouldn t care for this, he nodded toward the 
 prim little garden with its violets and roses framed in by 
 the pillared cloister and higher up by the dull grey walls 
 of the church and monastery. But a few do. Since that 
 is the case, why not let the majority mine their coal and 
 build their railroads, and the very small minority who do
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 85 
 
 care stay and appreciate it ? It is fortunate that we don t 
 all like the same things, for there s a great variety of work 
 to be done. Of course, he added, I know well enough 
 I m never going to do anything very great ; I don t set 
 up for a genius. But to do a few little things well isn t 
 that something ? 
 
 They had reached the opposite end of the cloisters, and 
 paused by one of the pillars, leaning against the balustrade. 
 
 You think it s shirking one s duty not to live in 
 America ? he asked. 
 
 I don t know, Marcia smiled vaguely. I think 
 perhaps I m changing my mind. 
 
 I only know of one thing, he said in a low tone, that 
 would make me want to be exiled from Italy. 
 
 Marcia had a quick foreboding that she knew what he 
 was going to say, and for a moment she hesitated ; then 
 her eyes asked : What is that ? 
 
 Paul looked down at the" sun-barred pavement in silence, 
 and then he looked up in her face and smiled steadily. If 
 you lived out of Italy. 
 
 Marcia received this in silence, while she dropped her 
 eyes to the effigy of a dead monk set in the pavement and 
 commenced mechanically following th Latin inscription. 
 There was stiil time ; she was still mistress of the situation. 
 By a laugh, an adroit turn, she could overlook his wrds ; 
 could bring their relations back again to their normal 
 footing. But she was by no means sure that she wished to 
 bring them back to their normal footing ; she felt a sudden: 
 quite strong curiosity to know what he would say next. 
 
 Hang it I Marcia, he exclaimed. I suppose you want 
 to marry a prince, or something like that ? 
 
 A prince ? she inquired. Why a prince ? 
 
 Oh, it s what you women are always after having a 
 coronet on your carriage door, with all the servants bowing 
 and saying, " St, si, eccdenza," every time you turnaround. 
 
 It would be fun, she agreed. Do you happen to know 
 of any desirable unmarried princes ? * 
 
 There aren t any. 
 
 No ? Why, I met one the other day that I thought 
 quite charming. His family is seven hundred yean old, 
 and he owns two castles and three villages. 
 
 He wouldn t stay charming. You d find the castles 
 
 3
 
 66 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 damp, and the villages dirty, and tht prince stupid/ He 
 dropped his hand over hers where it rested on the balus 
 trade. You d better take me, Marcia ; in the long run 
 you ll find me nicer. 
 
 Marcia shook her head, but she did not draw away her 
 hand. Really, Paul, I don t know and there s nothing I 
 hate so much in the world as making up my mind. 
 You shouldn t ask such unanswerable things/ 
 
 Look, tnamma I aren t the cloisters lovely ? Margaret ! 
 voice suddenly sounded across the little court. Oh, 
 there are Marcia and Paul over there t We wondered 
 where you had disappeared to/ 
 
 Oh, the deuce i Paul exclaimed as he put his hands 
 in his pockets and leaned back against the pillar. I told 
 you/ he added, with a laugh, that my family always 
 arrived when they were not wanted I 
 
 They all strolled about together, and Marcia scarcely 
 glanced at him again. But her consciousness was filled 
 with his words, and it required all her self-possession to keep 
 up her part of the conversation. As they started on, Mrs. 
 Royston suggested that they stop a second time at the 
 English cemetery just within the gate. Marcia, looking at 
 her watch, saw with a feeling of relief that she would have 
 to go straight on if she were to catch Mrs. Copley and 
 Gerald in time for the six o clock train. Bidding them good 
 bye at the Porta San Paolo, she hastily and emphatically 
 refused Paul s proposition to drive to the station with her. 
 
 No, indeed, Mr. Dessart/ she called out, as he was 
 making arrangements with Mrs. Royston to meet later at 
 the hotel, I don t want you to come with me ; I shouldn t 
 think of taking yon away. My aunt will be at the station, 
 and I am perfectly capable of getting there alone. Really, 
 I don t want to trouble you/ 
 
 He put his loot on the carriage-step. 
 
 It s no trouble/ he smiled. 
 
 No, no ; I would rather go alone. I shall really be 
 angry if you come/ she insisted in a low tone. 
 
 The young nan shrugged and removed his foot from the 
 step. 
 
 As you please/ he returned in a tone which carried an 
 Impression of slightly wounded feelings. The driver looked 
 back expectantly, waiting for his directions. Paul hesitated
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS *? 
 
 t moment, and then turned toward her agam as il inquiring 
 the way. Is there any hope for me ? he said. 
 
 She looked away without answering. 
 
 There s n other man ? he added quickly. 
 
 Marcia for a second looked up in his face. No/ sto* 
 hook her head, there s no other man/ 
 
 He straightened up, with a happy laugh. Then J H 
 win/ h whispered, and be shook her hand as if on a compact 
 
 StarftfM, he called to tht^driver. And as tht carria^* 
 tarted, Mareia glanced back and nodded toward th Roy* 
 tons, with a quick smile for Paul. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AH, Sybert, you re just the maa I wanted to see ! Melvilk 
 came tip the walk of the paiazzo occupied by the Americas 
 ambassador as Sybert, emerging from the door, paused 
 on the top step to draw on his gloves. 
 
 la that case/ the ktter returned, it s well you didn t 
 come fire minute* later, or I should havt been lost to tht 
 world for the afternoom. What s ap ? 
 
 Nothing serious. Can you spare me a few moment** 
 talk ? I won t takt up your time if you are in a hurry/ 
 
 Not in the least. I m entirely at your disposal. KV 
 thing on for the afternoon, and I was preparing to loaf/ 
 
 The two turned back into the house and crossed the 
 hall to the ambassador s private library. Melville closed 
 the door and regarded his companion a trifle quizzically. 
 Sybert dropped into a chair, indicated another, and pushed 
 a bo* of cigar* and some matches across the table ; ths* 
 h* looked up and caught Melville s expression. 
 
 Well, what s up ? he asked again. 
 
 The consul-general selected a cigar with some deliberation, 
 bit off the end, and regarded it critically, while his smile* 
 broadened. I have just returned from the mass meeting; 
 of the foreign residents/ he remarked 
 
 That should have been entertaining 
 
 It was/ he admitted. There was some spirited 
 eussion as to the best way of suppressing the riots/ 
 
 And how did they decide to do it ? 
 
 " They have appointed a committee/ 
 
 Of course a committee I Sybert laughed. And 
 to the committed to do ? Wait on tht ministers and
 
 61 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 them to reconstruct their morals ? Ask the King to spend 
 a little less money on the soldiers uniforms and * little 
 more on their rations ? 
 
 Thf Committee/ said Melville, is to rais* money for 
 food, and to assist the government as far as possible ua 
 quieting th people and suppressing the agitators. 
 
 Ah I breathed Sybert. 
 
 And/ he added, with his eye on the young man, I have 
 the honour of informing you that you were made chairman/ 
 
 Oh, the devil 1 
 
 This is not an official notification/ he pursued blandly | 
 but I thought you d like to hear the news/ 
 
 Who s at the bottom of this ? Why, in heaven s name, 
 didn t you stop them ? 
 
 I couldn t very well ; I was chairman of the meeting/ 
 
 Sybert ? usual easy nonchalance had vanished. He rose 
 te his feet aad took one or two turns about the room. 
 
 I don t see wky I should be shoved into it I wish some 
 of these officious fools would go back home, where they 
 belong. I won t serve on any such committee ; I ll be 
 banged if I will ! I ll resign. 
 
 Nonsense, Sybert ; you can t do that. It would be too 
 marked. People would think yu had some reason for not 
 wanting to serve. It was very natural that your name 
 should have occurred for the position ; you have lived in 
 Rome longer than most of us, and are supposed to under 
 stand the conditions and to be interested in good govern 
 ment/ 
 
 " It puts me in a mighty queer position/ 
 
 I don t see why/ The elder man s tone had grown cool. 
 They naturally took it for granted that you, as well as 
 the rest of us, would want te have the riots suppressed and 
 choke off any latent tendencies toward revolution in this 
 precious populace. 
 
 It was the work of a lot of damned busybodies who 
 wanted to see what I would do/ 
 
 Melville suppressed a momentary smile. However/ 
 hf. remarked, I see no reason why you should be so reluctant 
 nbout serving in a good cause I don t suppose you wish to 
 fcao a revolution any more thaa the rest of us/ 
 
 Heavens, no I It wouldn t do any good ; the govern 
 ment s got the army to back it ; the revolutionists would
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 69 
 
 only be sent to the galleys for their trouble, end the police 
 oppression would be worse than ever, 
 
 Ht swung up and down the room a couple of times, and 
 then pausing with his hands in his pockets, stared moodily 
 out of the window. Melville smoked and watched him, a 
 shade of uneasiness in his glance. Just what position 
 Laurence Sybert occupied in Rome what unofficial posi 
 tion, that is was a mystery to the most of his friends. 
 Melville understood him as well aa any one, with the ex 
 ception of Howard Copley ; but even he was at times, quite 
 unprepared for the intimate knowledge Sybert displayed in 
 affairs which, on the surface, did not concern him. Sybert 
 was distinctly not a babbler, and thi* tendency toward 
 being close-mouthed had given rise to a vast amount of 
 peculative interest in his movements. He carried the 
 reputation, among the foreign residents, of knowing more 
 about Italian politics than the premier himself ; and he 
 further carried the reputation whether deserved or not 
 of mixing rather more deeply than was wise in the dark 
 undercurrent of the government. 
 
 And this particular spring the undercurrent was un 
 usually dark and dangerously gwift. Young Italy had 
 been sowing wild oats, and the crop was ripening fast, it 
 was a period of anxiety aad disappointment for those who 
 had watched the country s brave struggle for unity and 
 Independence thirty years before. Victor Emmanuel, 
 Cavour, and Garibaldi had passed away ; the patriots had 
 retired and the politicians had come in. A long period of 
 over-speculation, of dishonesty and incompetence, of wild 
 building schemes and crushing taxes, had brought the 
 country s credit to the lowest possible ebb. A series of 
 disgraceful bank scandals, involving men highest in the 
 government, had shaken the confidenet of the people. The 
 failure of the Italian colony in Africa, and the heart-rending 
 campaign against King Menelik and his dervishes, with 
 thousands of wounded conscripts sent back to their homes, 
 had carried the discontent to every corner of the kingdom. 
 And fast on the heels of this disaster had come a failure 
 in th* wheat crop, with all its attendant horrors ; while 
 simultaneously the corner in the American market was 
 forcing up the price of foreign wheat to twice its oorm*J 
 value.
 
 p> THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 It was a time when priests were recalling to tb peasants 
 the wrongs the church had suffered ; a time when the 
 socialist presses were turning out pamphlets containing 
 plain truths plainly stated ; a time when investors refused 
 to invest in government bonds, and even Italian statesmen 
 were beginning to look grave. 
 
 To the casual eyes of tourists the country was still a* 
 picturesquely, raggedly gay as ever. There were perhaps 
 more beggars on the church steps, and their appeal for 
 bread was a trifle more insistent ; but for people interested 
 only in Italy s galleries and ruins and shops the changes 
 were not marked. But those who did understand, wh 
 eared for the future of the nation, who saw the seething 
 below the surface, were passing through a phase of dis 
 illusionment and doubt. And Laurence Sybert was one who 
 both understood and cared. He saw the direction in which . 
 the country was drifting even better perhaps than the 
 Italians themselves. He looked on in a detached, more 
 remote fashion, not so swept by the current as those who 
 were in the stream. But if he were detached in fact by 
 accident of his American parentage and citizenship in 
 feelings he was with the Italians heart and soul. 
 
 The consul-general remained some minutes silently study 
 ing thefyounger man s expressive back irritation, obstin 
 acy, something stronger, appeared in every line of his 
 squared shoulders then he rose and walked across to the 
 window. 
 
 See here, Sybert, he said bluntly, I m your friend, and 
 I don t want to see you doing anything foolish. I know 
 where your sympathies are ; and if the rest of us looked into 
 the matter with our eyes open, it s possible ours would be 
 B the same side. But that s neither here nor there ; we 
 couldn t do any good, and you can t, either. You must 
 think of your own position you are secretary of the Ameri 
 can Embassy and nephew of the ambassador. In common 
 decency it won t do to exhibit too much sympathy with the 
 enemies of the Italian government. You cay yourself 
 that you don t want to see a revolution. Then it s youi 
 duty, in the interests of law and order, to do all yon can to 
 uppress it. 
 
 Oh, I m willing to do all I can toward relieving the 
 goffering and quieting the people ; but when it comes to
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS yi 
 
 playing the police spy and getting these poor devils jailed 
 lor twenty years because they ve shouted, " Down with 
 Savoy t " I refuse. 
 
 Melville shrugged. That part of the business can be 
 left to the secret police ; they re capable of handling it. 
 
 I don t doubt that/ Sybert growled. 
 
 Your business is merely to aid in pacifying the people 
 and to raise subscriptions for buying food. You are in 
 with the wealthy foreigners, and can get money out of them 
 easier than most. 
 
 I suppose that means I am to bleed Copley ? 
 
 I dare say he ll be willing enough to give ; it s in his 
 tine. Of course he s a friend, and I don t like to say any 
 thing. I know he had nothing to do with getting up th 
 wheat deal ; but it s all in the family, and he won t lose 
 by it. The corner is playing the deuce with Italy, and it s 
 his place to help a bit. 
 
 What is playing the deuce with Italy is an extravagant 
 government and crushing taxes and dead industries. The 
 wheat famine is bad enough ; but that isn t the main 
 trouble, and you know it as well as I do. 
 
 The main trouble, his companion broke in sharply, .t 
 the fact that the priests and the anarchists and the socialist* 
 and every other sort of meddling malcontent keep things so 
 stirred up that the government is forced into the stand it 
 takes. 
 
 Sybert whirled around from the window and faced him 
 with black brows and a sudden flaring of passion in his 
 eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and then controlled 
 himself and went on in a quiet, half -sneering tone 
 
 I suppose the .socialists and priests and the rest of 
 your malcontents forced our late premier into office and 
 kept him there. I suppose they yoked Italy with the 
 Triple Alliance and drove the soldiers into Abyssinia to 
 be butchered like hogs. I suppose they were at the bottom 
 of the bank scandals, and put the charity money into 
 official pockets, and let fifteen thousand peasants go 
 
 mad with hunger last year fifteen thousand I His 
 
 roice suddenly broke, and he half-turned away. Good 
 Lord, Melville, the poverty in Italy is something appalling ! 
 
 Yes, I dare say it is but, just the same, that s only 
 one side of the question. The country is new, and you
 
 /a THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 can t expect it to develop along every line at once. Tht 
 government has committed some very natural blunders, 
 but at the same time it has accomplished a vast amount 
 of good. It has united a lot <*f chaotic states, with different 
 Eruditions and different aims, into one organic whole ; it 
 has built up a modern nation, with ail the machinery of 
 modern civilization, in an incalculably short time. Of 
 course the people have had to pay for it with a good many 
 deprivations in every great political change thert arc 
 those who suffer ; it s inevitable. But the suffering is only 
 temporary, and th good is permanent. You ve been 
 keeping your eyes so closely on passing events that you ra 
 in danger of losing your perspective. 
 
 Sybert shrugged his shoulders, with a quick resumption 
 ef his usual indifference. 
 
 We ve had twenty-five years of United Italy, and what 
 has it accomplished ? he demanded. It s built up one 
 of the finest standing armies in Europe, if you like ; a lot 
 of railroads it didn t need ; some aqueducts and water 
 works, and a postal and telegraph system. It has erected 
 any number of gigantic public buildings, of theatres and 
 arcades and statues of Victor Emmanuel II ; but what has 
 it done for the poor people beyond taxing them to pay 
 for these things ? What has it done for Sicily and Sardinia, 
 for the pellagra victims of the north, for the half-starved 
 peasants of the Agra Romana ? Why does Sicily hold the 
 primacy of crime in Europe ; why has emigration reached 
 two hundred thousand a year ? Parliament votes five million 
 lire for a palace of justice, and lets a man be murdered 
 in prison by his keepers without the show of a trial. The 
 government supports plenty of universities for the sons of 
 the rich, but where are the elementary schools for tht 
 peasants ? Certainly Italy * a Great Power if that s all 
 you want and her people can take their choice between 
 emigrating and starving. 
 
 Yes, it s bad, I know ; but that it s quite as bad as 
 you would have us believe, I doubt. You re a pessimist by 
 conviction, Sybert. You won t look at the silver linings. 
 
 The silver linings are pretty thin, he retorted. Italian 
 politics have changed since the days of Victor Emmanuel 
 and Cavour. 
 
 That s only natural. You could scarcely expect any
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 73 
 
 nation to keep up such a high pitch of patriotism as wean 
 to the making of United Italy the country s settled dowc 
 a bit, but the elements of strength are still there. 
 
 The country s settled down * good bit/ he agreed. Oh, 
 yes, I believe myself at least I hope that it s only a 
 passing phase. The Italian people have too much inherent 
 strength to allow themselves to fee mastered long by 
 corrupt politicians. But that tht country is in pretty lew 
 water now, and that the breakers are not far ahead, no one 
 with his eyes open can doubt. The parliament is wasteful 
 and senseless and dishonest, the taxes are crushing, the 
 public debt is enormous, th currency is debased, if such 
 a. government can t take care of itself, I don t see that it i 
 th business of foreigner* to help it. 
 
 That is just the point, Sybert. The government can 
 take care of itself and it will. The foreigners, out of comrnor! 
 humanity, ought to help the people as much as they can. 
 
 Sybert appeared to study Melville s face for a fe\* 
 moment* ; then he dropped his eyes and examined the floor. 
 
 Tai is a time for those in power to choose their way 
 very carefully. There are a good many discontented people, 
 and the government is going to have more of a pull thars 
 you think to held its own there s revolution in the air. 
 
 Melville faced him squarely. 
 
 For goodness sake, Sybert, I don t know hew much 
 influence you have, or anything about it, but do what you 
 can to keep things quiet. Of course the government has 
 made mistakes as what government has not ? But until 
 there s something better to b* substituted there s no use 
 kicking. Plainly, the people are too ignorant to govern 
 themselves, and the House of Savoy is the only means &i 
 salvation. 
 
 Sybert waved his hand impatiently. 
 
 I haven t been trying to undermins the government, 1 
 assure you. I know well enough that for a good many 
 years t com* Italy won t have anything better to ofier, 
 and all my influence with the Italians which naturally 
 isn t much has been advice of the same nature. I know 
 very well that if any radical change were attempted, only 
 anarchy would result ; so I counsel these poor starving 
 beggars " patience " like a skulking coward. 
 
 Very well ; I don t see then why you have any objection
 
 ?4 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 to keeping on with your counsel, and at the tame time 
 them something to eat. 
 
 It s the looks of the thing standing up openly on tht 
 side of th authorities when I m not with them in sympathy. 
 
 It s a long sight better for a person in your position 
 than standing up openly against the authorities. 
 
 Oh, as for that, I m thinking of resigning from th* 
 legation, and then I ll be free to do a* I please. 
 
 Melville laid his hand n the younger m&n * ahoulder. 
 
 Sybert, you may resign from the legation, but you re still 
 your uncle s nephew. You can t resign from that. What 
 ever you did would cast discredit on him. He s an old 
 man, and he s fond of you. Don t be a fool. An American 
 b* no business mixing up io these Italian broils ; Italy 
 must work out her own salvation without tht help of 
 foreigners. Garibaldi was right" Italia fart da ." 
 
 " Italia far* 4* *$," he repeattd. I suppose it i tnw 
 enough, Italy must in the end do for herself, and no oat- 
 aider can be of any help but I shall at least have tried. 
 
 My dear fellow, if you will let me speak plainly, the 
 beat thing you can do for yourself and your family, for 
 America and Italy, is, as you say, to resign from the legation 
 and go home. 
 
 Go home t Sybert raised his head, with a little laugh, 
 but with a flash underneath of the real self which he kept 
 to carefully hidden from the world. I was bora in Italy ; 
 I was brought up here, just as little Gerald Copley is being 
 brought up. I have lived her* all my life, except for half 
 a dozen years or so while I was being educated. All my 
 interests, all my sympathies, are in Italy, and you ask me 
 to go horn* I I have no other home to go to. If you tak* 
 Italy away from mt, I m a man without a country/ 
 
 I m in earnest, Sybert. Whether you Uk it or not, 
 you re an American, and you can t get away from it U 
 you live here a hundred years. You may talk Italian and 
 look Italian, but you cannot i* Italian. A man s nation 
 ality lies deeper than all externals. You re aa American 
 through and through, and it s a pity you can t be a lit tit 
 proud ef the fact. The only way in which there s going to 
 be any progress in the world for a good long time to comt 
 fe for Italians to care for Italy and Americans for America. 
 W aren t ready just yet to do away with national bound-
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS ?f 
 
 tries ; and if we were, we should run up against racial 
 boundaries, which are still more unchangeable. America 
 b quite as good a country to care about as Italy there art 
 aome who think it s better ; it depends on the point of view/ 
 
 Oh, that s true enough, Sybert returned, with a short 
 It* ugh. Everything in the world depends on one s point 
 of view ; the worst place is ail right if you only choose to 
 think so. I dare say hell would be pleasurable enough to 
 a salamander, but the point is I m not a salamander/ 
 
 Melville shrugged his shoulders helplessly and turned 
 back to his seat. 
 
 * There s no use arguing with you, I know that. You rt 
 wasting your ability where it isn t appreciated, but I 
 suppose it s nobody s business but your own. Some day 
 you ll see the truth yourself ; and I hope it won t be too 
 late. But now as to this committee business for your 
 uncle s sake you ought to carry it through. I will tail 
 you frankly I imagine it isn t news that the Italian 
 government has its eye o you ; and if you manage to get 
 yourself arrested, rightly or wrongly, for stirring up sedi 
 tion, it will make an ugly story in the papers, The editor 
 and staff of the Grido id Popol* were arrested this morning. 
 The police are opening telegrams and letters and watching 
 suspicious purson*. You d better itep carefully/ 
 
 Sybert laughed, with a gesture of dissent. There s no 
 danger about me. The enthusiastic head of the Foreign 
 Relief Committee is safe from government persecution/ 
 
 You ll act then ? 
 
 Oh, I don t knowI ll think it over. It s a deuced hola 
 to have got into ; though I suppose it is, as you say, about 
 the only way to help. No doubt I can raise money and 
 distribute bread as well as another/ 
 
 Appoint Copley on a sub-committee. He ll be glad to 
 give/ 
 
 I don t like to ask him. He doesn t go in for alms ; he s 
 all for future though ia a time like this 
 
 In a time like this we re all willing to step aside a bit 
 I m glad you ve decided to work on the side of the govern 
 ment. It i, as things stand, the only sensible thing to do/ 
 
 I haven t decided yet. And I do not, as I told yon 
 before, care a rap what becomes of the government. It s 
 the people I m helping/
 
 y6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 It amounts to the same thing. 
 
 Not in Italy. 
 
 1 Oh, very well. You re incorrigible. At least keep 
 your opinion* to yourself. 
 
 I m not likely to shout them abroad under the present 
 regime. And as to this infernal committee oh, well, I ll 
 fc&ink about it. 
 
 Very well ; think favourably. It s the only way to help, 
 remember- -and very good policy into the bargain. Some 
 day, my boy, maybe you ll grow sensible. Good-bye. 
 
 Sybert paced up and down the room for five or ten 
 *ninutes after Melville had left, and then picked up hit hat 
 *.nd started out again. Turning toward the Piazza Bar- 
 berini, he strode along, scowling unconsciously at the 
 passers-by. He bowed mechanically to the people who 
 bowed to him. Along the Corso he met the procession of 
 carriage* going toward the Pincio. Ladies nodded gra 
 ciously ; they even half-turned to look aftex him. But he 
 was quite unaware of it ; his thoughts were not with the 
 portion of Roman society which rode in carriages. H 
 traversed the Corso and plunged into the tangle of more or 
 less dirty streets on the left bank of the Tiber. Here the 
 crowds who elbowed their way along the narrow sidewalks 
 were more poorly dressed. After some twenty minutes 
 walking he turned into a narrow street in the region of the 
 grimy ruins of the theatre of Marcellus, and paused before 
 the doorway of a wine-shop which bore upon it front th 
 ambitious title, Osteria del Popolo Italtano Tarqumio 
 Pater no. With a barely perceptible glance over his 
 houlder, he stepped into the dingy little caf which opened 
 from the street. The front room, with its square wooden 
 tables and stiff-backed chairs, was empty, except for 
 Madame Tarquinio Paterno, who was sweeping the floor. 
 Sybert nodded to her, and crossing the room to the rear 
 door, which opened into the cucina, knocked twice. The 
 door opened a. crack for purposes of examination, and then 
 was thrown wide to admit him. 
 
 The room which was revealed was a stone- walled kitchen, 
 lighted in the rear by a small-paned window opening OB 
 to a gloomy court-yard. Lighted is scarcely the word 
 to use, for between the dirt on the panes and the dimness 
 of the court, very little daylight struggled in. But the
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS yy 
 
 interior was not dreary. A charcoal sir* blazing on the 
 high stone hearth shot up fiercely every now arid theiL 
 throwing grotesque high lights on the faces of the met 
 grouped about the room. 
 
 Sybert paused on the threshold and glanced about from 
 fac to face. Three or four men were sitting an low benches 
 about a long table;, drinking wine and talking. The on 
 who was in the act of speaking as Sybert appeared in th 
 door paused with his mouth still open. The others, recog 
 nizing him, however, called out a cordial Bttona sera, Sign or 
 Siberti, while Tarquinio hastened to place a chair and bring 
 a tall rush-covered Mask of red Frascati wine. Sybert 
 returned their salutations, and sat down with a glance 
 of inquiry at the excited stranger. Tarquinio ceremoni 
 ously presented him as Girolamo Menduno of Naples, and 
 ht ended hie introduction with tfce assurance, Have DO 
 fear ; he is a good fellow and one of us/ and left it to be 
 conjectured as to whether the compliment referred to Sybert 
 or the Neapolitan. The latter took it to refer to Sybert, 
 and alter a momentary hesitation picked up his discourse 
 where h had dropped it. 
 
 Ah, and when the poor fishermen are sickening for * 
 little salt and try to get it from the sea water without pay 
 ing, what do the police do ? They throw them into prison. 
 The Camorra used to protect people from the police, but 
 now tht Camorra no longer dares to lift its head and the 
 p<M>pl havt no protectors. It used to be that when the 
 police wanted more money it satisfied them to raise the 
 taxes, but now they must raise tht price of bread and 
 macaroni as well. 
 
 H* had commenced in a low tone, but as he proceeded 
 his voice rose higher and higher. 
 
 And last week a great crowd broke open the bakeries 
 and carried off the flour, and the police were frightened 
 and put down the price but not enough. Then the people 
 threatened again, and tcce I all the tax was taken of!. 
 That is th way to deal with the police ; they are cowards, 
 and it is only fear that makes them just. t 
 
 Th* man laughed hoarsely and looked around for ap 
 proval The others nodded. 
 
 Gid, he speaks the truth. It is only fear that makes 
 them Just.
 
 7* THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 They art cowards cowards, repeated the Neapolitan 
 * If all the people in every city of Italy would do the tame, 
 (here would toon be no more taxes and no more police." 
 
 I am afraid that you are mistaken there, my friend, 
 Sybert broke in. There will always be taxes and always 
 b* police. But it s true, as you say, that the taxae are too 
 heavy and the police are unjust. The time hasn t coast, 
 though, whesa you can gain anything by rioting and revolu 
 tions. The government s backed by the array, and it s 
 loo strong for yoa. Yon may possibly frighten it into 
 lowering the wheat tax for & time, but it will be at a mighty 
 heavy cost t* ike one* who are found out. 
 
 Who are yen ? the QMUI demanded suspiciously. 
 
 I am an America who would like to see Italy as happy 
 and prosperous and well governed as the United States, 
 Sybert smiled iawar&y at the ideal he was holding up. 
 
 Ah you re a tpy 1 the man cried, with a quick scowl. 
 
 I am * far from being a spy that I have come to wars 
 you that, if you don t want to speed the next few year* of 
 your live* in pficKra, yo must be very careful tc cheer 
 the House of Savoy OB the first of May. The police spies 
 are keeping beta eye* opec just now. 
 
 The others nodded their haad pacifically, but tht Nea 
 politan still scowled. He suddenly leaned forward across 
 the table and scanned 9?brt with eyes that glittered 
 fiercely in the firelight. Thea he burst out again in low 
 guttural tones 
 
 It is easy for yoa to talk, Signer Whatever-your-namo- 
 li. YOB have bread to eat. Bat if yon worked all day 
 from sunrise to sunset worked until yon grew tired 
 you eocldn t sloop, and then got np and worked again 
 and then if the police came and took away all the money 
 m taxes and didn t tvest leave enough to buy your family 
 food, and the work gave out so you must either steal r 
 die, and you couldn t find anything to steal then you 
 would sing another song. Wait, wait, yoa say. It s 
 always wait. Will better times ever come if we sit down 
 and wait for then? ? Who will give us the better times ? 
 The King, perhaps ? Umberto ? 
 
 The man broke off with a harsh laugh. 
 
 Ah we shall die waiting, and our children after us. 
 And when we are dead the good God will keep us waiting
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 outside of paradise because there is no money to pay for 
 masses. No on cares for those who do not care for them 
 selves. It s the poor people, who haven t enough to eat, 
 who buy the gold braid on the King s clothea and pay for 
 the carriages of his ministers. In my opinion, we would 
 do better to buy bread for our children first. 
 
 Sybert looked back in the man s burning face, and his 
 own caught fir*. He knew that every word he said was 
 true, and he knew how hopeless was his remedy. What 
 could these passionate, ignorant peasants, blazing with 
 rage, do with power if they had it ? Worse than nothing. 
 Their own condition would only be rendered more desperate 
 than ever. He glanced abovt the table from one face to 
 another. They were all leaning forward, waiting for hit 
 answer. The fierce eagerness m their eyee was contagious. 
 A sudden wave of hopeless* pity tor these swept him ofi hit 
 feet, and for a moment he lost himself. 
 
 My God I men/ he burst out, I know it s true. I 
 know you re starving while ethers spend your money. 
 There s no justice for yom, and there never will be. The 
 only thing I want i the world is to tee Italy happy. I 
 am as ready to die for it as you are, bat what can I do ? 
 What can any one do ? The soldiers are stronger than 
 we are, and if we raise our hand* they will shoot as down 
 like dogs, and there it will cad. He paused with a deep 
 breath, and went en in a quieter tone. Patiaoce is poor 
 food te offer te starving raea, but it s the one hope now 
 for you and for Italy. The only thing you can de is to go 
 te the polls and vote for honest ministers. 
 
 Ministers are all alike, said one. 
 
 And who will feed us while we are waiting for election 
 day ? asked another, who had been listening silently. 
 
 The question was unanswerable, and Sybert sat frown- 
 Ing down at the table without speaking. The Neapolitaa 
 presently broke in again. There wa something electric 
 about his words and the force behind them. Every one 
 bent forward to listen. 
 
 Who is the King ? he demanded. He is only a oaaa. 
 So am 1 a man. Then what makes him so different from 
 me ? They may shoot me down if they like, but first I 
 have work to do. The King shall know me before I die. 
 And he is uot all, he added darkly. Do you know why
 
 So 
 
 the wheat s so scarce ? Because of a fort slier e here in 
 Rome Signer Copli he that put down the Caniorra in 
 Naples and throws the beggars into prison/ 
 
 An angry mutter ran around the room. 
 
 You re mistaken there/ Sybert interrupted. It s not 
 this Signor Copli who bougkt the wheat ; it s his brother in 
 America. This Signor Copli is the friend of the poor 
 people. Many, many thousand lire he gives away every 
 year, and n one knows about it. 
 
 A more friendly murmur arose, but the Neapolitan was 
 till unconvinced. 
 
 It is the same Signor Copli, he affirmed stubbornly. 
 He hiJes the wheat in America, where he thinks no one 
 will know about it. And then, after stealing it ail from the 
 mouths of the poor, he gives a little back with a great show, 
 thinking to blind us. But we knew. The Grido del Popol* 
 printed it out in black and white for all who can to read. 
 
 And the Grido del Popdo was stopped this morning and 
 the editor put in jail for printing lies, said Sybert sharply. 
 
 Ah, you re a police spy ! You pretend to be for us to 
 make us talk. His hand half instinctively went to his belt. 
 
 Sybert rost to his feet and dropped his hand roughly 
 on the man s shoulder. The best thing you can do fo* 
 your country is to put that stiletto into the fire. He 
 turned aside with an expression of disgust and tossed 
 some silver coins on the table in payment for the wine. 
 Then pausing a moment, he glanced about the circle of 
 swarthy faces. Gradually his expression softened. I ve 
 tried to warn you. The police are on the watch, and I 
 should advise yeu to stick pretty closely to your homes 
 and not mix up in any riots. I will do what I can to get 
 food and money for the poor people I know ol no other 
 way to help. Heaven knows I would do it if I could I 
 
 He nodded to them, and motioning Tarquinio to follow, 
 passed into the front room. Closing the door behind 
 them, he turned to the innkeeper. 
 
 Tarquinio, I think you had better go up into thr hills 
 and attend to your vineyard for a few weeks. 
 
 Th* young Italian s face was the picture of dismay. 
 But the osteria, Signor Siberti ; who will manage that ? 
 
 Your wife can look after it. Let it be given out that 
 you are tending vines in the Sabiue hills That if* the
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 81 
 
 safest profession these days. The police will be paying 
 you a visit before long if I am not greatly mistaken and 
 whatever you do, keep out fellows like that Neapolitan. 
 
 Tarquinio s face darkened with a quick look of suspicion. 
 I am but a poor innkeeper, Signer Siberti. I must wel 
 come those who come. 
 
 Sybert shrugged. I was merely speaking for your own 
 safety. Such guests are dangerous. Addio. He turned 
 toward the door, and then turned back a moment. Take 
 nay advice, Tarquinio, and visit your vineyard. 
 
 Tarquinio followed him to the threshold, and bidding 
 him a voluble good-bye in the face of the world, begged 
 the signor Americano to honour his humble osteria again ; 
 so that any chance passer-by might regard the gentleman 
 as but a casual visitor. Sybert smiled at the simple strat 
 egy. An Italian loves ft plot better than his dinner, and 
 is never happier than when engaged in an imaginary 
 intrigue. But in this case it occurred to him that his 
 host s caution might not be out of place ; and he fervently 
 assured Tarquinio that the wine had been excellent, and 
 that in the future he would send his friends to the Osttrui 
 del Popolo Italiano. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SYBERT turned away from the wine- shop with a half-laugh 
 at Tarquinio s little play, with a half-frown at the fierce 
 words of the Neapolitan, which were still ringing in his 
 head. He walked along with his eyes upon the ground, 
 scarcely aware of his surroundings, until an excited medley 
 of voices close at hand suddenly startled him from his 
 thoughts. He glajnced up for a moment with unseeing 
 eyes, and then with an astonished flash of recognition 
 as he beheJd Marcia Copley backed against one of the dark 
 stone arches in the substructure of the theatre of Marcellus, 
 Her head was thrown back and there were two angry 
 red spots in her cheeks, while a struggling crowd of boys 
 pressed around her with shouts and gesticulations. 
 
 As he paused to take in the meaning of the scene, he 
 heard Marcia evidently so angry that she had forgotten 
 her Italian say in English : You beastly little cowards I 
 You wouldn t dare hurt anything but a poor animal that 
 t:an t hit back. She accompanied this speech with 9
 
 3a THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 vigorous shake to a small boy whom she held by the 
 ihoulder. The boy could not understand her words, but 
 he did understand her action and he kicked back vigor 
 ously. The crowd laughed and began to close around her. 
 She took out her purse. Who owns this dog ? she 
 demanded. At sight of the money they pressed closer, and 
 in another moment would have snatched it away ; but 
 Sybert stepped forward, and raising his cane, scattered 
 them right and left. 
 
 What in the world art yon doing here P What is the 
 meaning of this ? he asked. 
 
 Oh, Mr. Sybert I I m no glad to see you. Look I 
 those horrible little wretches were killing this dog. 
 
 Sybert glanced down at her feet, where a bedraggled 
 cnr was crouching, shivering, and looking up with plead 
 ing eyes. The blood was running from a cut on its shoulder, 
 and a motley assortment of tin was tied to its tail by * 
 cord. He took out his knife and cut th dog loose, and 
 Marcia stooped and picked it up. 
 Take care, Miss Marcia/ he said in a disgusted tone. 
 He s very dirty, and you will get covered with blood, 
 Marcia put her handkerchief over the dog s wound, and 
 It lay in her arms, whimpering and shaking. 
 
 What is the meaning of this ? he demanded again, 
 almost roughly. What are you doing in this part of 
 the city alone ? 
 
 His tone at another time would have been irritating, 
 but just now she was too grateful for his appearance to be 
 anything but cordial, and she hastily explained 
 
 I ve been spending the afternoon at Tre Fontane with 
 some friends. I left thorn at the English cemetery, and 
 was just driving back to the station when I saw those 
 miserable little boys chasing this dog. I jumped out and 
 grabbed him, and they all followed me/ 
 
 I see/ said Sybert ; and it is fortunate that I hap 
 pened by when I did, or you wouldn t have had any money 
 left to pay your cab-driver. These Romaa urchins have 
 not the perfect manners one could wish/ 
 
 Manners ! Marcia sniffed indignantly. I loathe the 
 Italians ! I think they are the cruellest people I ever saw. 
 Those boys were stoning this poor dog to death/ 
 I dare say they have not enjoyed your advantages/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 89 
 
 They would have killed him if I hadn t come just when 
 1 did/ 
 
 You are not going oat to the villa alone P 
 
 * No ; Aunt Katherine and Gerald are going to meet m 
 at the station/ 
 
 Oh, very well/ he answered in a tone of evident 
 relief, as they turned toward the waiting carriage. Let 
 me take the dog and I will drop him a few streets farther on, 
 where the boys won t find him again/ 
 
 Certainly not/ said M&rcia indignantly. Some other 
 boys would find him. I shall take him home and feed him. 
 He doesn t leek as if he had had anything to eat for weeks/ 
 
 In that caae/ said Sybert resignedly, I will drive to 
 the station with you, tor he is scarcely a lap-dog and yon 
 may have tremble getting kirn into the tr&in/ And while 
 *he was is the midrt of her remonstrance he stepped into 
 the carriage aad put the dog on the fiooy between his feet 
 The dog, however, did not favour the change, and stretch 
 ing up an appealing paw he touched Marcia s knee, with a 
 whine. 
 
 You poor thrag I Stop trembling. Nobody s going 
 to hurt you, ad sfee beat over and kissed him on the nose. 
 
 Marcia vra* tatdted She had not quite recovered her 
 equanimity since the scene with Paul Dessart in the 
 doctors, and the atfak of the dog had upset her afresh. 
 She rattled on ow> with a gaiety quit* at variance with her 
 usual attitude toward Sybert, of anything and everything 
 that came toto her mind Gerald s broken tooth, the 
 departure of Marietta,, the afternooa at Tre Fontane, 
 and the episode of the dog. Sybert listened politely, but 
 his thoughts were act upon her words. 
 
 He was too fall of what he had left behind in the little 
 caff for him t listen patiently to Marcia s chatter. At 
 he looked at fer, flushed and smiling in her dainty clothes, 
 which were faultleae with the faultlessness that comes 
 from money, he experienced a feeling almost of anger 
 against her. He longed to face her with a few plain 
 truths. What right had she to all her useless luxuries, 
 when her father was as the Neapolitan had truly put it- 
 taking his money from the mouths of the poor ? It was 
 their work which made it possible for such as she to live 
 and was she worth it ? The world had given her much I
 
 84 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 she was educated, she was cultured, she had trained tastes 
 and sensibilities, and in return what did she do for tho 
 world ? She saved a dog. He made a movement of dis 
 gust and for a moment he almost obeyed his impulse to 
 throw the dog out. But he brought himself back to 
 reason with a half-laugh. It was not her fault. She knew 
 nothing of her father s transaction ; she knew nothing of 
 Italy s need. There was no reason why she should not be 
 happy. And, after all, he told himself wearily, it was a 
 relief to meet some one who had no troubles. 
 
 Marcia suddenly interrupted her own light discourse 
 to look at her watch. Gracious ! I haven t much time. 
 Will you please tell him to hurry a little, Mr. Sybert ? 
 
 The driver obeyed by giving his horse a resounding cut 
 with the whip, whereupon Marcia jerked him by the coat- 
 tails and told him that if he whipped his horse again she 
 would not give him any tnancia. 
 
 The fellow shrugged his shoulders and they settled down 
 Into a walk. 
 
 Isn t there any society for the prevention of cruelty 
 to animals ? she asked. * These Ikilians are hopeless. 
 
 You can scarcely expect them to expend more considera 
 tion on animals than they receive themselves, Sybert 
 threw ofi. 
 
 Oh, dear ! she complained anew, suddenly becoming 
 aware of their pace ; I m afraid we ll be late for the train. 
 Don t you suppose he could hurry just a little without 
 whipping the horse ? 
 
 Sybert translated her wishes to the driver again, and 
 they jogged on at a somewhat livelier rate ; but by the 
 time they reached the station the train had gone, and 
 there were no Mrs. Copley and Gerald in the waiting-room. 
 Marcia s face was slightly blank as she realized the situa 
 tion, and her first involuntary thought was a wish that 
 it had been Paul Dessart instead of Sybert who had come 
 with her. She carried off the matter with a laugh, how 
 ever, and explained to her companion 
 
 I suppose Aunt Katherine thought I had decided to 
 stay in the city with the Roystons. I told her I was going 
 to, but I found they had a dinner engagement. It doesn t 
 matter, though ;. I ll wait here for the next train. There 
 It one for Palestrina before very long Aunt Katherine
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 85 
 
 went by way of Tivoli. Thank you very much, Mr. 
 Sybert, for coming to the station with me, and really yoa 
 mustn t think you have to wait until the train goes. The 
 dog will bt company enough. 
 
 Sybert consulted his time schedule in silence. The 
 next train doesn t leave till seven, and there won t be any 
 carriage waiting for you. How do you propose to get out 
 to the villa ? 
 
 Oh, the station-man at Palestrina will find a carriage 
 for me. There s a very nice man who s often driven us out. 
 
 Sybett frowned slightly as he considered the question. 
 it was rather inconvenient for him to go out to the villa 
 that night ; but he reflected that it was his duty toward 
 Copley to get his niece back safely as to letting her set 
 out alone on a seven- mile drive with a strange Palestrina 
 driver, that was clearly out of the question. 
 
 I think I ll run out with you/ he said, looking at his 
 watch. 
 
 She had seen his frown and feared some such proposition. 
 No, indeed I she cried. I shouldn t think of letting 
 you. I ve been over the same road hundreds of times, 
 and I m not in the least afraid. It won t be late. 
 
 The Sabice mountains are infested with bandits, he 
 declared. I think you need an escort. 
 
 Mr. Sybert, how siJly 1 I know your tune is precious 
 (this was intended for irony, but as it happened to be true, 
 he did not recognize it as such), and I don t want you to 
 come with me. 
 
 Sybert laughed. I don t doubt that, Miss Marcia } 
 but I m coming, just the same. I am sorry, but you will 
 have to put up with me. 
 
 I should a lot rather you wouldn t, she returned ; 
 but do aa you please. 
 
 Thank you for the invitation, he smiled. There s 
 about an hour and a half before the train goes you might 
 run out to the Embassy and have a cup of tea. 
 
 Thank you for the invitation, but I think I ll stay 
 here. 1 don t wish to miss a second train, and I shouldn t 
 know what to do with the dog. 
 
 Very well, if you don t mind staying alone, I will drive 
 out myself and leave a business message for the chief, 
 and then I can take a vacation with a clear conscience,
 
 $6 THE WH1-AT PRINCESS 
 
 I have a matter to consul; your uncle about, and I hal! 
 be very glad to run out to the villa. He raised his hat in a 
 ufficiently friendly bow and departed. 
 
 When he returned, an hour later, he found Marcia feeding 
 the dog with sausage amid an appreciative group of porters, 
 one of whom had procured the meat, 
 
 Oh, dear 1 she cried. I hoped Marcellus would hare 
 finished his meal before you came back. But you aren t 
 so particular about etiquette as the contessa/ she added, 
 and don t object to feeding dogs in the station ? 
 
 * I dare say the poor beast was hungry. 
 
 Hungry I I had a whole kilo of sausage, and you should 
 have seen it disappear. 
 
 These facchini look as if they would not be averse to 
 sharing his meal. 
 
 Poor feHows, they do look hungry. Marcia productd 
 her purse and handed them a lira apiece. Because I 
 haven t any luggage for you to carry, and because you like 
 my dog, she explained in Italian. Don t tell Uncle 
 Howard/ she added in English. I don t believe one lira 
 can make them paupers. 
 
 It would doubtless be difficult to pauperize them any 
 more than they are at present, he agreed. 
 
 You don t believe in Uncle Howard s ideas of charity, 
 do yon ? she inquired tentatively. 
 
 Oh, not entirely ; but we don t quarrel over it. 
 Perhaps, 1 he suggested, we d better go out and find an 
 empty compartment while the guards are not looking. 
 ! fear they might object to Marcellus is that his name ? 
 occupying a first-class carriage. 
 
 Marcellus, because I found him by the theatre/ 
 
 Ah I hope he will turn out as handsome a fellow as 
 ills namesake. Come, Marcellus ; it s time we were off/ 
 
 He picked the dog up by the nape of the neck and they 
 started down the platform, looking for an empty carriage. 
 They had their choice of a number ; the train was not 
 crowded, and first-class carriages in an Italian way-train 
 are rarely in demand. As he was helping Marcia into th 
 ear, Sybert was amused to see Tarquinio, the proprietor 
 of the Inn of the Italian People, hurrying into a third* 
 class compartment, with a furtive glance over his shoulder 
 as if he expected every corner to be an ambuscade of the
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 87 
 
 secret police. The warning had evidently fallen on good 
 ground, and the poor fellow was fleeing for his life from 
 the wicked machinations of an omniscient premier. 
 
 If you will excuse me a moment, I wish to speak to 
 a friend, Sybert said as he got Marcia settled ; and with 
 out waiting for her answer, he strode off down the platform. 
 
 She had seen the young Italian, weighed down by * 
 bundle tied up in a bed-quilt, give a glance of recognition 
 as he passed them; and as she watched Sybert enter a 
 third-class compartment she had not a doubt but that 
 the Italian was the friend he was searching. She leaned 
 back in the corner with a puzzled frown. Why had Sybert 
 so many queer friends in so many queer places, and why 
 need he be so silent about them ? 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SYBERT presently returned and dropped into the seat 
 opposite Marcia ; the guard slammed the door and the 
 train pulled slowly out into the Campagna. They were 
 both occupied with their own thoughts, and as neither 
 found much pleasure in talking to the other, and both knew 
 it, they made little pretence at conversation. 
 
 Marcia s excited mood had passed, and she leaned for 
 ward with her chin in her hand, watching rather pensively 
 the soft Roman twilight as it crept over the Campagna. 
 What she really saw, however, was the sunlit cloister of St. 
 Paul Without the Walls and Paul Dessart s face as he talked 
 to her. Was she really in love with him, she asked herself, 
 or was it just Italy ? She did not know and she did 
 not want to think. It was so much pleasanter merely 
 to drift, and so very difficult to make up one i mind. 
 Everything had been so care-free before, why must he 
 bring the question to an issue ? It was & question she did 
 not wish to decide for a long, long time. Would he be 
 willing to wait to wait for an indefinite future that in 
 the end might never come? Patience was not Paul s 
 way. Suppose he refused to drift ; suppose he insisted 
 on his answer now did she wish to give him up ? No j 
 quite frankly, she did not. She pictured him as he stood 
 there in the cloister, with the warm sunlight and shadow 
 playing about him, with bis laughing, boyish face for th 
 instant sober, his eager, Insistent eye bft* upon her, bjta
 
 88 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 words for once stammering and halting. He was very 
 attractive, very convincing ; and yet she sighed. Lile for 
 her was still in the future. The world was new and full 
 and varied, and experience was beckoning. There were 
 many things to see and do, and she wanted to be free 
 
 The short southern twilight faded quickly and a full 
 moon took its place in a cloudless turquoise sky. The light 
 flooded the dim compartment with a shimmering brilli 
 ancy, and outside it was almost dazzling in its glowing 
 whiteness. Marcia leaned against the window, gazing out 
 at the rolling plain. The tall arches of Aqua Felice were 
 silhouetted darkly against the sky, and in the distance 
 th horizon was broken by the misty outline of the Sabine 
 hills. Now and then they passed a lonely group of .farm- 
 buildings set in a cluster of eucalyptus trees, planted 
 against the fever ; but for the most part the tceue was 
 barren and desolate, with scarcely a suggestion of actual, 
 breathing human, light. On the Appian Way were visible 
 the gaunt outlines of Latin tombs, and occasionally the 
 ruined remains of a mediaeval watch-tower. The picture 
 was almost too perfect in its beauty ; it was like the painted 
 back drop for a spectacular play. Scarcely real, and yet 
 one of the oldest things in the world the rolling Cam- 
 pagna, the arches of the aqueducts, Rome behind and the 
 Sabines before. So it had been for centuries ; thousands 
 of human lives were wrapped up in it. That was its 
 charm. The picture was not inanimate, but pathetically 
 human. As she looked far off across the plain so mourn 
 fully beautiful in its desolation, a. sudden rush of feeling 
 swept over her, a rush of that insane love of Italy which 
 has engulfed so many foreigners in the waters of Lethe. 
 She knew now how Paul felt. Italy ! Italy! She loved 
 It too. 
 
 A half -sob rose in her throat and her eyes filled with 
 tears. She caught herself quickly and shrank back in the 
 corner, with a glance at the man across to see if he were 
 watching her. He was not. He sat rigid, looking out at 
 the Carnpagna under half-shut eyelids. One hand was 
 plunged deep in his pocket and the other lay on the dog s 
 head to keep him quiet, Marcia noticed in surprise that 
 while he appeared so calm, his fingers opened and shut ner 
 vously. She glanced up into his face again. He was
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 89 
 
 staring at the picture before him as impassively as at a 
 blank wall ; but his eyes seemed more deep-set than usual 
 and the under shadows darker. She half abstractedly 
 fell to studying his face, wondering what was behind those 
 eyes ; what he could be thinking of. 
 
 He suddenly looked up and caught her gaze, 
 
 I beg your pardon ? he asked. 
 
 I didn t say anything. 
 
 You looked as if you did, he said with a slight laugh, 
 and turned away from the light. And now Marcia had 
 the uncomfortable feeling that from under his drooping 
 lids he was watching her. She turned back to the window 
 again and tried to centre her attention on the shifting 
 scene outside, but she was oppressively conscious of her 
 silent companion. His face was in the shadow and she 
 could not tell whether his eyes were open or shut. She 
 tried to think of something to talk about, but no relevant 
 subject presented itself. She experienced a nervous 
 sense of relief when the train finally stopped at Palestrina. 
 
 The station-man, after some delay, found them a carriage 
 with a reasonably rested-looking horse. As Sybert helped 
 Marcia in he asked if she would object to letting a poor 
 fellow with an unbeautifully large bundle sit on the front 
 seat with the driver. 
 
 We won t meet any one at this time of night, he 
 added. He s going to Castel Vivalanti and it s a long walk. 
 
 Certainly he may ride/ Marcia returned. It makes 
 no difference to me whether we meet any one or not. 
 
 4 Oh, I beg your pardon, Sybert smiled. I didn t 
 mean to be disagreeable. Some ladies would object, you 
 know. Tarquinio, he called as the Italian with the bed- 
 quilt shuffled past. The signorina invites you to ride, 
 since we are going the same way. 
 
 Tarquinio thanked the signorina with Italian courtesy, 
 boosted up his bundle, and climbed up after it. Marcellus 
 stretched himself comfortably in the bottom of the carri 
 age, and with a canine sigh of content went peaceably to 
 sleep. They set out between moonlit olive orchards and 
 vineyards with the familiar daytime details of farm- 
 buildings and ruins softened into a romantic beauty. 
 Behind them stretched the outline of the Alban moun 
 tains, the moonlight catching the white walls of two twin
 
 90 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 villages which crowned the heights ; and before them rose 
 the more desolate Sabines, standing fold upon fold against 
 the sky. It was for the most part a silent drive. Sybert 
 at first, aware that he was more silent than politeness 
 permitted, made a tew casual attempts at conversation, 
 and then with an apparently easy conscience folded his 
 arms and returned < ? his thoughts. Marcia, too, had her 
 thoughts, and the romance of the flower-scented moonlit 
 night gave them their direction. Had Paul been there to 
 urge his case anew, Italy would have helped in the plead 
 ing. But Paul had made a tiny mistake that day he had 
 taken her at her word and let her go alone and the tiniest 
 of mistakes is often big with consequences. 
 
 Once Sybert shifted his position and his hand accident 
 ally touched Marcia s on the seat between them. Pardon 
 me/ he murmured, and folded his arms again. She looked 
 up at him quickly. The touch had run through her like 
 an electric shock. Who was this man ? she asked herself 
 suddenly. What was he underneath? He seemed to 
 be burning up inside ; and she had always considered him 
 apathetic, indifferent. She looked at him wide-eyed ; 
 she had never seen him like this. He reminded her of a 
 suppressed volcano that would burst out some day with a 
 sudden explosion. She again set herself covertly to study 
 ing his face. His character seemed an anomaly ; it con 
 tradicted itself. Was it good or bad, simple or complex ? 
 Marcia did not have the key. She put together all the 
 things she knew of him, all the things she had heard the 
 result was largely negative ; the different pieces of eviJ 
 cancelled each other. She knew him in society he was 
 several different persons there, but what was he when not 
 in society ? In his off hours ? This afternoon, for exam 
 ple. Why should, he be so at home by the Theatre of Mar- 
 cellus ? It was a long distance from the Embassy. And 
 the man on the front seat, who was he ? She suddenly 
 interrupted the silence with a question. Sybert started at 
 if he had forgotten she were there. 
 
 She repeated it : Is that man on the front seat Tar- 
 quinio Paterno who keeps a little trattoria in Rome ? 
 
 Yes, he returned, bringing a somewhat surprised gaze 
 to rest upon her. How do you come to know his name ? * 
 
 Oh, I just guessed. I know Domwiico Paterno. th
 
 THE WHEA*T PRINCESS ff 
 
 Castel Vivalanti baker, and he told me about his son, Tar- 
 quinio. It s not such a very common name ; so when 
 you said this man was going to the village, and when I 
 heard you call him Tarquinio, I thought why were yo 
 surprised ? she broke oS. Is there anything more to 
 know about him ? 
 
 You seem to have his family history pretty straight/ 
 Sybert shrugged. 
 
 They lapsed into silence again, and Marcia did not at 
 tempt to break it a second time. 
 
 When they came to the turning where the steep road to 
 Castel Vivalanti branches off from the highway, the driver 
 halted to let Tarquinio get out. But Marcia remonstrated, 
 that the bundle was too heavy for him to carry up the hill, 
 and she told the man to drive on up to the gates of the town. 
 
 They Jogged on up the winding ascent between orchards 
 of olive and almond trees fringed with the airy leafage of 
 spring. Above them the clustering houses of the village 
 clung to the hilltop, tier above tier, the jagged sky-line of 
 roofs and towers cut out clearly against the light. 
 
 Marcia had never visited Castel Vivalanti except in the 
 unequivocal glare of day, which shows the dilapidated 
 little town in all its dilapidation. But the moonlight 
 changes all. The grey stone walls stretched above them 
 now like some grim fortress city of the middle ages. And 
 the old round tower, with its ruined drawbridge, looked 
 as if it had seen dark deeds and kept the secret. It was 
 Just such a stronghold as the Cenci was murdered in. 
 
 They came to a stand before the tali arch of the Porta 
 della Luna. While Tarquinio was climbing down and 
 hoisting the bundle to his shoulder, Marcia s attention 
 was momentarily attracted to a group of boys quarrelling 
 over a game of morro in the gateway. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of Tarquinio s expressions of 
 thanks to the signorina for helping a poor man on his 
 Journey, a frightened shrietfrasg out in a child s high voice, 
 followed by a succession of long-drawn screams. The 
 morro-players stopped their game and looked at each othci 
 with startled eyes ; and then, after a moment of hesitation, 
 went on with the play. At the first cry Sybert had leaped 
 from the carriage, and seizing one of the boys by the 
 der, he demanded the cause.
 
 93 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 The boy wriggled himself free with a gesture of uncon 
 eern. 
 
 Gervasio Delano s mother is beating him. He always 
 taakes a great fuss because he is afraid. 
 
 What is it ? Marcia cried as she sprang from the car 
 riage and ran up to Sybert. 
 
 Some child s mother is beating him. 
 
 The two, without waiting for any further explanations, 
 turned in under the gate and hurried along the narrow 
 way to the left, in the direction of the sounds. People 
 had gathered in little groups in the doorways, and were 
 shaking their heads and talking excitedly. One woman, as 
 she caught sight of Marcia and Sybert, called out reassur 
 ingly that Teresa wasn t hurting the boy ; he always cried 
 harder than he was struck. 
 
 By the time they had reached the low doorway whence 
 the sounds issued, the screams had died down to hysterical 
 sobs. They plunged into the room which opened from 
 the street, and then paused. It was so dark that for a 
 moment they could not see anything. The only light 
 came from a flickering oil-lamp burning before an image 
 ef the Madonna. But as their eyes became accustomed 
 to the darkness they made out a stoutly built peasant 
 woman standing at one end of the room and grasping in her 
 hand an ox-goad such as the herdsmen on the Campagna 
 use. For a moment they thought she was the only person 
 there, until a low sob proclaimed the presence of a child 
 who was crouching in the farthest corner. 
 
 What do you want ? the woman asked, scowling 
 angrily at the intruders. 
 
 Have you been striking the child with that goad ? * 
 Sybert demanded. 
 
 I strike the child with what I please, the woman re 
 torted. He is a lazy good-for-nothing and he stole the 
 soup. 
 
 Marcia drew the little fellow from the corner where he 
 was sobbing steadily with long catches in his breath. His 
 tears had gained such a momentum that he could not stop, 
 fcut he clung to her convulsively, realizing that a deliverer 
 of some sort was at hand. She lurried him to the light and 
 revealed a great red welt across his che^k where one of the 
 had chanced to fall.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 93 
 
 * It s outrageous i The woman ought to be arrested I * 
 said Marcia, angrily. 
 
 Sybert took the lamp from the wall and bent over to look 
 at him. 
 
 " Poor little devil I He looks as if he needed soup, h* 
 muttered. 
 
 The woman broke in shrilly again to say that he was 
 eleven years old and never brought in a single soldo. She 
 slaved night and day to keep him fed, and she had children 
 enough of her own to give to. 
 
 Whose child is he ? Sybert demanded. 
 
 He was my husband s/ the woman returned ; and that 
 husband is dead and I have a new one. The boy is in the 
 way. I ean t be expected to support him forever. It is 
 time he was earning something for himself. 
 
 Marcia sat down on a low stool and drew the boy to her. 
 
 What can we do ? she asked, looking helplessly at 
 Sybert. It won t do to leave him here. She would 
 imply beat him to death as soon as our backs are turned/ 
 
 I m afraid she would/ he acknowledged. Of* course 
 I can threaten her with the police, but I don t believe it 
 will do much good/ He was thinking that she might 
 better adopt the boy than the dog, but he did not care to 
 put his thoughts into words. 
 
 I know ! she exclaimed as if in answer to his unspoken 
 suggestion ; /I ll take him home for an errand-boy. H 
 will be very useful about the place. Tell the woman, 
 please, that I m going to keep him, and make her under 
 stand that sh has nothing to do with him any more/ 
 
 Would Mrs. Copley like to have him at the villa ? * 
 Sybert inquired doubtfully. It s hardly fair 
 
 * Oh, yes. She won t mind if I insist and I shall in 
 sist. Tell the woman, please/ 
 
 Sybert told the woman rather curtly that she need not 
 be at the expense of feeding the boy any longer, the sig 
 norina would take him home to run errands. 
 
 The woman quickly changed her manner at this, and 
 refused to part with him. Since she had cared for him 
 whea he was little, it was time for him to repay the debt 
 BOW that she was growing old. 
 
 Sybert succinctly explained that she had forfeited all 
 right to the child, and that if she made any trouble he
 
 94 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 would tell the police, who, he added parenthetically, were 
 his dearest friends. Without further parleying, he picked 
 up the boy and they walked out of the house, followed 
 on the woman s part by angry prayers that apoplexies * 
 might fall upon them and their descendants. 
 
 Curious groups of people had gathered outside the 
 house, and they separated silently to let them pass. At the 
 gateway the morro-players stopped their game to crowd 
 around the carriage with shrill inquiries as to what was 
 going to be done with Gervasio. The driver leaned from 
 his seat and stared in stupid bewilderment at this rapid 
 change of fares. But he whipped up his horse and started 
 with dispatch, apparently moved by the belief that if he 
 gave them time enough they would invite all Castel Viva- 
 lanti to drive. 
 
 As they rattled down the hill Sybert broke out into an 
 amused laugh. I fear your aunt won t thank as, Miss 
 Marcia, for turning Villa Vivalanti into a foundling-asylum/ 
 
 She won t care when we tell her about it, said Mar- 
 da, comfortably. She glanced down at the thin little face 
 resting on Sybert a shoulder. Poor little fellow I He 
 looks hungrier than Marceilus. The woman said he was 
 eleven, and he s scarcely bigger than Gerald/ 
 
 Sybert closed his fingers around Gervasio s tiny brown 
 wrist. He s pretty thin/ he remarked ; but that can 
 soon be remedied. These peasant children are hardy little 
 things when they have half a chance/ He looked down 
 at the boy, who was watching their faces with wide-open, 
 excited eyes, half frightened at the strange language. 
 You mustn t be afraid, Gervasio/ he reassured him in 
 Italian. The signorina is taking you home with her to 
 Villa Vivalanti, where you won t be whipped any more 
 and will have all you want to eat. You mnst be a good 
 boy and do everything she tells you. 
 
 Gervasio s eyes opened still wider. * Will the signorina 
 give me chocolate ? he asked. 
 
 He s one of the children I gave chocolate to, and he 
 remembers it ! Marcia said delightedly. I thought his 
 face was familiar. Yes, Gervasio/ she added in her very 
 careful Italian. I will give you chocolate if you always 
 do what you are told, but not every day, because chocolate 
 ! not good for little boys. You must eat bread and meat
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 95 
 
 and soup, and grow big and strong like like Signor Siberti 
 here/ 
 
 Sybert laughed and Marcia joined him. 
 
 I begin to appreciate Aunt Katherine s anxiety for 
 Gerald do you suppose there is any danger of malaria at 
 Villa Vivalanti ? 
 
 For the rest of the drive they chatted quite gaily over 
 the adventure. Sybert for the time dismissed whatever 
 he had on his mind ; and as for Marcia St. Paul s cloisters 
 were behind in Rome. As they turned into the avenue 
 the lights of the villa gleamed brightly through the trees. 
 
 " See, Gervasio/ said Sybert. That is where you are 
 going to live/ 
 
 Gervasio nodded, too awed to speak. Presently he 
 whispered, Shall I see the little principino ? * 
 
 The little principino ? what does he mean ? Mareia 
 asked. 
 
 * The little principino with yellow hair/ Gervasio repeated. 
 
 Gerald ! Sybert laughed. The principino is good 
 for a free-born American. Ah and here is the old prince/ 
 he added, as the carriage wheels grated on the gravel before 
 the loggia and Copley stepped out from the hall to see who 
 had come. 
 
 Hello I is that you, Sybert ? * he called out in surprise. 
 And, Marcia 1 1 thought you had decided to stay in town 
 what in the deuce have you brought with you ? 
 
 A boy and a dog, O Prince/ said Sybert, as he set 
 Gervasio on bis feet. Miss Marcia must plead guilty 
 to the dog, but I will take half the blame for the boy," 
 
 Gervasio and Marcellus were conveyed into the hall, 
 and it would be difficult to say which was the more fright 
 ened of the two. Marcellus slunk under a chair and 
 whined at the lights, and Gervasio looked after him as if 
 he were tempted to follow. Mrs. Copley, attracted by the 
 disturbance, appeared from the salon, and a medley of 
 questions and explanations ensued. Gervasio, meanwhile, 
 sat up very straight and very scared, clutching the arms of 
 the big carved chair in which Sybert had placed him. 
 
 We thought he might be useful to run errands/ Sybert 
 uggested as they finished the account of the boy s mal 
 treatment. 
 
 Poor child 1 said Mrs. Copley. We can find some-
 
 9 6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 thing for him to do. He is small, but he looks intelligent, 
 I have always intended to have a little page or he might 
 even do as a tiger for Gerald s pony-cart. 
 
 No, Aunt Katherine/ expostulated Marcia. I shan t 
 have him dressed in livery. I don t think it s right to turn 
 him into a servant before he s old enough to choose. 
 
 The position of a trained servant is a much higher 
 one than he would ever fill if left to himself. H* is only a 
 peasant child, my dear. 
 
 1 He is a psychological problem, she declared. I am 
 going to prove that environment is everything and here 
 dity s nothing, and I shan t have him dressed in livery. I 
 found him, and he s mine at least half mine. 
 
 She glanced across at Sybert and he nodded approval. 
 
 I will turn my share of the authority over to you, 
 Miss Marcia, since it appears to be in such good hands/ 
 
 Marcia shall have her way/ said Mr. Copley. We ll 
 let Gervasio be an unofficial page and postpone the question 
 of livery for the present. 
 
 He can play with Gerald/ she suggested. We were 
 wishing the other night that he had some one to play with, 
 and Gervasio will be just the person ; it will be good for 
 his Italian. 
 
 I suspect that Gervasio s Italian may not be useful for 
 drawing-room purposes/ her uncle laughed. 
 
 I shall send him to college/ she added, her mind running 
 ahead of present difficulties, and prove that peasants are 
 really as bright as princes, if they have the same chance. 
 He ll turn out a genius like like Crispi. 
 
 Heaven forbid 1 exclaimed Sybert, but he examined 
 Marcia with a new interest in his eyes. 
 
 We can decide on the young man s career later/ 
 Copley suggested. He seems to be embarrassed by these 
 personalities/ 
 
 Gervasio, with all these august eyes upon him, was on 
 the point of breaking out into one of his old-time wails when 
 Mrs. Copley fortunately diverted the attention by inquiring 
 il they had dined. 
 
 Neither Mr. Sybert nor I have had any dinner/ Marcia 
 returned, and I shouldn t be surprised if Gervasio has 
 missed several. But Marcellus, under the chair there, 
 has had his/ she added.
 
 THE WHEAT f PRINCESS 97 
 
 Mrs. Copley recalling her dffties as hostess, a jangling 
 el bells ensued. Pietro appeared, and stared at Gervasio 
 with as much astonishment as is compatible with the office 
 of butler. Mrs. Copley ordered dinner for two in the din 
 ing-room and for one in the kitchen, and turned the boy 
 over to Pietro s care. 
 
 Oh, let s have him eat with us, Just for to-night. 
 Marcia pleaded. You don t mind, do you, Mr. Sybert ? 
 He s so hungry ; I love to watch hungry little boys eat. 
 
 Marcia I expostulated her aunt in disgust. How 
 can you say such things ? The child is barefooted. 
 
 Since my own son and heir is banished from the dinner- 
 table, I object to an unwashed alien s taking his place, 
 Copley put in. Gervasio will dine with the cook. 
 
 To Gervasio s infinite relief, he was led off to the kitchen 
 and consigned to the care of Frangois, who later in the 
 evening confided to Pietro that he didn t believe the boy 
 had ever eaten before. Marcia a and Sybert s dinner that 
 night was an erratic affair and quite upset the traditions 
 of the Copley menage. To Pietro s scandalization, the 
 two followed him into the kitchen between every course to 
 see how their protege" was progressing. 
 
 Gervasio sat perched on a three-legged stool before the 
 long kitchen table, his little bare feet dangling in space, 
 an ample towel about his neck, while an interested scullery- 
 maid plied him with viands. He would have none of the 
 strange dishes that were set before him, but with an ex 
 pression of settled purpose on his face was steadily eating 
 his way through a bowl of macaroni. It was with a sigh 
 that he had finally to acknowledge himself beaten by the 
 Copley larder. Marcia called Bianca (Marietta s successor) 
 and bade her give Gervasio a bath and a bed. Bianca had 
 known the boy in his pre- villa days, and, if anything, 
 vas more wide-eyed than Pietro on his sudden promotion. 
 
 As Marcia was starting upstairs that night, Sybert 
 strolled across the hall toward her and held out his hand. 
 
 How would it be if we declared an amnesty/ he in 
 quired at least until Gervasio is fairly started in his 
 career ? 
 
 She glanced up in his face a second, surprised, and then 
 shook her head with an air of scepticism. 
 
 4
 
 98 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 We can try, she smiled, but I am afraid we were 
 meant to be enemies. 
 
 Her room was flooded with moonlight ; she undressed 
 without lighting her candle, and slipping on a light woollen 
 kimono, sat down on a cushion beside the open window. 
 She was too excited and restless to sleep. She leaned hei 
 chin on her hand, with her elbow resting on t he low window- 
 sill, and let the cool breeze fan her face. 
 
 After a time she heard some one strike * match on the 
 loggia, and her uncle and Sybert came out to the terrace 
 and paced back and forth, talking in low tones. She 
 could hear the rise and fall of their voices, and every now 
 and then the breeze wafted in the smell of their cigars. 
 She grew wider and wider awake, and followed them with 
 her eyes as they passed and repassed in their tireless tramp. 
 At the end of the terrace their voices sank to a low murmur, 
 and then by the loggia they rose again until she could hear 
 broken sentences. Sybert s voice sounded angry, excited, 
 almost fierce, she thought ; her uncle s, low, decisive, half 
 contemptuous. 
 
 Once, as they passed under the window, she heard her 
 uncle say sharply : Don t be a fool, Sybert. It will 
 make a nasty story if it gets out and nothing s gained. 
 
 She did not hear Sybert s reply, but she saw his angry 
 gesture as he flung away the end of his cigar. The men 
 paused by the farther end of the terrace and stood for 
 several minutes arguing in lowered tones. Then, to Mar- 
 cia s amazement, Sybert leaped the low parapet by the ilex 
 grove and struck out across the fields, while her uncle came 
 back across the terrace alone, entered the house, and closed 
 the door. She sat up straight with a quickly beating heart. 
 What was the matter ? Could they have quarrelled ? 
 Was Sybert going to the station ? Surely he would not 
 walk. She leaned out of the window and looked after 
 him, a black speck in the moonlit wheat-field. No, he was 
 going toward Castel Vivalanti. Why Castel Vivalanti 
 at this time of the night ? Had it anything to do with 
 Gervasio ? or perhaps Tarquinio, the baker s son ? She 
 recalled her uncle s words : Don t be a fool. It will make 
 a nasty story if it gets out. Perhaps people s suspicions 
 against him were true, after all. She thought of his look 
 that night in the train. What was behind it ? And then
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS ft 
 
 he thought of the picture of him in the carriage with the 
 little boy in his arms. A man who was so kind to children 
 eould not be bad at heart. And yet, if he were all that hw 
 ancle had thought him, why did he have so many enemies 
 and so many doubtful friends ? 
 
 The breeze had grown cold, and she rose with a quick 
 shiver and went to bed. She lay a long time with wide- 
 open eyes watching the muslin curtains sway in the wind. 
 She thought again of Paul Dessart s words in the warm, 
 sleepy, sunlit cloister ; of the little crowd of ragamumni 
 chasing the dog ; of her long, silent ride with Sybert ; of 
 the moonlit gateway of Castel Vivalanti, with the dark, 
 high walls towering above. Her thoughts were growing 
 hazy and she was almost asleep when, mingled with a half 
 waking dream, she heard footsteps cross the terraet and 
 the hall dooff open softly. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MOCIA was awakened the next morning by Bianc* 
 knocking at the door, with the information that Gervasi 
 wished to get up, and that, as his clothes were very ragged, 
 she had taken the liberty the night before of throwing thena 
 away. 
 
 For an instant Marcia bunked uneompt ehendingly ; 
 then, as the events of the evening flashed through her 
 mind, she sat p in bed, and solicitously clasping hef 
 knees in her hands, considered the problem, .She felt, 
 and not without reason, that Gervasio s future success at 
 the villa depended largely on the impression he made at 
 this, his first formal appearance. She finally dispatched 
 Bianca to try him with one of Gerald s suits, and to be very 
 sure that his face was dean. Meanwhile she hurried 
 through with her own dressing in order to b the first t 
 inspect his rehabilitation. 
 
 As she was putting the last touches to her hair she heart! 
 a murmur of voices on the terrace, and peering out cao- 
 tiously, beheld her uncle and Sybert lounging on the parapet 
 engaged with cigarettes. She had not been dreaming, 
 then ; those were Sybert s steps she had heard the night 
 before. She puckered her brow over the puzzle and peered 
 out again. Whatever had happened last night, there was 
 nothing electrical in the air this morning. The two
 
 loo THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 apparent!} shoved all inflammable subjects behind them 
 and were merely waiting idly until coffee should be served. 
 
 It was a beautifully peaceful spring morning that she 
 looked out upon. The two men on the terrace appeared 
 to be in mood with the day careless, indifferent loungers, 
 nothing more And last night ? She recalled their low, 
 fierce, angry tones ; and the lines in her forehead deepened. 
 This was a chameleon world, sh thought. As she stood 
 watching them, Gervasio for the moment forgotten, Gerald 
 ran up to the two with some childish prattle which called 
 forth a quick, amused laugh. Sybert stretched out a lazy 
 hand and drew the boy toward him. Carefully balancing 
 his cigarette on the edge of one of the terra-cotta vases, 
 he rose to his feet and tossed the .little fellow in the air 
 four or five times. Gerald screamed with delight and 
 sailed for more. Sybert laughingly declined, as he resumed 
 his cigarette and his seat on the balustrade. 
 
 The little play recalled Marcia to her duty. With ft 
 lhake of hex head at matters in general, she gave them 
 op, and turned her face toward Gervasio s quarters. Bi- 
 anca was on her knees before the boy, giving the last 
 touches to his sailor tie, and she turned him slowly around 
 for inspection. His appearance was even more promising 
 than Marcia had hoped for. With his dark curls still 
 damp from their unwonted ablutions, clad in one of Ger 
 ald s baggiest sailor-suits of red linen with a rampant 
 white collar and tie, except for bis bare feet (which would 
 not be forced into Gerald s shoes) he might have been a 
 little princeling himself, backed by a hundred noble ances 
 tors. 
 
 Marcia sank down on her knees beside him, YOB 
 tittle dear t sh exclaimed as she kissed him. 
 
 Gervasio was not used to caresses, and for a moment he 
 drew back, his brown eyes growing wide with wonder. 
 Then a smile broke over his face, and he reached out a 
 timid hand and patted her confidingly on the cheek. She 
 kissed him again in pure delight, and taking him by the 
 hand, set out forthwith for the loggia. 
 
 Eccc f my friends. Isn t h beautiful ? * she de 
 manded. 
 
 Mr. Copley and Sybert sprang to thek feet and 
 forward interestedly.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS zox 
 
 " Who denies now that it s clothes that make the man P 
 
 " I can t say but that he was as picturesque last night/ 
 her uncle returned ; but he s undoubtedly cleaner thii 
 morning. 
 
 1 Where s Gerald ? asked Sybert. Let s see what h 
 hae to say of the new arrival/ 
 
 Gerald, who had but just discovered Marcellus, wa 
 delightedly romping in the garden with him, and wa* 
 dragged away under protest and confronted with the 
 stranger. He examined him in silence a moment and 
 then remarked, He s got my cloves on. And suddenly, 
 as a terrible idea dawned upon him, he burst out : Is he 
 a aew bruvver ? Cause if he is you can take him away. 
 Oh, my dear ! his mother remonstrated in horror . 
 He s a little Italian boy. 
 
 Gerald was visibly relieved. He examined Gervasio 
 again from this new point of view. 
 
 I want to go wifout my shoes and socks, he declared. 
 
 Oh, but he s going to wear shoes and socks, too, as soon 
 AS we can get some to fit him, said Marcia. 
 
 Do you want to see my lizhyards ? Gerald asked 
 Insinuatingly, suddenly making up his mind and pulling 
 Geivasio by the sleeve, 
 
 Gervasio backed away. 
 
 You must talk to him in Italian, Gerald, Sybert sur 
 gested. .He s like Marietta : he doesn t understand any 
 thing else. I should like to have another look at the** 
 lizards myself, he added. Come on, Gervasio/ and 
 taking a boy by each hand, he strode off toward th 
 fountain. 
 
 Mrs. Copley looked after them dubiously, but Marcift 
 interposed, He s a dear little fellow, Aunt Katherina, 
 and it wili be good fox Gerald to have some one to play 
 with/ 
 
 1 Marcia s right, Katherine ; it won t hurt him any, 
 and I doubt if the boy s Italian is much worse than Biancn s/ 
 
 Thus Gervasio i formal installation at the villa. Fot 
 the first week or so his principal activity was eating, until 
 he was in the way of becoming as rosy- cheeked as Gerald 
 himself. During the early stages of his career he waj 
 to tht kitchen, where Francois served him
 
 xoa THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 with soup and macaroni to the point of bursting. Latw, 
 having learned to wield a knife and fork without disaster, 
 ht was advanced to the nursery, where he supped with 
 Gerald under the watchful eyt of Granton. 
 
 Taken all in all, Gervasio proved a valuable addition 
 to the household. He was sweet-tempered, eager to 
 please, and pitifully grateful for the slightest kindness. 
 He became Gerald s faithful henchman and implicitly 
 obeyed his commands, with only an occasional rebellion 
 when they were over-oppressive. He was quick to learn, 
 and it was not long before he was jabbering in a mixture of 
 Italian and English with a vocabulary nearly as varied as 
 Gerald s own. 
 
 The first week following Gervasio s advent was a period 
 of comparative quiet at the villa, but one fairly disturbing 
 little contretemps occurred to break the monotony. 
 
 The boy had been promised a reward of sweet choco 
 late as soon as he should learn to wear shoes and stockings 
 with a smiling face shoes and stockings being, in his 
 eyes, an objectionable feature of civilization. When it 
 came time for payment, however, Marcia discovered that 
 there was no sweet chocolate in the house, and, not to 
 disappoint him, she ordered Gerald s pony-carriage, and 
 taking with her the two boys and a groom, set out for 
 Castel Vivalanti and the baker s. Had she stopped to 
 think, she would have known that to take Gervasio to 
 Castel Vivalanti in broad daylight was not a wise proceed 
 ing. But it was a frequent characteristic of the Copleys 
 that they did their thinking afterward. The spectacle 
 of Gervasio Delano in a carriage with the principino, and 
 in new clothes, with his face washed/very nearly occasioned 
 a mob among his former playmates. The carriage was 
 besieged, and Marcia found it necessary to distribute a 
 onsiderable largest of copper before she could rid herself 
 of her following. 
 
 As she laughingly escaped from the crowd and drove 
 out through the gateway a man stepped forward from 
 the corner of the wall and motioned her to stop. For a 
 moment a remembrance of her aunt s rencontr* with the 
 Camornst flashed through her mind, and then she smiled 
 as she reflected that it was broad daylight and in full sight 
 f the town. She pulled the pony to a standstill and
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 103 
 
 asked him what he wanted. He was Gervasio s stepfather, 
 he said. They were poor, hard-working people and did 
 not have enough to eat, but they were very lonely without 
 the boy and wished to have him back. Even American 
 princes, he added, couldn t take poor people s children away 
 without their permission. And he finished by insinuating 
 that if he were paid enough he might reconsider the matter. 
 
 Marcia did not understand all that he said, but as Ger- 
 vasio began to cry, and at the same time clasped both 
 hands firmly about the seat in an evident determination 
 to resist all efforts to dislodge him, she saw what he meant, 
 and replied that she would tell the police. But the man 
 evidently thought that he had the upper hand of the 
 situation, and that she would rather buy him off than let 
 the boy go. With a threatening air, he reached out and 
 grasped Gervasio roughly by the arm. Gervasio screamed, 
 and Marcia, before she thought of possible consequences, 
 struck the man a sharp blow with the whip and at the same 
 time lashed the pony into a gallop. They dashed down 
 the stony road and around the corners at a perilous rate, 
 while the man shouted curses from the top of the hill. 
 
 They reached the villa still bubbling with excitement 
 over the adventure, and caused Mrs. Copley no little 
 alarm. But whin Marcia greeted her uncle s arrival thai 
 night with tht story, he declared that she had done just 
 right ; and without waiting for dinner, he remounted 
 his horse, and galloping back to Castel Vivalanti, rode 
 straight up to the door of the little trattoria, where the 
 fellow was engaged in drinking wine and cursing Americans. 
 There he told him, before an interested group of witnesses, 
 that Gervasio was not his child ; that since he could not 
 treat him decently he had forfeited all claim to him ; 
 and that if he tried to levy any further blackmail he would 
 find himself in prison. Wherewith he wheeled his horse s 
 head about and made a spectacular exit from the town. 
 If anything were needed to strengthen Gervasio s position 
 with Mr. Copley, this incident answered the purpose. 
 
 As a result of the adventure, Marcia, for the time, 
 dropped Castel Vivalanti from her calling-list and ex 
 tended her acquaintance in the other direction. She came 
 to be well known as she galloped about the country-side 
 on a satin-coated little sorrel (born and bred in Kentucky),
 
 104 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 followed by a groom on a thumping cob, who always 
 respectfully drew up behind her when she stopped. As 
 often as she could think of any excuse, she visited the 
 peasants in their houses, laughing gaily with them over her 
 own queer grammar. It was an amused curiosity which 
 at first actuated her friendliness. Their ingenious com 
 ments and naive questions in regard to America proved an 
 ever-diverting source of interest ; but after a little, as sha 
 understood them better, she grew to like them for their 
 own stanch virtues. When she looked about their gloomy 
 little rooms, with almost no furnishing except a few copper 
 pots and kettles and a tawdry picture of the Madonna, 
 and saw what meagre, straitened lives they led, and yet 
 how bravely they bore them, her amusement changed to 
 respect. Their quick sympathy and warm friendliness 
 awakened an answering spark, and it was not long before 
 she had discovered for herself the lovable charm of the 
 Italian peasant. 
 
 She explored, in the course of her rides, many a forgotten 
 little mountain village topping a barren crag of the Sabines, 
 and held by some Roman prince in almost the same feudaJ 
 tenure as a thousand years ago. They were picturesque 
 enough from below, these huddling grey-stone hamlets 
 shooting up from the solid rock ; but when she had climbed 
 the steeply winding path and had looked within, she found 
 them miserable and desolate beyond belief. She was 
 coming to see the under side of a great deal of picturesqus- 
 ness. 
 
 Meanwhile, though life was moving in an even groove 
 at Villa Vivalanti, the same could not be said of the rest 
 of Italy. Each day brought fresh reports of rioting 
 throughout the southern provinces, and travellers hurrying 
 north reported that every town of any size was under 
 martial law. In spite of reassuring newspaper articles, 
 written under the eye of the police, it was evident that 
 affairs were fast approaching a crisis. There was not much 
 anxiety felt in the immediate neighbourhood of Rome, 
 for the capital was too great a stronghold of the army 
 to be in actual danger from mobs. The affair, if anything, 
 was regarded as a welcome diversion from the tediousness 
 of Lent, and the embassies and large hotels where the
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 103 
 
 foreigners congregated were animated by a not unpleasur- 
 able air of excitement. 
 
 Conflicting opinions of every sort were current. Some 
 shook their heads wisely, and said that in their opinion 
 the matter was much more serious than appeared on the 
 surface. They should not be surprised to see the scenes 
 of the French Commune enacted over again ; and they 
 intimated further, that since it had to happen, they were 
 very willing to be on hand in time to see the fun. 
 
 Many expressed the belief that the trouble had nothing 
 to do with the price of bread ; the wheat famine was 
 merely a pretext foi stirring up the peeple. It was well 
 known that the universities, the younger generation of 
 writers and newspaper men, even the ranks of the army, 
 were riddled with socialism. What more likely than that 
 the socialists and the church adherents had united to 
 overthrow th government, intending as soon as their 
 end was accomplished to turn upon each other and fight 
 it out for supremacy ? It was the opinion of these that 
 the government should have adopted the most drastic 
 measures possible, and was doing very foolishly in catering 
 to the populace by putting down the dazio. Still others 
 held that the government should have abolished the dazte 
 long be/ore, and that the people in the south did very well 
 to rise and demand their rights. And so the affairs of th 
 unfortunate Neapolitans were the subject of conversation 
 at every table d hdtt in Rome ; and the forestieri sojourning 
 within the walls derived a large amount of entertainment 
 from th matter. 
 
 Marcia Copley, however, had heard little of the gathering 
 trouble. She did not read the papers, and her uncle 
 did not mention the matter at home. He was too sick at 
 heart to dwell on it uselessly, and it was not a subject he 
 cared to discuss with his niece. His family, indeed, g&w 
 very little of him, for he had thrown himself into the work 
 of th Foreign Relief Committee with characteristic energy, 
 and he spent the most of his time in Rome. Marcia * 
 interest in sight-seeing had come to a audden halt since 
 the afternoon of Tre Fontane. She had ventured into 
 the city only once, and then merely to attend to the pur 
 chase of clothes for Gervasio. The Roystons, on that occa 
 sion, had been out when she called at their hotel, and he*
 
 xo6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 feeling of regret was mingled largely with relief as she left 
 her card and retired in safety to Villa Vivalanti. 
 
 She had not analysed her emotions very thoroughly, but 
 he felt a decided trepidation at the thought of seeing 
 Paul. The trepidation, however, was not altogether an 
 unpleasant sensation. The scene in the cloisters had 
 returned to her mind many times, and she had taken several 
 brief excursions into the future. What would he say 
 the next time they met ? Would he renew the same 
 subject, or would he tacitly overlook that afternoon, and 
 for the time let everything be as it had been before ? She 
 hoped that the latter would be the case. It would give a 
 certain piquancy to their relations, and she was not ready 
 just at present to make up her mind. 
 
 Paul, on his side, had also pondered the question some 
 what. Events were not moving with the rapidity he 
 wished. Marcia, evidently, would not come into Rome, 
 :md he could think of no valid excuse for going out to 
 the villa. His pessimistic forecast of events had proved 
 true. Holy Week found the Roystons stiil in the city, 
 treating themselves to orgies of church-going. As he 
 followed his aunt from church to church (there are in the 
 neighbourhood of three hundred and seventy-five in Rome, 
 and he says they visited them all that week) he indulged 
 in many speculations as to the state of Marcia ! mind ta 
 regard to himself. At times he feared he had been over- 
 precipitate ; at others, that he had not been precipitate 
 enough. 
 
 His aunt and cousins returned from a flying visit to 
 the villa, with the report that Marcia had adopted a boy 
 and a dog and was solicitously engaged with their educa 
 tion. What did she say about me, Madge ? Paul boldly 
 inquired. 
 
 She said you were a very impudent fellow/ Margaret 
 retorted ; and in response to his somewhat startled ex 
 pression she added more magnanimously : You needn t 
 be so vain as to think she said anything about ycm,, She 
 never even mentioned your name. 
 
 Paul breathed a meditative Ah I Marcia had not 
 mentioned his name. It was not such a bad sign, that : 
 he was thinking about him, then. If there were no other 
 man and he was vain enough to take her at her word
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS *y 
 
 nothing could be better for his cause than a solitary week 
 in the Sabine bills. He knew from present and past 
 experience that an Italian spring is a powerful stimulant 
 lor the heart. 
 
 On Tuesday of Holy Week Mrs. Royston wakened 
 lightly from her spiritual trance to observe that she had 
 scarcely seen Marcia for as much as a week, and that u 
 soon as Lent was over they must have the Copleys in to 
 luncheon at the hotel. 
 
 Where s the use of waiting till Lent s over ? Paul 
 had inquired. You needn t make it a function. Just a 
 sort of family affair. If you invite them for Thursday, 
 we can all go together to the tenebrae service at St. Peter s. 
 As this is Miss Copley s first Easter in Rome, she might ba 
 interested. 
 
 Accordingly a note arrived at the villa on Wednesday 
 morning inviting the family Gerald included to break 
 fast th next day with the Roystons in Rome. On Thurs 
 day morning an acceptance Gerald excluded arrived 
 at the Kdtel dt Lo*rdres ft Paris, and was followed an houi 
 later by the Copleys themselves. 
 
 The breakfast went of! gaily. Paul was bis most ex 
 pansive self, and the whole table responded to bis mood 
 It was with a sense of gratification that Marcia saw hef 
 uncle, who had lately been so grave, laughingly exchanging 
 nonsense with the young man. She felt, though she would 
 scarcely have acknowledged it to herself, a certain pro 
 perty right in Paul, and it pleased her subtly when he 
 pleased other people. She sat next to him at the table, 
 and occasionally, beneath his laughter and persiflage, sh 
 caught an undertone of meaning. So long as they wero 
 not alone and he could not go beyond a certain point. 
 she found their relations on a distinctly satisfying basis. 
 
 In spite of Paul s manoeuvres, he did not find himself 
 atone with Marcia that afternoon. There was always ft 
 cousin in attendance. Mr. and Mrs. Copley, declining the 
 spectacle of the tenebrae in St. Peter s they had seen it 
 before left shortly after luncheon. As they were leaving, 
 Mr. Copley remarked to Mrs. Royston 
 
 I will entrust my niece to your care, and please do 
 not lose sight of her until yon put her in my hands for 
 the evening train. I wish no more such escapades as wt
 
 08 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 bad the other day. And, to Marcia s discomfort, th 
 adventures involving the rescue of Marcellus and Gervasio 
 were recounted in detail. For an unexplained reason, 
 the would have preferred the story of their origin to 
 remain in darkness. 
 
 Paul s face clouded slightly. My objections to Syberl 
 grow rapidly, he remarked in an undertone. 
 
 Marcia laughed. If you could have seen him I H 
 never spokn a word to me all the way out in the train. 
 He sat with his arms folded and a frown on his brow, lika 
 Napoleon at Moscow. 
 
 Paul s face brightened again. Oh, I begin to like him, 
 after all, he declared. 
 
 Toward five o clock that evening every carriage in the 
 city seemed to be bent for the Ponte Sant Angelo. A 
 casual spectator would never have chosen a religious 
 function as the end of all this confusion. In the tangla 
 of narrow streets beyond the bridge the way was alrnos* 
 blocked, and such progress as was possible was made at 
 a snail s pace. The Royston party, in two carriages, not 
 unnaturally lost each other. The carriage containing 
 Marcia, Margaret, and Paul, getting into the jam in the 
 narrow Borgo Nuovo, arrived in the piazza of St. Peter i 
 with wheels locked with a cardinal s coach. The car 
 dinal s coachman and theirs exchanged an unclerica) 
 opinion of each other s ability as drivers. The cardinal 
 advanced his head from the window with a mildly startled 
 air of reproof, and the Americans laughed gaily at the 
 situation. After a moment of scrutiny the cardinal 
 smiled back, and the four disembarked and set out on foot 
 across the piazza, leaving the men to sever the difficulty 
 at their leisure. He proved an unexpectedly cordial 
 person, and when they parted on the broad steps he held 
 out of his hand with a friendly smile arid after a moment 
 of perplexed hesitation the three gravely shook it in turn. 
 
 Do you think we ought to have kissed it ? Marcia in 
 quired. I would have done it, only I didn t know how. 
 
 Paul laughed. He knew we weren t of the true faith. 
 No right-minded Catholic would laugh at nearly spilling 
 cardinal in the street/ 
 
 They stood aside by the central door looking for Mrs.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 109 
 
 Royston and Eleanor and watching the crowd surge past. 
 Paul was quite insistent that they should go in without 
 the others, but Marcia was equally insistent that they 
 wait. She had an intuitive feeling that there was safety 
 In numbers. 
 
 For a wonder they presently espied Mrs. Royston bear- 
 Ing down upon them, a small camp-stool clutched to her 
 portly bosom, and Eleanor panting along behind, a camp- 
 stool in either hand. 
 
 Mrs Royston caught sight of them with an expression 
 of relief. 
 
 My dears, I was afraid I had lost you, she gasped. 
 * We remembered, just as we got to the bridge, that we 
 hadn t brought any chairs, and so we went back for them. 
 Paul, you should have thought of them yourself. I 
 suppose we d better hurry in and get a good place. 
 
 Paul patiently possessed himself of the chairs and fol 
 lowed the ladies, with a glance at Marcia which seemed 
 to say, Is there this day living a more exemplary nephew 
 and gentleman than I ? 
 
 The tenebrae service on Holy Thursday is the one time 
 In the year when St. Peter s may be seen at night. The 
 great church looms vaster and emptier and more solemn 
 then than at any ether time. The eye cannot penetrate 
 to th distant dome hidden in shadows. The long nave 
 stretches interminably into space, the chapels deepen and 
 broaden until they are churches themselves. The clustered 
 pillars reach upward till they are lost in the darkness. 
 What the eye cannot grasp the imagination seizes upon, 
 and the vast interior grows and widens until it seems to 
 stretch out arms to inclose all Christendom itself. On this 
 one night it does inclose all Rome nobility and peasants, 
 Italians and foreigners : those who are of the faith, and 
 those who are merely spectators ; those who corne to wor 
 ship ; those who come to be amused St. Peter s receives 
 them all with the same impartiality. 
 
 Standing outside, it had seemed to them that the whole 
 city had flowed through the doors ; but. within, the church 
 was still approximately empty. As they walked down the 
 broad nave in the dimness of twilight, Marcia turned to the 
 young man beside her. 
 At first I didn t think St. Peter s was impressive that
 
 no THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 It, compared to Milan and Cologne and *ome of the other 
 cathedrals but it s like the rest of Rome, it grows and 
 grows until 
 
 It conies to be the whole world/ he supplied. 
 
 By the bronze baldacchino Mrs. Royston spread her 
 camp-stoola and sat down. 
 
 This is the best place we could choose, she said con 
 tentedly as she folded her hands. We shan t be very eai 
 the choir, but we can hear just as well, and we shall have an 
 excellent view of the altar- washing and the sacred relics/ 
 She spoke in the tone of one who is picking out a stall for a 
 theatrical performance. 
 
 From time to time friends of either the Roystons or 
 Ifareia drifted up and, having paused to chat a few minutes, 
 passed on, giving place to others. As one group left them 
 <vith smiles and friendly bows, Marcia turned to Paul, who 
 was standing beside her. 
 
 It s really dreadful/ she said, the way the foreigners 
 take possession of Rome, This might as well be a reception 
 t&t the Embassy, If I were the pope, I would put up a sign 
 en the door of St. Peter s saying, " Noforestlerf admitted." 
 
 Ah, but there are noforestieri in the case of St. Peter s ; 
 it belongs to all nations/ 
 
 Marcia smiled at the young man and turned away ; and 
 as she turned she caught, across an intervening stream of 
 heads, a face, looking in her direction, wearing about the 
 eyes a curiously quizzical expression. It was the face of a 
 middle-aged woman an interesting face not exactly 
 beautiful, but sparkling with intelligence. It seemed very 
 familiar to Marcia, and as her eyes lingered on it a moment 
 the quizzical expression gave place to one of amused 
 friendliness. The woman smiled and bowed and passed on, 
 Marcia, bowed vaguely, and then it flashed through her 
 mind who it was the lady who wrote, the greatest gossip 
 in Rome/ whom she had met at the studio tea so many 
 week* before. She had forgotten all about her unknown 
 friend of that day, and now she turned quickly to Paul to 
 ask her identity. Paul was engaged in answering some 
 question of his aunt s, and before she could gain his atten 
 tion again hush swept over the great interior and every 
 thing else was forgotten in the opening chorus of the 
 Miserert/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS ill 
 
 The twilight had deepened, and the great white dome 
 ahone dimly far above the blackness of the crowd. The 
 Toices of the papal choir swelled louder and louder in the 
 solemn chant, and high and separate and alone rose the 
 clear, flute-like treble of the Pope i Nightingale. And as 
 an undertone, an accompaniment to th music, the shuffl* 
 and murmur of thirty thousand listeners rose and fell like 
 the distant beat of surf. 
 
 The candles on the altar showed dimly above their head*. 
 As the service continued, one by one the lights were extin 
 guished. After half an hour or BO, the waiting and intensity 
 grew wearing. The crowd was pressing closer, and Mar 
 garet Royston craned her neck, vainly trying to discove* 
 how many candles remained. Paul, with ready imagina- 
 tion, was answering bis aunt s questions as to the meaning 
 of the ceremonies. Margaret turned to Marcia. 
 
 * Poke this young priest in front of me/ she whispered, 
 aad ask him in Italian how many candles are left. 
 
 The young priest, overhearing the words, turned around 
 with an amused smile, obligingly stood on his tiptoes to look 
 t,t the altar, and replied in English that there were three. 
 
 Thank you/ said Margaret ; I didn t suppose you could 
 talk English/ 
 
 I was born In Troy, New York/ 
 
 Really ? she laughed, and the two fell to comparing 
 the rival merits of the Hudson and the Tiber. 
 
 He proved most friendly, carefully explaining to tht 
 party the significance of th service and the meaning of the 
 different symbols. Mrs. Royston looked reproachfully at 
 her nephew, w.hos* stories, it transpired, did not accord 
 with fact. 
 
 * You really couldn t expect me to know as much as a , 
 professional, Aunt Eleanor/ he unblushingly expostulated. 
 
 My explanations were more picturesque than his, at any 
 rate ; and if they aren t true, they ought to be/ 
 
 The last candle was finally out, and for a moment the 
 great interior remained in darkness. Then a noise like th 
 distant rattle of thunder symbolized the rending of the veil, 
 and in an instant lights sprang out from every arch and pier 
 and dome. A long procession of cardinals, choristers, and 
 acolytes wound singing to the high altar the Altar of the 
 World/
 
 iw THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Marcia stood by the railing and watched their faces aa 
 they filed past. They were such thoughtful, spiritual, 
 kindly faces that her respect for this great power the 
 greatest power in Christendom increased momentarily. 
 She felt a sort ol shame to be there merely as a spectator. 
 She looked about at the faces of the peasants, and thought 
 what a barren, barren existence would be theirs without this 
 church, which promised the only joy they could ever hop 
 to have. 
 
 When the ceremony of washing the altar with oil and wine 
 was ended, the young priest bade them a friendly good 
 evening. He could not wait lor the holy relics, he *aid ; 
 they had supper at the monastery at seven o clock. He 
 hastily added, however, in response to the smile trembling 
 on Margaret s lips, Not that they are not the true relics and 
 very holy, but I have seen them several times before. 
 
 The relics were exhibited to the multitude from St. 
 Veronica s balcony far above their heads. Paul whispered 
 to Marcia with a little laugh : 
 
 Our friend the cardinal would be B gratified, would he not, 
 to see his heretics bowing before St. Veronica s handker 
 chief ? Look, he added, at that peasant woman in het 
 blue skirt and scarlet kerchief. She has probably walked 
 fifty miles, with her baby strapped to a board. I suppose 
 she thinks the child will have good fortune the rest of his life 
 If he just catches a glimpse of a splinter of the true cross. 
 
 ptfarcia looked at the^woman standing beside her, a pilgrim 
 from the Abruzzi, judging from her dress. She was raising 
 &n illumined face to the little balcony where the priest was 
 holding above their heads the holy relic. In her arms she 
 held a baby whose face she was turning upward also, while 
 she murmured prayers in his ears. Marcia s glance wand 
 ered away over the crowd the poor pilgrim peasants whose 
 upturned faces, worn by work and poverty, were softened 
 for the moment into a holy awe. Then she raised her eyes 
 to the balcony where the priest in his white robes was hold- 
 tag high above his head the shining silver cross in which was 
 incased St. Peter s dearest relic, the tiny splinter of the true 
 cross. The light was centred on the little balcony ; every 
 eye in the great concourse was fixed upon it. The priest 
 was fat, his face was red, his attitude theatrical. The whole 
 spectacle was theatrical. A quick revulsion of feeling
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS n3 
 
 passed over her. A few moments before, as she watched the 
 procession of cardinals, she had been ready to admit the 
 spiritual significance of the scene ; now she saw only its 
 pecticuiar side. It was merely a play, a delusion got up to 
 dazzle the poor peasants. This church was the only thing 
 they had in life, and, after all, what did it do for them ? 
 What could St. Veronica s handkerchief, what could a 
 splinter of the true cross, do to brighten their live* ? It was 
 superstition,, not religion, that was being offered to the 
 peasants of Italy. 
 
 She looked again across the sea of upturned face* and 
 hook her head, Isn t it pitiful ? she asked. 
 
 Isn t It picturesque ? echoed Paul. 
 
 That priest up there knows he s deluding all these people, 
 and he s jott as solemn as if ht believed in the relics himself. 
 The churcl is still so hopelessly mediaeval I 
 
 That s the beauty of the church/ Paul objected. It s 
 till raediaetal, while the rest of the world is so hopelessly 
 ninsteenth-cmtury. I like to see these peasants believing 
 la St. Veronica s handkerchief and th power of the sacred 
 Bambino to cure disease. I think it s a beautiful exhibition 
 of faith In a vorld where faith is out of fashion. I don t 
 blame the priests in the least for keeping it up. It s a pro 
 test against tht age. They re about the only artists left, 
 If I were a priest I d learn prestidigitation, and substantiate 
 the efficacy of the relics with a miracle or so. 
 
 " It s simply fostering superstition. 
 
 Take their superstition away and you deprive them of 
 their most picturesque quality. 
 
 You don t car for anything but what s picturesque i 
 she exclaimed in t tone half scornful 
 
 Paul did not answer. The ceremony was over and the 
 crowd was beginning to pour out. They turned with the 
 stream and wedgec their way toward the right-hand 
 entrance, near whicl their carriages were waiting. Paul 
 manoeuvred very adroitly so that the crowd should separate 
 them from the rest of the party at the door. 
 
 I will tell you what I care for most, he said in her ear as 
 they pushed out into \he portico. I care for you. 
 
 She perceived his drift too late and looked back with an 
 air of dismay. The others were lost in the moving mass o* 
 heads.
 
 fi4 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Paul saw her glance and laughed. You re going to take 
 good care that we shan t be alone together, aren t you ? 
 
 Marcia echoed his laugh. Yes, she acknowledged 
 frankly ; I m trying to. 
 
 It doesn t matter. My time s coming ; you can t putfit 
 off. His hand touched hers hanging at her side tnd he 
 clasped it firmly. Come hem ; we ll get out of this ;rowd, 
 Bnd he pushed on outside and drew back into a corner by 
 on* of the tall columns. The crowd surged past, flowing 
 down the steps like a rivsr widening to the sea. Below 
 them the piazza was black with a tossing, moving mass of 
 carriages and people. The mass of the Vatican at their left 
 loomed a black bulk in the night, its hundreds at windows 
 shining in the reflected lights of the piazza like the eyes of a 
 great octopus. At another time Marcia might bave looked 
 vary curiously toward the palace. She might haTe wondered 
 if in one of those dark windows Leo was not standing brood* 
 ing over the throng of worshippers who had cone that day. 
 How must a pope feel to see thirty thousand people go out 
 from under his roof go out freely to their hones-^while ht 
 alone may not step across the threshold ? At another tim* 
 she would hare paused to play a little with the thought, but 
 now her attention was engaged. Paul still held her hand. 
 
 * He squared himself in front of her, with his back to the 
 rowd. Have you been thinking about wtat I asked you ? 
 
 Had she been thinking ! She had been doing nothing 
 olsa. She looked at him reproachfully. Let s not talk 
 -xbout it. The more I think, the more I don t know. 
 
 That s an unfortunate state to be is. Perhaps I can 
 help you to make up your mind. Are you going to be in 
 love with me some day, Marcia soon ? he persisted. 
 
 I I don t know. 
 
 He leaned toward her, with his face very close to hen. 
 Shi shrank back further into the shadow. There they 
 are 1 she exclaimed, as she caught sight of Eleanor s head 
 above the crowd, and she tried to diaw her hand away. 
 
 Never mind them. They won t be here for three min 
 utes. You ve got time enough to answer me. 
 
 Please, not now Paul, she whispered. 
 
 When ? he Insisted, keeping * firm hold of her hand. 
 
 * The next time I see you ? 
 
 Yes perhaps, and she turned away to greet the other*,
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS $ 
 
 CHAPTER KII 
 
 TH week following Easter proved rainy and disagreeable. 
 It wa not a cheerful period, for the villa turned out to bt ft 
 fair weather house. The stone walls seemed to absorb and 
 retain the moisture like a vault, tjad a mortuary atmosphere 
 hung about the rooms. Mr. Copley, with masculine imper- 
 viousnws to mud and water, succeeded inescaping f rona th 
 dampness of his home by journeying daily to the ever-luring 
 Embassy, But his wile and niece, more solicitous on the 
 subject (4 hair and clothes, remained storm-bound, and on 
 the fourth day Mrs. Copley s conversation turned frequently 
 Co malaria. 
 
 Marcia, who had taken tht villa for better, for worse, 
 steadfastly endeavoured to approve of it In even this un 
 cheerful mood. She divided her time between romping 
 through the big rooms with Gerald, Gervasio, and Marcel! as, 
 and shivering over a brazier full of coals in her own room, to 
 the accompaniment of dripping Ilex trees and* the super 
 fluous splashing of the fountain. Her book was the Egoist, 
 and the Egoist is an illuminating work to a young woman in 
 Marcia s frame of mind. It makes her hesitate. She knew 
 that Paul Deasart in no wise resembled the magnificent Sit 
 Willoughby, and that it was unfair to make the comparison, 
 but still she made it. 
 
 As sh itood by th window, gazing down on the rain 
 swept Campagna, she pondered the situation and pondered 
 it again, and succeeded only in working herself into a state 
 of deeper indecision, Pan] was interesting, attractive at 
 her uncl* said, decorative ; but was he any more, or was 
 that enough ? Should she be sorry if *h said ao ? 
 Should she be sorrier if she said yes ? So her mind bul#d 
 itself to the dripping of the raindrops ; and for all the 
 thought she spent upon the question, she wandered in ft 
 tircl and finished where she had started. 
 
 The Monday following Easter week dawned clear and 
 bright again. Marcia opened her eyes to a bar of sunlight 
 streaming in at the eastern window, and the first sound that 
 greeted her was a joyful chorus of bird-voices. She sat up 
 and viewed the weather with a sense of re-awakened life, 
 feeling as if her perplexities had somehow vanished with the 
 rmin. She was no nearer making up her mind than she had 
 feaan the day before, but she was quite contented to let it
 
 n6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 itay unmade a little longer. The sound of horses hoofe 
 beneath her window told her that her uncle had started for 
 the station. When he was away and there were no guests 
 in the house, Mareia and Mrs. Copley usually had the first 
 breakfast served in their rooms. Accordingly, as she heard 
 her uncle gallop off, she made a leisurely toilet, and then ate 
 her coffee and rolls and marmalade at a little table set on the 
 balcony. It was late when sbe joined her tunt on the loggia, 
 
 Mrs. Copley looked up from an intricate piece of em 
 broidery. Good morning, Mareia/ she said, returning her 
 aieee s greeting. Yes, isn t it a relief to ee some sunshine 
 again I I have a surprise for you, she added. 
 
 A surprise ? asked Mareia. My birthday Isn t 
 eoming- for two weeks. But never mind ; surprises art 
 *Jways welcome. What is it ? 
 
 It isn t a very big surprise ; Just a tiny one to brtak the 
 monotony of these four days of rain. I had a note from 
 Mrs. Roysten this morning. It should have come yester 
 day, only it was so wet that Angelo didn t go for the mail. 
 She paused to rummage through the basket of silks. I 
 thought it was here, but no matter. She says that owing to 
 these dreadful riots they have changed all their plans. 
 They have entirely given up Naples, and are going north 
 instead, on a little trip of a week or so to Assisi and Perugia. 
 She wrote to say good-bye and to tell me that they would get 
 back to Rome in time for your party ; though they are 
 afraid they can t spend more than two or three days with ut 
 then, as the change of plan involves somt hurry. They 
 leave on Wednesday. 
 
 That Is too bad, said Mareia, and with the words sht 
 uttered a sigh of relief. Paul would go with them, prob- 
 tbly ; or, at any rate, she need not see him ; it would 
 postpone the difficulty. But where is the surprise ? h 
 inquired. 
 
 Oh, the surprise I Mrs. Copley laughed I entirely 
 forgot it. I was afraid they might think it strange that I 
 hadn t answered the note though I really didn t get it in 
 time so I asked your uncle to stop at their hotel and invite 
 them ill to come out to the villa for the night. I thought 
 that since we were planning to drive to the festa at Genat- 
 rano to-morrow, it would be nice to have them with us. I 
 am sure they would be interested in seeing the festa.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS n? 
 
 Marcia dropped limply into a chair and looked at her aunt, 
 Is Mr. Dessart coming too ? 
 
 " I invited him, certainly. What s the matter ? Aren t 
 you pleased ? I thought you liked him. 
 
 Oh, yes, I do ; only I wish I d got up earlier I And 
 then she laughed. The situation was rather funny, after all. 
 She might as well make the best of it. Suppose we send 
 over to Palestrina and invite M. Benoit for dinner, &h 
 suggested presently. I think he is stopping there thif 
 week, and it would be nice to have him. I suspect/ ab* 
 added, that he is a tiny bit interested in Eleanor. 
 
 A note was sent by a groom, who returned with th* 
 Information that he had found the gentleman sitting on & 
 rock in a field, painting a portrait of a sheep ; that he had 
 delivered the note, and got this in return. 
 
 This was a rapid sketch on bristol-board, representing 
 th young Frenchman in evening clothes making a bow, 
 with his hand on bis heart, to the two ladies, who received 
 him on the steps of the loggia, while & clock in the corner 
 pointed to eight. 
 
 Marcia looked at the sketch and laughed. Here s n 
 original acceptance, Aunt Katherine. 
 
 Mrs. Copley smiled appreciatively. He seems to b * 
 ^ery original young man, sh conceded. 
 
 NaturelUittcnt. He s a pi\x 4* Rome, 
 
 When Frenchmen art nice they are very nice, said Mr*. 
 
 Copley ; but when they are not Words failed her, 
 
 and sh picked up her embroidery again. 
 
 At the mid-day breakfast Marcia announced rather hope 
 fully that she did not think the Roystons would come. 
 
 Why not ? her aunt inquired. 
 
 * They ve lost their maid, and there won t be anybody to 
 help them pack. If they come out to th villa to-night they 
 won t be ready to start for Perugia on Wednesday. Be 
 sides, Mrs. Royston never likes to do anything on the spur of 
 the moment. She likes to plan her programme a week 
 ahead and stick to it. Oh, I know they won t corn*, she 
 added with a laugh. M. Benoit will bt the only guest, 
 after all. 
 
 And 1 v* ordered dinner for eight ! said Mrs. Copley, 
 pathetically. I am thinking of driving over to the con 
 tessa s this afternoon I might Invite her to join us.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Oh, no, Aunt Katherine ! Please, not to-day. If the 
 Royston* should come, there ll be a big enough party 
 without htr ; and, anyway, she wouldn t ix particularly 
 interested Mr. Sybrt isn t here. 
 
 The contessa comes tc us, not Mr. Sybert, Mrs, 
 43opley returned, with a touch of asperity. 
 
 Marcia smiled into her cup of chocolate and said nothing. 
 
 White the ton was sunk in its noonday torpor, the stood 
 by her window, gazing absently off toward the old monas 
 tery, engaged in a last valiant struggle to make up her mind. 
 Sh finally turned away with an impatient shrug which 
 banished Paul Dessart and his importunities to the bottom 
 f the Dead Sea. There was uo use In bothering any more 
 about it now ; Mrs. Royston s mind at least was no weather- 
 *ock. Marcia clung tenaciously to the hope that they would 
 tot com*. 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon, fresh and sparkling from tht 
 week of rain, and she suddenly decided upon a horseback 
 ride to brush from her mind all bothersome questions. She 
 cot out her riding-habit and jerked the bell-rope with a 
 Tarct which set bells jangling wildly through the house, and 
 brought Granton as nearly on a run as was consonant with 
 her dignity and years. 
 
 It s nothing terious," Marcia laughed in response to the 
 maid s anxious face ; I just mad* up my mind to go fo* a 
 ride, and in tht first flush of energy I rang louder than I 
 mraat. It s a great thing, Granton, to get your mind made 
 op about even so unimportant a matter as a horseback ride. 
 
 Yes, miss, Granton agreed somewhat vaguely as *k 
 Knelt down to help with a boot. 
 
 How in the world do those soldiers in the King s guard 
 ever get theii boots on ? Marcia asked. 
 
 I don t know, miss, said Granton, patiently. 
 
 ISarcia laughed. Send word to the stables for Angelo ? 
 bring the horses In fifteen minutes. I m going to take a 
 U>ng ride, and I must start immediately. 
 
 Very well, miss. 
 
 " Immediately, Marcia called after her. In dealing with 
 Angelo reiteration was necessary. He was an Italian, and 
 b had still to learn the value of time. 
 
 She tied her stock before the glass in a very mannish
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 119 
 
 fashion, adjusted her hat with tht least perceptiblt tilt 
 and catching up her whip and gloves, started out gaily, 
 humming a snatch of a very much reiterated Neapolitaa 
 street song. 
 
 * M Jammo acappa, jammo, J4 . . , 
 Funiclut iunicula." 
 
 It ended in a series of trills ; she did not know th worda. 
 At the head of the stairs she met Granton returning. 
 Granton stood primly expressionless, waiting patiently fat 
 her to ha vt done before venturing to speak. 
 
 Marcia completed her measure and broke ofl with a laugh. 
 Well, Granton, what s the matter ? 
 
 Angelo has taken Master Gerald s pony to Palestrina to 
 be shod and both of the carriages are to b used, so the otbei 
 men will be needed for them, and there isn t any one left to 
 ride with you. 
 
 Marcia s smile changed to a frown. How stupid f 
 Angelo has no business to go of} without saying anything. 
 
 Mr. Copley left orders for him to ha v* the pony shod. 
 
 * He s not Mr. Copley s groom ; he s mine. 
 
 Yes, miss, said Granton. 
 
 Marcia went on slowly downstairs, her frown gathering 
 voluro* as she proceeded. She wished to takt a horseback 
 ride, and *ht wished nothing elst for tht moment. Sh 
 foresaw that her aunt would propost that she ride into 
 Tivoli and take tea with the contessa. If thert was oat 
 thing sht hated, it was to ride at a steady jog-trot beside tht 
 carriage ; and if thert was a second thing, it was to take tea 
 with tht contessa. 
 
 She heard Mrs. Copley s and Gerald s voices in tht salon 
 and she advanced to the doorway. 
 
 Aunt Katberint t I m furious ! This is the first time La 
 four days that it has stopped raining long enough for me to 
 go out, and I m dying to take a gallop in the country. Thai 
 miserable Angelo has gone off with Gerald s pony, and thert 
 Isn t another man on the plac* that can go with me. You 
 needn t propost my riding into Tivoli to takt tea with tht 
 contessa, for I won t do it. 
 
 She delivered this outburst from tht threshold, and as aha 
 advanced into the room she was slightly disconcerted to set 
 Laurence Sybert lazily pulling himself from a chair to
 
 IK THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 iier if she ever showed in a particularly bad light, Sybfit 
 was sure to be at hand. He bowed, his face politely grave, 
 but there was the provoking suggestion of a smile not far 
 below the surface ; and as she looked at him Marcia had the. 
 uncomfortable feeling that her own face was growing red, 
 
 I m sorry about Angelo, my dear, aid Mrs. Copley. t 
 didn t know that you wanted to ride this afternoon. Bm 
 here is Mr. Sybert who has come out to see your uncle, and. 
 your uncl* won t be back till evening. I m sure h witt be 
 jlad to go with you/ 
 
 Marcia glanced back at her aunt with an expression whidb 
 said, Oh, Aunt Katharine, wait till I get you alone I 
 
 Certainly, Miss Marcia, I should be delighted to nil the 
 recreant Angrfo s place, he affirmed, but in a tone which to 
 her ear did not express any undue eagerness. 
 
 Thank you, Mr. Sybert/ she smiled sweetly ; you are 
 \e?y kind, but I shouldn t think of troubling you. I know 
 thai Aunt Katherine would like to have you go with her to 
 call oa th* contessa/ 
 
 If you will permit it. Miss Marcia, I will ride with you 
 instead ; for though I should be happy to call on Contest 
 Torrenieri with Mrs. Copley, I have just driven out front 
 Tivoli, and by way ol change I should prefer not driving 
 back/ 
 
 It i awfully kind of you to offer, but I don t really want 
 to ride. I was just, cross with Angelo for going off without 
 uying anything/ 
 
 1 Marcia/ remonstrated Mrs. Copley, that doesn t sound 
 polite/ 
 
 Sybert laughed. There Is nothing, Miss Marcia/ ho 
 declared, that would give me more pleasure this afternoon 
 
 than a gallop with you ; and with your permission b* 
 
 touched th* bell. 
 
 Marcia shrugged her shoulders and gave the order as 
 Pietro appeared. 
 
 1 Send word to the stables for Kentucky Lil and Trium 
 virate to be saddled at once/ 
 
 You may go upstairs and borrow as much of Howard * 
 wardrobe as you wish/ said Mrs. Copley. I dare say you 
 did not come prepared to play the part of groom/ 
 
 I ll try not to get them muddier than necessary/ ho 
 promised is he turned toward the stairs.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS MI 
 
 He reappeared shortly in corduroys and leather puttees, 
 Marcia was leaning on the loggia balustrade, idly watching 
 the hills, while a diminutive stable-boy slowly led the horses 
 back and forth in the driveway. Sybert helped her to 
 mount without a word, and they galloped down the avenue 
 in silence. He appreciated the fact that she would have 
 preferred staying at home to accepting his escort, and the 
 situation promised some slight entertainment. A man 
 inclined to be a trifle sardonic can find considerable amuse 
 ment in the spectacle of a pretty girl who does not wish to 
 talk to him, but finds herself in a position where she cannot 
 escape. As Sybert had been passing a very hard week, he 
 was the more willing to enjoy a little relaxation at Marcia i 
 expense. 
 
 They pulled their horses to a walk at the gateway, and 
 Sybert looked at her interrogatively. She took the lead and 
 turned to the left along the winding roadway that led up 
 into the mountains away from the Via Praenestina. He rode 
 up beside her again, and they galloped on without speaking. 
 Marcia did not propose to take the initiative in any conver 
 sation ; he could introduce a subject if he wished, otherwise 
 they would keep still. For the first nrle or so he maintained 
 the stolid reserve of a well-trained g?-; <m. But finally, as- 
 they slowed the horses to a walk on a *>,<,> Mil- side, he broke 
 the silence. 
 
 Are we going anywhere, or just riding for pleasure ? 
 
 Just for pleasure. 
 
 He waited until they had reached the top of the hill before 
 renewing the conversation. Then, It is a pleasant day/ 
 be observed. 
 
 Marcia regarded the landscape critically. 
 
 Very pleasant, she acquiesced. 
 
 Looks a little like rain, however, he added, anxiously 
 fixing his eye on a small cloud on the horizon. 
 
 Marcia studied the sky a moment with an heroic effort at 
 seriousness, and then she began to laugh. 
 
 I suppose we might as well make the best of it/ she 
 remarked. 
 
 Philosophy is the wisest way/ he agreed. 
 
 Have you seen Gervasio ? 
 
 I have not yet paid my respects to him. He is well, I 
 trust?
 
 iaa THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 He is simply a walking appetite i 
 
 I thought he showed a tendency that way. Mrs. Copley 
 
 says that you have been suffering persecution for his sake. 
 
 Did she tell you about his stepfather ? That s mv 
 
 tory ; she ought to have left it for me. I can tell it much 
 
 more dramatically. It was quite an adventure, wasn t it ? 
 
 It was. And you got off easily. It might have turned 
 out to be more of an adventure than you would have cared 
 for. 
 
 Oh, I like adventures. 
 
 When they re ended safely, yes. But these Italian 
 peasants are a revengeful lot when they get it into their 
 heads that they have been mistreated. I don t believe you 
 ought to drive about the country that way/ 
 
 I should think that two boys and a groom might be 
 escort enough the pony-carriage doesn t accommodate 
 many more. 
 
 Nevertheless, joking apart, I don t think it is safe. The 
 country s pretty thoroughly stirred up just at present. 
 
 You re as bad as Aunt Katherine with her tattooed 
 man ! As for being afraid of these peasants, I know every 
 soul in Castel Vivalanti, and they re all adorable with the 
 exception of Gervasio s relatives/ 
 
 If I were your uncle/ he observed, I should prefer a 
 niece readier to take suggestions/ 
 
 I am ready to take his suggestions, but you re not my 
 ancle/ 
 
 No/ said Sybert, I am not ; and 
 
 And what ? Marcia asked. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 I believe we declared an amnesty, did we not ? Do you 
 think it is best to reopen hostilities ? 
 
 It strikes me that there has been more or less light 
 skirmishing in spite of the amnesty/ 
 
 At least there has been no serious damage done on either 
 Bide, I would suggest, if heavy firing is to be recommenced, 
 that we postpone it until the ride home/ 
 
 Very well. Let s talk some more about the weather. 
 It seems to be the only subject on which we can agree/ 
 
 Sybert bowed gravely. 
 
 It s been rather rainy tor the last week/ 
 
 Very/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS UJ 
 
 The villa must have been a little damp. 
 
 Very/ 
 
 * And rather monotonous ? 
 
 Very ! Marcia laughed and gave the dialogue a new 
 torn. I spent the time reading. 
 
 Indeed ? 
 
 The Egoist. 
 
 Meredith ? Don t you find him % trifle er lor rainy 
 weather, you know ? 
 
 I found the Egoist, she returned, a most suggestivt 
 work. It throws interesting side- lights on the men on* 
 knows/ 
 
 Oh, eoine, Miss Marcia/ he remonstrated. That ll 
 hardly fair ; you slander us/ 
 
 You mustn t blame me you must blame the author 
 It s a man who wrote it/ 
 
 He should be regarded as a traitor. In case he is cap 
 tured and brought into camp, I shall order him shot at 
 unrise/ 
 
 He doesn t accuse all men of being Sir Willoughbys/ she 
 returned soothingly. 4 I hadn t thought of you in exactly 
 that connexion. If you choose to wear the coat, you haro 
 put it on yourself/ 
 
 We ll say, then, that it doesn t fit, and I ll resemble th 
 other fellow the Daniel Deronda one what s his name, 
 Whitfield, Whitford ? r (Whitford, it will be remembered, 
 was the dark horse who came in at the finish and captured 
 the heroine.) 
 
 Marcia laughed. I really can t say that the other fitt 
 any better. I m afraid you re not in the book, Mr. Sybert/ 
 
 They came to a fork in the roads and drew rein again. 
 
 Which way ? he asked. 
 
 She paused and looked about. They were already far txf 
 In the mountains, and towering ahead, nearer and cleare* 
 now, on the crest of a still higher ridge, rose the old monat- 
 tery she could see from her window. She pointed with h 
 whip to the gaunt pile of grey stone against the sky. 
 
 Is that your destination ? he asked. 
 
 Is it too far ? I ve been wanting to see it closer CTW 
 ince we came to the villa. 
 
 He studied the distance. I should judge it s about 
 nven kilometres in a straight line, but there s no telling how,
 
 124 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 knag the road takes to get there. We can try it, though ; 
 and if you re not in a hurry to get home, w* may reach it/ 
 
 At any rate, there s nothing to prevent our turning back 
 if we find it s too far, she suggested. 
 
 Oh, yea ; one ca always turn back, he agreed, 
 
 One can always turn back. The words caught Marcia a 
 attention, and she repeated them to herself. They seemed 
 to carry an inner meaning, and she commenced weighing 
 anew bet feelings toward Paul. Could she turn back ? 
 Was it not too late ? No, if she were on the wrong road, the 
 sooner the better ; but was she on the wrong road ? Then* 
 were no guide-posts ; the end was bidden by a turning. 
 She rode on, forgetting to talk, with a shadow on her face 
 &nd a serious light in her eyes. 
 
 1 Well ? Sybert inquired, would you like my advice ? 
 
 I m afraid it s not a matter you can help me with/ she 
 {returned, with a quick laugh. 
 
 They pushed on farther up into the hills, between groves 
 of twisted olive trees and sloping vineyards, through fields 
 dyed blue and scarlet with forget-me-nots and poppies. All 
 nature was green and glistening after the rain, and the 
 mountain breeze blew fresh against their faces. Neither 
 could be insensible to the influence of the day. Their talk 
 was light and free and glancing mere badinage ; but it 
 occasionally struck a deeper note, and holding it for an 
 Instant, half reluctantly let it go. Marcia had never known 
 Syberi in this mood she had not, as she realized, known 
 him in any. In all their casual intercourse of the past few 
 months they had scarcely exchanged a single idea. He was 
 an unexplored country, and his character held for her the 
 attraction of the unknown. 
 
 Sybert, on his side, glanced at her curiously from time to 
 Hme as she flung back a quick reply. With him, fir?* 
 impressions died hard. He had first seen Marcia at a tea, 
 the centre of a laughing group, with all the room paying 
 court to her. She was pretty and attractive, faultlessly 
 gowned, thoroughly at ease. He had, in his thirteen 
 seasons, met many women who played many parts ; and the 
 somewhat cynical conclusion he had carried away from the 
 arperience was that if a woman be but young and fair sh 
 has the gift to know It. But as he watched her now he 
 vowdered suddenly if she were quite what he had thought
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 135 
 
 her. It struck him that what he had regarded as over- 
 sophistication was rather the pseudo-sopbistkaticm of 
 youth ; her occasional crudeness, but the crudeness that 
 comes from lack of experience. She knew nothing of life 
 outside the carefully closed confines of her own small world. 
 And yet he recognized in her a certain reckless spirit of 
 daring, of curiosity toward the world, that responded to * 
 chord in his own nature. He had seen it the night they 
 found Gervasio. It was in her face now as she galloped 
 along against the wind, with her eyes raised to the aatf- 
 mined towers of the mediaeval monastery. He had not been 
 very lenient toward her, he knew ; and her scarcely veiled 
 antagonism had amused him. He felt now, as he watched 
 her, a momentary impulse to draw her out, te mould the 
 direction of her thoughts, to turn her face a new way. 
 
 After a wild gallop along the crest f a hill she drew up, 
 laughing, to steady her hair, which threatened to cooia 
 tumbling down about her ears. She dropped the rein 
 ioosely on the horse s neck in order to leave both bands free, 
 and Sybert reached over and took it. 
 
 See here, young lady, he remonstrated, you re going to 
 take a croppei some day if you ride like that/ 
 
 She glanced back with a quick retort on her lips, but hi* 
 ft-xpression disarmed her. He was not watching her with his 
 usual critical look. She changed the words int a laugh. 
 
 Do you know what you make me feel like doing, Mr. 
 Sybert ? Giving Lil the reins arid galloping dowc that hill 
 there with my hands in the air. 
 
 Perhaps I would better keep the reins in my own hands," 
 was his cool proposition. 
 
 4 I never knew any one who could rouse so much latent 
 antagonism in a person as you can ! You never say a word 
 but I feel like doing exactly the opposite. 
 
 It s well to know it. I shall frame my future suggest 
 ions accordingly. 
 
 Marcia settled her hat and stretched out her hand. He 
 returned the reins with a show of dou*bt. 
 
 Can I trust you to restrain your impulses ? he inquired, 
 with his eyes on the declivity before them. 
 
 She gathered up the reins, but made no movement to go 
 OBL Instead she half-turned in the saddle and looked behind. 
 
 They were on the shoulder of a. mountain. Below them
 
 iafl THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 smaller foothills receded, tier below tier, until they sank 
 Impereeptibly into the level plain of the Campagna, Ahead 
 of them the bare Sabines stretched in broken ridges, backed 
 ID the distance by two snow-peaks of the Apennines. 
 Everywhere was the warmth of colouring, the brilliant hue* 
 of aa Italian spring. 
 
 Italy is beautiful, isn t it ? Marcia asked simply. 
 
 Yes/ he agreed ; Italy is cursed with beauty. 
 
 She turned her eyes inquiringly from the landscape to him. 
 
 A nation of artists models t he exclaimed half con 
 temptuously. Because of their fatal good looks, the 
 Italians can t b allowed to be prosperous like any other 
 people/ 
 
 Perhaps/ she suggested, their beauty is a compensa 
 tion. They are poor, I know ; but don t you think they 
 know how to be happy in spite of it ? 
 
 They are too easily happy. That s another curse/ 
 
 But you surely don t want them to be unhappy/ she 
 remonstrated. Since they have to be poor, shouldn t you 
 rather see them contented ? 
 
 Certainly not. They have nothing to be contented with/ 
 
 But I don t see that it makes any difference what you are 
 ovitented with so long as you tire contented/ 
 
 He looked at her with a half-smile. 
 
 Nonsense, Miss Marcia ; you know better than that. 
 When people are contented with their lot, does their lot ever 
 improve ? Do you think the Italian people ought to be 
 happy ? You have seen the way they live, or no/ he 
 broke off, you don t know anything about it/ 
 
 5 Yes, I do/ she returned. I know they re poor 
 horribly poor but they seem to get a good deal of pleasure 
 out of life in spite of it/ 
 
 He shook his head. You can t convince me with that 
 argument. Have you never heard of a holy discontent ? 
 That s what these people need and/ he added grimly, 
 some of them have got it/ 
 
 A holy discontent, she repeated. What ft terrible 
 thing to have I It s like living for revenge/ 
 
 Oh, well/ he shrugged, a man must live for something 
 beside* his three meals a day/ 
 
 He can live for his family/ she suggested. 
 
 Yet, if he has one. Otherwise he must live for *n
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 137 
 
 She glanced at him sidewise. She would have liked to 
 ask what idea he lived for, but it was a question she did not 
 dare to put. Instead she commented : It s queer, isn t it, 
 how the ideas that men used to live for have passed away ? 
 Chivalry and crusading and going to war and living as 
 hermits I really don t see what s left. 
 
 The most of the old ideals are exploded/ b* agreed. 
 But we have new ones to-day sufficiently bad to meet 
 the needs of the present century. A man can make a god of 
 his business, for instance. 
 
 Marcia shifted her seat a trifle uneasily as she thought o! 
 her father, who certainly did make a god of his business. 
 It may have struck Sybert that it was not a propitious 
 ubjeci, for he added almost instantly 
 
 And there s always art to fall back upon. 
 
 But you don t object to that/ she remonstrated. 
 
 No, it s good enough In its way/ he agreed ; but it 
 doesn t go very deep/ 
 
 Artists would tell you then that it isn t the true art/ 
 
 I dare say/ he shrugged ; but at best there are a good 
 many truer things/ 
 
 What, for instance ? 
 
 Well, three meals a day. 
 
 Marcia laughed, and then she inquired 
 
 Suppose you knew a person, Mr. Sybert, who didn t care 
 lor anything but art who just wanted to have the world 
 beautiful and nothing else, what would you think ? * 
 
 Not much/ he returned ; what would you ? 
 
 I think that you go a great deal farther in the other 
 extreme 1 
 
 Not at all/ he maintained. I am granting that art Is a 
 very fine thing ; only there are so many more vital issues in 
 life that one doesn t have time to bother with it much. 
 However, I suppose it s a phase one has to go through with 
 in Italy. Oh, I ve been through with it, too/ he added. 
 I used to feel that Botticelli and Giorgione and the rest of 
 them were really important/ 
 
 But you got over it ? she inquired. 
 
 Yes, I got over it one does/ 
 
 Marcia laughed again. Mr. Sybert/ she said, I think 
 you are an awfully queer man. You are so sort of unfeeling 
 in some respects and feeling in others,
 
 t28 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Miss Marcia. you strike me as an awfully queer young 
 woman for exactly the same reasons. 
 
 They had come to & curve in the road, and under an over 
 hanging precipice hollowed out of the rock was a little 
 thrine to the Madonna, and beside it a rough iron cross. 
 
 Some poor devil has met his fate here, said Sybert, and 
 he reined in his horse and leaned from his saddle to make out 
 the blurred inscription traced on the bars. Felice Buconi 
 in the year 1840 at this spot received death at the hand of an 
 assassin. Pray for his soul. he translated. Poor fellow ! 
 It s a tragedy in Italy to meet one s death at the hands of an 
 assassin. 
 
 Why more in Italy than in any other place ? 
 
 Because one dies without receiving the sacrament, and 
 has some trouble about getting into heaven. 
 
 Oh I she returned. I suppose when Gervasio s father 
 wished that I might die of an apoplexy he was not 
 only damning me for this world, but for the world to 
 come. 
 
 Exactly. An apoplexy in Italy is a comprehensive curse. 
 
 I think, she commented, that I prefer a religion which 
 doesn t have a purgatory. 
 
 Purgatory/ he returned, has always struck me as qtiite 
 superior to anything the Protestants offer. It really gives 
 one something to die for. 
 
 I should think, for the matter of that, that heaven direct 
 would give one something to die for. 
 
 1 What, for instance ? Golden paving-stones, eternal 
 sunshine, and singing angels 1 
 
 Oh, not necessarily just those things. They re merely 
 symbolical. 
 
 At least, said Sybert, perfect peace and beauty and 
 happiness, and nothing beyond. You needn t tell me, Miss 
 Marcia, that you want to spend an eternity in any such 
 place as that. It might do for a vacation a villeggiatura 
 but for ever I 
 
 Probably angels ideas of happiness are more settled 
 than men s. 
 
 In that case angels must be infinitely lower than men. 
 To be happy in a place that has reached the end, that stands 
 still, would require a very selfish man and I don t see why 
 not a very selfish angel to settle down contentedly to an
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 129 
 
 eternity of bliss while there s still so much work to be done 
 in the world. 
 
 I suppose/ she suggested, that when you get to be an 
 angel, you forget about the world and leave all the sorrow 
 and misery behind. 
 
 A fools paradise 1 he maintained. 
 
 They were suddenly aroused from their talk by a peal oi 
 thunder. They looked up to see that the sun had disap 
 peared. Sybert s small cloud on the horizon had grown 
 until it covered the sky. 
 
 Well, Miss Marcia, he laughed, I am afraid we are 
 going to get a wetting to pay for our immersion in philosophy 
 and art. Shall we turn back ? 
 
 If we re going to get wet anyway/ she said, I should 
 prefer seeing the monastery first, since we ve come so far/ 
 She looked across the valley in front of them, where, not 
 half a mile away, the walls rose grim and gaunt amid a 
 cluster of cypresses. 
 
 You can see about as much from here as you could if you 
 went any nearer/ ho returned. I should advise you to 
 look and run/ 
 
 As he spoke a cool wind swept up the valley, swaying the 
 olive trees and turning their leaves to silver. A flash of 
 lightning followed, and a few big drops splashed in their 
 faces. 
 
 "We re in for it I " Marcia exclaimed, as she struggled 
 to control Kentucky Lil, who was quivering and plunging. 
 
 Sybert glanced about quickly. The flying clouds over- 
 bead, and an ominous orange light that had suddenly settled 
 down upon the landscape, betokened that a severe mountain 
 storm was at hand. They would be drenched through 
 before they could reach the monastery which, after all, 
 might not prove a hospitable order to ladies. He presently 
 spied a low stone building nearer at hand on the slope of 
 the hill they had just left behind. We d better make for 
 that/ he said, pointing it out with his whip. Though it 
 hasn t a very promising look, it will at least be a sheltef 
 until the storm is over/ 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE drops were falling fast by the time they reached th 
 building. They hastily dismounted and pushed forward t 
 
 5
 
 130 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 the wide stone archway which served as entrance. A doot 
 of rudely joined boards swung across the opening, but it 
 was ajar and banging in the wind. Sybert threw it open 
 and led the horses into the gloomy interior. It proved to be 
 a wine-cellar, probably belonging to the monastery. The 
 room was low but deep, with a dirt floor and rough masonry 
 walls ; in the rear two hu^e vats rose dimly to the roof, and 
 the floor was scattered with farming-implements. The air 
 was damp and musty and pungent with the smell of 
 fermenting grape-juice. 
 
 Sybert fastened the horses to a low beam by means of 
 their bridles, while Marcia sat down upon a plough and pen 
 sively regarded the landscape. He presently joined her. 
 
 This is not a very cheerful refuge/ he remarked ; but 
 at least it is drier than the open road/ 
 
 She moved along and offered him part of her seat. 
 
 I think I can improve on that, he said, as he rummaged 
 out a board from a pile of lumber and fitted it at a somewhat 
 precarious slope across the plough. They gingerly sat down 
 upon it and Marcia observed 
 
 I suppose if yon had your way, Mr. Sybert, we should 
 be sitting on a McCormick reaper/ 
 
 It would at least be more comfortable/ he returned. 
 
 The rain was beating fiercely by this time, and the 
 lightning flashes were following each other in quick suc 
 cession. Black clouds were rolling inland from across the 
 Volscian mountains and piling layer upon layer above theif 
 heads. Marcia sat watching the gathering storm, and 
 presently she exclaimed : 
 
 This might be a situation out of a book I To be over 
 taken by a thunderstorm in the Sabine mountains and seek 
 shelter in a deserted wine-cellar it sounds like one of the 
 " Duchess s " novels/ 
 
 It does have a familiar ring/ he agreed. It only 
 remains for you to sprain your ankle/ 
 
 She laughed softly, with an undertone of excitement 
 in her voice. 
 
 I ve never had so many adventures in my life as sirfro 
 we came out to Villa Vivalanti Marcellus, and Gervasio, 
 and Gervasio s stepfather, and now a cloud-burst in the 
 mountains ! If they re going to rise to a climax, I can t 
 imagine what our stay will end with/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 131 
 
 * Henry James, yon know, says that the only adventurer 
 worth having are intellectual adventures. 
 
 Marcia considered this proposition doubtfully. 
 
 In an intellectual adventure/ she objected, " you could 
 norcr be quite sure that it really was an adventure ; you"<5 
 always be afraid you d imagined half of it. I think I prefer 
 mine more visibly exciting. There s something picturesque 
 ie a certain amount of real bloodshed. 
 
 Sybert turned his eyes away from her with a gesture of 
 indifference. 
 
 Oh, if it s merely bloodshed you re after/ he said dryly, 
 * you ll find as much as you like in any butcher s shop/ 
 
 She watched him for a moment and then the observed, 
 I suppose you are disagreeable on purpose, Mr. Sybert. 
 Yoa nave a she hesitated for a word, and as none 
 presented itself, substituted a generic term horrid way 
 of answering a person/ 
 
 He turned back toward her with a U&gh. If I really 
 thought you meant it, I should have a still " horrider 
 way/ 
 
 f Certainly I mean it/ she declared. I ve always liked 
 t read about fights and plots and murders In books. I 
 t&nk it s nice to have a little blood spattered about. It s a 
 art of concrete symbol of courage/ 
 
 Ah I saw a concrete symbol of courage the other day, 
 feat I can t say that it (struck me as attractive/ 
 
 What was it ? 
 
 A fellow lying by the roadside, in a pool of dirty watet 
 and blood, with his mouth wide open, a couple of stiletto 
 wounds in his neck, and his brains spattered over his face- 
 brains may be useful, but they re not pretty/ 
 
 She looked at him gravely, with t slow expression f 
 
 I suppose you think I m horrider than ever now 1 
 
 1 Yes/ said Marcia ; I do/ 
 
 * Then don t make any such absurd statement as that 
 think bloodshed picturesque. The world s got beyond that. 
 Do you object if I smoke ? I don t think it would hurt thifl 
 place to have a bit of fumigating/ 
 
 She nodded permission, and watched him silently as ht 
 rolled & cigarette and hunted through hft pockets for a 
 Th< coat did not reward his search, and ht earn-
 
 133 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 menced on the waistcoat. Suddenly she broke oul with 
 
 What s that in your pocket, Mr. Sybert ? 
 
 A momentary shade of annoyance flashed over his face 
 
 It s a dynamite bomb. 
 
 It s a revolver 1 What are you carrying that for ? I t s 
 against the law/ 
 
 Don t tell the police, he pleaded. I ve always liked to 
 play with fire-arms ; it s a habit I ve never outgrown 
 
 Why are you carrying it ? she repeated. 
 
 Sybert found his match and lighted his cigarette with slow 
 deliberation. Thn he rose to his feet and looked down at 
 her. You ask too many questions, Miss Marcia. he said, 
 and he commenced pacing back and forth the length of th* 
 djirt floor. 
 
 Sh remained with her elbow resting on her knee and her 
 chin in her hand, looking out at the storm. Presently he 
 ctitie back and sat down again. 
 
 Is our amnesty off ? he asked. 
 
 Before she could open her mouth to respond a fierce wftit 
 flash of lightning came, followed instantly by a deafening 
 crash of thunder. A torrent of water came pouring down on 
 the loose tiles with a roar that sounded like a cannonading. 
 The air seemed quivering with electricity. The horses 
 pronged and snorted in terror, and Sybert sprang to his feet 
 to quiet them. 
 
 Jove I It it a cloudburst, he cried. 
 
 Marcia ran to the open doorway and stood looking out 
 across the storm-swept valley. The water was coming 
 down in an almost solid sheet ; the clouds hung low and 
 black and impenetrable except when a jagged line of light 
 ning cut them in two. From the height across the valley 
 the tall square monastery tower rose defiantly into the very 
 niidst of the storm, while the cypress trees at its base 
 swayed and writhed and wrung their hands in agony. 
 Sybert came and stood beside her, and the two watched the 
 term in silence. 
 
 There, he suddenly flashed out, with a little undertone 
 f triumph in his voice there is Italy I He nodded 
 toward the old walls rising so atanchly from the storm. 
 That s th* way the Italians have weathered tyranny and 
 levolutiou and depression for centuries, and that s the way 
 will keep on doing.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 133 
 
 She looked up at him quickly, and caught a gleam of 
 something she had never seen before in his face. It was 
 as if an internal fire were blazing through. For an imper 
 ceptible second h held her look, then his eyelids drooped 
 again and his usual expression of reserve came back. 
 
 Come and sit down, he said ; you re getting wet. 
 
 They turned back to th plough again and sat side by 
 tide, looking out at the storm. The beating of the rain on 
 the tiles above their heads made a difficult accompaniment 
 for conversation, and they did not try to talk. But they 
 were electrically aware of each other s presence ; the wild 
 excitement of the storm had taken hold of both of them. 
 Marcia s breath came fast through slightly parted lips, her 
 cheeks were flushed, her hair was tumbled, and there was a 
 yellow glow in her deep grey eyes. Her face seemed to 
 vivify the gloomy interior, Sybert glanced at her sidewise 
 once or twice in half surprise ; she did not seem exactly the 
 person he had thought he knew. Her hand lay in her lap, 
 idly clasping her gloves and whip. It looked white and soil 
 against her black habit. 
 
 Suddenly Marcia asked a question. 
 
 Will you tell me something, Mr. Sybert ? 
 
 I am at your service, h bowed. 
 
 * And the truth ? 
 
 Oh, certainly, the truth. 
 
 She glanced down in her lap a moment and smoothed the 
 fingers of her gloves in a thoughtful silence. Well, sh 
 aid finally, I don t know, after all, what 1 want to ask you ? 
 but there is something in the air that I don t understand. 
 Tell rut the truth about Italy. 
 
 * The truth about Italy ? He repeated the words with a 
 flight accent of surprise, 
 
 Last week in Rome, at the Roystons hotel, everybody 
 was talking about the wheat famine and the bread riots, and 
 they ail stopped suddenly when I asked any questions. 
 Uncle Howard will never tell me a thing ; he just Jokes 
 about it when I ask him. 
 
 He s afraid, said Sybert. No one dares to tell th 
 truth in Italy ; it s 16se majesteV 
 
 She glanced up at hira quickly to tee what he meant. 
 Hi face was quite grave, but there was a disagreeable 
 suggestion of & smile about bis lip*. She looked ** ftf
 
 134 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 doors again with an angry light in her eyes. Oh, I think 
 you are beastly 1 she cried. You and Uncle Howard 
 both act as if I were ten years old I don t think that a 
 wheat famine is any subject to Jokt about. 
 
 Miss Marcia/ he said quietly, when things get to a 
 sertain point, if you wish to keep your senses you can t do 
 anything but joke about them. 
 
 Tell me, she said. 
 
 There was a look of troubled expectancy in her face. 
 Sybert half closed his eyes and studied the ground without 
 speaking. Not very many days before he had felt a tierce 
 desire to hurl the story at her, to confront her with a picture 
 of the suffering that her father had caused ; now he felt a# 
 itrongly as her uncle that she must not know. 
 
 Since you cannot do anything to help, why should you 
 wish to understand ? There are so many unpleasant things 
 in the world, and so many of us already who know about 
 them. It s he turned toward her with a little amile, 
 but one which sh did not resent well, it s a relief, yon 
 know, to see a few people who accept their happiness as a 
 free gift from heaven and ask no questions. 
 
 I am not a baby. I should not care to accept happiness 
 u any such terms. 
 
 And you want to know about Italy ? Very well/ he 
 aid grimly ; I can give you plenty of statistics. . He 
 leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and traced iinet 
 in the dirt floor with his whip, speaking in the emotionless 
 tone of one who is quoting a list from a catalogue. 
 
 The poor people bear three-fourths of the taxes. Every 
 necessity of life is taxed bread and salt and meat a&d 
 utensils but such things as carriages and servants and 
 jewels go comparatively free. When the government has 
 squeezed all it can from the people, the church takes its* 
 fthare, and then the government comes in again with the 
 state lotteries. The Latin races are already sufficiently 
 addicted to gambling without needing any extra encourage 
 ment from the state. Part of the revenue thus collected is 
 pent in keeping up the army in training the young men of 
 the country in idleness and in a great many things they 
 would do better without. Part of it goes to build arcades 
 and fountains and statues of Victor Emmanuel. The moat 
 tA it stops in official pockets. You may think that politics
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 13$ 
 
 ire as corrupt as they can be in America, but I assure you it 
 is not the case. In Italy the priests won t let the people 
 vote, and the parliament is run in the interests of a few. 
 The people are ignorant and superstitious ; more than halt 
 of them can neither read nor write, and the government 
 exploits them as it pleases. The farm labourer earns only 
 from twenty-five to thirty cents a day to support himself and 
 his family. Fortunately, living is cheap or thert would 
 soon not b* any farm labourers alive. 
 
 Last year he paused and an angry flush crept unde? 
 his dark skin last year in Lombardy, Venetia, and tht 
 Marches three of the most fertile provinces in Italy 
 fifteen thousand people went mad from hunger. Ths 
 children of these pdlagrosi will be idiots and cripples, and 
 ten years from now you will find them on the steps oi 
 churches, holding out maimed hands for coppers. At thi* 
 present moment there are ten thousand people in Naples 
 crowded into damp caves and cellars practically all oi 
 them stricken with consumption and scrofula, and sick with 
 hunger. 
 
 He leaned forward and looked into her face with blazing 
 eyes. 
 
 Marcia, in this last week I ve s*n God I he burst out, 
 what things I ve seen 1 
 
 He got up and strode to the door, and Marcia sat looking 
 after him with frightened eyes. The air seemed charged 
 with his words. She felt herself trembling, and she caught 
 her breath quickly with a half-gasp. She closed her eyes 
 and pictures rose up before her pictures she did not wish to 
 ee. She thought of the hordes of poor people in Castel 
 Vivalanti, of the bony, wrinkled hands that were stretched 
 out for coppers at every turn, of the crowds of children with 
 hungry faces. She thought of the houses that they lived in 
 wretched little dens, dark and filthy and damp. And it 
 wasn t their fault, she repeated to herself ; it wasn t their 
 fault. They were honest and frugal, they wanted work ; 
 but there was not enough to go around. 
 
 She sat quite still for several moments, feeling acutely t 
 great many things she had scarcely divined before. Then 
 presently she glanced over her shoulder at the great vats 
 towering out of the darkness behind her. They suddenly 
 presented themselves to her imagination as a symbol, ft
 
 1 36 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 risible sign of the weight of society bearing down upon the 
 poor, crushing out goodness and happiness and hope. At 
 she watched them with half -fascinated eyes, they seemed to 
 swell and grow until they dominated the whole room with 
 the sense of their oppressiveness. She rose with a little 
 shiver and almost ran to the door. 
 
 Let s go 1 she cried. 
 
 What s the matter ? he asked, looking at her face. 
 
 Nothing. I want to go. It s stopped raining/ 
 
 He led out the horses and helped her to mount. 
 
 What s the matter ? he asked again. Your hand is 
 trembling. Did I say anything to frighten you ? 
 
 She shook her head without answering, and when they 
 reached the road she drew a long breath of fresh air and 
 glanced back with a nervous laugh. 
 
 I had the most horrible feeling in there I I felt as if 
 something were going to reach out from those vats and grab 
 me from behind. 
 
 1 think/ he suggested, that you d better take some of 
 your aunt s quinine when you get home. 
 
 Mr. Sybert, she said presently, I told you one day that 
 I thought poor people were picturesque, I don t think so 
 any more. * 
 
 I didn t suppose that you meant it." 
 
 But I did 1 said Marcia. I ve merely changed my 
 mind. She touched Kentucky Lil with her whip and 
 tplashed on ahead down the road that led toward the monas 
 tery, while Sybert followed with a slightly perplexed frown. 
 
 The storm had passed as quickly as it had come. Loose, 
 flying clouds still darkened the sky, but the heavy black 
 thunder-clouds were already far to the eastward over the 
 Apennines. In its brief passage, however, the storm had 
 left havoc behind it. The vines in the wayside vineyard* 
 were stripped of their leaves, and the bamboo poles they 
 were trained upon broken and bent. Branches torn from 
 the olive trees were strewn over the grass, and in the wheat 
 fields the young grain was bowed almost to the ground. A 
 fierce mountain torrent poured down the side of the road 
 through a gully that an hour before had been dry. 
 
 The mountain air was fresh and keen, and the horses, 
 excited by the storm, plunged on, recklessly irrespective of 
 imud and water They crossed the little valley that lay
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 13? 
 
 between th hill of the wine-cellar and the higher hil) of the 
 monastery, clattered through the single gtreet of the tiny 
 hamlet which huddled itself at the base of the hill, and 
 wound on upward along the narrow walled roadway that 
 turned and unturned upon itself like the coils of a serpent. 
 They passed through the dark grove of cypresses thai 
 skirted the outer walls, and emerged for a moment on a 
 mal) plateau which gave a wide view of receding hills and 
 valleys and hills again. Below them, at a precipitous angle, 
 lay the valley they had just come through and the clustering 
 brown-tiled roofs of the little Noah s Ark village. 
 
 As they rode out from the shadow of the trees, by * 
 common impulse they both drew rein and brought their 
 horses to a standstill at the edge of the grove. Away to th 
 eastward the sky was black, but the western sky was a blaze 
 of orange light, and the sun, an orange ball, was dropping 
 into the purple Campagna as into a sea. The shadows were 
 settling in the valley beneath them, but the hills wen. 
 tinged with a shimmering light, and the tower above theh 
 heads was glowing in a sombre, softened beauty. 
 
 They had scarcely had time, however, to mor than 
 glance at the wide-spread picture before them when they 
 became aware of a little human drama that was being 
 enacted under their eyes. 
 
 A young monk in the brown cassock of the Franciscans, 
 probably a lay brother ia the monastery, was standing in th 
 vineyard by the roadside, resting for a moment from his task 
 of tying up the vines that had been beaten down by the 
 storm. He had not seen the riders his back was turned 
 toward them, and his gaze was resting on the field across the 
 way, where scarlet poppies were growing among the wheat. 
 But his eyes were not for the flowers, nor yet for the light oa 
 the hills beyond these he had seen before and understood. 
 He was watching a dark-haired peasant girl and a man 
 dressed in shepherd s clothes, who were strolling side by sid 
 along the narrow pathway that led diagonally through th* 
 wheat. The man, strong-limbed and brown and muscular, 
 in sheepskin trousers and pointed hat, was bending toward 
 her, talking insistently with vehement Italian gestures. 
 She appeared to listen, and then she shrugged her shoulden 
 and half drew back, while her mocking laugh rang out 
 ele&riy on the still evening air. For a moment he hesitated,
 
 K38 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 then he boldly put his arm around her, and the two passed 
 down the hill and out of sight in the direction of the hamlet. 
 The poor young frate, his work forgotten, with hands idly 
 hanging at his sides, stared at the spot where they had dis 
 appeared. And as he looked, the monastery bells in the 
 campanile above him slowly rang out the Are Maria. He 
 started guiltily, and with a hasty sign of the cross caught up 
 his rosary and bowed his head in prayer. 
 
 At the unexpected sound of the bells the horses broke into 
 u quick trot. The monk, startled at the clatter of hoofs so 
 Dear, turned suddenly and looked in their direction. As he 
 caught sight of Marcia s and Sybert s eyes upon him, and 
 knew that they had seen, a quick flush spread over his thin 
 dark face, and turning away he bowed his head again. 
 
 Marcia broke the silence with a low laugh as they rode OB 
 into the shade of the cypresses. 
 
 He thought we were and then she stopped. 
 
 Lovers too/ said Sybert. Poor devil ! I suppose he 
 thinks the world is full of lovers outside his monastery wall*. 
 There, he added, is a man who is living for an idea. 
 
 And is beginning to suspect that it is the wrong one. 
 
 He shot her a quick glance of comprehension. Ah, 
 there s the rub/ he returned, a trifle soberly when you 
 begin to suspect your idea s the wrong one. 
 
 They rode on down the hill into the darkening valley. 
 They were going the straight way home now, and the horses 
 knew it. They were still in the hills when the twilight 
 faded, and a young moon, just beyond the crescent, took its 
 place, riding high in a sky scattered thick with dying clouds, 
 h was a wild, wet, windy night, though on the lower levels 
 the roads were fairly dry : the storm had evidently wasted 
 its fury on the heights. 
 
 It was too fast a pace to admit much talking, and they 
 both contented themselves with their thoughts. Only once 
 did Marcia break the silence. 
 
 I feel as if we were carrying the good news from Ghent to 
 Aix! 
 
 Sybert laughed and quoted softly : 
 
 Behind shut th postera, the llghti tank to rout, 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing onr place
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 139 
 
 Kentucky Li) would make quite a Roland/ ha broke off. 
 
 She s th* nicest horse I ever rode, said Marcia. 
 
 As they turned in at the villa gates she said contritely, 
 I didn t know it would take so long ; I m afraid, Mr. 
 Sybert, that I ve made you very late ! 
 
 Perhaps I like adventures too, he smiled ; and you and 
 I, Miss Marcia, have travelled far to-day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 As they galloped up the long avenue under the arching 
 trees, the villa presently came into view. The sound of 
 laughing voices floated out from the open windows. MarcU 
 drew rein with a half-involuntary cry of dismay. Th* 
 Roystons had come. 
 
 I d forgotten I she explained to he; companion. 
 We re giving a dinner-party to-night. 
 
 At the sound of the clattering hoofs on the gravel of the 
 driveway a gay group poured out on to the loggia, welcom 
 ing the dilatory riders with laughter and questions and 
 greetings. 
 
 My dear child I Where have you been ? 
 Here, Pietro ; call some one to take the horses. 
 
 Is this the way you welcome guests ? I shall never 
 
 Dinner s been waiting half an hour. We were beginning 
 
 te think 
 
 I ve been worried to death ! You haven t caught cold, 
 have you ? 
 
 No, Aunt Katherme/ she laughed as she pulled off he? 
 gloves and shook hands with the visitors. But we ve 
 been nearly drowned i We should have been wholly 
 drowned if Mr. Sybert hadn t spied a very leaky ark on the 
 top of a hill. 
 
 I m relieved ! sighed her uncle as they passed into the 
 hall. I was beginning to fear that you had had a dis 
 agreement on the way, and that it was another case of the 
 Kilkenny cats. 
 
 Marcia, bow you look 1 You re covered with mud ! 
 cried Mrs. Copley. 
 
 With a slightly apprehensive glance toward the mirror, 
 Marcia straightened her hat and rubbed a daub of mud 
 from her cheek. Kentucky Lil and Triumvirate were in 
 too much of a hurry to get home to turn out for puddles/
 
 140 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 the said. How much time may we hav to dress ; Aunt 
 Katherine ? 
 
 Just fifteen minutes/ returned her uncle ; and fchat 
 la a quarter of an hour more than you deserve. If you are 
 act down then, we shall eat without waiting for you. 
 
 Fifteen minutes, remember ! cried Marcia to Sybert 
 as they parted at the top of the stairs. I ll race with you, 
 she added ; though I think myself that a girl ought to 
 have a handicap. 
 
 She found Granton, a picture of prim disapproval, waiting 
 with her dress spread out on the bed. Marcia dropped into 
 a wicker chair with a tired sigh. 
 
 You ve ridden a long way, Granton remarked s she 
 removed a muddy boot. 
 
 Yes, Granton, I have ; and dinner s already been wait- 
 Ing half an hour, and Pietro looks like a thunder-cloud, 
 and Mrs. Copley looks worried, and the guests look hungry 
 what Francois looks like I don t dare to think. Wt 
 must fly ; our reputations depend on it/ 
 
 Am I ready ? she inquired, not much more than fifteen 
 minutes later, as she twisted her head to view th<* effect 
 in the mirror. 
 
 You ll do very well/ said Granton. 
 I m terribly tired/ she sighed ; and I feel more like 
 going to bed than facing guests but I suppose, in the 
 natural order of events, dinner must be accomplished first/ 
 To be sure/ said the maid, critically adjusting her train. 
 Your philosophy is so comfortable, Granton ! As w 
 have done yesterday, so shall we do to-day and also to 
 morrow. It saves one the trouble of making up one s 
 mind/ 
 
 She reached the salon just in time to take Paul Dessart f 
 silently offered arm to the dining-room. Sybert did not 
 appear until the soup was being removed. He possessed 
 himself of the empty chair beside Eleanor Royston, with 
 & murmured apology to his hostess. 
 
 It s excusable, Sybert/ said Copley, with a frown. 
 You should not allow a woman to beat you/ 
 
 The furniture in that room you gave me/ he complained 
 gravely, was built as a trap for collar-buttons. The side 
 of the bed comes to within three Inches of the floor I 
 couldn t crawl under/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 141 
 
 " What did you do ? Eleanor Royston asked. 
 
 * I borrowed one of our host s and I had a hard tima 
 fending it. 
 
 I shall put my wardrobe under lock and key the next 
 time you visit us, Copley declared. 
 
 Sybert was curiously inspecting a small white globule he 
 found by his plate. 
 
 Marcia laughed and called from the other end of the 
 Uble : It s your own prescription, Mr. Sybert ; drop it 
 i your wine-glass and drink it like a man. I ve taken my 
 dose/ 
 
 During this exchange of badinage Paul Dcssart eaid 
 never a word. He sat with his eyes fixed moodily on tL* 
 table-cloth, and one hates to say it of Paul he sulked. 
 For the first time since she had known him, Marcia found 
 him Ufficllc. He started no subject himself, and those that 
 she started, after a brief career, fell lifeless. It may have 
 been that she herself was somewhat ill at ease, but in ary 
 case several awkward silences fell between them, which 
 the young man made no attempt to break. Mr. Copley 
 would never have said of him to-night that he was an 
 ornament to any dinner-table. It fell to the Frenchraaa 
 across the way to keep the ball rolling. 
 
 In an errant glance toward the other end of the table, 
 Marcia saw Sybert laughing oftly at something Eleauor 
 had said. She stayed her glance a second to note in 
 voluntarily how well they went together. Eleanor, with 
 her white shoulders rising from a cloud of pale-blue gauze, 
 looked fair and distinguished ; and Sybert, with his dark 
 face and sullen eyes, made an esthetically satisfying con 
 trast. He was bending toward her with that air of easy 
 politeness, that superior self-sufficiency, which had always 
 exasperated Marcia so. But Eleanor knew how to take it ; 
 she had been out nine seasons, and the smile with which she 
 answered him was quite as mocking as his own. 
 
 He looked to-night, through and through, what Marcia 
 had always taken him for the finished cosmopolitan the 
 diplomat the diner-out. But be was not just that, she 
 k:new ; she had seen him off his guard in the midst of the 
 storm that afternoon, and she was still tingling with the 
 surprise of it. She recalled what Mr. Melville had said 
 that afternoon in the ilex grove she was always recalling
 
 X44 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 what people said about Sybert, The things seemed to 
 tick in one s mind ; he was a subject that gave list to 
 many mots. You think you are very broad-minded 
 because you see the man underneath the peasant. Don t 
 you think you could push your broad-mindedness one step 
 further and see the man underneath the man of the world ? 
 She had caught a glimpse that afternoon. It seemed now 
 u if his air of super civilization were only a mask to conceal 
 she did not know what, underneath. She was searching 
 for an apt description when she heard the young French 
 man laughingly inquire : Mademoiselle Copley est un pen 
 distrait* ce soir, n est-ce pas ? 
 
 With a little start, she became aware that some one had 
 asked her a question. For the remainder of the dinner sLa 
 kept her eyes at her end of the table, and exerted herself to 
 be gracious to her taciturn companion. Paul s bad temper 
 was not unbecoming, and he scarcely could have adopted 
 a wiser course. Marcia had expected to find him sparkling, 
 enthusiastic, convincing ; and she had come down prepared 
 to withstand his charm. Mats voilA I there was no charm 
 to withstand. He was sullen, moody, with a frown scarcely 
 veiled enough for politeness. Some one had once compared 
 him, not very originally, to a Greek god. He looked it 
 more than ever to-night, if one can imagine a Greek god 
 in the sulks, What was the matter with him, Marcia could 
 only guess. Perhaps, as his cousin had affirmed, he wa* 
 iik a cat and needed stroking the right way of the fur. At 
 any rate, she found the new mood rather taking, and she 
 somewhat weakly allowed herself to stroke him the right 
 way. By the time they rose from the table he was, if not 
 exactly purring, ai least not showing his claws. 
 
 At the Royston girls suggestion, they put on evening 
 wrapt and repaired to the terrace except the two elder 
 ladies, who preferred the more tempered atmosphere of the 
 sJon. Mrs. Copley delegated her husband and Sybert to 
 act as chaperons ft position which Sybert accepted with 
 a bow, to the accompaniment of a slightly puzzled smile 
 on Eleanor s part. She could not exactly make out the 
 gentleman s footing in the household. They seated them 
 selves in a group about the balustrade, with the exception 
 of Eleanor and Sybert, who strolled back and forth the 
 length of the flagging. Eleanor wa$ doing her best to-
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS MS 
 
 eight, and her best was very good ; she appeared to hare 
 wakened a spark in even his indifference. Marcia, with hei 
 eyes on the two, thought again how well they went together, 
 and M. Benoit was a second time on the verge of calling her 
 distraite. 
 
 The two strollers after a time Joined the group, Eleanor 
 humming under her breath a little French chanson thai 
 had been going the rounds of the Paris cafes that spring. 
 
 Oh, sing something we all know/ said Margaret, and 
 with a laughing curtesy toward Sybert she struck into 
 Fair Harvard. The other girls Joined her. Theif 
 voices, rising high and clear, filled the night with the twinging 
 melody. It seemed strangely out of place there, in the 
 midst of the Sabine hills, with the old villa behind them 
 and the Roman Campagna at their feel. As their voices 
 died away Sybert laughed softly. 
 
 I swear I d forgotten it I 
 
 Margaret shook her head in mock reproof. Forgotten 
 it I she cried. A man ought to be ashamed to acknow 
 ledge it if he had forgotten his Alma Mater song. It s like 
 forgetting his country. 
 
 I suspect, said Eleanor, that it s time for you to go 
 back to America and be naturalised, Mr. Sybert/ 
 
 Oh, well, Miss Royston/ he objected, I suppose in time 
 one outgrows his college, just as one outgrows his kinder* 
 garten/ 
 
 And his country/ Marcia added, as much for Paul 
 Dessart s benefit as for his own. 
 
 Margaret, searching for diversion, presently suggested 
 that they visit the ghost. Marcia objected that the ghost 
 was visible only during the full moon, but the objection 
 was overruled. There was some moon at least, and a wild 
 night like this, with flying clouds and waving branches, 
 was just the time for a ghost to think of his sins. Mr. 
 Copley, in the office of chaperon, remonstrated that the 
 grass would be damp ; but there were rubbers, he was told. 
 Marcia acquiesced in the expedition without any marked 
 enthusiasm ; she foresaw a possible Uk-a-Ut* with Paul 
 Dessart. As they set out, however, she found herself walk- 
 Ing beside M. Benoit, with Paul contentedly strolling on 
 ahead at the side of bis younger cousin, while Eleanor and
 
 144 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 the two chaperons brought up the rear. As they came to 
 the end of the laurel path and approached the region of the 
 ruins, Margaret paused with her finger on her lips and in a 
 conspiratorial whisper impressed silence on the group. 
 They laughingly fell into the spirit of the play, and the 
 whole party stole along with the elaborate caution of ten- 
 year-old boys ambuscading Indians. 
 
 The ruins in the dim light looked a nt harbour for ghosts. 
 The crumbling piks of masonry were almost hidden by the 
 dark foliage, but the empty fountain stood out clearly in a 
 little open space between the trees. 
 
 The group paused on the edge of the trees and stood 
 with eyes turned half expectantly toward the fountain. 
 As they looked, they saw, with a tremor of surprise, the 
 dim figure of a man rise from the coping and diseolve into 
 the surrounding shadows. For a moment no one uttered 
 a sound beyond a quick gasp of astonishment, and an 
 excited giggle from Margaret Royston. Paul was the first 
 to rise to the occasion with the muffled assertion that he 
 recognized the fair and warlike form in which the majesty 
 of buried Denmark did sometime march. Before any of 
 them had recovered sufficiently to follow the apparition, a 
 aecond ghost rose from the coping and stood wavering in 
 apparent hesitancy whether to recede or advance. This 
 was more than tradition demanded, and with a quick 
 exclamation both Copley and Sybert sprang forward to 
 solve the mystery. 
 
 A babble of noisy expostulation burst forth. The ghost 
 was vociferous in his apologies. He had finished his work 
 and had desired to take the air. It was a beautiful night. 
 He came to talk with a friend. He did not know that the 
 ignore ever came here, or he would never have ventured. 
 
 The tones were familiar, and a little sigh of disillusionment 
 swept through the group. The two men cam back laugh 
 ing, and Paul apostrophized tragically : 
 
 Another lost illusion I If ail the ghosts turned out to 
 ba butlers, how unromantie the world would be ! 
 
 The young Frenchman took up the tale of mourning. 
 
 But the true ghost, Monsieur le Prince, whom I was 
 preparing to paint ; after this he will not deign to poke 
 ni& nose from the grave. It is an infamy I An infamy I 
 h declared.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 145 
 
 They laughingly turned back toward the villa, and Mar- 
 cia discovered that she was walking beside Paul. It had 
 come about quite naturally, without any apparent inter 
 position on his part ; but she did not doubt, since he had 
 the chance, that he would take advantage of it to demand 
 an answer, and she prepared herself to parry what he might 
 choose to say. He strolled along, whistling softly, appar 
 ently in no hurry to say anything. When he did break the 
 silence it was to remark that the tree-toads were infernal! y 
 noisy to-night. He went on to observe that he wasn t 
 particularly taken with her butler ; the fellow protested 
 too much in the wrong place, and not enough in the right. 
 From that he passed to a flying criticism of villa architec 
 ture. Villa Vivalanti was a daisy except for the eastern 
 wing, and that was way off in style and broke the lines. 
 Those gingerbread French villas at Frascati, he thought, 
 ought to be razed to the ground by act of parliament. 
 
 Marcia responded rather lamely to his remarks, as she 
 puzzled her brains to think whether she had done anything 
 to offend him. He seemed entirely good-humoured, how- 
 ever, and chatted along as genially as the first time they 
 had met. She could not comprehend this new attitude, 
 and though it was just what she had wished for such is 
 the contrariness of human nature she vaguely resented it. 
 Had M. Benoit seen her just then he might have accused 
 her, for the third time, of being distrait*. 
 
 The ghost-hunters, upon their return, shortly retired for 
 the night, as the test a at Genazzano would demand an 
 early start. Before going upstairs, Marcia waited to give 
 orders about an open-air breakfast-party she was planning 
 for the morrow. In searching for Pietro she also found 
 her uncle. Mr. Copley, very stem, was engaged in telling 
 the butler that if it occurred again he would be discharged ; 
 and the butler, very humble, was assuring the signore that 
 in the future his commands should be implicitly obeyed. 
 
 Uncle Howard, Marcia remonstrated, you surely aren t 
 scolding the poor fellow because of to-night ? What difier- 
 ncc does it make if he does entertain his friends in the 
 grounds of the oid villa ? We never go near the place. 
 
 It is this particular friend I am objecting to 
 
 Who was it ? 
 
 Gerrasio s stepfather,"
 
 146 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Ob; you don t suppose/ she cried, that he is trying t* 
 teal the child back again ? 
 
 I should like to see him do It I said Mr. Copley, with 
 decision. He doesn t want the boy/ he added. What 
 he wants is money, but he isn t going to get any. I won t 
 have him hanging about the place, and the servants may 
 as well understand it first as last/ 
 
 Marcia, having outlined her plan tor the breakfast to a 
 somewhat unresponsive Pietro, anally gained her room } 
 and setting her candle down on the table, she dropped into 
 the first chair she came to with a sigh of relief that the 
 evening was over. She was tired, not only in body, but in 
 mind as well. 
 
 The evening was not quite ended, however. A gentle 
 tap eame on the door, and she opened it to find Eleanor 
 and Margaret in loose silk dressing-gowns. Let us hi 
 quick/ said Margaret. We ve just met a man in the hall/ 
 
 The ubiquitous Pietro shutting up windows/ added 
 Eleanor. If I were you, I d discharge that man and get 
 a more companionable butler. It s uncanny for an Italian 
 servant to be as grave as an English one/ 
 
 Poor Pietro has Just had a scolding, which, I suppose, 
 accounts for his gravity. It s funny/ she added, that s 
 exactly the advice that Paul gave me to-night/ The 
 Paul was out before she could catch it, and she reddened 
 apprehensively, but the girls let it pass without challenging. 
 We ve come to talk, said Margaret, possessing hersdf 
 ct the couch and settling the cushions behind her. I hope 
 you re not sleepy/ 
 
 Very, said Marcia ; but I dare say I shan t be ten 
 minutes from now/ _ 
 
 You needn t worry ; this isn t going to be an all-night 
 session/ drawled Eleanor from the lazy depths of an easy- 
 chair. We start at nine for the Madonna s festa. 
 
 You d better appreciate us now that you ve got us/ 
 added Margaret. We should by rights have slept in Rome 
 to-night. 
 
 How did fou manage it ? 
 
 Paul took mamma down to the Forum to look at some 
 Inscriptions they ve Just dug up ; and while she was gone 
 Eleanor and I scrambled around and packed the trunks tot 
 Perugia. By the time she came back we had everything
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 14? 
 
 ready to come out here, and our hats on waiting to start. 
 Sht didn t recover her breath until we were in the train, 
 s.nd then the couldn t say anything before Mr. Copley. 
 When it comes to starting on journeys. Margaret *ddi, 
 mamma is not what you d call impulsive/ 
 
 Not often/ assented Eleanor ; but there hav been 
 instances. By the way, she added, I wish you d explain 
 about Mr. Sybcrt ; I confess I don t quite grasp his standing 
 in the family. How do yon come to bt taking such lengthy 
 horseback rides with a young man and no groom ? You 
 neve? did that when my mother was chaperoning you/ 
 
 No/ acquiesced Marcia ; I didn t, But Mr Sybert i 
 a little different. He s not exactly a young man, you know ; 
 he s a friend of Uncle Howard s. He happened to bt 
 available this afternoon, and Angelo didn t happen te be, 
 so ha came instead/ 
 
 As a sort of sub-groom ? * Eleanor asked, I homd 
 think he might object to the position/ 
 
 He couldn t h?Jp himself I she laughed, * Aunt 
 Katharine forced him into it/ 
 
 Eleanor regarded Marcia with still puzzled tmile. 
 You talk about Mr. Sybert as if he were a contemporary 
 of your grandfather. How old fat he, may I ask ? 
 
 I don t know. He s nearly as old as Uncle Howard. 
 Thirty-five or thirty-six, I should nay/ 
 
 A man isn t worth talking to under thirty-five/ 
 
 Oh, nonsense ! Margaret objected. I never hearei 
 any one in my life talk better than Paul, and he s exact!? 
 twenty-five/ 
 
 Paul talks words ; he doesn t talk ideas/ said her sister. 
 
 There was a pause, in which Eleanor leaned forward t 
 examine some bits of green and blue iridescent glass lying 
 in a little tray on the table, What are these ? sh 
 in a aired. 
 
 Pieces of perfume-bottles that the grave-digger to 
 Palestrina found in an old Etruscan tomb. There wen 
 some bronze mirrors, and the most wonderful gold neeklac* 
 I wanted it dreadfully, but he didn t dare sell it ; it i 
 gone to a museum in Rome. Aren t these pieces of gl&tt 
 loveJy, though ? I am going to have them set in gold and 
 made into pins/ 
 
 Here s a little bottle that s scarcely broken/ Eleaiaot
 
 I4 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 held ft up before the candle and let the light play upon its 
 surface. Who do you suppose owned it before you, 
 Marcia ? 
 
 Some girl who turned to dust centuries ago. 
 
 And her necklaces and mirrors and perfume-bottle* 
 jtill exist. What a commentary I 
 
 Thank goodness, they don t put such things in one s 
 coffin nowadays/ said Marcia ; or twenty-five hundred 
 years from now some other girl would be saying the same 
 of us. 
 
 Twenty-five hundred years/ Eleanor murmured. I 
 declare, my nine seasonf sink Into insignificance ! She 
 dropped the bottle into its tray and leaned back in her chair 
 with a little laugh. America is a bit tame, isn t it, after 
 Italy ? One doesn t get so many emotions/ 
 
 I m not sure but one gets too many in Italy/ *aid Marcia. 
 
 " How long are you going to stay over ? 
 
 I don t know. It s so much easier not to make up one t 
 mind. I shall probably stay a year or so longer with Uncla 
 Howard/ 
 
 I like your uncle, Marcia. He has a very taking way 
 of saying funny things without smiling/ 
 
 Ah/ sighed Marcia, he has ! 
 
 And as for Mr. Sybert Margaret put in mockingly. 
 
 I think he s about the most interesting man I ve met 
 in Europe/ Eleanor agreed imperturbably. 
 
 The most interesting man you ve met in Europe ? 
 Marcia opened her eyes. The statement was sweeping, and 
 Eleanor had had experience. Flow do you mean ? she 
 asked. 
 
 Well/ said Eleanor, with the Judicial air of a connoisseur, 
 for one thing, he has a striking face. I don t know whether 
 you ever noticed it, but he has eyes exactly like that por 
 trait of Filippino Lippi in the Uffizi. I kept thinking about 
 it all the time I was talking to him sleepy sort of Italian 
 eyes, you know and an American mouth. It makes an 
 interesting combination ; you keep wondering what a man 
 like that will do/ 
 
 As Marcia made no comment, she continued : 
 
 He has an awfully interesting history. We met him 
 at a reception last week, and Mr. Melville told me all about 
 him afterward. He was born in Genoa his father wai
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS *49 
 
 United State* consul and he was brought up in the midst 
 of the excitement during the fight for Italian unity. Poli 
 tics was in the air he breathed. He knows more about the 
 Italians than they know about themselves. He speaks the 
 language like a native, and he never 
 
 Oh, I know what Mr. Melville told you/ Marcia inter 
 rupted. He likes him. 
 Don t most people ? 
 
 1 Ask your cousin about him. Ask Mr. Carthrope, the 
 English sculptor. Ask anybody you please barring my 
 uncle and see what you ll hear. 
 
 What shall I hear ? 
 
 A different story from every person. 
 
 Well, really 1 He s worth knowing. 
 
 I detest him ! Marcia made the statement as much 
 from habit as conviction. 
 
 Eleanor regarded her a moment rather narrowly, and 
 then she observed : I will tell you one thing, Marcia 
 Copley ; and that is, that interesting men are mighty 
 scarce in this world. I don t remember ever having met 
 more than half a dozen. 
 
 And you ve had experience, suggested Marcia. 
 
 Nine seasons. 
 
 Who were they the half-dozen ? 
 
 One was a Kansas politician who wrote poetry. A 
 most amazing mixture of crudeness and tact remarkably 
 bright in some ways, but unexpectedly lacking in others. 
 He d never read Hamlti ; said he d heard of it, though. 
 Another was a super-civilized Russian. I met him in Cai.ro. 
 He spoke seven languages, and didn t find any of them full 
 enough to express his thoughts. Another was 
 
 The engineer, suggested Marcia. She had heard of the 
 engineer both from Eleanor and her mother. 
 
 Yes, agreed Eleanor, the chief engineer on the Clay 
 tons yacht. I cruised around with them two yean ago on 
 the Mediterranean, and the only interesting man on board 
 was the engineer. He was English, and he d lived in India 
 and Burma, and In oh, hundreds of nameless places. I 
 couldn t get much out of him at first ; he was pretty shy. 
 English people are, you know. But when he saw that one 
 was really interested he would tell the most astonishing 
 tales. I didn t have much chance to talk to him he didn t
 
 I5 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 appeal to mamma. That was one of the times that mamma 
 was impetuous/ the added with a laugh. Instead of 
 keeping on to Port Said with the boat, we disembarked at 
 Alexandria and ran up to Cairo for the rest of the winter. 
 It was there I met the Russian He was stopping it 
 Sktpheard s. 
 
 Eleanor paused, and her gaze became reminiscent *s 
 she at toying with th little Etruscan perfume-bottle 
 
 And the others ? Marcia prompted. 
 
 Weil, let me see/ Eleanor laughed. I one* knew * 
 professor of psychology in a little speck of a New England 
 college. He spent his whole life in thinking, and he d 
 arrived at some t very queer conclusions. He was most 
 entertaining he knew absolutely nothing about the world/ 
 A shade of something like remorse crossed her face, and 
 she hastily abandoned the professor. Did I say there 
 were any more ? I can t think who the fifth can be t unless 
 I include the blacksmith who married my maid. I never 
 knew him personally ; I merely judge from her report of 
 him. He beats her, I believe, when he gets angry ; but 
 h* s so apologetic afterward that she enjoys it. If you ve 
 ever read Wnthering Heights he s exactly like Heathclifle. 
 I d really like to know him. He d be worth studying. 
 
 That s the trouble/ complained Marcia. If you re 
 a man you can go around and get acquainted with any one 
 you please, whether he s a blacksmith or e prince ; but 
 If you re a gin you have to wait till you re introduced at a 
 tea. And the interesting ones never are introduced at teas/ 
 
 Ye/ agreed Eleanor ; that s partly true. But, on 
 the other hand, I think you really get to know people better 
 it you re a girl what they re really like inside, I mean, 
 Hen are remarkably confidential creatures/ 
 
 Did you find Mr. Sybert confidential ? * 
 
 N-no. I can t say that I did. He s queer, isn t he ? 
 Ton have the feeling that he doesn t talk about what he 
 thinks about that s why I should like to know him. It s 
 not what e man does that makes him interesting ; it s what 
 he think* It s his potentialities. 
 
 Margaret rose with something of a yawn. If you re 
 foing to discuss potentialities, I m going to bed. Come, 
 on, Eleanor To-morrow s the festa of Our Lady of Good! 
 Counsel and we start at nine o clock/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 151 
 
 Eleanor rose reluctantly. I wish we weren t going to 
 Perugia on Wednesday. I should much rather itay here 
 with Marcia. 
 
 And Mr. Sybert, Margaret laughed. 
 
 Oh, yes, Mr. Sybert, Eleanor acquiesced. He annoys 
 you until you get him settled/ 
 
 He s like one of those problems in algebra, suggested 
 Marcia. Given a lot of things, to find the value of x. 
 You work it exactly right and * won t come. 
 
 Margaret paused by the door and gathered her wr&ppc* 
 around her tike a toga. 
 
 While you re talking about interesting people, h 
 threw back, I know one who isn t appreciated, and that s 
 Paul. He s a mighty nice boy. 
 
 That s just what he is, said Eleanor. A nice boy 
 et c est tout. Good night, Marcia. When we com* back 
 from Perugia we ll sit up all night talking about interesting 
 men. It s an interesting subject. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 VILLA VIVALANTI was astir early in the morning early, 
 that is, for the villa. Castel Vivaianti had beeo at work 
 two hours and more when Pietro went the rounds of the 
 bedroom doors with his very obsequious, Buom giorno> 
 Excellency ; if it suits your convenience, coffee will ha 
 served in the ilex grove in half an hour. Coffee in the ilex 
 grove was a new departure irt accordance with Marcia a 
 inspiration of the night before. And the ilex grove to-day, 
 as Bianca exclaimed with clasped hands, reminded one of 
 paradise. The week of rain had left it a study in green ; 
 the deep, rich tone of ilex leaves arching overhead, the blue 
 green moss on dark tree trunks, the tender tint of young 
 grass sprouting in the paths, and the yellow flickering 
 sunlight glancing everywhere. Out on the terrace the 
 peacock was trailing his feathers over the marble pavemeat 
 with a conscious air of being in tune with the day. 
 
 Marcia was first to appear. She stepped on to the loggia 
 with a little exclamation of delight at the beauty of the 
 morning. In a pale summer gown, her hair burnished by 
 fche sun, she .herself was not out of touch with the scene. 
 She crossed the terrace arid stood by the balustrade, looking 
 off through a golden and purple haze to the speck on the
 
 I 5 a THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 horizon of Rome and St. Peter s. The peacock called hex 
 back, strutting insistently with wide-spread tail. 
 
 You ridiculous bird I she laughed. J suppose you 
 have been posing here for two hours, waiting for some one 
 to come and admire/ and she hurried off to the grove to 
 make sure that Pietro had carried out her orders. 
 
 The table was spread by the fountain, where the green 
 arched paths converged and the ilexes grew in an open 
 circle. The sunlight flickering through on dainty linen 
 and silver and glass and on little cakes of golden honey 
 fresh from a farm in the Aiban hills made a feast which 
 would not have been out of place in a Watteau painting. 
 Marcia echoed Bianca s enthusiasm as her eyes fell upon 
 the scene, and Pietro flew about with an unprecedented 
 ardour, placing rugs and cushions and wicker chairs. 
 
 It is perfect, she cried, as she retreated down one of 
 the paths to get a perspective. But there are no flowers, 
 she added. That will never do ; we must have some 
 lilies-of-the-valley,, Pietro. You fix a bowl in the centre, 
 while I run and pick them, and she started off toward the 
 garden borders. 
 
 Here Paul Dessart found her five minutes later. He- 
 greeted her with a friendly, Felicissitno giorno, signorina I 
 The transient clouds of yesterday had disappeared from 
 his brow as well as from the sky, and he joined gaily in her 
 task. 
 
 There 1 said Marcia as she rose to her feet and shook 
 back the stray hair from her eyes. Could anything be 
 more in keeping with a sylvan breakfast than these ? 
 She held at arm s length for him to admire a great bunch 
 of delicate transparent bells sheathed in glistening green 
 Come," she cried ; the artist must arrange them ; and 
 together they turned toward tht fountain. 
 
 A spray of bluest forget-me-nots hung over one of the 
 garden borders. The young man stooped and, breaking 
 it, presented it with his hand on his heart. 
 
 Signorina, he begged in a tone of mock-Italian sentiment 
 dearest signorina, I am going where duty calls far, 
 far away to Perugia. Non-te-scordar-di-me I 
 
 She laughed as she put the flowers In her belt, but with 
 & slightly deeper tinge on her cheek. Paul, in a mood iiko 
 ihi* was very attractive,
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 153 
 
 As they entered the grove they heard the prattle of 
 childish voices, and presently Gerald and Gervasw appeared 
 down the walk, carrying each a saucer of crumbs for their 
 scaly friends of the fountain. They stopped with big eyes 
 at the sight of the table spread for breakfast. 
 
 Oh, Cousin Marcia 1 Gerald squealed delightedly, 
 ar we doin to eat out uv doors ? May Gervas an me 
 eat wif you ? Please I- Please ! 
 
 Marcia feigned to consider. 
 
 1 Yes, said she finally, this is my party, *nd if you ll 
 be good boys and not talk, I ll invite you. And when 
 you ve finished your bread and milk, if you ve been very 
 good, you may have some the paused and lowered her 
 voice dramatically while the two hung upon her word* 
 honey I 
 
 Paul Dessart laughed at what struck him as an anti 
 climax, but the boys received the assurance with accla 
 mation. Gervasio was presented to the young painter, 
 and he acknowledged the introduction with a grace equal 
 to Gerald s own. He had almost forgotten that he was not 
 born a prince. As Gerald shook hands he invited the 
 guest, with visible hesitancy, to throw the crumbs ; but 
 Paul generously refused the invitation, and two minutes 
 later the little fellows were kneeling side by side on the 
 coping of the fountain, while the arching pathways rang 
 with their laughter. 
 
 The rest of their excellencies soon appeared in a humour 
 to fit the morning, and the usually uneventful first break 
 fast partook of the nature of a fete. Gerald s and Ger- 
 vasio s laughter rang free and unchecked. The two were 
 sitting side by side on a stone garden-seat (the broken- 
 nosed bust of a forgotten emperor brooding over them), 
 engaged for the present with twin silver bowls of bread 
 and milk, but with speculative eyes turned honeyward. 
 The ghost of overnight was resurrected and jeered at, while 
 the ghost himself gravely passed the cups. The sedately 
 stepping peacock, who had joined the feast uninvited, 
 became the point of many morals as he lowered his leathers 
 in the dust to scramble lor crumbs. Before the party 
 ended, Sybert and Dessart engaged in a good-natured bout 
 on Sybert therne of yesterday concerning Italy s banefuJ 
 beauty.
 
 154 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Paul has missed his calling 1 declared Eleanor Royston. 
 Ht should have been a ward politician in New York. 
 It is t, pity to se such a gift for impromptu eloquence 
 wasted in private life. 
 
 For a time Paul subsided, but their controversy closed 
 with the laugh on his side. .Apropos of riots, his thesis 
 was that they were on the whole very Jolly. And he up 
 held this shockingly barbaric view with the plea that he 
 always liked to see people having a good time, and that 
 next to sleeping in the sun and eating macaroni the Italians 
 were never so happy as when engaged in a row. For his 
 part, he affirmed, he expected to find them tearing up 
 the golden paving-stones of paradise to heave at each other i 
 
 The image wrung a smile from even Sybert s gravity ; 
 it contained Just enough of truth, and not too much, to 
 make it funny. Pietro s announcement, at this point, 
 that the carriages were ready to drive their excellencies 
 to the festa dissolved the party in a scurry for hats and 
 wraps, Sybert at first had declined the festa, on the plea 
 that he had business in Rome. Marcia had accepted his 
 excuse with the simply polite statement that they would be 
 sorry not to have him, but Eleanor Royston had refused to 
 let him off. 
 
 I ve known a great many diplomats/ she affirmed ; and 
 though they are supposed to be engaged with the business 
 of nations, I have never yet seen one who was too busy to 
 attend a party. We shan t let you off on that score. 
 
 Somewhat to Paul s secret annoyance, and not entirely 
 to Marcia s gratification, he finally consented to change 
 his mind. As the carriage started, Marcia glanced back 
 toward the loggia steps, where the two little boys, one with 
 yellow curls and one with black, were standing hand in 
 Land, wistfully watching the departure. 
 
 Good-bye, Gerald and Gervasio, she called. If you 
 are very goodJI ll bring you something nice from the festa. 
 
 The Copley pilgrimage was not the only one bound for 
 Genazzano that day. They passed on the road countless 
 bands of contadini, both on foot and on donkey-back, 
 journeying toward the festa, their babies and provision* 
 in baskets on their heads. Genazzano, on St Mark s day, 
 wisely unites pleasure and piety, with masses in the 
 cathedral and jugglers in the piazza. The party from
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 153 
 
 the villa devoted the larger share of their time te> the 
 piazza, laughing good-naturedly i the Ingiesfi I which 
 was shouted after them at every turn. They lunched on 
 the terrace of th very modest village inn, in company 
 with * jovial party of young Irish students from the 
 Propaganda who seemed to treat the miracles of the wonder 
 working Madonna in the light of an ecclesiastical joke. 
 Th afternoon found tht sight-seeing ardour of In* two 
 elder ladies somewhat damped. There was to be a function 
 in the cathedral at three, and they stated their intention 
 *f stopping quietly in the low-raftered parlour f the inn 
 ontii it should commence. Eleanor Royston issued a frank 
 invitation to Sybert to explore the old Colonna castle 
 which surmounted the town, and he accepted with what 
 truck Marcia as a flattering show of interest. 
 
 In regard to Laurence Sybert she herself was of many 
 minds. A very considerable amount of her old antagonism 
 ft?? him remained, mixed with a curiosity and interest in his 
 movements out of all proportion to the interest he had ever 
 expended upon her. And to-day she was experiencing a 
 fresh resentment in the feeling that his attitude toward 
 Eleanor was more deferential than toward herself. It was 
 a venturesome act for any man to awaken Marcia s pique. 
 
 Meanwhile she had Paul ; and the slight cloud upon her 
 brow vanished quickly as she and Margaret and tht younf 
 man turned toward the piazza. Paul was la holiday 
 humour, and th contagion of his fun was impossible to 
 escape. He wore a favour in bis hat and a gilt medal of 
 the Madonna in his buttonhole ; he laughed and joked 
 with the people in the booths ; he offered his assistance to 
 ft. prestidigitator who called for volunteers ; he *hot dolli 
 with an *ir-rifie and carried off the prize, a gaudily deco 
 rated pipe, which ht presented with & courtly bow to t 
 pretty peasant girl who, with frank admiration, had 
 applauded the feat. Finally he brought to a triumphant 
 close a bargain of Marcia s. She had expressed a desire 
 for a peculiar style of head-dressa long silver pin with 
 a closed fist on the end worn by the women from the 
 Volscian villagers, Paul readily agreed to acquire aae fo? 
 her. The tpilh was plucked from au astonished womaa i 
 head and the bargaining began. 
 
 Sell it ! But that was impossible, it was an
 
 156 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 it had been in the family for many generations ; she could 
 not think of parting with it not perhaps for its weight 
 in silver ? the money was Jingled before her eyes. She 
 wavered visibly. Paul demanded ncalcs. They were 
 brought from the tobacco-shop, the tobacconist importantly 
 presiding. The spillo was placed on one side ; lire on the 
 other six seven eight. The woman clasped her hands 
 ecstatically as the pile grew. Nine ten the scales 
 hesitated. At eleven they went down with a thud, and 
 the bargain was completed. A pleased murmur rippled 
 through the crowd, and some one suggested, Now is the 
 igTiorina sposatfi. For, according to Volscian etiquette, 
 only married woman might wear the head-dress. 
 
 Marcia shook her head with a laugh. She and Paul, 
 standing side by side, made an effective couple, and the 
 peasants noted it with pleased appreciation. Italians are 
 quick to sympathize with & romance. Protnessi sposi, 
 some one murmured, this time with an accent of delighted 
 assurance. Paul cast a sidewise glance at Marcia to see 
 bow she would accept this somewhat public betrothal. 
 She repudiated the charge again, but with a slightly 
 heightened colour, and the crowd laughed gaily. As 
 the two turned up the steep street toward the cathedral, 
 Paul held out his hand. 
 
 Give me the pin, he said. I will carry it in my 
 pocket for you, since you are not entitled as yet to wear 
 
 it/ 
 
 Marcia handed it over, trying not to look conscious of 
 the undertone in his voice. He was very convincing to- day ; 
 ih* was reconsidering her problem. 
 
 In the crowded little piazza before the cathedral they 
 found the rest of the party. They all mounted the steps 
 and stood in a group, watching the processions of pilgrim* 
 with votive offerings. They came in bands of fifty and a 
 hundred, bearing banners and chanting litanies. As they 
 approached the church they broke off their singing to shout 
 Ava Marias, mounting on their knees and kissing the 
 etfps as they came. Marcia, looking down over the tossing 
 mass of scarlet and yellow kerchiefs, compared it with th 
 great function she had witnessed in St. Peter s. These 
 |>*asant3 approaching the Madonna s shrin on their Jrares, 
 tkouting themselves hoars*, their faces glowing with religious
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 157 
 
 ardour, were to her mind far the more impressive sight 
 of the two. She turned into the church, half carried away 
 by the movement and colour and intensity of the scene. 
 There was something contagious about the simple energy 
 of their devotion. 
 
 The interior was packed with closely kneeling peasants, 
 ihc air filled with a blue haze of incense through which 
 the candles on the altar glowed dimly. The Copley party 
 wedged their way through and stood back at the shadow 
 of one of the side chapels, watching the scene. Paul 
 dropped on his knees with the peasants, and, sketch-book 
 m hand, iet himself surreptitiously to copying the head 
 of a girl in front. Marcia watched him for a few momenta 
 with an amused smile ; then she glanced away over the sea 
 of kneeling figures. Thertt was no mechanical devotion 
 here : it came from the heart, if any ever did. Ah, they 
 were too believing I she thought suddenly. Their piety 
 carried them too far ; it robbed them of dignity, of indi 
 viduality, of self-reliance. Almost at her feet a woman wa 
 prostrate on the door, kissing the stones oi the pavement 
 in a frenzy of devotion. She turned away in a quick 
 revulsion of feeling uch as she had experienced in St. 
 Peter s. And as she turned her eyes met Laurence Sybert t 
 n.ted upon her face. He was standing just behind her, and 
 he bent over and whispered : 
 
 You ve seen enough of this. Come, let s get out, *nd 
 he made a motion toward the sacristy entrance behind them. 
 They stepped back, and the crowd closed into their places 
 
 Out in the piazza he squared his shoulders with a little 
 laugh. The church must make itself over a bit before I 
 shall b ready to be received into the fold. How about 
 you, Miss Marcia ? 
 
 It seemed so beautiful, their simple faith ; and thea 
 suddenly that horrible woman and you realize th 
 ignorance and superstition underneath. Everything it 
 alike ! she added. Just as you begin to think ho^ 
 beautiful it is, you catch a glimpse below the surface. It t 
 awful to begin seeing hidden meanings ; you can never stop / 
 
 8 Look at that/ he laughed, nodding toward & house 
 where a pig was stretched asleep in the doorway. He t 
 evidently been left to keep guard while the family are af 
 *h ffsta. I suppose you ve noticed that every
 
 158 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Genazz&no has a separate door for the chickens cut in tht 
 bottom ( the big door. It s rather tunny, isn t it ? 
 
 Marti A regarded the pig with ft laugh and a sigh. 
 
 Yes. it s funny ; but then, the first thing you know, 
 fu begin to think what a low standard of life the people 
 most have who keep their pigs and their chickens in the 
 tousfi with them, and it doesn t eem funny any more. 
 
 Ah/ he said. You re coming on/ 
 
 8 I m afraid I am i *he agreed. 
 
 Ai they strolled toward the upper part of the town, they 
 tftmt upon a group of men and boys talking and smoking 
 and throwing dice in a prolonged noonday rest. It was 
 ft part ef the pilgrimage from the village of Castel Vivalanti, 
 and the group instantly recognized Marcia. The festal 
 spirit of the day, Joined to a double portion of wine, had 
 made them more boisterous than usual ; and one ragged 
 little urchin, who had been playing the part of buffoon for 
 the crowd, fell upon the two signed a a fresh subject for 
 peasantries. He *t up the usual beggar s whine, asking 
 for soldi. The two paying no attention, he changed the 
 farm ef his petition. 
 
 Siguonna/ he implored, running along at Marcia s side 
 and keeping a dirty hand extended impudently in front of 
 bar I have hunger, signorina ; I have hunger. Spare me, 
 IOF tht love of God, a few grains of wheat/ 
 
 That s ft new formula/ Marcia laughed. It s usually 
 bre*.d they want ; I never heard them ask for wheat before/ 
 
 Sybert turned on the boy, with an air of threatening, and 
 he hastily scrambled out of reach, though he still persevered 
 to his petition, to the noisy amusement of the crowd. 
 
 Marcia spread out empty hands. 
 
 I have no wheat/ she said, witts * nhnke of her head. 
 
 The youngster turned to his following, mimicking her. 
 
 The signorina has QO wheat/ he cried. Will no one 
 fiv to the signorina F She is poor and she has hunger/ 
 
 Some on tossed a soldo. The boy pounced upon it and 
 extended it toward her, 
 
 Behold, signorina 1 This good man is poor, but he is 
 generous. He otfert you money to get some wheat/ 
 
 Marcia laughed at the play in thorough enjoyment, while 
 If bert, with an angry light in his eye, seized the boy by the 
 and cuffed htm ourtdly.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 159 
 
 Mr. Sybert, she cried, take care ; you ll hurt him I 
 
 I mean to hurt him/ he said grimly, as with a final 
 tuft he dropped him over the tide of the bank. 
 
 The crowd Jeered at his downfall aa loudly as they had 
 Jeered at his impudence, and the two turned a corner and 
 lefts them behind. 
 
 You needn t hare struck him/ Marcia said. The boy 
 didn t mean anything beyond being funny. He is one o! 
 my best friends ; his name is Beppo, and he lives next 
 door to the baker s shop/ 
 
 If that is a specimen of your friends/ Sybert answered 
 dryly, my advice is that you shake their acquaintance/ 
 
 I don t mind a little impertinence/ she said lightly. 
 It s at least better than whining/ 
 
 I told you yesterday, Miss Marcia, that I didn t think 
 you ought to be running about the country alone I think 
 it even less to-day. It isn t safe up here in the mountain 
 towns, where the people aren t used to foreigners/ 
 
 Why don t you suggest to Uncle Howard that he engage 
 ft nurse for me ? 
 
 I begin to think you need one I 
 
 Marcia laid a light hand on his arm. 
 
 Mr. Sybert, please don t speak to me so harshly/ 
 
 * I ll speak to your uncle that s what I ll do/ he retorted. 
 
 They had by this time reached the castle, and having 
 crossed the drawbridge and the stone courtyard, they came 
 out on the other side, with the noisy little town left suddenly 
 behind. The mountains rose above them, the valley lay 
 beneath, and before them a straight, grassy road stretched 
 into the hills, bordered by the tall arches of an old aqueduct. 
 They strolled along, talking idly, Marcia well in command of 
 the situation. There was a touch of audacity, even of 
 provocation, underneath her glance, and Sybert was 
 amusedly aware of the fact that he was being flirted with. 
 Quite to Marcia s astonishment, he met her on her own 
 ground ; he accepted the half-challenge in her manner and 
 was never the first to lower his eyes. They had come to a 
 bank starred pink with cyclamen and backed by one of the 
 tall arches of the aqueduct. 
 
 Suppose we sit down and look at the view/ he suggested. 
 
 Marcia seated herself on a projecting block of masonry, 
 while Sybert lounged on the grass at her side.
 
 ibo THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Mr. Melville told me the other day, he remarked pre 
 sently, that he remembers having seen your mother when 
 the was a little girl. 
 
 Ma.rcia nodded and laughed. He told me about it he 
 ays she wa the worst torn- boy he ever saw. 
 
 it was a very pretty picture he drew I wonder if you 
 ever rode the colts bareback ? 
 
 My mother was brought up on a Southern plantation ; 
 I, in a New York house and a Paris convent there weren t 
 any colts to ride. 
 
 And your mother died when you were a little girl ? 
 
 When I was twelve. 
 
 Ah, that was hard/ he said, with quick sympathy. 
 
 She glanced up in hall surprise. It was the /first time 
 ithe had ever heard him say anything so kindly. 
 
 And the convent in Paris ? he asked. How did that 
 happen ? 
 
 Some one suggested it to my father, and I suppose it 
 struck him as an excellent way to dispose of me. Not 
 that he isn t an appreciative parent, she added quickly, 
 in response to an expression on his face ; but the education 
 cf a daughter is a problem to a business man. 
 
 I should think it might be, he agreed. And how did 
 the convent go ? 
 
 Not very well. I didn t learn anything but prayers 
 and French, and I was dreadfully homesick. 
 
 And then ? 
 
 Oh, one or two governesses and a baardmg-school, and 
 after that college. Marcia laughed. You should have 
 seen my father when I suggested the college. He clutched 
 at the idea like a drowning man ; it was another four years 
 reprieve. 
 
 It s a pity, he remarked, that the French method of 
 marrying one s daughter offhand as soon as she gets out of 
 school doesn t prevail in America." 
 
 I really did feel guilty when I graduated, the poor man 
 looked so dazed through it all. He asked me if I would 
 like to take a little trip into Venezuela with him to look 
 into some mines. It would have been fun, wouldn t it ? 
 she asked. I should have liked to go. 
 
 But, being charitable, you declined ? 
 
 Yes, and having another plan m my head. It had been
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 161 
 
 years since I had seen Uncle Howard, and I thought it 
 would be nice to come over and live with him for a while 
 
 And so here you are in Genazzano. 
 
 Here I am/ she agreed. But as soon as papa is ready 
 to settle down respectably like other people, 1 am going 
 back to keep house for him, and I shall take with mssoii t 
 fourteenth-century Italian furniture, and some nice Italian, 
 servants, and give nice little Italian dinners/ 
 
 And shall you invite me sometimes ? 
 
 Drop in whenever you wish. 
 
 Marcia began to laugh. 
 
 Well ? he inquired. What is so funny ? * 
 
 To be talking to you this way I shouldn t have issued 
 that invitation a week ago. You couldn t help yourself 
 yesterday/ she added ; Aunt Katherine made you come : 
 but really it s your own fault to-day/ 
 
 IB that the impression I gave you ? I am afraid I must 
 have very bad manners. 
 
 You have- rather bad/ she agreed. 
 
 You hit straight/ he laughed. No/ he added prt* 
 sently ; Aunt Katherine had nothing to do with our walk 
 to-day. If you care to know, I ll tell you why I wanted 
 to come. Yesterday afternoon I took a ride with a most 
 charming young woman, and I thought I d like to renew 
 the acquaintance/ 
 
 If that s intended for a compliment, it a of a very 
 doubtful nature. You have known this same charming 
 young woman for the last three months, and have never 
 shown any marked desire for her company before/ 
 
 I was blind, but I have been made to see/ 
 
 He commenced rolling a cigarette in a lazy, half- am used 
 fashion, while Marcia occupied an interval of silence by 
 checking the progress of a black beetle who found himself 
 on the stone beside her, and who seemed in a great hurry 
 to get somewhere else. In whichever way he turned, & 
 mountain of a gfreen leaf sprang up in his path. He rar: 
 wildly in a circle, vainty seeking an outlet, his six little leg? 
 twittering with anxiety. 
 
 Sybert stretched out a sympathetic hand and dropped 
 him over the bank to a place of safety. 
 
 Now why must you do that ? Marcia inquired. 
 
 A sense of fellow-feeling 1 ve watched too many worn?"" .
 
 r6a THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 playing with too many men not to know how the poor beast 
 felt. His progress was thwarted at every turn, without 
 his being able to comprehend any underlying motive or 
 reason or law. 
 
 It was good for him/ she affirmed. I was giving him 
 a new experience was widening his horizon. When I 
 finally let him go he would have been so thankful to think 
 of the danger he had escaped, that he would have been 
 twice as happy a beetle as ever before. 
 
 That is one way of looking at it, Sybert agreed. 
 
 Marcia watched him a moment speculatively. She was 
 thinking about the Contessa Torrenieri. 
 
 Mr. Sybert, she suggested, there are a lot of thing! I 
 should like to know about you. 
 
 I can think of nothing in my past that ought to be hidden. 
 
 These are things that you wouldn t tell me. 
 
 Try me and see. 
 
 Anything I choose to ask ? * 
 
 I am at your disposal. 
 
 Have you ever been in love with any one ? 
 
 He glanced up from his cigarette with an amused stare. 
 What s this a confessional ? 
 
 Oh, no only you don t look as if you d ever done such 
 & foolish thing, and I just wondered 
 
 Half a dozen times. 
 
 Really ? 
 
 Oh, I dare say not really, he laughed. In my cub 
 days I used to be well, interested sometimes. 
 
 But you outgrew it ? 
 
 It would be a rash man who would affirm that I You 
 never can tell what s waiting for you around the next corner. 
 
 She would have liked to put a question or so in regard 
 to the contessa, but instead she remarked, There are some 
 other things I d like to ask you. 
 
 I m not so sure I ll answer if that s a specimen/ 
 
 Why were you carrying a revolver yesterday ? 
 
 You strike me as a very inquisitive young woman, Miss 
 Marcia. 
 
 You strike me as a very mysterious man, Mr. Sybert/ 
 
 Why was I carrying a revolver ? For a very simple 
 reason. I have been travelling through the south, helping 
 to quiet the rioters ; and as that is not a popular occupation,
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 163 
 
 i thought it wisest to go armed. A revolver is an excellent 
 thing with which to persuade people, though in all proba 
 bility I shall never have any occasion to use it. I hope 
 you are satisfied.* 
 
 Thank you, said Marcia. Not that I believe you at 
 all/ she added with a laugh. 
 
 He regarded her a moment with a slightly perplexed frown. 
 What on earth do you take me for, Miss Marcia ? An 
 anarchist, a bandit, a second Fra Diavolo in disguise ? I 
 am nothing so picturesque, I assure you merely a peaceful 
 private citizen of the United States. 
 
 How do you come to know, the baker s son, Tarquinio, 
 o well ? 
 
 * I think I ve answered questions enough. Suppose wt 
 have a confession from you, Miss Marcia. Have you ever 
 been in love ? 
 
 Marcia rose. It s a quarter past four, and we ought t 
 be going back. The Roystons have to catch the evening 
 train into Rome/ 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MAHOA drove to the station* with the travellers, leaving 
 the rest of the party to return to the villa in the other 
 carriage She had a slight feeling of compunction in regard 
 to Paul, and it made her more responsive to his nonsense 
 than *he might otherwise have been. In the rdle of cicerone 
 he naively explained the story of the ruins they passed on 
 the way, and the entire history of Rome, from Romulus 
 and Remus to Garibaldi, unfolded itself upon that nine- 
 mi 1 stretch of dusty road Marcia gave herself up gaily 
 enough to the spirit of the play, forgetting for the time 
 any troubling questions lurking in the background. When 
 she bade him good-bye she smiled back, half laughingly, 
 half seriously, at his parting speech a repetition of the 
 morning s pretty phrase non-te-scordar-di-m* f 
 
 As the carriage turned homeward she smiled to herself 
 ove* her yesterday s state at the prospect of meeting Paul. 
 The actuality bad not been so disconcerting. She did not 
 quite comprehend his new attitude, but she accepted it as 
 *, tacit recognition of her desire to let matters stand, and 
 was grateful. She felt, very kindly toward him this evening. 
 H was such i eare-fred; optimistic young fellow ; and
 
 164 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 even supposing he were too ready to look on the bright 
 side of things, was not Laurenc Sybert, she asked herself, 
 too ready also to look on the dark side ? Since his words 
 of yesterday, in the old wine-cellar, she had felt an under 
 tone of sadness to her thoughts which she vaguely resented. 
 As she rode along now between the fresh fields, glowing in 
 th soft light ol the April sunset, she was dimly conscious 
 of a struggle, a rebellion, going on within her owia nature. 
 
 She seemed pulled two ways. The beautiful sunshiny 
 world of dreams was calling to her. And Paul stood an 
 the crossways laughing, careless, happy Paul holding out 
 his hand with a winning smile to show the way to Cytherea. 
 But deep within her heart she felt the weight of the real 
 world the world which means misery to so many people 
 dragging on her spirits and holding her back. And in the 
 background sh saw Sybert watching her -with folded arms 
 and a half-quizzical smile Sybert making no move either 
 !:o lure her on or to turn her back merely watching with 
 inscrutable eyes. 
 
 Happiness seemed to be her portion. Why could sha 
 not accept it gladly, and shut her eyes to all else ? If she 
 once commenced seeing the misery in the world, there would 
 be no end. Until a few weeks before she had scarcely 
 realized that any existed outside of books, but she knew 
 it now ; she had seen it face to face. She thought of the 
 crowded, squalid little houses of Castel Vivalanti ; of the 
 women who went out at sunrise to work all day in the 
 fields, of the hordes of children only half fed. Oh, yes, 
 she knew now that there was misery outside of books, 
 but she asked herself, with an almost despairing cry, why 
 need she know ? Since she could do nothing to help, since 
 he was not to blame, why not close her eyes and pretend 
 r ;t was not there ? It was the shrinking cry of the soul 
 that for the first time has tasted of knowledge ; that with 
 open eyes is hesitating on the threshold of the real world, 
 with a longing backward glance toward the unreal world 
 of dreams. But in life there is no going back ; knowledge 
 once gained may not be cancelled, and there was further 
 knowledge waiting for Maxcia not very far ahead. 
 
 Two little boys turning somersaults by the side of the 
 rarr;ijT suddenly recalled to her mind the boys at the 
 *vJ.*.. t.;id her promise to brn^ t.bH a presem fror*- the
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 16$ 
 
 testa. Not once had she thought of them during the day, 
 and the only possible present now was the inevitable sweet 
 chocolate of Castel Vivaiaati. She glanced at her watch ; 
 there was still an hour before dinner, and she ordered 
 Giovanni to drive up the hill to the town. Giovanni 
 respectfully begged her pardon, with the suggestion that the 
 horses were tired ; they had had a long journey and the 
 hill was steep. Marcia replied, with a touch of sharpness, 
 that the horses could rest all day to-morrw. They wound 
 up the gradual ascent at a walk, in cwapany with th 
 procession coming home for the night. It was a sight which 
 Marcia always watched with fresh interest : field-workers 
 with mattocks on their shoulders trudging wearily back 
 to supper and bed ; washerwomen, their clothes in baskets 
 on their heads, calling cheery good-byes to one another ; 
 files of ragged little donkeys ladea with brush, sheep and 
 pigs and goats, and long-horned oxen where they were all 
 to be stowed for the night was an ever-recurring mystery, 
 
 Under the smiling moons of the Porta della Luna the 
 carriage came to a halt, and the crowd of Castel Vivalanti 
 boys, who were in the habit of scouring the highway for 
 coppers, fell upon it vociferously. Marcia had exhausted 
 her soldi in Genazzano, and with a laughing shake of her 
 head she motioned them away. But the boys would not 
 be shaken off ; they swarmed about the carriage like little 
 rats, shrilly demanding money. She continued to shake 
 her head, and instantly their cries were transferred to the 
 taunts of the afternoon. 
 
 Grano ! Grano ! they shouted in chorus ; and Gio 
 vanni raised his whip and drove them away. 
 
 Marcia paused with her foot on the carriage-step, puz 
 ding over .ais new cry which was suddenly assailing her 
 at every turn. 
 
 What is the matter, Giovanni ? Why ar they alway* 
 shouting " Wheat " ? 
 
 He waved his whip disdainfully. Chi sa, signorina ? 
 They are of no account. Do not listen to their foolishness/ 
 
 They were the same children to whom she had given 
 ehocolat* not many days before. They forget quickly ! * 
 *li said to herself, perhaps, after ail, Paul was right, aa<$ 
 beauty is their strongest virtue. 
 
 Avt Maria was finding AS she turned Into tha
 
 *6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 crooked little streets, and the town was buzzing like 
 beehive over its evening affairs. Copper water- jars were 
 oming home from the well, blue smoke was pouring out 
 #f every chimney, and yellow meal was being sifted outside 
 the doors. Owing to the festa, the streets were crowded 
 with loungers, and in the tiny piazza groups of men were 
 gathered about the door of the tobacco-shop, arguing and 
 quarrelling and gesticulating in their excitable Italian 
 fashion. It had been a week or more since Marcia had 
 visited the Tillage, and now, as she threaded her way 
 through the crowd, it struck her suddenly that the people s 
 usual friendly nods were a trifle churlish ; she had the 
 uncomfortable feeling that group after group fell silent 
 And turned to stare after her as the passed. One little boy 
 houted Grano I and was dragged indoor* with a box 
 on bis ears. 
 
 M&dons ml* I cried his anxious mother. Are we 
 aot poor enough already, that you would bring down foreign 
 curses upon the house ? 
 
 In the bake-shop Domenico served her surlily, answering 
 i*e? friendly inquiries as to the health of his family and the 
 progress of his vineyard with grunts rather than words. 
 Amazed and indignant, she shrank within herself ; and 
 with head erect and hotly burning cheeks turned back 
 toward the gate, not so much as glancing at the people, 
 vho silently made way for her. 
 
 Ah, you see, they murmured to one another, the 
 foreign signorina played at having a kind heart for amuse 
 ment. But what does she care for our miseria ? No more 
 for the stones beneath her feet. 
 
 Laurence Sybert, coming out from the village, was some 
 what astonished to and Giovanni drawn up before the gate. 
 Giovanni hailed him with an anxious air. 
 
 Scusi, signore ; have you seen the signorina ? She is 
 Inside. He nodded toward the porta. She has gone to 
 fehe bake-shop alone. I told her the horses were tired, but 
 fas paid no attention ; and the ragazzi called " Wheat t " 
 but she did not understand 
 
 * They shouted " Wheat I " did they ? 
 Si, signore. They read the paper*. The
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 167 
 
 Sybert nodded. * I know what the A vanti aid." 
 
 He turned back under the archway and set out for the 
 baker s the place, as it happened, from which he had 
 Just come. He had been entertained there with some very 
 plain comments on his friends in the villa as Giovanni 
 suggested, they read their papers, arid the truth of whatever 
 was stated in printer s ink was not to be doubted. It was 
 scarcely the time that Marcia should have chosen for an 
 evening stroll through Caste! Vivalaati ; and Sybert was 
 provoked that she should have paid so little heed to his 
 warning of the afternoon. The fact that she was ignoraiu 
 of the special causes for his warning did not at the moment 
 present itself as an excuse. He had not gone far when h>s 
 heard shouts ahead. The words were unmistakable. 
 
 Wheat I Wheat I Signorina Wheat I 
 
 The volume of sound sent him hurrying forward in quick 
 anxiety, almost fearing a riot. But his first glance, as he 
 came out into the piazza, showed him that it was scarcely 
 as serious as that. Marcia, looking hurt and astonished 
 and angry, was standing in the midst of a fast-increasing 
 crowd of dirty little street urchins, who were shrieking 
 and jumping and gesticulating about her. She was in no 
 possible danger, however ; the boys meant no harm beyond 
 being impudent. For a second Sybert hesitated, with the 
 grim intention of teaching her a lesson, but the next moment 
 he saw that she was already thoroughly frightened. She 
 called out wildly to a group of men who had paused on the> 
 outskirts of the crowd ; they laughed insolently, and made 
 no move to drive the boys away. She closed her eyes and 
 swayed slightly, while Sybert in quick compunction hurried 
 forward. Pushing into the midst of the tumult, he cuffed th 
 boys right and left out of the way. Marcia opened her 
 eyes and regarded him dazedly. 
 
 Mr. Sybert I she gasped. What s the matter ? What 
 are they saying ? 
 
 Can you walk ? he asked, stretching out a hand to 
 teady her. Come, we ll get out of the piazza. 
 
 By this time other men had joined the crowd, and low 
 mutterings ran from mouth to mouth. Many recognized 
 Sybert, and his name was shouted tauntingly. Wheat i 
 Wheat 1 * however, was still the burden of the cry. One boy 
 Jostled against them impudently it <#as Beppo of the
 
 x68 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 afternoon and Sybert struck him a sharp blow acrost 
 the shoulders with his cane, sending him sprawling on the 
 pavement. Half the crowd laughed, half called angrily, 
 Hit him, Beppo, hit him. Don t let him knock you down/ 
 while a half-drunken voice in the rear shouted, Behold 
 Signor Siberti, the friend of the poor ! 
 
 Here, let s get out of this/ he said. And clearing an 
 opening with a vigorous sweep of his cane, he hurried her 
 down a narrow alley and around & corner out of sight of 
 the piazza. Leading the way into a little trattoria, he drew 
 chair forward toward the door. 
 
 * Giuseppe/ he called, bring the signorina some wine/ 
 
 Marcia dropped into the chair and leaned her head on 
 the back. She felt dazed and bewildered. Never before 
 had she been treated with anything but friendliness and 
 courtesy. Why had the people suddenly turned against 
 her ? What had she done that they should hate her ? In 
 the back of the room she heard Sybert explaining something 
 In a low tone to Giuseppe, and she caught, the words, she 
 does not know/ 
 
 Poverina, she does not know/ the woman murmured. 
 
 Sybert came across with a glass of wine. 
 
 Here, Marcia, drink this/ he said peremptorily. 
 
 She received the glass with a hand that trembled, and 
 took one or two swallows and then set it down. 
 
 It s nothing. I shall be all right in a moment. They 
 pressed around me so close that I couldn t breathe. 
 
 The wine brought some colour back to her face, and after 
 a few minutes she rose to her feet. 
 
 I m sorry to have made so much commotion. I feel 
 better now ; let s go back to the carriage. 
 
 Skirting the piazza, they returned to the porta by a 
 narrow side-street, the boys behind still shouting after, 
 but none approaching within reach of Sybert s stick. They 
 had regained the carriage and reached the bottom of the 
 bill before either of them spoke. Marcia was the first to 
 break the silence. 
 
 What is it, Mr. Sybert, that I don t know ? 
 
 A good many things, apparently/ he said coolly. * For 
 one, you don t know how to take a piece of friendly advice. 
 I told you this afternoon that the country-side was too 
 stirred up to be safe, and I think you might have paid
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 169 
 
 Just a little attention to my warning. Respectable Italian 
 girls don t run around the streets alone, and they particu 
 larly don t choose the evening of a festa for a solitary walk." 
 
 If you have quite finished, Mr, Sybert, will you answer 
 my question ? Why do they call me * Signorina Wheat " ? 
 
 He was apparently engaged with his thoughts and did not 
 hear. 
 
 Mr. Sybert, I asked you a question. 
 
 Why do they shout * Wheat " ? His tone was itill 
 sharp. Well, I suppose because just at present wheat if 
 a burning question in Italy, and the name of Copley is some 
 what unpleasantly connected with it. Your uncle has just 
 bought a large consignment of American wheat, which b 
 on its way to Italy now. His only object is to relieve the 
 suffering he loses on every bushel he sells but, as i 
 usually the case with disinterested people, bis motives have 
 been misjudged. The newspapers have had a great deal 
 to say about the matter, and th people, with their usual 
 f ratitude toward their benefactors, have turned against him/ 
 
 Mr. Sybert, you are not telling me th truth. 
 
 Sybert did not see fit to answer this charge ; he folded 
 his arms and leaned against the cushions, with his eyes 
 fixed on the two brass buttons on the back of Giovanni s, 
 coat. And Marcia, the colour back in her cheeks, sat star 
 ing at the roadway with angry eyes. Neither spoke again 
 till the carriage came to a stand before the loggia. 
 
 Well, Miss Marcia, are we friends ? said Sybert. 
 
 No/ said Marcia, we are not/ 
 
 Sh turned up to her room and set about dressing in t 
 very mingled frame of mind. She was still excited and hurt 
 from her treatment in the village and very much puzzled 
 as to its motive. She was indignant at Sybert s attitude, 
 at his presuming to issue orders with no reason attached 
 and expecting them to be obeyed. Instead of being grate- 
 fxil for his timely assistance, she was irritated that he should 
 have happened by just in time to see the fulfilment of his 
 warning. His superior I told you so 1 attitude was 
 exasperating to a degree. She ended by uniting her various 
 wounded sensibilities into a single feeling of resentment 
 toward him. The desire that was uppermost in her mind 
 was a wish to pay him back, to make him feel sorry though 
 for exactly what, she was not quite clear.
 
 X70 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Sht hung up in the wardrobe the simple dinner-dress that 
 Granton had laid out on the bed, and chose in its place a 
 particularly dignified gown with a particularly long train. 
 Having piled her hair on the top of her head, she added a 
 diamond star and a necklace with a diamond pendant. She 
 did not often wear jewels, but they were supposedly 
 American and irritating to a man of Sybert s cosmopolitan 
 enaibilities. 
 
 Quit* stately/ she murmured, critically surveying the 
 effect in the mirror. One might almost say matronly/ 
 
 As she started downstairs sh was waylaid at the 
 nursery door by a small figure in & white nightgown. 
 
 Cousin Marcia, what did you bwing me from ve festa ? 
 
 Oh, Gerald ! I brought you some chocolate and I left 
 it in the carriage. But never mind, dear ; it s too late, 
 anyway, for you to eat it to-night. I will send and get it, 
 and you shall have it with your breakfast to-morrow morn 
 ing. Bt a good boy and go to sleep/ 
 
 She went downstairs with her mind bent upon chocolate, 
 and crossed the empty salon to the little ante- room at the 
 rear. She had opened the door and burst in before she 
 realized that any one was inside ; then before the apology 
 had risen to her lips she had heard her uncle s words. 
 
 Good heavens, Sybert, what can I do ? You know my 
 hands are tied. Willard Copley would let the last person in 
 Italy starve if he could make one more dollar out of it ! 
 
 Marcia stood still, looking at her uncle in horror while 
 the meaning of his words sank into her mind. He whirled 
 & round upon her. His face was whiter and sterner than 
 she had ever seen it, 
 
 What do you want, Marcia ? he asked sharply. Why 
 don t you knock before you come into a room ? 
 
 Marcia s face flushed hotly. I am sorry, Uncle Howard ; 
 I was in a hurry, and didn t know any one was in here/ 
 
 Oh, I beg your pardon, Marcia 1 I spoke hastily/ 
 
 She hesitated in the doorway and then faced him again. 
 
 I heard what you said. Will you please tell me what 
 y ou mean ? 
 
 Copley cast an annoyed glance at Sybert, who was 
 standing in the embrasure by the window with his hands 
 in his pockets and his eyes bent upon the floor. Sybert 
 flanced up with a little frown, and thec with a half -per-
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS iyi 
 
 eptiblt shrug turned away and looked out of tht window. 
 
 I might as well tell you, I suppose you appear t 
 be hearing it from other sources. Your father has been 
 the originator tint spring of a very successful corner s.a 
 wheat. He is, as yon know, a keen judge of markets ; 
 and foreseeing that wheat for a number of reasons wae 
 likely to b scarce, ha and one or two of his friends hav* 
 purchased the whole of the visible supply. As Italy h*j 
 had to import more than usual and pay for it in gold 
 when she hasn t much but paper at her command yon 
 can readily see that it places her in an awkward position. 
 America is a great country, Marcia, when a tinglt one of 
 her citizens can bankrupt a whole kingdom/ 
 
 You don t mean, Uncle Howard, she cried, aghast, 
 that my father has caused the wheat famine ? 
 
 There may be one or two minor causes, but I think 
 he is deserving of most of the credit. The name of Copley, 
 I assure you, is not beloved in Italy just now. 
 
 And that in what the boys meant when they shouted 
 " Grano " ? 
 
 Oh, it s no secret. We re celebrities in our small way. 
 Two continents are ringing with the name of the Americas 
 Wheat . King, and we come in for a share of his fame. 
 When you think about it/ ht added, there is something 
 beautifully fitting about our taking Villa Vivalanti this 
 spring. W* appear to be American editions of the " Bad 
 Prince." I fancy th old gentleman turned in his grave 
 and smiled a trifle when I signed the lease/ 
 
 But, Uncle Howard, he doesn t understand. He dot* 
 it like a mathematical problem, just to show what he eau 
 do, just for the pleasure of winning. Why don t you writs 
 to him ? Why didn t you tell him ? 
 
 Tell him ! Copley laughed. You hav not been 
 Acquainted with your father for so many years as I have t 
 Marcia. Why should he care for a lot of Italian peasants ? 
 There are too many of them in existence already. Th 
 food in this world has to be fought for, and those who arc 
 beaten deserve to die/ 
 
 Marcia s face turned white as the meaning of a hundred 
 petty incidents flashed through her mind that before had 
 had no significance. Sh knew now why the people ia 
 Rome had stopped talking about the wheat famint wh
 
 ITS THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 he entered the room., She understood Sybert s attitude 
 toward her all the year hi* quizzical expression once or 
 twice when she spent money over-lavishly. She recalled 
 the newspaper the workman in Rome had thrust in her 
 (ace the Grido del Popole the Cry of the People. She 
 did not have to ask now what it meant. The very beggars 
 in the street had known of her shame, while she alone was 
 ignorant. 
 
 Why didn t you tell me ? she cried. 
 
 * I did not wish to spoil your pleasure ; there is no 
 reason why you shouldn t be happy. If all goes well, % 
 year from now you will be one of the notable heiresses oH 
 America. I only hope, when you re enjoying your wealth, 
 that you ll not think of the poor starving wretches in Italy 
 who gave it to you. 
 
 Copley s t<ii was as brutal as his words. He had for 
 gotten the girl before him ; he was talking to the man in 
 America. 
 
 Marcia turned away and, with a deep sob, iank down 
 by the table and buried her face in her arms. Sybert 
 threw up his head quickly with a glance of anger, and 
 Copley suddenly came to his senses. He sprang forward 
 and laid his hand on her shouldrr. 
 
 For Heaven s sake, Marcia, don t cry about it 1 I 
 don t know what I m saying. I m nervous and excited 
 and worried. It isn t as bad as I told you. 
 
 Marcia had a pitiable sense that she was acting like 
 child when, of all times, she ought to be calm and think, 
 But the sudden revulsion of feeling had swept her away. 
 She had indeed been living in a fools paradise the past 
 few months I The poor people Sybert had told her of 
 yesterday the starving thousands in Naples her own 
 father was the cause. And the peasants of Castel Viva 
 lanti no wonder they hated her ; while she distributed 
 chocolate with such graceful condescension, her father 
 was taking away their bread. She thought over her 
 ancle s words, and then, as she realized their content, she 
 suddenly rose, and faced th two men. 
 
 Uncle Howard, she said, I think you ve done very 
 strong not to tell me this before. I had a right to know, 
 and I could have helped it. My father loves his business, 
 but he loves me better. It s true, as I say, he s just doing
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 173 
 
 it as a sort of problem. He doesn t see the suffering he 
 causey arid h doesn t really believe there is any. Of 
 course he knows that some people lose when he gains, but 
 he thinks that they go into it with their eyes open, and 
 that they must accept the chances of war. He s exactly 
 as good a man aa either of you. And then, as a sudden 
 recollection flashed across her, she whirled about toward 
 Sybert, her glance divided between indignation and con 
 tempt. * And you called me the " Wheat Princess " 
 before every one in Paul Dessart s studio. You knew 
 that it wasn t my fault ; you knew that I didn t even know 
 about the trouble, and you laughed when I told the story 
 of the Vivalanti ghost. 
 
 Her voice broke slightly, and, turning her back, Bh<s 
 drew a piece of paper toward her on the table and began 
 to write. 
 
 There, she said, holding out a scrawled sheet toward 
 her uncle. There is a cablegram. Please see that it is 
 *ent immediately. 
 
 Copley ran his eyes over it in silence, and his mouth 
 twitched involuntarily into a smile. 
 
 Well, Marcia, I M see that if goes. I don t know 
 it may do som good, after all. He paused awkwardly 
 a moment and held out his hand. Am 1 forgiven ? " 
 he asked. I shouldn t hav said anything against your 
 father ; but he s my brother, remember, and while I 
 abuse him myself I wouldn t let an outsider do it. You 
 are right ; he doesn t know what he is doing. You must 
 forget what I said. I have thought about it too much. 
 Every one in Italy believes that I have an interest in 
 the deal ; and when I am doing my best to help things 
 tleng, it is a little hard, you know, to be accused by 
 the very people I am giving to of being the cause of their 
 distress. 
 
 Yes, Uncle Howard, I understand ; I don t blame 
 you, she returned, with a note of weariness in her voicn , 
 * but papa is really the kindest man in the world. 
 
 Ah, Marcia, a very kind-hearted man nowadays caa 
 do a great deal of harm by telegraph without having to 
 witness the results. 
 
 Sybert crossed the room* toward her with a curious 
 deep look in his eyes. He half held out his hand, but
 
 174 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Harcia turned away without appearing to notice, and 
 picking up her ?incle s cheque-Sook from the table, she 
 tore out a leal and scrawled across the face. 
 
 There s tome money for the Relief Committee, she 
 said, at she tossed the slip of paper across the table toward 
 him. That s all 1 hav in the bank just at present, but I 
 will give ome more as soon as I get it. 
 
 Sybert s face was equally impassive as he glanced front 
 tht paper back to her. 
 
 Thirteen thousand lire is a good deal. Do you think 
 you ought 
 
 I do as I please with my own money this it my 
 own, she added in parenthesis. My mother left it to me. 
 
 * As you please/ he returned, pocketing the slip with 
 a half-shrug. I know & village in Calabria that will be 
 very grateful for a little help until the olives ripen again. 
 
 Dinner is served/ announced Pietro in the doorway. 
 
 Marcia nodded to the two men. 
 
 I don t want any dinner to-night/ and she turned 
 upstair* to her room. She sat for half an hour staring 
 out at the darkening Campagna ; then she rose and lighted 
 the candles, and commenced a letter to her father. Her 
 pen she dipped in blood. She told him everything the 
 had heard or seen or imagined about Italy of the hunger 
 madness in the north and the starving peasants in the 
 south ; of the poor people of Castel Vivalanti and little 
 Gervasio. She told him what the people said about her 
 uncle ; that they called her the Wheat Princess ; and 
 that the children in the streets taunted her as sht went 
 past. She told him that the name of Copley was despised 
 from end to end of Italy. All tht crimes that have tver 
 been laid at the door of the government and the church 
 and the ignorance of the people, Marcia heaped upon her 
 offending father s shoulders, but with the forgiving 
 assurance that she knew he didn t mean it. And would 
 he please prove that he didn t mean it, by stopping the 
 corner immediately and sending wheat to Italy ? It WM 
 a letter to wring a father s heart and a financier s. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Fo the next week or so Marcia steadfastly avoided meeting 
 people. There were no visitors at the villa, and it was
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 175 
 
 easy to find pretexts for not going into Rome. She fell 
 iui overwhelming reluctance to meeting any of her friends 
 to meeting any one, in truth, who even knew her name. 
 It teemed to her that beneath their smile* and pleasant 
 speeches she could read their thoughts ; that the words 
 wheat, wheat, wheat rang as an undertone to every 
 sentence that was spoken. Her horseback rides were 
 ridden in the direction away from Caste) Vivalanti, and 
 if, by chance, she did meet any of her former friends the 
 villagers, she galloped past, looking the other way. 
 
 Mrs. Copley was engaged with preparations for the 
 coming ball. It was to be partially in honour of the Roy- 
 stons, partially in honour of Marcia s birthday, and all of 
 Rome or as much of it as existed for the Copleys was 
 to be asked to stop the night either at Villa Vivalanti or at 
 the contessa s villa in Tivoli. Marcia, her aunt com 
 plained, showed an inordinate lack of interest in these 
 absorbing preparations. She was usually ready enough 
 with suggestions, and her listiessness did not pass un 
 noticed. Mr. Copley s eyes occasionally rested upon bet 
 with a guiltily worried expression, and if she caught the 
 look the immediately assumed an air of gaiety. Neither 
 had made the slightest reference to the subject of that 
 evening s scene, except upon the arrival of a character 
 istic cablegram from Willard Copley, in which he informed 
 his daughter that he was sending her a transport of wheat 
 as a birthday present. 
 
 You see, Uncle Howard/ she had said as she handed 
 him the message, it is possible to do good as well ai 
 harm by telegraph. 
 
 Copley read it with a slight smile. After all, I m 
 afraid he s no worse than the rest of us ! and with that, 
 wheat was a tabooed subject. 
 
 For the future, however, he was particularly thoughtful 
 toward his niece to show that he was sorry, and she met 
 his advances more than half-way to show that she had 
 forgiven ; and, all in all, they came to a better understand 
 ing because of their momentary falling out. Mrs. Copley 
 accounted for Marcia s apathy (and possibly nearest the 
 truth) on the ground that she had taken a touch of malaria 
 in the old wine-cellar, and she dosed her with quinine until 
 the poot girl s head rang.
 
 iyt THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 It happened therefore that when th evening came to 
 Uend a musicale at the Contessa Torrenieri s villa, Mar- 
 cia could very gracefully decline. The occasion of the 
 function was the count * return from the Riviera ; and 
 although Marcia had some little curiosity in regard to the 
 count, still it did not mount to such proportions that slu 4 . 
 was ready to face the rest of the world for its sake. 
 
 Tivoli and Villa Torrenieri were a long nine miles away, 
 ind Villa Vivalanti that evening dined earlier than usuaJ. 
 As Marcia cam* downstairs in response to Pietro s um 
 mons, she paused a moment on the landing ; she had 
 caught th sound of Sybert s low voice in the salon. Sh 
 had not seen him since the tempestuous ending of the 
 San Marco festa, and she had not yet determined on Jus* 
 what footing their relations were. She stood hesitating 
 with a very slight quickening of the pulse, and then with 
 ft decided thrill of annoyance as an explanation for his 
 unexpected visit presented itself he had returned from 
 Naples and come out to Villa Vivalanti for the purpose of 
 Attending the contessa s musicale. Marcia went on down 
 stair* more slowly, and entered the salon with a none too 
 cordial air. Sybert s own greeting was in his usual vein 
 of polite indifference. His manner contained not the 
 ilightest suggestion of any misunderstanding in the past. 
 It transpired that he knew nothing of the impending party ; 
 b was clothed in an unpretentious dinner-jacket. But he 
 expressed his willingness to attend, in spite of the lack of 
 invitation it was doubtless waiting for him in Naples, 
 he declared provided his host would lnd him a coat. His 
 host grumblingly assented, and Sybert inquired, with * 
 glance from Mrs. Copley s velvet and Jewels to Marcia a 
 simple whit* woollen gown, what time they were planning 
 to start. 
 
 About eight ; it takes almost two hours to get there, 
 /aid Mrs. Copley. Marcia is not going/ she added. 
 
 Why not, Miss Marcia ? 
 
 She looked a trifle self-conscious as she put forth her 
 excuse. I v been having a little touch of malaria, and 
 Aunt Katherine thought perhaps the night air 
 
 I remember, when I was a boy in school, I used fre 
 quently to have headaches on Monday mornings/ said 
 "Jvbert, with a show of sympathy.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 17? 
 
 Marcia sat in her room till she heard the carriage drive 
 A\tay, then she dragged a wicker chair out to the balcony 
 w)ich overlooked the eastern hills, already darkened into 
 silhouettes against the sky. She sat leaning back with h-st 
 hinds clasped in her lap, watching the outlines of the old 
 njonastery lade into the night. She thought of the pale 
 Voung monk with his questioning eyes, and wondered 
 Vhat sort of troubles peoph who lived in monasteries 
 had. They were at least not her troubles, she smiled, as 
 he thought o! Paul Dessart. 
 
 Suddenly she leaned over the railing and sniffed th 
 fight breeze as it floated up from the garden. Mingled 
 with the sweet scent of lilies and oleanders was the heavy 
 odour of a cigar. Her pulses suddenly quickened. Could 
 ? She pushed her chair back and rose with an im 
 patient movement. Pietro was holding a rendezvous with 
 his friends again, and entertaining them with her uncle s 
 tobacco. Tii-* night was chilly and she was cold. She 
 turned into the dark room with a little laugh at herself : 
 the was ataying away from the contessa s musicals t.o 
 avoid the night air ? 
 
 She groped about the table for a book and started 
 downstairs with th half-hearted intention of reading out 
 the evening in the salon. A wood fire had been kindled 
 that afternoon, to dispel the slight dampness which the 
 stont walls seemed to exude at the slightest suggestion 
 of an eastern wind. It had burned low now, and the 
 embers gave out a slight glow which was not obliterated 
 by the two flickering candles on the table Pietro s frugal 
 soul evidently looked upon the Jaoip as unnecessary whew 
 Mr. and Mrs. Copley were away. Marcia piled on mor* 
 sticks, with n shaJke of her head at Italian servants. The 
 on* thing in the world that they cannot learn is to build 
 a fire ; generations of economy having ingrained withi& 
 them a notUm that fuel is too precious to burn. 
 
 The blaz once more started, instead of ringing for a 
 lamp and settling down te her book, she dropped into a 
 chair und aat lazily watching the flames. Italy had got its 
 hold upon her, with its spell of Let hi an inertia. She 
 wished only to close her eyes and drift idly with the cur 
 rent. 
 
 Presently she heard the outer door open and di*,
 
 178 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 steps erost the ball. Sh looked up with a start to *6* 
 Laurence Sybert in tbt doorway. 
 What s the matter did I surprise you ? he inquired. 
 
 * Yes ; I thought you had gone to the party. 
 
 * I was in the wine-cellar just as much as you/ h re 
 turned, with little laugh, as he drew up chair beside 
 her. Why can t I have malaria too ? 
 
 His sudden appearance had been disconcerting, and her 
 usual seli-a8*urancf seemed to b* wandering to-night. 
 She did not know what to say, and she half rose. 
 
 I was Just going to ring for the lamp when you came. 
 Pietro must have forgotten it. Would you mind 
 
 Sybert glanced Uzily across the room at the bell. Oh, 
 tit still. We have light enough to talk by s and you surely 
 aren t intending to read when you have a guest. He 
 stretched out his hand and took possession of her book. 
 
 I don t flatter myself that you stayed away from the 
 ecntessa ft to talk to me/ she returned ait she leaned back 
 again with a slight shrug. 
 
 Why else should I have stayed ? he inquired. Do 
 you think, when it came to the point, your uncle wouldn t 
 give me a coat ? 
 
 Probably you found that it didn t fit/ 
 
 Sybert laughed. No, Miss Marcia ; I didn t even try. 
 I stayed because I wanted to talk with you/ 
 
 Sh let the statement pass in silence, and Sybert ad 
 dressed himself to a careful rearrangement of the burning 
 wood. When he finally laid down the tongs he remarked 
 i& a casual tone, I owe you an apology will you accept 
 it? 
 
 What for ? 
 
 * You appear to have several counts against me sup 
 pose we don t go into details. I offer a collective apology/ 
 
 Because you called me " the Wheat Princess " ? Oh, 
 yes, I ll excuse it ; I dare say you were justified. 
 
 He leaned forward with & slight frown. 
 
 Certainly I was not justified ; it was neither kind nor 
 gentlemanly, and I am sorry that I said it. I can only 
 promise to have better manners in the future/ 
 
 Marcia dismissed the subject with a gesture. 
 
 3 Let me tell you about the good your money has done/ 
 
 " Nt.v please don t ! I don t want to hear. I know that
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS *?f 
 
 it i horrible, and that you did the best with it possible. 
 1m glad if it helped. My father is sending some wheat 
 that will be here in a few weeks. 
 ] Misn Marcia, he said slowly, I wish you wouldn t take 
 tsis matter so badly. Your uncle was out of his senses 
 ifhea he talked to you, and he didn t realize what he was 
 saying. He feels awfully cut up about it. He told me 
 to-night that he was afraid he had spoiled your summer, 
 end that he wouldn t have hurt you for the world. 
 
 Marcia s eyes suddenly Ailed with tears and she bit her 
 lip Sybert leaned forward and poked the fire. 
 . I should like to talk to you about your uncle/ h said, 
 with his eyes fixed on the embers, He is one of the 
 finest men I have ever known. And it is not often that 
 a man in his position amounts to much that is, as a human 
 being ; the temptations are all the other way. Most 
 men, you know, with leisure and his tastes would well, 
 go in for collecting carved ivory and hammered silver 
 and all that rubbish. Nobody understands what he it 
 trying to do, least of all the people he is doing it for, He 
 doe it very quietly and in his own way, and he doesn t 
 ask for thanks. Still, just a little appreciation would 
 b grateful ; and, instead of that, he is abused at every 
 turn. This wheat business increased the feeling against 
 him, and naturally he feels sore. The other evening he d 
 just been reading some articles about the trouble in a 
 Roman paper, and I had been telling him about youf 
 encounter with the village people when you came in. It 
 was an unfortunate moment you chose, and he forgot 
 himself. I wish you would be as kind to him as you cwi, 
 for he has a good many critic* outside, and Sybert 
 hesitated an instant he needs a little sympathy at home. 
 
 Marcia drew a deep breath. 
 
 I understand about Uncle Howard. she said. ! 
 used t* think ometimes she hesitated too that h 
 wasn t very happy, but I didn t know the reason. Of 
 course I don t blame him for what he said ; I know hs 
 was worried, and I know he didn t mean it. In any case, 
 I should rather know the truth. But about the wheat/ 
 she continued, my father is not to blame the way f OB 
 think he is. He and Uncle Howard don t understand 
 each other, but I understand them both, and if I had
 
 s8e THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 known sooner I could have stopped It. He didn t hav 
 tb remotest idea of harming Italy or any other country. 
 He just thought about getting ahead of a lot f others, 
 and you know what men arc like making people look 
 up to him. He s very quick ; he sees things faster thin 
 other men ; he knows what s going to happen ahead of 
 time, and you can t expect him not to take advantage of 
 it. Of course she flushed he wants to make money, 
 too ; but it isn t all that, for he doesn t use it after h& 
 gets it made. It s the beating others that he likes tli* 
 power it gives him. I m afraid/ she added, with a slightly 
 pathetic smile, that I shall have to gc home and look 
 nfter him/ 
 
 Oh, certainly, Miss Marcia, we all know that your 
 father had no thought of deliberately harming Italy or 
 any ether country. And, as a matter of fact, the American 
 wheat corner has not had so much to do with the trouble 
 a the Italian government would have us believe. The 
 simple truth is that your father has been used as a scape 
 goat. While the Roman papers have been suggestively 
 aiknt on many points, they have had much to say of the 
 American Wheat King. 
 
 Have the things they said been very bad ? 
 
 Sybert smiled a trifle. 
 
 There s not been much, to tell the truth, that he will care 
 4o cut out and paste in his scrap-book. 
 
 Our party, next week, seems heartless, doesn t it 
 sort of like giving a ball while the people next door are 
 having a funeral ? I wanted to give it up, but Uncle 
 Howard looked so hurt when I proposed it that I didn t 
 say anything more about it. 
 
 No, certainly not. That would be foolish and useless. 
 Because some people have to b* unhappy is no reason why 
 all should be. 
 
 I suppose not/ she agraed slowly ; and then she 
 added, The world used to be so much pleasanter to live 
 to before 1 knew there was any misery in it I with I 
 didn t have to know I 
 
 r Miss Marcia, I told you the other day that it was a 
 relief sometimes to see people who are thoroughly, irre 
 sponsibly happy ; who dance over the pit without knowing 
 1* * there. A man who has been in the pit, who know?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS iftx 
 
 all its horrors who feels as if he reeked with them like* 
 occasionally te see some one who doesn t even know of 
 its existence. And yet in the end do you think he can 
 thoroughly respect such blindness ? Don t you feel that 
 you are happier in a worthier sense when you look at life 
 with your eyes open ; when you honestly take tha bad 
 along with th good ? 
 
 She at iilent for a few minutes, apparently considering 
 his words. Presently he added 
 
 As for your party, 1 think you may dance with a fre 
 conscience. You ve done what you could to help matter* 
 on, and you ll do a great deal more in the future. 
 
 I m afraid that nay conscience didn t have much to 
 do with wanting to give up the ball, she acknowledged, 
 with a slightly guilty laugh. It s simply that I can t 
 bear to meet people, and feel that all the time they re 
 talking to me they re calling me in their minds " the 
 Wheat Princess," 
 
 That, I suppose you know, is very silly. It i the 
 price you have to pay, and I haven t much sympathy to 
 offer. However, you need not let it bother you ; for, an 
 t matter of fact, there will not be many rnen here, who 
 would not be wheat kings themselves if they had the 
 chance even knowing beforehand all the suffering it waa 
 going to bring to this trouble- ridden country. And now, 
 suppose we don t talk about wheat any more. You ve 
 thought about it a good deal too much. 
 
 You re not very optimistic/ she said. 
 
 Oh, well, I m not blind. It takes an Italian to be 
 optimistic in this country. 
 
 Do you like the Italians, or don t you ? she asked. 
 Sometimes you seem to, and sometimes you act as if you 
 despised them. 
 
 Yes, certainly I like them ; I was born in Italy." 
 
 But you re an American, she said quickly. 
 
 He laughed at her tone. 
 
 You surely want to be an American, she insisted. 
 
 As Henry James says, Miss Marcia, one s country, 
 like one s grandmother, is antecedent to choice. 
 
 She studied the fire for some time without speaking, 
 and Sybert, leaning back lazily, studied her. Her nexl 
 observation surprised him.
 
 I8a THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 You said the other day, Mr. Sybert, that every man 
 tired for some idea, and I ve been wondering what youn 
 was. 
 
 A curious expression flashed over his face. 
 
 * You couldn t expect me to tell ; I m a diplomatist. 
 
 I hav an idea that it is not very much connected with 
 diplomacy. 
 
 In which case it would be poor diplomacy for me to 
 give it away/ 
 
 Mr. Sybert. you give a person a queer impression, as 
 ii you were acting a part all the time, and didn t want 
 people to know what you were really like/ 
 
 An anarchist must be careful ; the police- * 
 
 I believe you are one 1 he cried. 
 
 Don t be alarmed. I assure you I am not. But/ tc 
 added, with a little flash of fire, I swear, in a country 
 like this, one would like to be anything for action ! Oh, 
 I m not a fool/ he added, in response to her smile. We re 
 living in the nineteenth century, and not in the thirteenth. 
 Anarchy belongs to the dark agM as much as feudalism/ 
 
 You re to difficult to place I I like to know whether 
 people are Democrats or Republicans, and whether they 
 art Presbyterians or Episcopalians. Then one always 
 knows where to find them, and is not in danger of hurting 
 their feelings/ 
 
 I m afraid I can t claim any such respectable COB- 
 nexions as those/ Sybert laughed. 
 
 Half the time en would think you were * Catholla 
 by the way you stand up for the priests ; the other half 
 ont would think you weren t anything by the way you 
 abuse them/ 
 
 This mania for classifying I What difference If * 
 person calls himself a Catholic or a Baptist, a Unitarian 
 or a Buddhist ? It s all one. A man is not necessarily 
 Irreligious because ht doesn t subscribe to any cut-and- 
 dried formulae/ 
 
 Mr. Sybert/ *he dared, I used to be terribly sus 
 picious of you. I knew you weren t just th way yon 
 appeared, and I thought yon were really rather bad ; 
 but I m beginning to believe you re unusually good/ 
 
 Oh, I say, Miss Marcia I What are you trying to gel 
 at ? Do you want me to confess to a hair shirt under-
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 183 
 
 aeath my dinner-jacket ? I am afraid you must leave 
 that to our friend the monk, up on his mountain-top/ 
 
 No, I didn t mean just that, Flageilationt and hair 
 shirts strike me &s a pretty useless sort of goodness. 
 
 It does seem a poor business, he agreed, for a strong 
 young fellow like that to give up his whole life to the work 
 of getting his soul into paradise. 
 
 Still, if h wants paradise that much, and is wiling 
 ta make the sacrifice - 
 
 It s setting a pretty high value on his own soul. I 
 bould never rate mine as being worth a lifetime of effort/ 
 
 I suppose a person s soul is worth whatever, price he 
 chooses to set. 
 
 Oh, of course, if a man keeps his soul in bandbox 
 he can produce it immaculate in the end ; but what s a soul 
 for if it s not for use ? He would much better live in 
 the world with his fellow-men, and help them keep their 
 souls clean, even at the risk of getting his own a little 
 dusty. 
 
 Yes, perhaps that s true/ she conceded. Such 
 dust will doubtless brush of! in the end/ 
 
 It certainly ought, if things are managed right/ 
 
 I can t help feeling sorry, though, for the poor young 
 monk ; he will be so disappointed, when he brings out bis 
 shiny new soul, to find that it doesn t rank any higher 
 than some of the dusty ones that have been dragged 
 through the world/ 
 
 It will serve him right/ Sybert declared. " He ought 
 to have been thinking of other people s souls instead of 
 his own/ 
 
 " Tis a dangerous thing to play with souls, and matter 
 enough to save one s own," quoted Marcia. 
 
 Oh, well/ he shrugged, I won t argue, with the poet 
 mad the priests both against me ; but still 
 
 You think that your speckled soul is exactly as good 
 *t other people s white souls ? 
 
 " It all depends/ he demurred, upon how they kept 
 theirs white and how I got mine speckled/ 
 
 Our frate has afforded a long moral/ she laughed. 
 
 Ah and I suspect h didn t deserve it. He looks, 
 poor devil, as if his heart were still in the world, in spite of 
 tb fact that he himself is in the cloister/
 
 184 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 In that case, she returned, he s lost the world lot 
 nothing, for his prayers will not be answered unless his 
 heart is In them. 
 
 There s a tragedy I said Sybert to have lost the 
 world, and then, in spite of it, to turn up in the end with 
 a dusty soul ! 
 
 They looked at each other soberly, and then they both 
 laughed. 
 
 Philosophy is a queer thing/ said Marcia. You 
 may go as far aa you please, but you always end where 
 you started. 
 
 " Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break on vain 
 philosophy s aye-bubbling spring," he repeated softly, 
 with his eyes on the fire ; and then he leaned toward her 
 and laughed again. Miss Marcia, do you know I havt 
 An idea ? 
 
 What is it ? she asked. 
 
 It s about you and me I have a theory that w* 
 might be pretty good friends. 
 
 I thought we d been friends for some time, she re 
 turned evasively. I am sure my uncle s friends are mine/ 
 
 Really, I hadn t suspected it ! But it s the sama 
 with friends as with politics and religion : they don t 
 amount to much until you find them for yourself/ 
 
 She considered this in silence. 
 
 I should say/ he added, that we d been pretty good 
 snemies all this time. What do you say to our being 
 friends, for a change ? 
 
 Marcia glanced away in a sudden spasm of shyness. 
 
 Shall we try it ? he asked in a low tone, bending 
 toward her and laying his hand palm upward on the arm 
 of her chair. 
 
 She dropped her hand into his hesitatingly, and bis 
 fingers closed upon it. He looked at the fire a moment, 
 and then back in her face. 
 
 Marcia/ he aid softly, did you ever hear the Tuscan 
 proverb, " The foes of yesterday become the friends of 
 to-day and the lovers of to-morrow " ? 
 
 A quick wave of colour swept over her face, and a faint 
 answering flush appeared in his. She drew her hand 
 away and rose to her feet, with a light laugh that put the 
 tat ew minutes ages away.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 185 
 
 " I m afraid it s getting late, and Aunt Kathcrine would 
 foe scandalized if she found her malaria patient waiting up 
 for her. I will leave you to smoke in peace. 
 
 Sybert rose and followed her into the hall. He chost 
 a tall brass candlestick from the row on the chimney- 
 piece, lighted it, and handed it to her with a silent bow. 
 
 Thank you, said Marcia, with a brief glance at hi 
 face, She paused on the landing and looked down. He 
 was standing on the rug at the foot of the stairs, watching 
 her with an amused smile. 
 
 * Buona notte, Signer Siberti/ she murmured. 
 
 Buona notte, signorina, he returned, with a little laugb 
 * Pleasant dreams ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 SHALL I do it high or low, ma am ? 
 
 Marcia, who was sitting before the mirror in a 5a.cc 
 camisole, fidgeted impatiently. 
 
 Oh, do it any way you please, Granton, only hurry low, 
 I think. That will look best with my gown. But do be 
 quick about it. I have to go downstairf . 
 
 There s plenty of time, replied the maid, imperturbably . 
 But I would be a little faster if you would kindly sit still 
 
 Very well, Granton ; I won t move for five minute?.. 
 I m really getting excited, though ; and I didn t care a bit 
 for the party until it began. 
 
 Yes, ma am. If you ll just turn your head a little more 
 this way. It s very early. 
 
 I know, but I have to go down and be sure that Pictro 
 understands about the lights. He s so stupid, he has to b* 
 watched every minute. And, Granton, as soon as you get 
 through with Mrs. Copley please go and help Bianca dress 
 Miss Royston. Bianca doesn t know anything more aboxU 
 fixing hair than a rabbit. 
 
 Granton s silence breathed acquiescence in this statenaect, 
 and under impulse of the implied compliment she became 
 more sprightly in her movements as she skilfully twisted 
 Mama s yellow-brown hair into a seemingly simple coil at 
 the nape of her neck. 
 
 For the past three days the house had been full of guests, 
 and though Marcia had been somewhat cold in her anticips 
 lions of the time, she found herself thoroughly enjoying i*
 
 z86 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 when it came. The days had been filled with rides and 
 drives and impromptu gaiety. Paul Dessart had been 
 master of the revels, and he filled the office brilliantly. He 
 had supplied the leaven of fun on every occasion, and had 
 been so thoroughly tactful that his host and hostess had 
 gratefully blessed him, and Marcia had cast him more than 
 one involuntary glance of approval. And this was her 
 birthday and the night of the ball. All day long she had 
 been the centre of a congratulatory group, the recipient of 
 prettily worded felicitations ; and she not unnaturally 
 found it pleasant. The afternoon train had brought still 
 more guests from Rome, and Villa Vivalanti s nineteen 
 bedrooms were none too many. Five o clock tea on tht 
 terrace had in itself been in the nature of a testa., with gaily 
 dressed groups coming and going amid the sound of laughter 
 and low voices ; while the excitable Italian servants scurried 
 to and fro, placing tea-tables and carrying cups. 
 
 Marcia had been secretly disappointed that afternoon by 
 the non-arrival of one guest whom she had half expected 
 and Eleanor Royston had been frankly so. 
 
 Mr. Copley, Eleanor had inquired of her host, as h* 
 offered her a cup of tea, where s that friend of yours, Mr. 
 Laurence Sybert ? 
 
 Quelling rioters, I presume. It s more in his line Just 
 now than attending balls. 
 
 As if anything could be more in a diplomat s line than 
 attending balls i With all the other diplomats here and oft 
 their guard, it s just the time to learn state secrets. And 
 he s the most interesting man in Rome, she complained. 
 I wanted to add him to my collection. 
 
 Your collection ? Mr. Copley s startled expression 
 approached a stare. 
 
 Of interesting men, she explained. Oh, don t be 
 alarmed ; I don t scalp them. The collection ia purely 
 mental it s small enough, so far, to be carried in my head. 
 It s merely that I am t student of human nature and am 
 constantly on the alert for fresh specimens. Your Mr. 
 Sybert is puzzling ; I don t know just how to classify him. 
 
 Ah, I see 1 It is merely a scientific interest you take in 
 him. Mr. Copley s tone was one of relief. If I can be of 
 any assistance with the label I am sure that he would fee] 
 honoured to grace your collection.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 * ! am not so sure, said Marcir Wait till you hear the 
 other*, Uncle Howard ! A Kansas politician who wants to 
 b a poet, an engineer on the Claytons yacht, a Russian 
 prince who talks seven language and can t express hit 
 thought* in any, and who were the others, Eleanor ? Oh, 
 yes \ the blacksmith who married the maid and beats her. 
 
 You don t d& them justice/ Eleanor remonstrated. 
 Those arc merely their accidental, extrinsic qualities. 
 That which make* them interesting is something intrinsic/ 
 
 Mr. Copley shot her an amused glance, and drawing up a 
 chair, sat down beside her, prepared to argue it out. 
 
 The list has possibilities, Miss Reyston/ he assured her, 
 though of course <me can t judge without knowing the 
 gentlemen personally. With which one, may I ask, art you 
 going; to classify Mr. Sybert ? 
 
 Oh, in a separate pigeonhole by himself. That is Just 
 what makes my collection interesting/ It was evidently a 
 subject that the discussed with tome relish. Most men, 
 you knowyou look them *ver and immediately assign 
 them to a group with a lot of others ; but once in a while you 
 come across a man who goes entirely by himself is what the 
 French caH an 0rt{wd~-a&<i he is worth studying/ 
 
 Mr. Copley took out a cigarette and regarded it specu- 
 ktively. I see/ he said. The best study of mankind is 
 man and so you think Sybert a specimen who deserves a 
 pigeonhole by himself ? 
 
 * Yes, I think he does, though I haven t quite decided on 
 th* hols yet. That s why it worries me that he didn t come 
 to the party. One hates to leave these little matters 
 unsolved/ 
 
 I am sincerely sorry far you te hav lost the opportunity. 
 ! must tell him your opinion/ 
 
 Ne, indeed ! remonstrated Eleanor. I may meet him 
 again some day, and if you tell him I shall never learn the 
 truth. One s only chance i to catch them unawares. 
 
 You re a very penetrating person, Miss Royston/ 
 
 * I ve been out nine seasons/ she laughed. You can 
 trust me to know a man when I see one ! 
 
 I wish you d teach Marcia some of your lore/ he mur 
 mured, as he turned toward th loggia to greet a fresh 
 
 of guests. 
 though one man wears missing, still a great maaf
 
 Z8S THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 others were there, and it had only been an undercurrent <? 
 Marc.a * consciousness in any case that had considered the 
 matter. The laughter and babel of voices, the gay prepara 
 tions and hurrying servants, had had their effect. A* 
 Gran ton clasped about her neck Mr. Copley s expiatory gift 
 a copy of an old Etruscan necklace in pearls and uneat 
 emeralds set in hammered gold she was as pleasurably 
 excited as a young woman may legitimately be on the ev of 
 
 birthday ball. 
 
 " There, Granton ; that s all/ she cried, catching up her 
 very Parisian skirts and flying for the door. Hurry with 
 the others, please, for it won t be long before the guests 
 begin coming.* 
 
 She started downstairs, pulling on her gloves as she went 
 She paused a moment on the landing to view the scecs 
 below, and sb blinked once or twice as it dawned upon her 
 that Laurence Sybert was standing at the foot of the stairs 
 watching her, )ust as he had stood the last time she had seen 
 him when h bade her good-night. For a moment she felt 
 an absurd tremor run through her, and then with something 
 like a gulp she collected herself and went on down to greet 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Sybert ! We were afraid you weren t coraicg. 
 When did you get here ? 
 
 On the late train. I have been in the south, and I didn t 
 get back to the city till this afternoon. 
 
 Your arrivals are always so spectacular. she said. 
 
 * We entirely give you up, and then the first thing we know 
 you are quietly standing before us on thj rug. 
 
 I should call that the reverse ol spectacular/ 
 
 Have you seen Uncle Howard ? Did they find any 
 place to put you ? The house is cram full. 
 
 Oh, yes, I ve been officially welcomed. I have a bed in 
 your uncle s dressing-room/ 
 
 You may be thankful for that. The next comer, I am 
 *fraid, will be put in the cellar/ 
 
 Svbert did not choose to prolong these amenities of wel 
 come any further, and he stood quietly watching her while 
 he buttoned her gloves. She looked very radiant to-night, 
 with the candle-light gleaming on her hair arid her haze! 
 syes shining vrith excitement. Her gown was the filmiest, 
 shimmering white with an undertone of green. About he>
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 189 
 
 neck the pearls gleamed whitely, each separate jewel $ 
 pulsing glob* of light. Marcia glanced up and touched the 
 cscklace with her hand. 
 
 This is Uncle Howard s birthday present, she said 
 1 isK f it lovely ? It s a copy of an old, old necklace in 
 Castellani s collection. My uncle gives me pearls, and my 
 father is sending wheat. 
 
 She turned aside into the long salon, and Sybert followed 
 her. If M&rcia had been momentarily jostled from her self- 
 possession by his sudden appearance, she had completely 
 regained her poise. She was buoyantly at her ease again. 
 There was a touch of intimacy, almost of coquetry, about bet 
 manner as she talked ; and yet Sybert acted the fact with 
 ft stub-smile of comprehension she avoided crossing eyes 
 with him. That moment by the fireside was still too vivid. 
 They returned to the hall, and Marcia stepped to the door 
 leading on to the loggia. The cornice was outlined with 
 tiny coloured lamps, while a man was lighting others by tha 
 terract balustrade. She glanced back at Sybert, who was 
 standing still in the hall. 
 
 You aren t going out ? he asked. 
 
 Just a moment. I want to see how it looks. 
 
 He looked at her bare shoulders with a slight frown.. 
 Bring the signorina a wrap, he said to the servant at the 
 door. 
 
 I don t need a wrap, said Marcia ; it s a warm night/ 
 
 Sybert shook his head with an expression that was 
 familiar. 
 
 Oh, if you wish to say anything, say it I the cried 
 Only please don t look at me with that smile. It s the 
 way you looked the first, time I saw you and I don t like it/ 
 
 I have nothing to say. VVhea a young woman threat- 
 ensd with malaria proposes to go out into an Italian nighi, 
 bare- shouldered, a mere man is left speechless/ 
 
 Pride would keep me warm/ 
 
 I haven t a doubt of it ; but in case it should for the 
 
 moment fail He took the long white cloak from th* 
 
 man s arm and glanced at it with another expression as he 
 placed it on her shoulders. It was composed mostly of 
 chiffon and lace. 
 
 1 All is vanity that comes from * Paris shop ! laughed 
 Marcia
 
 xgo THE WHEAT PRINCESS. 
 
 Sybert lit a cigarette and followed her. Well ? hi 
 asked, as they paused by the terrace balustrade. * Does it 
 meet with your approval ? 
 
 It s lovely, isn t it ? she replied as she looked back at 
 the broad, white facade with its gleaming windows. There 
 was no moon, but a clear, star-sprinkled sky. In all tht 
 dark landscape the villa alone was a throbbing ctntre of life 
 and light. Rows of coloured lanterns were beginning to 
 outline the avenu* leading to the gate, and in th ilex grove 
 tiny red and blue and white bulbs glowed among the 
 branches like the blossoms of some tropical night- blooming 
 tereus. Servants were hurrying past the windows, musi 
 cians wert commencing to tune their instruments ; every- 
 whert was tht excitement of preparation. 
 
 " And this is your birthday, he said. I suppose yon 
 have received many pretty speeches to-day, Miss Marcia ; 
 I hope they may all come true. She glanced up in his face, 
 and be looked down with a smile. " Twenty-three is a great 
 tgel 
 
 A shadow flitted across her face. Isn t it ? she sighed. 
 I thought twenty- two was bad enough but twenty- three I 
 It won t be many years before I ll be really getting old. 
 
 Sybert laughed. It s been a long time since I saw 
 Iwenty-three when I first came back to Rome. 
 
 * Twelve years/ said Marcia. 
 
 It s an easy enough problem if you care to work it out, 
 ! don t care to, any more/ 
 
 It s not bad for a man/ she said ; but a woman grows 
 Id so young \ 
 
 You need net worry over that Just now. The grey hairs 
 will not come for some time yet/ 
 
 I m not worrying/ she laughed. I was Just thinking 
 it isn t nice to grow old, is it ? 
 
 Certainly not. It s the great tragedy of life ; and it 
 omes to all, Miss Marcia to you as well as to the poorest 
 peasant girl in Cartel Vivalanti. Life, after all, contains 
 ooine justice/ 
 
 Marcia turned her back to the shining villa and looked 
 down over the great Campagna stretching away darkly 
 isnder the stars, with here and there the gleam of a shep 
 herd s fire, built to ward off the poison in the air, 
 
 Things are not very Just/ she said slowly.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS. 191 
 
 Not very, he agreed ; and one has little faith that thy 
 ever will be either in this world or the next. 
 
 It would be comfortable, wouldn t it, if you could only 
 believe that people are unfortunate as a punishment 
 because they deserve to be, 
 
 It would be a beautiful belief, but one which you aa 
 scarcely hold in Italy. 
 
 Poor Italy I she sighed. 
 
 Ah poor Italy I he echoed. 
 
 With a sudden motion he threw away his cigarette over 
 the balustrade and immediately lit another. Marcis 
 watched his face in the flare of the match. The eyes seemed 
 deeper-set than usual, the Jaw mort boldly marked, and 
 there were nervous lines about the mouth. His face seemed 
 to have grown thinner in the last few weeks. 
 
 They turned away and sauntered toward the ilex grove. 
 
 There are, however, compensations, h went on pre 
 sently. Our poor peasants do not have all the pleasures, 
 but they do not have all the pains, either. There are a 
 great many girls in Castel Vivalanti who will never have a 
 birthday ball he glanced from the lighted villa behind 
 them to the glowing vista in front, the green stretch of the 
 ilex walk with the shimmering fountain at the end whose 
 lives will be very bare, indeed. They will work and eat and 
 sleep, and love and perhaps hate, and that is all. You have 
 many other pleasures which they could never understand. 
 You enjoy the Egoist, for instance. But also he 
 paused you can suffer many things they cannot under 
 stand. You are an individual, while they are merely human 
 beings. Gervasio s stepmother married a husband, and 
 doubtless loved him very much and cried for him a week 
 after he was dead. Then she married another, and saw no 
 difference between him and the first. She may have to 
 work hard, and she may be hungry sometimes, but she will 
 escape the worst suffering in life, which you, with all your 
 privileges, may not escape, Marcia. 
 
 One would rather not escape it, she answered. I 
 should rather feel what there is to feel. 
 
 Ah I he breathed, so should we all ! And these poot 
 devils of peasants, who can t feel anything but their hunger 
 and weariness, lose the most of life. They are not even 
 human beings ; they are merely beasts of burden, hard-
 
 192 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 working, patient, unthinking oxen, who go the way they ar* 
 driven, not dreaming of their strength. That is the unfair 
 ness ; that is where society owes them a debt ; they have uo 
 chance to develop, However, he broke off with a short 
 laugh, it s not the time to bother you with other people s 
 troubles on your birthday night. We will hope, alter all, 
 ihat you may not have any very grave one* of your own. 
 
 They had reached the fountain and they paused. They 
 were alone in a fairy grove, with a nightingale pouring out 
 his soul in the branches above their heads. Marcia stood 
 looking down the dim, green alley they had come by, 
 breathing deeply. She knew that Sybert & eyes were on 
 her, and slowly she raised her head and looked up in his face. 
 For a moment they stood in silence ; then, as the sound of 
 carriage wheels reached them from the avenue, she started 
 and turned away. 
 
 Th people are beginning to come. I am afraid that 
 Aunt {Catherine will be wondering where I am, she said ic A 
 voice that trembled slightly. 
 
 Sybert followed her in silence. 
 
 Some one had once said to her that Sybert s silences 
 meant more than other men s words, and as they turned 
 back she tried to think who it had been. Ah she remem 
 bered ! It was the contessa. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THROUGHOUT the evening while she was laughing and talk 
 ing with the stream of guests, Marcia kept a sub-conscious 
 notion of Sybert s movements. She saw him in the hall 
 exchanging jokes with the English ambassador. She saw 
 him talking to Eleanor Roy&ton and bending over the 
 Contessa Torrenieri. And once, as she whirled past in & 
 waltz, she caught sight of his dark face in a doorway with 
 bis eyes fixed on her, and she forgave him Eleanor and the 
 contessa. She was conscious all the time of a secret amaze 
 ment at herself Sybert had suddenly become for her the 
 only person in the room, and while she was outwardly intent 
 upon what other men were saying, her mind was filled witn 
 the picture of his face as he had looked during that silent 
 moment by the fountain. She went through the evening in 
 a raaze, conscious only of the approach of the one dance she 
 had with him.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 193 
 
 When the evening was nearing its end she was suddenly 
 brought to her senses by the realization that she was stroll 
 ing down one of the ilex walks with Paul Dessart at her side. 
 She had been rattling on unheedingly, and she scarcely knew 
 how they had come there. Her first instinct was one of 
 self-preservation ; she felt what was coming, and she wanted 
 to ward it off. Anything to get back to the crowd again 1 
 She paused and looked back at the lighted villa, listening to 
 the sound of the violins rising above the murmur of voices 
 and laughter. For a moment she almost felt impelled to 
 turn and run. Since she had stopped, Paul stopped per 
 force, and looked at her questioningly. 
 
 I I think we d better go back, she stammered. This 
 dance is almost over, and 
 
 We won t go back Just yet, he returned. I want to 
 talk to you. You owe me a few moments, Marcia. Come 
 here and sit down and listen to what I have to say. 
 
 He turned into the little circle by the fountain &nd 
 motioned toward a garden seat. Marcia dropped limply 
 upon it and looked at him with an air of pleading. There 
 was no circumlocution ; both knew that the time had come 
 when everything must be said, and Paul went to the point. 
 
 Well, Marcia, are you going to marry me ? 
 
 Marcia cat opening and shutting her fan nervously, trying 
 to frame an answer that would not hurt him. 
 
 I ve been patient ; I haven t bothered you. You surely 
 ou{> ht to know your own mind now. You ve had a month 
 it hasn t been exactly a happy month for me. Tell me, 
 please, Marcia. Don t keep me waiting any longer. 
 
 Oh, Paul I she said, looking back with half-frightened 
 eyes. It s all a mistake. 
 
 A mistake ! What do you mean ? Marcia, I trusted 
 you. You can t throw me over now. Tell mt quickly 1 
 
 Forgive me, Paul, she faltered miserably. I I was 
 mistaken. I thought, that day in the cloister 
 
 He realized that, somehow, she was slipping away from 
 him and that he must fight to get her back. He bent toward 
 her and took her hand, with his glowing, eager face close to 
 hers, his words coming so fast that he fairly stuttered. 
 
 Yes, that day in the cloister. You did care for me then, 
 didn t you, Marcia just a little bit ? You let me hope 
 you told me there wasn t any other man you ve been kind 
 
 7
 
 194 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 to me ever since. That s what I ve lived on this whole 
 month tht memory of that afternoon. Tell me what the 
 trouble is don t let anything come between us. We ve 
 had such a happy spring let it keep on being happy. 
 We ve lived in Arcady, Marcia you and I. Why should 
 we ever leave it ? Why must we go back why not go 
 forward ? If you cared that afternoon, you can care now. 
 I haven t changed. Tell me why you hesitate. I don t 
 want to force you to make up your mind, but this uncer 
 tainty is simply hell. 
 
 Marcia listened, breathing fast, half carried away by the 
 impetuous flow of his words. She sat watching him with 
 troubled eyes and silent lips in a sort of stupor. She could 
 not collect her thoughts sufficiently to answer him. What 
 had she to say ? she asked herself wildly. What could she 
 say that was adequate ? 
 
 Paul, bending forward, his eyes close to hers, was waiting 
 expectantly, insistently, for her to speak, when suddenly 
 they were startled by a step on the gravel path before them, 
 and they both looked up to see Laurence Sybert, cigarette in 
 hand, stroll around the corner of the ilex walk. As his eye 
 fell upon them he stopped like a man shot, and for a breath 
 less instant the three faced one another. Then, with a 
 quick rigidity of his whole figure, he bowed an apology and 
 wheeled about. Marcia turned from red to white and 
 snatched her hand away. 
 
 Paul watched her a moment with an angry light growing 
 in his eyes. You are in love with Laurence Sybert I he 
 whispered. 
 
 Marcia shrank back in the corner and hid her face against 
 the back of the seat. Paul bent over her. 
 
 Look at me, he cried ; tell me it s not true. You can t 
 do it I You ve been deceiving me. You ve been lying I 
 Oh, yes, I know you ve been very careful not to make any 
 promises in so many words, but you ve made them in other 
 ways, and 1 believed you. I ve been fool enough to think you 
 In earnest, and all the time you ve been amusing yourself ! * 
 
 Marcia raised her eyes to his. Paul, I haven t. You are 
 mistaken. I don t know how I ve changed ; I can t explain. 
 That day in the cloister I thought I liked you very much. 
 And if Margaret hadn t come In, perhaps I wouldn t have 
 deceived you for a moment, and you know it.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 195 
 
 ? Tell me you don t love Sybert. 
 
 Paul, you have no right 
 
 I have no right I You said there was no one else, and ! 
 believed you ; and now, when I ask for an explanation, yon 
 tell me to go about my business. I suppose you were 
 beginning to get tired of me these last few days, and 
 thought^- 
 
 You have no right to talk to me this way ! I haven t 
 meant to deceive you. You asked me if there were any one 
 else, and I told you there was not, and it was true. I m 
 iorry sorry to hurt you, but it s better to find it out now. 
 
 Paul rose to his feet with a very hard laugh. 4 
 
 Oh, yes, decidedly it s better to find it out now. It 
 would have been still better if you had found it out sooner/ 
 
 He turned his back and kicked the coping of the fountain 
 viciously. Harcia crossed over to him and touched him on 
 the arm. 
 
 Paul/ she said, I can t let it end so. I know I hare 
 been very much to blame, but not as you think. I liked yon 
 so much/ 
 
 He turned and saw the tears in her eyes, and his anget 
 vanished. 
 
 Oh, I know. I ve no business to speak so but I m 
 naturally cut up, you know. Don t cry about it ; you can t 
 help it. If you don t love me, you don t, and that ends the 
 matter. I ll get over it, Marcu/ He smiled a trifle 
 bleakly. I m not the fellow to sit down and cry when I 
 can t have what I want. I ve gone without things before/ 
 He offered her his arm. We ll go back now ; I m afraid 
 you re missing your dances/ 
 
 Marcia barely touched his arm, and they turned back 
 without speaking. He led her into the hall, and bowing 
 with his eyes on the floor, turned back out of doors. She 
 laughed and chatted her way through two or three groupt 
 before she could reach the stairs and escape to her owas 
 room, where she locked the door and sank down on the floof 
 by the couch. Trouble was beginning for her sooner tha* 
 she had thought, and underneath the remorse and pity sht 
 felt for Paul, the thing that lay like lead on her heart was tht 
 look on Sybert s face as he turned away. 
 
 A knock presently came oc the door, followed by a 
 tling of the knob,
 
 X06 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 " Marcia, Marcia I called Eleanor Royston. Are you 
 L there ? Marcia raised her head and listened in silence. 
 
 The knock cam* again. She rose and went to the door. 
 
 What do you want ? she asked. 
 
 I want to com* in. It s I Eleanor. Open the door. 
 Whv don t yon come down ? 
 
 &farcia shook out her rumpled skirts, pushed back bet 
 hair, and opened the door. 
 
 Everybody s asking for you. The ambassador says you 
 vert engaged to him for a Why, what s the matter ? 
 
 Marcia drew back quickly into th* shadow, and Eleanor 
 stepped in and closed the door behind her. 
 
 What s the matter, child ? she inquired again. You vt 
 
 been crying ! Has Paul ? she asked suddenly. 
 
 Eleanor s intuitive faculties were abnormally developed. 
 I suppose he was pretty nasty, she proceeded, taking 
 Marcia s answer for granted. * He can be on occasion. 
 But, to tell you the truth, I think he has some cause to be. 
 I think you deserve all you got. 
 
 Marcia sank into a chair with a gesture of weariness, and 
 Eleanor walked about the room handling th ornaments. 
 
 Oh, I knew he was in love with you. There s nothing 
 subtle about Paul. He wears his heart on his sleeve, if any 
 one ever did. But if you don t mind my saying so, Marcia, 
 ! think you ve been playing with rather a high hand. It s 
 hardly legitimate, you know, to deliberately set out to make 
 ft man fall in love with you. 
 
 I haven t been playing. I didn t mean to. 
 
 Oh, nonsense t Men don t fall in love without a little 
 encouragement ; and I m not blind I ve been watching 
 you. If you want my honest opinion, I think you ve been 
 pretty unfair with Paul. 
 
 I know it, Marcia said miserably ; you can t blame me 
 .ay worse than I blame myself. But you Just can t love 
 people if you don t. 
 
 I m not blaming you for not loving him ; it s for his 
 bring you. That, by using a little foresight, might have 
 been avoided. However, I don t know that I m exactly the 
 I "/.-son to preach. Eleanor dropped into a chair with a 
 short laugh, and leaned forward with her chin in her hand 
 and her eyes on Marcia s face. I have a theory, Marcia 
 rS n more than a theory : it s a superstition, that some day
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 197 
 
 w* U be paid in our own coin. J m twenty-eight, and a good 
 many men have thought they were in love with me, while I 
 myself have never managed to fail in love with any of them. 
 But I m going to, some day hard and then either he s not 
 going to care about me or something s going to be in the way 
 set that w can t marry. It s going to be % tragedy. I 
 know it as well as I know I m sitting her*. I m going to pay 
 for my nin* seasons, and with interest. It makes me reck 
 less ; th score is already so heavy against me that a few 
 more items don t count. But I know my tragedy s coming, 
 and the longer I put it off th worse it s going to be. It s s. 
 nice superstition ; I ll share it with you, Marcia. 
 
 Marcia smiled rather sorrily. It was not a superstition 
 ihe cared to have thrust upon her just then. She was 
 divining it for herself, and did not need Eleanor to put it 
 into words. 
 
 * As for Paul, you couldn t do anything else, cf course. 
 You re not fitted to each other for a moment, and you U 
 grow more unfitted every day, Paul needs some one who is 
 more objective who doesn t think too much some one like 
 well, like Margaret, for instance. In the meantime, yon 
 needn t worry ; he ll manage to survive it/ She rose with 
 another laugh and stood over Marcia s chair. It s over and 
 done with, and can t be helped ; there s nothing to cry 
 about. But mark my words, Marcia Copley, you ll be 
 falling In love yourself som* day, and then [ Paul will be 
 avenged. Meanwhile there ar several years before yon IB 
 which you can have a very good time. Come on ; we must 
 go downstairs. The people will be leaving in a little while 
 Bathe your eyes, and I ll fix your hair. 
 
 Marcia went downstairs and laughed and danced and 
 talked again, and once she almost stopped in the middle of a 
 speech to wonder how she could do it. It was finally with 
 heartfelt thankfulness that she watched the people begin 
 ning to leave. Once, as she was bidding a group good night, 
 she caught sight of Sybert in the ha!) bending over the con- 
 tessa s hand. Sh* covertly studied bis face, but it was more 
 darkly inscrutable than ever. She slipped upstairs as soon 
 as the last carriage had rolled away ; it was not until long 
 after the sunlight had streamed into her windows, however, 
 that she E finally closed her eyes. Eleanor Royston s pleasant 
 superstition " she was pondering very earnestly.
 
 108 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THB ball ended, the guests gone, Villa Vivalanti forgot its 
 one burst of gaiety, and settled down again to its usual state 
 of peaceful somnolence. The days were growing warmer. 
 White walls simmering in the sunshine, fragrant garden 
 borders resonant with the hum of insects, the cool green of 
 the ilex grove, the sleepy, slow drip of the fountain it was 
 ill so beautifully Italian, and so very, very lonely I During 
 the hot mid-days Marcia would sit by the ruins of the eld 
 villa or pace the shady ilex walks with her feelings in 
 tumult. She had seen neither Paul Dessart nor Laurence 
 Sybert since the evening of her birthday, and that moment 
 by the fountain when the three had faced each other silently 
 was not a pleasant memory. It was one, however, which 
 recurred many times a day. 
 
 Of Sybert Marcia heard no news whatever. In reply to 
 her casual question as to when he would be at the villa again, 
 her uncle had remarked that just at present Sybert had 
 more important things to think of than taking a villeggia- 
 tnrat in the Sabine hills. But of Paul Dessart and the 
 Roystons most unexpected news had come. Paul s father 
 had had an attack brought on by overwork, and they 
 were all of them going home. The letters were written on 
 the train en route for Cherbourg ; a long letter from Mar 
 garet, a short one from Eleanor. The latter afforded some 
 food for reflection, but the reflection did not bring enlighten 
 ment. 
 
 DBAB MARCIA (it ran) : 
 
 I am sorry not to see you again, and (to be quite frank) 
 I am equally sorry not to have seen Mr. Sybert again. I feel 
 that if I had had more time, and half a chance, I might have 
 accomplished something in the interests of science. 
 
 Margaret told you, of course, that Paul is going back with 
 as. We hope his father s illness isn t serious, but he pre 
 ferred to go. There is nothing to keep him in Rome, ha 
 ays. Poor fellow i you must write him a nice letter. 
 Don t worry too much about him, though ; he won t blow 
 his brains out. 
 
 I could tell you something. I have Just the tiniest sug 
 gestion of a suspicion which granted fair winds and 
 prosperous voyage may arrive at the dignity of news by
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 199 
 
 the time we reach the other side. However, yon don t 
 deserve to hear it, and I shan t tell. Have I aroused you; 
 curiosity sufficiently ? If so, c est tout. 
 
 1 shall hope to see you in Pittsburg this autumn. That, 
 my dear Marcia, is merely a polite phrase and is not strictly 
 true. I shall hope, rather, to see you in Paris or Rome or 
 Vienna. I am afraid that I have the wander-habit to the 
 end. The world is too big for one to settle down perman 
 ently in one place and that place Pittsburg ; is it not so ? 
 One can never be happy for thinking of all the things that 
 are happening in all of the places where one is not. 
 
 Au revoir, then, till autumn ; we ll play on the Champs- 
 Elysees together. ELEANOB. 
 
 A letter had come also from Marcia s father, which put 
 her in an uncomfortably unsettled frame of mind. It was 
 written in the Copley vein of humorous appreciation of the 
 situation ; but, for all that, she could see underneath that 
 she had hurt him. He disavowed all knowledge and 
 culpability in the Triple Alliance and the Abyssinian war. 
 He regretted the fact that the taxes were heavy, but he had 
 had no hand in making up Italy s financial budget. As to 
 wheat, there were many reasons why Italy could not afford 
 it, aside from the fact that it was dear. Marcia could give 
 what she wished to the peasants to make up for her erring 
 father, and he inclosed a blank cheque to her order surely 
 an excessive sign of penitence on the part of a business man. 
 The letter closed with the statement that he was lonely 
 without her, and that she must come back to America next 
 winter and keep her old father out of mischief. 
 
 She read the last few sentences over twice, with a rising 
 lump in her throat. It was true. Poor man, he must be 
 lonely I She ought to have tried to take her mother s place, 
 and to have made a home for him before now. Her duty 
 suddenly presented itself very clearly, and it appeared as 
 uninviting as duties usually do. A few months before she 
 would not have minded, but now Italy had got its hold upon 
 her. She did not wish to go ; ihe wished only to sit in th 
 sunshine, happy, unthinking, and let the days slip idly by. 
 A picture flashed over her of what the American life would 
 be- a brownstone house on Fifth Avenue in the winter, a 
 country place in the Berkshires in the summer ; an aunt of 
 her mother s lor chaperon, her father s friends lawyers and
 
 200 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 bankers and brokers who talked railroads and the Stock 
 Exchange ; for interests she would have balls and recep 
 tions, literary clubs and charities. Marcia breathed & 
 doleful sigh. Her memories of the New York house were 
 dreary ; it was not a life she cared to renew. But nothing 
 of all this did she let her father know. She sent a gracefully 
 forgiving letter, with the promise that she would come home 
 for the winter, and not a hint that the home-coming was not 
 her own desire. 
 
 It seemed that, things having once commenced to change, 
 everything was going. Mr. Copley himself exploded the 
 next bombshell. He came back from Rome one night with 
 the announcement that the weather was getting pretty 
 hot, and the family ought to leave next week for Switzer 
 land. 
 
 Oh, Uncle Howard, not yet I Marcia cried. Let n* 
 wait until the end of June. It isn t too hot till then. Dp 
 here in the hills it s pleasant all summer. I don t want to 
 leave the villa. 
 
 Rome is hot just now in more ways than one, he re 
 turned, I d feel safer to have you in Switzerland or up ic 
 <the Tyrol during the excitement. Goodness only knows 
 what s going to happen next. I m expecting to wake up in 
 the middle of a French revolution every morning, and I 
 ahould like to have you out of the country before the 
 beheading begins. 
 
 There isn t really any danger of a revolution ? she 
 asked breathlessly. 
 
 Not in a country where every other man s a soldier and 
 the government s in command. But there have been houses 
 broken into and a good many acts of lawlessness, and we re 
 rather lonely off here. 
 
 I hate to think of going away, Marcia sighed. We ll 
 come back in the autumn, won t we, Uncle Howard ? 
 
 Oh, yes, if you like. I dare say we could manage a 
 month or so out here before we go into the palazzo for the 
 winter. 
 
 And I ll be going back to America for the winter, he 
 sighed. 
 
 He looked at her with a slight smile. 
 
 Are you the girl, Marcia, who used to preach sermons to 
 rour uncle about Americans living abroad?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 201 
 
 Marcia reflected his smile somewhat wanly. 
 
 Ajad I m practising my own preaching, am I cot ? 
 
 Oh, well, he said, when the time comes you can do as 
 you, please. Your father can get along without you one 
 year more. 
 
 No, I think I ought to go, for of course he must be lonely 
 but I should like to stay I It seems more like home than 
 n.ny place I ve ever been in. I ve really never belonged 
 anywhere before, and I like so much to be with you. 
 
 Poor little girl I You have had a chequered career. 
 
 Yes, Uncle Howard, I have ; and it keeps on being 
 chequered I I haven t been in the villa three mouths, but 
 really I don t remember ever having lived so long in one 
 place before. It s been nice, hasn t it ? I hate dreadfully 
 to haves it end. It seems like shutting away a whole part of 
 my lif* that can never come back/ 
 
 Oh, well, if you feel that way about it, I ll buy the villa 
 and we can come out every spring. You can bring your 
 father over, and we will dip him in the waters of Lethe, too/ 
 
 I m afraid he wouldn t be dipped/ she laughed. He d 
 be running a cable connexion out here and setting up & 
 ticker on the terrace, so that he could watch the stock 
 market as well as the view/ 
 
 Mr. Copley s mouth twitched slightly at the picture. 
 
 We must all ride our hobbies, I suppose, or the world 
 would be a very dreary world indeed/ 
 
 She looked up at him and hesitated. 
 
 Uncle Howard, do you and papa that is do you mind 
 my asking ? are you very good friends ? 
 
 Mr. Copley frowned a moment without replying. Well 
 Marcia, he s a good deal older than I, and we re not partial 
 iarly congenial/ He straightened his shoulders with - 
 laugh. Oh, well, there s no use concealing disagreeabK 
 truths. It appears they will out in the end. As a matter of 
 fact, your father and I haven t had anything to do with acL 
 other for the past ten years. The first move was on his part 
 when he wrote about you last fall you didn t know thai 
 you came as anMive-branch, did you ? 
 
 I didn t know ; he didn t tell me anything about it, buft 
 I well, I sort of guessed. I m sorry about it, Uncle How 
 ard. I m sure that it s fust because you don t understands 
 other/
 
 802 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 I m afraid we never have understood each other, and I 
 doubt if we ever can, but we ll make another effort. 
 
 It s so hard to like people when you don t understand 
 them, and so easy when you do/ said Marcia. 
 
 It facilitates matters, he agreed. 
 
 I think I m beginning to understand Mr. Sybert, she 
 added somewhat vaguely. He s different, when you 
 understand him, from the way you thought he was when you 
 didn t understand him. 
 
 Ah, Sybert I Mr. Copley raised his head and brought 
 his eyes back from the edge of the landscape. I thought I 
 knew him, but he s been a revelation to me this spring/ 
 
 How do you mean ? Marcia asked, striving to keep out 
 of her tone the interest that was behind it. 
 
 Oh, the way he s taken hold of things. It seems &a 
 absurd thing to say, but I believe he s had almost as much 
 influence as the police in quieting the trouble. He has an 
 unbelievably strong hold on the people how he got it, I 
 don t know. He understands them as well as an Italian, 
 and yet he is a foreigner, which gives him, in some ways, a 
 great advantage. They trust him because they think that, 
 being a foreigner, he has nothing to make out of it. He s 
 marvellous fellow when it comes to action/ 
 
 You never would guess it to look at him I she returned. 
 Why does he pretend to be so bored ? 
 
 Be so bored ? Well, I suppose there are some things 
 that do bore him ; and the ones that don t, bore other 
 people. His opinions are not universally popular in Rome, 
 and being a diplomatist, I dare say he thinks it as well to 
 keep /hem to himself/ 
 
 What are his opinions ? she asked tentatively. I 
 don t like to accuse him of being an anarchist, since he 
 assures me that he s not. But when a man wants to over 
 throw the government 
 
 Nonsense I Sybert doesn t want to overthrow the 
 government any more than I do. Just at present it s under 
 the control of a few corrupt politicians, but that s a thing 
 that s likely to happen in any country, and it s only a 
 temporary evil. The Italians will be on their feet again in a 
 year or so, all the better for their shaking-up, and Sybert 
 Knows it. He s got more real faith in the government than 
 most of the Italians I know/
 
 T#E WHEAT PRINCESS *os 
 
 * But he talks against it terribly/ 
 
 Well, he sees the evil. He s been looking at it pretty 
 closely, and he knows it s there ; and when Sybert feels a 
 thing he feels it strongly. But, Copley smiled, while he 
 says things himself against the country, you l! find he ll not 
 let any one else say them/ 
 
 What do people think about him now being mixed ap 
 in all these riots ? 
 
 Oh, Just now he s mixed up in the right side, and tht 
 officials are very willing to pat him on the back. But as tot 
 the populace, I m afraid he s not making himself over-liked. 
 They have a most immoral tendency to sympathize with the 
 side that s against the law, and they can t understand their 
 friends not sympathizing with the same side. It s a pretty 
 hard thing for him to have to tell these poor fellows to be 
 quiet and go back to their work and starve in silence/ 
 Copley sighed and folded his arms. I am sorry, Marcia, 
 you don t like Sybert better. There are not many like him/ 
 
 Marcia let the observation pass without comment. 
 
 The next "morning, as Mrs. Copley and Marcia were sitting 
 on the loggia listlessly engaged with books and embroidery, 
 there came whirring down the avenue the contessa s immacu 
 late little victoria, with the yellow coronet emblazoned on 
 the sides, with the coachman and footman in the Torrenieri 
 livery, green with yellow pipings. It was a gay little affair j 
 it matched the contessa. She stepped out, pretty and 
 debonair, in a fluttering pale-green summer gown, and ran 
 forward to the loggia with a little exclamation of distress, 
 
 Cara signora, signorina, I am desolated 1 We must part ! 
 Is it not sad ? I go with Bartolomeo (Bartolomeo was the 
 count) to plant olive orchards on his estate in the Abruzzi. 
 It it not lonely, that to spend the summer in an empty 
 castle on the top of a mountain, with only a view for com 
 pany ? And my friends at the baths or the lakes or in 
 Switzerland, or oh, everywhere except on my mountain- 
 top 1 
 
 Marcia laughed at the contessa s despair. 
 
 * But why do you go, contessa, if you do not like it ? the 
 inquired. 
 
 But my husband likes it. He has a passion for farming j 
 after roulette, it it his chief amusement. He is very pastoral
 
 *04 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Bartolomeo, He adores the mountain and the view and 
 the olive orchards. And in Italy, signorina, the wife has to 
 do as the husband wishes. 
 
 I m afraid the wives have to do that the world over, 
 r.ontessa. 
 
 Ah, no, signoriua, you cannot tell me that ; I have seen, 
 fa America the husband does as the wife wishes. It is * 
 beautiful country, truly. You have many charming 
 customs. Yes, I will give you good advice : you will be 
 wise to marry an American. They do not like mountain- 
 topi. But perhaps you will visit me on my mountain-top ? 
 the asked. The view ah, the beautiful view I It is not 
 o bad, 
 
 I m afraid not, contessa. We are leaving for the TyroS 
 ourselves a week from to-morrow. 
 
 So soon 1 Every one is going. Truly, the world comes 
 to an end next week in Rome. 
 
 Marcia found herself growing unexpectedly cordial 
 toward their guest ; even the contessa appeared suddenly 
 dear as she was about to be snatched away; She bade he? 
 in almost affectionate farewell, and stood by the balustrade 
 saving her handkerchief until the carriage disappeared. 
 
 Will marvels never cease ? she asked her aunt. S 
 ihink I really think that I like the contessa i 
 
 CHAFIER XXI 
 
 FHB next day it was just a week before their proposed trip 
 to the Tyrol Marcia accompanied her uncle into Rome for 
 ihe sake of one or two important errands which might not b 
 intrusted to a man s uncertain memory. Mr. Copley found 
 himself unready to return to the villa on the train they had 
 planned to take, and, somewhat to Marcia a consternation, 
 he carried her off to the Embassy for tea. She mounted tha 
 steps with a fast-beating heart. Would Laurence Sybert be 
 there ? She had not so much as seen him since the night of 
 ber birthday ball, and the thought of facing him before a 
 crowd, with no chance to explain away that awful moment 
 >9 the fountain, was more than disconcerting. 
 
 Her first glance about the ro9ia assured her that he was 
 not in it, and the knowledge carried with it a mingled feeling 
 of relief and disappointment. The air was filled with an 
 excited buzz of conversation, the talk being all of riots and
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS ioj 
 
 rumours of riots. Marcia drifted from one group to an 
 other, and finally found herself sitting on a window-seat 
 beside a woman whose face was familiar, but whom for the 
 moment she could not place. 
 
 You don t remember me, Miss Copley ? her companion 
 miled. 
 
 Marcia looked puzzled. I was trying to place you/ she 
 confessed. I remember your face. 
 
 One day, early this spring, at Mr. Dessart s studio 
 
 To be sure I The lady who writes 1 she laughed. I 
 aever caught your name. 
 
 * And the worst gossip in Rome ? Ah, well, they slan 
 dered me, Miss Copley. One is naturally interested in the 
 lives of the people one is interested in but for the others ! 
 They may make their fortunes and Jose them again, and get 
 married, and elope and die, for all the attention I ever give. 
 
 Marcia smiled at her concise summary of the activities of 
 life, and put her down as a Frenchwoman. 
 
 And the villa in the hills ? she asked. How did it go ? 
 And the ghost of the Wicked Prince ? Did Monsieur Benoit 
 paint him ? 
 
 The ghost was a grievous disappointment. He turned 
 out to be the butler. 
 
 Ah poor Monsieur Benoit t He has many disappoint 
 ments. C est tristt, n e$t-cf pa* ? 
 
 Many disappointments ? queried Marcia, quite hi the 
 dark. 
 
 The Miss Roystons, Mr. Dessart s relatives, pursued the 
 lady ; they ire friends of yours. I met them at the 
 Mel villes a few weeks ago. They are charming, are they not ? 
 
 Very, said Marcia, wondering slightly at the turn the 
 tonversatioB had taken. 
 
 And this poor Monsieur Benoit he has gone, all alone, 
 to paint moonlight in Venice. C* qne e est que I amour I 
 
 Ah i breathed Marcia. She was beginning to have an 
 inkling. Had he been added to the collection ? It was too 
 bad of Eleanor I 
 
 Miss Royston is charming, like all Americans, reiterated 
 the lady. But, I fear, a little cruel. Mais n imports. 
 He is young, and when one is young one s heart is made ol 
 india-rubber, is it not so ? Her eyes rested on Marcia lot 
 t moment,
 
 to6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Marcia i glance had wandered toward the door. Lao* 
 rence Sybert had Just come in and joined the group about 
 her uncle, and she noted the fact with a quick thrill of 
 excitement Would he come and speak to her ? What 
 would he say ? How would he act ? She felt a strong 
 desire to study his face, but she was aware that the eyes of 
 the greatest gossip in Rome were upon her, and she raili*d 
 herself to answer. Monsieur Benoit was commiserated for 
 (he third time. 
 
 Ah, well, finished the lady, philosophically, perhaps it 
 Is for the best. A young man avec It caw brisi is far more 
 interesting than one who is heart-whole. There is that 
 Laurence Sybert over there. She nodded toward the group 
 on the other side of the room. For the last ten years, when 
 the forestieri in Rome haven t had anything else to talk 
 about, they ve talked about him., And all because they 
 think that under that manner of his he s carrying around a 
 broken heart for the pretty little Contessa Torrenieri. 
 
 Marcia laughed lightly. Mr. Sybert at least carries his 
 broken heart easily. One would never suspect its presence. 
 
 The lady s eyes rested upon her an appreciable instant be 
 fore she answered : Cht, vnols ? People must nave some 
 thing to talk about, and a good many girls yes, and with 
 dots have sighed in vain for a smile from his dark eyes. 
 Between you and me, I don t believe the man s got any 
 heart either broken or whole. But I mustn t be slander- 
 ing him/ she laughed. I remember he s a friend at Casa 
 Copley. 
 
 Mr. Sybert is my uncle s friend ; the rest of us see very 
 little of him, Marcia returned as she endeavoured to think 
 of a new theme. Her companion, however, saved her the 
 trouble. 
 
 And were you not surprised at Mr. Dessart s desertion ? 
 
 Mr. Dessart s desertion ? Marcia repeated the question 
 with a slight quiver of the eyelids. 
 
 Exchanging Rome for Pittsburg. You Americana do 
 things so suddenly 1 One loses one s breath. 
 
 But his father was ill and they sent for him. 
 
 Yes ; but the surprising part is that he goes for good. 
 The pictures and carvings and curios are packed ; there is a 
 card in the window saying the studio is for rent he is giving 
 op art to mine coal instead.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 307 
 
 Marcia laughed. It is a seven-league step from art to 
 coal/ she acknowledged. I had thought myself that he 
 was an artist to the end/ 
 
 Ah he was an artist because he was young, not because 
 he was called, and I suppose he got tired of the play. The 
 real artist for you it is that poor young man painting 
 moonlight in Venice/ The lady tapped Marcia s arm gently 
 with her fan. But you and I know, Miss Copley, that 
 Paul Dessart never went back to America just from home 
 sickness ; when a young man hasn t reached thirty yet, you 
 may be pretty sure of finding a woman behind most of his 
 motives/ 
 
 Marcia had the uncomfortable feeling that the lady s eyes 
 were fixed upon her with a speculative light in their depths. 
 She endeavoured to look disinterested as she again cast 
 about for a more propitious topic. Glancing up, she saw 
 that her uncle, accompanied by Laurence Sybert and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Melville, was crossing the room in their direction. 
 Sybert, who was laughing and chatting easily with Mrs. 
 Melville, apparently did not feel that there was any awk 
 wardness in the moment. He delivered a cordially indiffer 
 ent bow which was evidently meant to be divided between 
 Marcia and her companion. After a moment or so of genera) 
 greetings, Marcia found herself talking with Mrs. Melville, 
 while her uncle and the consul-general still discussed riots, 
 and the lady who wrote appropriated Sybert. 
 
 We are sorry to hear you are leaving the villa so early, 
 though I suppose we shall all be following in a week or so/ 
 aid Mrs. Melville. One clings pretty closely to the shady 
 side of the street even now. Aren t these riots dreadful ? 
 she rambled on. Poor Laurence Sybert is working himself 
 thin over them. It is the only subject one hears nowadays/ 
 
 Marcia achieved an intelligent reply, while at the same 
 time she found herself listening to the conversation on the 
 other side. To her intense discomfort, it was still of Paul 
 Dessart. 
 
 Yes, I heard that he had been suddenly called home J 
 that was hard luck/ said Sybert quietly. 
 
 Between you and me, Paul Dessart never gave up art 
 and went back to Pittsburg because he was tired of Rome. 
 As I told Miss Copley, when a young man decides to settle 
 .down and be serious, you may mark my words there s
 
 io8 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 woman in the case. Oh, I knew it all the time/ She 
 lowered her tone. We ll be reading of an engagement in 
 the Paris Herald one of these days. 
 
 I dare say, as usual, you re right, Sybert said dryly ; 
 while Marcia, inwardly raging and outwardly smiling, gave 
 ear to Mrs. Melville again. 
 
 Oh, did I tell you, Mrs. Melville asked, that we are 
 coming out to the villa next Saturday for " week-end " ? 
 It s a long-standing invitation, that we ve never found a 
 chance to accept. But it s so charming out there that we 
 can t bear to miss it, and so we are throwing over all our 
 other engagements in order to get out this week before you 
 break up. 
 
 Marcia murmured some polite phrases while she tried to 
 catch the gist of the conversation on the other side. It was 
 not of Paul Dessart, she reassured herself. The woman 
 who wrote was narrating an adventure with some bread- 
 tickets of the anti-begging society, and the two men 
 Melville and Sybert were chaffing her uncle. The point 
 of the story appeared to be against him. He finally broke 
 away, and with a glance at his watch turned back to hit 
 niece. 
 
 Well, Marcia, if we are to catch that six o clock train, I 
 think it is time that we were off. 
 
 Sybert accompanied them to the door, talking riots to her 
 uncle, while she went on ahead, feeling forgotten and over 
 looked. Melville Joined them again in the vestibule, and the 
 three fell to discussing barricades and soldiers until Copley, 
 with another look at his watch, laughingly declared that 
 they must run. 
 
 Sybert for the first time, Marcia thought, gave any sign of 
 being aware of her presence. 
 
 Well, Miss Marcia, he said, turning toward her with a 
 friendly smile. Your uncle says that you are talking of 
 going back to America next winter. That is too bad, but 
 we shall hope to see a little of you in the autumn before you 
 leave. You are going to the Tyrol for the summer, I hear. 
 That will be pleasant, at least. 
 
 You talk as if America were a terrible hardship, said 
 Marcia, taking her tone from him. 
 
 Sybert laughed, with his old shrug. Ah, well, tt depend* 
 on where one s interest* are, I suppose.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 309 
 
 She suddenly flushed again, with the thought that he was 
 referring to Paul Dessart, and she plunged blindly into 
 another subject to cover her confusion. 
 
 Did Uncle Howard tell you that we have decided to take 
 Gervasio with us for the summer ? He wanted to find a 
 home (or him in Rome ; I wanted to take him with us ; 
 Aunt Catherine hadn t made up her mind until Gerald cried 
 at the \hought of parting with him, and, as usual, Gerald * 
 tears decided the matter. 1 
 
 It w*s a most fortunate whipping for Gervasio the night 
 that we drove by, he returned as he held out Ids hand. 
 Well, Miss Marcia, as you break up next week, I shall 
 probably aot see you again, I hope that you will have a 
 delightful summer. 
 
 Marcia ihook bands smilingly, with her heart sunk 
 fathoms dep. 
 
 He followed them to the carriage for a last word with her 
 uncle. 
 
 You d bet\er change your mind, Sybert, and come out to 
 the villa Saturday night with the Melvilles, Copley called as 
 the carriage started. 
 
 I m sorry, l\ut I m afraid there s too much excitement 
 elsewhere for nie to afford a vacation just now, and h* 
 bowed a smiling good-bye to Marcia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THB next few days were anxious ones for Italy. The straw 
 weavers of Tuscany were marching into Florence with the 
 cry, Pant o lavort I Bread or work I and in the north 
 not bread, but revolution was openly the watchword. 
 Timid tourists who had no desire to be mixed up in another 
 49 were scurrying across the frontiers into France and 
 Switzerland ; adventurous gentlemen from the Riviera, 
 eager to enjoy the fun and not unwilling to take advantage 
 of a universal tumult, were gaily scrambling in. The 
 ministry, jostled from it* usual apathy, had vigorously set 
 itself to suppressing real and imaginary plots. Opposition 
 newspapers were sequestered and the editors thrown into 
 jail ; telegrams and letters were withheld, public meetings 
 broken up, and men arrested in the streets for singing the 
 Hymn of Labour. The secret police worked night and 
 day. Every cafe" and theatre and crowd had its spies
 
 aio THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 disguised as loungers ; and none dared speak the truth to 
 his neighbour for fear his neighbour was in the pay of the 
 premier. 
 
 In Milan the rioters had been lashed into a frenzy by their 
 first taste of blood, and for three days the future of United 
 Italy looked dark. Wagons and tramcars were overturned 
 in the streets to make barricades. Roofs and vindows 
 rained down tiles and stones, and tht soldiers obeyed but 
 sullenly when ordered to fire upon the mob. In th. ir hearts 
 many of them sympathized. The socialists wffe out in 
 force and working hard, and their motto was, fpread the 
 discontent I Priests and students from the Diversities 
 were stirring up the peasants in the fields and aging them 
 on to revolt. A!J dissatisfied classes were for the moment 
 united in their desire to overthrow the existing f overnment ; 
 what should take its place could be decided ater. When 
 Snvoy was ousted, then the others the republicans, the 
 priests, the socialists, th* hungry mob in the streets could 
 fight it out among themselves. And as eaca faction in its 
 heart believed itself to be the strongest, the fght, if it should 
 ome, was like to prove the end of I tab. 
 
 While the rest of the kingdom was filled Jrith tumult, only 
 faint echoes reached Villa Vivalanti dozing peacefully in the 
 midst of its hills. Marcia, sitting with fclded hands, fretted 
 uselessly at her forced inaction. She scarcely left the villa 
 grounds ; she was carrying out Sybert f suggestion far more 
 literally than he had meant it. She had not the moral 
 courage to face the countryside ; if teemed as if every 
 peasant knew about the wheat and followed her with accus 
 ing eyes. Even the villa servants appeared to her awakened 
 sensibilities to go about their duties perfunctorily, as if they 
 too shared the general distrust in their employers. The last 
 week dragged slowly to its end. There were only four more 
 days to be spent in the villa, and Marcia now was impatient 
 to leave it. She wanted to get up into the mountains any 
 where out of Italy where she need never hear the word 
 * wheat again. 
 
 Saturday the week-end that the Melvilles were to spend 
 at the villa dawned oppressively hot. It was a foretaste 
 of what Rome could do in midsummer,, Not a leaf was 
 stirring ; there was no suggestion of mist on the hills, and
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS I 
 
 the tun beat down glaringly upon a gaudily coloured land 
 scape. The outer walls of the villa fairly sizzled in the light j 
 but inside the atmosphere was respectably tempered. Tho 
 green Venetian blinds had been dropped over the windows, 
 the rugs rolled back, and the floors sprinkled with water. 
 The afternoon sun might do its worst outside, but the largt 
 airy rooks were dark and cool and quiet. Half an hour 
 before, tke walls had echoed Gerald s despairing cry, I 
 won t go to sleep I I won t go to sleep I for Gerald was a 
 true Copley and he took his siestas hardly. But he had 
 eventually dropped off in the midst of his revolt ; and all 
 was quiet tow when Marcia issued from her room, garden 
 hat in hand. 
 
 She paused with a light foot at Gerald s door. The little 
 fellow was spread out, face downward, on the bed, his arms 
 and legs throvra to the four winds. Marcia smiled upon the 
 little clenched fists and damp yellow curls and tiptoed 
 downstairs. On a pile of rugs in the lower hall Gervasio and 
 MarceUus werecurled up together, sleeping peacefully and 
 happily. She smiled a blessing on them also. Next to 
 Gerald, Gervasio was the dearest little fellow in the world, 
 and Marcellus tht dearest and the homeliest dog. 
 
 She raised the bund and stepped on to the loggia* A blast 
 of hot air struck an, and she hesitated dubiously. It was 
 scarcely the weather for an afternoon stroll, but the ilex 
 grove looked cool and inviting, and she finally made a 
 courageous dash across the terrace and plunged gratefully 
 into its shady fastnesses. The sun- beaten world outside the 
 little realm of green vras an untempered glare of heat and 
 colour. The only sounds which smote thejj drowsy air were 
 the drip, drip of the fountain and the murmurous drone of 
 bisects hi the borders of the garden. Marcia paused by the 
 fountain, and dropping down upon the coping, dipped her 
 fingers idly in the water. 
 
 Shaking the drops of water from her fingers, she rose and 
 stood a moment looking dovn the green alley she had come 
 by toward the sunny blaze of terrace at the end. She closed 
 her eyes and pictured it as it had looked on her birthday 
 night, a fairy scene, with the tiny bulbs of coloured light 
 glowing among the branches. She pictured Sybert s face as 
 he had stood beside her. It seemed almost as if the mo 
 ment would come back again, if she only thought about It
 
 2ia THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 hard enough. And then the remembrance of that other 
 moment followed, and the expression on Sybert s face as he 
 had turned away. What did he think ? she asked herself 
 for the hundredth time ; and she turned her back upon the 
 fountain and hurried down the laurel walk as if to shut the 
 memory out. 
 
 The wheat field to-day was ablaze with flaming poppies. 
 The reds and yellows were so crude that no artist would have 
 dared to paint them in their cmtoned brilliancy Marcia 
 paused to itudy tht effect. Her eyes wandered from this 
 daring foreground across scarcely less brilliant olive groves 
 and vineyards to Castel Vivalanti on its mountiin-top, an 
 irregular mass of yellow ochre against a sky of cobalt blue. 
 There was no attempt *t shading. The colours were as 
 unaffectedly primary AS an illumination from some old 
 manuscript, or as the outlines a child fills in from his tin box 
 of half a. dozen little cakes of paint. This Italy was ao 
 uncompromising in her moods. No variant note was 
 allowed to creep in to mar the effect she was striving for. 
 Marcia recalled the sudden storm of the mountain, how 
 fiercely untamed, how intense it had been : she thought of 
 the moonlight nights of the spring, when the mood was 
 iyrical the soft outline of tower and ruin, the songs of 
 nightingales, the heavy odours of acacia and magnolia 
 blossoms. Italy was an impressionist, and her children 
 were like her. There were no half-tones in the Italian 
 nature any more than in the Italian landscape. There were 
 many varying moods, but *ach In itself was concentrated. 
 Just now there were storms, perhaps, but before long there 
 would be moonlight and singing and Jove-making again, and 
 the clouds would be forgotten. 
 
 She strolled on to the ruins of tbe old villa and sat down 
 among the crumbling arches. She was in a very different 
 mood herself than on that other afternoon of the early 
 ipringjwhen Paul Dessart had found her there. She thought 
 of the little sketch he had painted, and recalled her own 
 words as he gave it to her : I will keep it to remember you 
 and the villa by when I go home to America. The words 
 had been spoken lightly, but now they sounded prophetic. 
 Everything had seemed before her then ; now all seemed 
 behind. A few months more arid she would be back la 
 America, with possibly nothing more than the sketch to
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS tij 
 
 remember her life in Italy by and it bad meant so much tc 
 her ; now that it was slipping away, she realized how much. 
 She seemed to have grown more, to have felt more, than in 
 Jl her life be/ore ; and she hated inexpressibly to leave I* 
 behind. 
 
 Crossing to the little grotto that had formed the subject 
 of the picture, she stood gazing pensively at the dilapidated 
 moss-grown pile of stones. The afternoon when Paul had 
 sketched it seemed years before ; in reality it was not two 
 months. She thought of him as he bad looked that day ao 
 enthusiastic and young and debonair and she thought of 
 him without a tremor. Many things had changed since 
 then, *nd she had changed with them. If only Eleanor s 
 suspicion might be true, that be would come to care for 
 Margaret I She clung to the suggestion. Eleanor s super 
 stition need trouble her no more ; Paul would not need tc 
 be avenged. 
 
 She turned aside, and as she did so something caught her 
 eyes. She leaned over to look, and then started back with ta 
 exclamation of alarm. A man was lying asleep, almost a* 
 her feet, hidden by the tall weeds that choked the entrance 
 to the grotto. The first involuntary thought that flashed 
 to her mind was of Gerrasio s stepfather, but immediately 
 ihe knew that he was not the sleeper. Gervasio s step 
 father was old, with a grizzled beard ; it was evident that 
 this man was young, in spite of the fact that his hat was 
 pulled across his eyes. She laughed at her own fear ; it was 
 some peasant who had come from the fields to rest in the 
 shade. 
 
 She leaned over to look again, and as she did so her heari 
 suddenly leaped into her mouth. The man s shirt was open 
 at the throat, and there was a dark-purple crucifix tattooed 
 upside down upon his breast. For a second she stood 
 staring, powerless to move ; the next, she was running 
 wildly across the blazing wheat field toward the shelter of 
 the villa, with a frightened glance behind at the shadow of 
 the cypresses. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 M ASCI A passed the afternoon in a state of nervous impatience 
 for her uncle s return. She said nothing to Mrs. Copley of 
 the man she had found asleep in the grotto, and the effort to
 
 1 114 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 preserve an outward seremty added no little to her inner 
 trepidation. In vain she lined to reason with her fear ; it 
 was not a subject which responded to logic. She assured 
 herself over and over again that the man could not be the 
 tame Neapolitan who had warned her uncle ; that he was 
 taf ely in prison ; and that the tattooed crucifix was only the 
 general mark of a secret society. The assurance did not 
 carry conviction. Her first startled impression had been 
 too deep to be thrown of! lightly, and coming just then, in 
 the midst of the rioting and lawlessness, the incident carried 
 additional force. She had lately heard many stories of 
 lonely villas being broken into, of travellers on the Cam- 
 pagna being waylaid and robbed, of the vindicti veness of the 
 Camorra, which her uncle had opposed. The stories were 
 not reassuring ; and though she resolutely put them out of 
 her mind, she found herself thinking of them again and 
 again. Italy s elaborate police system, she knew, was not 
 merely for show. 
 
 Mr. Copley and the Melville* were due at five, but as they 
 had not appeared by half-past, Mrs. Copley decided that 
 they had missed their train, and she and Marcia sat down to 
 tea or, more accurately, to iced lemonade without 
 waiting. The table was set under the shade of the ilex 
 trees where the grove met the upper end of the terrace, and 
 where any slight breeze that chanced to be stirring would 
 find them out. Gerald and Gervasio swallowed their 
 Allotted glassful and two brioches with dispatch, and with 
 drew to the cool shadows of the ilex -grove to play at horse 
 with poor, patient Bianca and the streaming nbbons of her 
 cap. Mrs. Copley and Marcia took the repast in more 
 leisurely fashion, with snatches of very intermittent con 
 versation. Marcia s eyes wandered in the pauses to the 
 poppy-sprinkled wheat field and the cypresses beyond. 
 
 I believe they are coming, after all 1 Mrs. Copley finally 
 exclaimed, as she shaded her eyes with her hands and looked 
 down across the open stretch of vineyards to where the 
 Roman road, a yellow ribbon of dust, divided the fields. 
 Yes, that is the carriage I 
 
 Marcia looked at the moving speck and shook her head. 
 Your eyes are better than mine, Aunt Katherine, if you 
 van recognize Uncle Howard at this distance. 
 
 The carriage is turning up our road. I am sure it it
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 115 
 
 they. Poor things i I am afraid they will be nearly dead 
 after the drive in this heat. Rome must have been unbear 
 able to-day. And she hastily dispatched Pietro to prepare 
 more iced drinks. 
 
 Ten minutes later, however, the carriage had resolved 
 itself into a jangling Campagna wine-cart, and the two 
 resigned themselves to waiting again. By half-past seven 
 Marcia was growing frankly nervous. Could anything have 
 happened to her unclt ? Should she have told her aunt and 
 tent some one to meet him with a warning message ? 
 Surely no one would dare to stop the carriage on the open 
 road in broad daylight. A hundred wild imaginings were 
 chasing through her brain, when finally, close upon eight, 
 the rumble of wheels sounded on the avenue. 
 
 Both Mrs. Copley and Marcia uttered an exclamation of 
 relief. Mrs. Copley had been worried on the score of the 
 dinner, and Marcia for any number of reasons which disap 
 peared with the knowledge that her uncle was safe. They 
 hurried out to the loggia to meet the new-comers, and as the 
 carriage drew up, not only did the Melvilles and Mr. Copley 
 descend, but Laurence Sybert as well. At sight of him 
 Marcia hung back, asking herself, with t quickly beating 
 heart, why he had come. 
 
 Mrs. Copley, with the first glance at their faces, inter 
 rupted her own graceful words of welcome to cry : Has 
 anything happened ? Why are you so late ? 
 
 They were visibly excited, and did not wait for greetings 
 before pouring out their news an attempted assassination 
 of King Humbert on the Pincian hill that afternoon Rome 
 under martial law a plot discovered to assassinate the 
 premier and other leaders in control. 
 
 The two asked questions which no one answered, and all 
 talked at once all but Sybert. Marcia noticed that he was 
 unusually silent, and it struck her that his face had a 
 haggard look. He did not so much as glance in her direc 
 tion, except for a bare nod of greeting on his arrival. 
 
 Well, well, Copley broke into the general babel, it s a 
 terrible business. You should see the excitement in Rome I 
 The city is simply demoralized ; but we ll give you the 
 particulars later. Let us get into something cool first 
 we re all nearly dead. Has it been hot out here ? Rome 
 has been a foretaste of the inferno.
 
 ax6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 1 And this young man/ Melville added, laying a hand on 
 Sy bert s arm, just got back from the Milan riots. Hadn t 
 slept any to speak of for four days, and what does he do this 
 afternoon but sit down at his desk, determined to make up 
 his back work, Sunday or no Sunday, with the thermometer 
 where it pleases. Your husband and I had to drag him off 
 by main force. 
 
 Poor Mr. Sybert 1 you do look worn out. Not slept for 
 Jour days ? Why, you must be nearly dead ! You may go 
 to bed immediately after dinner, and I shall not have you 
 called till Monday morning. 
 
 I ve been sleeping for the last twenty-four hours, Mrs. 
 Copley, and I really don t need any more sleep at present, 
 he protested laughingly, but with a slight air of embarrass 
 ment. It was a peculiar trait of Sybert % that he never liked 
 to be made the subject of conversation, which was possibly 
 the reason why he had been made the subject of so many 
 conversations. Tbia reticence when speaking of himself o 
 his own feelings, struck the beholder as somewhat puzzling. 
 It had always puzzled Marcia, and had been one reason why 
 he had been so persistent in her desire to find out what be 
 was really like. 
 
 Th party shortly assembled for dinner, the women in th 
 coolest of light summer gowns, the men in white Kir ;> 
 Instead of evening dress. They went into the dining-room 
 without affording Marcia a chance to catch her uncle alone. 
 Tht meal did not pass off very gaily. Assassinations wert 
 ervcd with the soup, bread riots with the fish, and hypo 
 thetical robberies and plots with the further course* ; while 
 Pietro presided with a sinister obsequiousness which addf 3 
 darkly to the effect. In vain Mrs. Copley tried to turn th 
 conversation into pleasanter channels. The men were tt.-o 
 stirred up to talk of anything else, and the threatened 
 tragedy of the day was rehearsed in all its bearings. 
 
 The assassin had dashed out from the crowd that lined the 
 driveway and sprung to the side of the royal carriage before 
 aiy of the bystanders had realized what was happening. 
 The white-haired aide-de-camp sitting at his Majesty s side 
 was the first to see, and springing to his feet, he struck the 
 man fiercely in the face just as he raised his arm. Had it 
 not been for the aide-de-camp s quick action, the man 
 would have plunged his stiletto into the King s heart.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 7 
 
 Mrs. Copley and Mrs. Melville shuddered, and Marcia 
 leaned forward listening with wide eyes. 
 
 Right on the Pincio, mind you. Melville in his excite 
 ment thumped the table until the glasses rang. Not a 
 chance of the fellow s getting ofl. Scarcely a chance of his 
 accomplishing his purpose. He knew he would be taken. 
 Shouted, " Viva libertA // as the soldiers grabbed him I 
 wear it beats me what these fellows are after. " Viv* 
 libert^ t " That s what they cried when they put the House 
 of Savoy on the throne, and now they re trying to pull it ofl 
 again with the same cry. 
 
 I fear the seeds of revolution are sown pretty thick ixs 
 Italy/ said Copley. 
 
 Where aren t there the seeds of revolution to-day ? 
 Melville groaned. Central Africa is only waiting a govern 
 ment in order to overturn it. 
 
 By the way, interpolated Copley, the assassin it a 
 friend of Sybert s/ 
 
 4 A friend of Sybert i I Marcia echoed the words bfore 
 *he considered their form. 
 
 Sybert caught the expression and smiled slightly. 
 
 Not a very dear friend, Miss Marcia. I first made his 
 acquaintance, I believe, on the day that you discovered 
 Marcellus/ 
 
 How did that happen ? Mrs. Copley asked. 
 
 I heard him talking in a cafeV 
 
 It s a pity you didn t hand him over, said Melville. 
 You would have saved the police considerable trouble. 
 It seems they have been watching him for some time. 
 
 I wasn t handing people over just then/ Sybert returned 
 dryly. However, I don t see that the police need com 
 plain. It strikes me that he has handed himself over in 
 about as effectual -way as h* possibly could ; he won t f o 
 about any more sticking stilettos into kings. The Italians 
 are an excitable lot when they once get aroused ; they talk 
 more than is wise but when it comes to doing they usually 
 back down. It seems, however, that this fellow had the 
 courage of his convictions. After all, it was, in a way, 
 rather fine of him, you know/ 
 
 A pretty poor way/ Melville frowned. 
 
 Oh, certainly/ Sybert acquiesced carelessly. Urn- 
 berto s & gentleman. 1 don t care to see him knifed/
 
 i8 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 What I can t understand, reiterated Melville, is the 
 Miow s point of view. No matter how much he may object 
 to kings, he must know that he can never rid the country of 
 them through assassination ; as toon as one king is out of 
 the way, another stands in line to take his place. No 
 possible good could come to the man through Humbert s 
 death, and he must hart known that he had not one chance 
 in * hundred of escaping himself I confess his motive is 
 beyond me. The only thing that explains it to my mind is 
 that the fellow s crazy, but the police seem to think he s 
 entirely sane. 
 
 Sybert leaned back in his chair and studied the flowers in 
 the centre of the table with a speculative frown. 
 
 No/ he said slowly, the man was not crazy. 1 under 
 stand his motive, though I don t know that I can make it 
 dear. It was probably in part mistaken patriotism but 
 not entirely that. I heard him state it very clearly, and it 
 struck me at the time that it was doubtless, at bottom, the 
 motive for most assassinations. His words, as I remember 
 them, were something like this : " Who is the King ? He is 
 only a man. Why is he so different from me ? Am I not ft 
 man, too ? I am, and before I die the King shall know it." 
 
 Sybert raised his eyes and glanced about the table. 
 Copley nodded and Melville frowned thoughtfully. The 
 two elder ladies were listening with polite attention, and 
 Marcia was leaning forward with her eyes on his face. 
 Sybert immediately dropped his own eyes to the flowers 
 again. 
 
 There you have the matter in a nutshell. Why did he 
 wish to assassinate the King ? As an expression of his own 
 identity. Through a perfectly natural egotistical impulse 
 for self-assertion. The man had been oppressed and 
 trampled on all his life. He was conscious of powers that 
 were undeveloped, of force that he could not use. He was 
 raging blindly against the weight that was crushing him 
 down. The weight was society, but its outward symbol was 
 the King. The King had only one life to lose, and this 
 despised, obscure Neapolitan peasant, the yery lowest of the 
 King s subjects, had it in his power to take that life away. 
 It was the man s one chance of utterance his one chance of 
 becoming an individual, of leaving his mark on the age. 
 And. in acting as he did, he acted not for himself alone, but
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS sif 
 
 for the people ; for the inarticulate thousands who are 
 struggling for some mode of expression, but are bound b? 
 cowardice and ignorance and inertia. 
 
 Sybert paused and raised hi* eyes to Melville s with a son 
 f challenge. 
 
 * If that man had been able to obtain congenial work 
 work in which he could take an interest, could express his 
 own identity ; if he could have become a little prosperous, 
 so that he need not fear for his family s support ; why, then 
 the King s life would not have been in danger to-day. 
 And as long as there is any man left in this kingdom of 
 Italy/ he added, * who, in spite of honest endeavour, cannot 
 arn enough to support his family, just so long is the King s 
 life in danger. 
 
 And there are thousands of such men, put in Copley. 
 
 Melville uttered a short laugh. By heavens, it s true I 
 he said. The position of American consul may not carry 
 much glory, but I don t know that I care to trade it with 
 Uraberto lor his kingdom. 
 
 Do you suppose the King was scared ? inquired 
 Marcia. I wonder what it feels like to wake up every 
 morning and think that maybe before night you ll b 
 assassinated. 
 
 He didn t appear to be scared, said her uncle. Ht 
 shrugged bis shoulders when they caught the man, and! 
 remarked that this was one of the perquisites of his trade/ 
 
 * Really ? she asked. Good for Umberto 1 
 
 Oh, he s no coward/ said Sybert. H knows th* pric 
 of crowns these days/ 
 
 It s terrible I Mrs. Melnlle breathed. I am thankful 
 they caught the assassin at least. Society ought to sleep 
 better to-night for having him removed, 
 
 Ah/ said Sybert, Society can t be protected that way. 
 The point is that he leaves others behind to do his work/ 
 
 The man was from Naples, you say ? Mrs, Copley 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 Her husband read her thoughts and smiled reassuringly. 
 So far as I have heard, my dear, there was no crucifix 
 tattooed upon his breast/ 
 
 Marcia raised her head quickly. Uncle Howard/ aha 
 asked, is that the mark of a society or of Just that speoiaJ 
 
 ?* * 
 

 
 das THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 I can t say, I m sure, Marcia/ he returned with a laugh. 
 I inspect thai it s an original piece of blasphemy en bit 
 part, though it may belong to a cult/ 
 
 * When is his time up ? she persisted. To get out of 
 prison, I mean/ 
 
 I don t know ; I really haven t figured It up. There art 
 anough things to worry about without troubling over him/ 
 
 In her excitement over the King s attempted assassina 
 tion she had almost forgotten the man of the grotto, but her 
 ancle s careless laugh brought back her terror. The maa 
 might at that very moment be watching them from tho ilex 
 grove. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder toward 
 the open glass doors which led to the balcony. It was 
 moonlight again. In contrast to the soft radiance of the 
 marble-paved terrace, the ilex shadows were black with the 
 sinister blackness of a pall. She looked down at her plate 
 with a little shiver, and she sat through the rest of the meal 
 in an agony of impatience to get up and move about. 
 pnce she roused herssJf to listen to the conversation. 
 They were talking of the soldiers ; a large detachment o 
 earabinier! had been stationed at Palest rina, and the 
 mountain roads were being patrolled. The carriage that 
 eight had passed two men on horseback stationed at the 
 turning where the road to Castel Vivalanti branches ofi 
 from the Via Praenestina. Mrs. Copley said *omethi&g 
 About its giving them a feeling of security at the villa to 
 have so many soldiers near, and Melville replied that who t- 
 ver the crimes of the Italian government, it at least looked 
 after the safety of its guests, Marcia listened with a sigh of 
 relief, and she rose from the table with an almost easy mind. 
 They all adjourned to the salon for coffee, and as soon as she 
 gfuld speak to her uncle without attracting attention she 
 touched him on the arm. 
 
 Come out on the loggia just a moment, Dncl* Howard ; 
 I want to tell you something/ 
 
 He followed her in sum* surprise. She went down the 
 tops and paused on th terrace, well out of ear-shot of the 
 salon window*. 
 
 Uncle Howard, I saw the tattooed man to-day/ 
 
 Mr. Copley paused with a match in one hand and a cigar 
 fan tha other. Whereabouts ? he asked. 
 
 Asleep in the ruiafld grotto/
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS iai 
 
 Are you sure ? 
 
 1 There wa* a crucifix tattooed upside down on his breast.* 
 
 Sol 
 
 He examined the pavement in silence a moment, then he 
 raised his head with an excited little laugh such as a hunter 
 might give when hot on the scent. 
 
 Well ! I thought I had done for him, but it appears 
 not." He strode over to the salon windows. Sybert ah, 
 Sybert, he called la a low tone, just step out here a 
 moment. 
 
 Sybert joined them with a questioning look. Copley very 
 deliberately scratched his match on the balustrade and 
 lighted his cigar. Tell your story, Marcia/ he said between 
 puffs. 
 
 She felt a load of anxiety roll from he? shoulders ; if he 
 could take tha information as casually as this, it could not be 
 very serious. She repeated the account of what she had 
 seen, and the two men exchanged a silent glance. Copley 
 gave another short laugh. 
 
 It appears that his Majesty and I are in the same boat.* 
 
 I warned you that if you let that wheat be sold in your 
 name you could expect th honour/ Sybert growled 
 
 What do you mean. ? Marcia asked quickly. 
 
 Just at present, Mist Marcia, I m afraid that neither 
 your uncle nor myself is a* popular as *ur virtues demand. 
 
 Oh, thfre s no danger, said Copley. They wouldn t 
 dare break into the house, and of course I sha n t be fool 
 enough to walk the country-side unarmed. The first thing 
 in the morning, I shall send into Palestrina for some 
 carabinieri to patrol the place. And on Monday the family 
 can move into Rome instead of waiting till Wednesday. 
 There s nothing to be afraid of, he added, with a reassuring 
 glance at Marcia, * Forewarned is forearmed we ll see 
 that the house if locked to-night. 
 
 Can you trust the servants r Sybert asked, 
 
 Copley looked up quickly as a thought struck him. 
 
 By Jove I I don t know that I can. Comt to think 
 of it, I shouldn t trust that Pietro as far aa I could see him 
 He s been acting mighty queer lately. 1 
 
 Marcia s eyes suddenly widened in terror, and she recalled 
 one afternoon when she had caught Pietro in the village 
 talking to Gervasio * stepfather, as well as a dozen other
 
 222 
 
 little things that she had not thought of at the time, feat 
 which now seemed to have a secret meaning. 
 
 Sybert saw her look of fear and he said lightly : There s 
 not the slightest danger. Miss Marcia. We ll get the 
 soldiers here in the morning ; and for to-night, eren if we 
 can t put much trust in the butler, there are at least three 
 men in the house who are above suspicion and who are 
 armed/ He touched his pocket with a laugh. When it 
 comes to the point I am a very fair shot, and so is youi 
 ancle. You were wishing a little while ago that something 
 exciting would happen if it gives you any pleasure, you 
 tan pretend that this is an adventure/ 
 
 Oh, yes, Marcia/ her uncle rejoined. Don t let the 
 thought of the tattooed man disturb your sleep. He s more 
 spectacular than dangerous/ 
 
 The others had come out on to the loggia and were 
 exclaiming at the beauty of the night. 
 
 Howard/ Mrs. Copley called, don t you want to com 
 and make a fourth at whist ? 
 
 In a moment/ he returned. We won t say anything 
 to the others/ he said in a low tone to Marcia and Sybert. 
 
 There s no use raising any unnecessary excitement/ 
 
 Marcia, if you and Mr. Sybert would like to play, we 
 tan make it Mix-handed euchre instead of whist/ 
 
 Sybert glanced down to see that her hand was trembling, 
 and he decided that to make her sit through & game of 
 cards would be too great a test of her nerves. 
 
 Thank you, Mrs. Copley/ he called back ; it s too fine a 
 night to pass indoors. Mi&s Marcia and I will stay out here/ 
 
 The proposal was a test of bis own nerves, but he had 
 schooled himself for a good many years to hide his feelings \ 
 it was an ordeal he was used to. 
 
 With final exclamations on the beauty of the night, the 
 whist party returned to the salon, Sybert brought a wicker 
 ehair from the loggia for Marcia, and seated himself on th 
 parapet while he lighted a cigar with a nonchalance she 
 could not help but admire. Did she but know it, his non 
 chalance was only surface deep, though the cause for hit 
 inward tumult had nothing to do with the man of the 
 ruined grotto. They sat in silence for a time, looking 
 down on the shimmering Campagna, The scene was as 
 as on that other night of the early spring, bat
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 223 
 
 DOW it was full summer. It was so peaceful, so idyllic, so 
 thoroughly the Italy of poetry and romance, that it seemed 
 absurd to think of plots and riots in connexion with that 
 landscape. At least Marcia was not thinking of them now ; 
 she was willing to take her uncle at his word and leave the 
 responsibility to him. The thing that was still burning in 
 her mind was that unexplained moment by the fountain. 
 It was the first time she had been alone with Sybert since. 
 How would he act ? Would he simply ignore it, as if it 
 had never happened ? He would, of course ; and that 
 would be far worse than if he apologized or congratulated 
 her, for then she would have a chance to explain. What 
 did he think ? she asked herself for the hundredth time at 
 she covertly scanned his dark, impassive face. Did he 
 think her engaged to Paul Dessart, or did he divine the real 
 reason why the young man had so suddenly sailed for 
 America ? Even so, it would not put her in a much better 
 light in his eyes. He would think she had been playing 
 with Paul .and her fact flushed at the thought had tried 
 to play with him. 
 
 Sybert was the on* who broke the silence. I think/ he 
 said slowly, that I could spot your man with the crucifix 
 this very moment/ He pointed with his cigar toward the 
 hill above them, where little stone-walled Castel Vivalanti 
 was outlined against the sky. If I am not mistaken, he 
 is in the back room of a trattoria up there, in company with 
 our friend Tarquinio of the Bed-quilt, who/ he added 
 meditatively, is a fool. Those earabinieri are not guard 
 ing the roads for nothing. A number of Neapolitans have 
 come north lately who might better have stayed at home 
 Camorrists for the most part and the government is after 
 them. This fellow with the crucifix is without doubt one 
 of them, and in all probability he just happened into the 
 ruins this afternoon to rest, without having an idea who 
 lived here. At any rate, I strongly suspect that your uncle 
 is not the hare he s hunting. Italy is too busy just at 
 present to take time for private revenge though/ he 
 smiled, I have no wish to spoil your adventure/ 
 
 Marcia breathed a little sigh by way of answer, and 
 another silence fell between them. 
 
 On such a night as this/ he said dreamily, did you and 
 I, Miss Marcia, once take a drire together/
 
 4 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 And we didn t speak a word ! 
 
 I don t know that we did/ he laughed. At least I 
 don t recall the conversation. 
 
 From the valley below them there came the sound of a 
 man s voice singing a familiar serenade. Only the tune 
 was audible, but th words they knew : 
 Open your casemant, love. 
 I corn* aa a robber to steal your heart/ 
 
 Sybert, listening, watched her from under drooping lids 
 He was struggling with a sudden temptation which almost 
 overmastered him. He thought her engaged to another man, 
 but why not come as a robber and steal her heart ? In 
 the past few weeks he had seen lifelong hopes come to 
 nothing ; he was wounded and discouraged and in need 
 of human sympathy, and he had fought his battles alone. 
 During that time of struggle Marcia had come to occupy a 
 large part of his consciousness. He had seen in her character 
 undeveloped possibilities a promise for the future and 
 the desire had subtly taken hold oi him to be the one to 
 watch and direct her growth. The new feeling was the 
 more intense, in that it had taken the place of hopes and 
 interests that were dying. And then that, too, had been 
 snatched away. Since the night of her birthday ball he 
 bad not doubted for a moment that she was engaged to 
 Paul Dessart. It had never occurred to him that the scene 
 he had interrupted was merely her sympathetic fashion of 
 dismissing the young man. A dozen little things had come 
 back to him that before had had no significance, and be 
 had accepted the fact without questioning. It seemed of 
 a piece with the rest of his fate that this should be added 
 just when it was hardest for him to bear. It was the final 
 touch of Nemesis that made her work rounded and complete. 
 
 And now, as he watched her, he was filled with a sudden 
 tierce rebellion, an impulse to fight against the fate that 
 was robbing him, to snatch her away from Paul Dessart. 
 Every instinct of his nature urged him forward ; only 
 honour held him back. He turned away and with troubled 
 eyes studied the distance. She had chosen freely whether 
 wisely or not, the future would prove. He knew that he 
 couJdnot honourably stretch out so much as his little finger 
 to call her back. 
 
 Presently he pulled himself together and began to talk
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS aas 
 
 fluently and easily on purely impersonal themes of the 
 superiority of the Tyrol over the Swiss lakes as a summer 
 resort, of the character of the people in Sicily, of books and 
 art and European politics, and of a dozen different subject* 
 that Marcia had never heard him mention before. It wsu 
 the small talk of the diplomat, of the man who must alwayi 
 be ready to meet every one on his own ground. Marcia 
 had known that Sybert could talk on other subjects than 
 Italian politics when he chose, for she had overheard him 
 at dinners and receptions, but he had never chosen when 
 with her. In their early intercourse he had scarcely taken 
 the trouble to talk to her in any but the most perfunctory 
 way, and then suddenly their relations had ne longer 
 demanded formal conversation. They had somehow 
 jumped over the preliminary period of getting acquainted 
 and had reached the stage where they could understand 
 each other without talking. And here he was conversing 
 with her as politely and impersonally as if they had known 
 each other only half an hour. She kept up her end of the 
 conversation with monosyllables. She felt chilled and 
 hurt ; he might at least be frank. Whatever he thought of 
 her, there was no need for this elaborate dissimulation. 
 She had no need to ask herself to-night if he were watching 
 her. His eyes never for a moment left the moonlit caca- 
 pagna. 
 
 After half an hour or so Mrs. Copley stepped to th* 
 window of the salon to ask Marcia if she did not wish a 
 wrap. It was warm, of course, but the evening dews were 
 heavy. Marcia scoffed at the absurdity of a wrap on such 
 an evening, but she rose obediently. They strolled into 
 the house and paused at the door of the salon. The whist- 
 players were studying their cards again with anxious brows ; 
 it appeared to be a scientific game. 
 
 Marcia shook her head and laughed. On such a nig hi 
 as this to be playing whist ! 
 
 Melville glanced up at her with a little smile. Ah, well, 
 Miss Marcia, we re growing old moonlight and romance 
 were made for the young. 
 
 Sybert smiled rather coldly as he turned away. It 
 struck him that the remark was singularly malapropos. 
 
 Marcia went on up to her room, and throwing about her 
 shoulders a chiffon scajf, an absurd apology for a wrap, 
 
 8
 
 26 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 he paused a moment by the open glass doors of the balcony 
 and stood looking down upon the moonlit landscape. Sha 
 felt sore and bruised and hopeless. Sybert was beyond her ; 
 she did not understand him. He had evidently made up 
 his mind, and nothing would move him ; he would give 
 her no chance to put herself right. She suddenly threw 
 back her head and stiffened her shoulders. If that were 
 th* line he chose to take very well ! She would meet him 
 on his own ground. She turned back, and on her way 
 downstairs paused a second at Gerald s door. It was a 
 family habit to look in on him at all hours of the night to 
 make sure that he was sleeping and duly covered up, though 
 to-night it could scarcely be claimed that cover was neces 
 sary. She glanced in, and then, with a quickening of her 
 breath, took a step farther to make sure. The bed was 
 empty. She stood staring a moment, not knowing what 
 to think, and the next she was hurrying down the hall 
 toward the servants quarters. She knocked on Bianca s 
 door, and finding no one within, called up Granton. 
 
 There was no cause for worry, Granton assured her. 
 Master Gerald and that little Italian brat were probably 
 in the scullery, stealing raisins and chocolate. 
 
 Oh/ said Marcia, with a sigh of relief ; but where s 
 Bianca ? She ought to sit by Gerald till he goes to sleep. 
 
 Bianca 1 Granton sniffed disdainfully no one could 
 make head or tail of Bianca. Her opinion was that the girl 
 was half crazy. She had been in there that night crying, 
 and telling her how much she liked the signora and the 
 ftignorina, and how she hated to leave them. 
 
 But she isn t going to leave, said Marcia. We ve 
 decided to take her with us. 
 
 Granton responded with a disdainful English shrug and 
 the reiterated opinion that the girl was crazy. Marcia did 
 not stop to argue the point, but set out for the kitchen 
 by way of the middle staircase, creeping along quietly, 
 determined to catch the marauders unawares. Her caution 
 was superfluous. The rear of the house was entirely 
 deserted. No sign of a boy, no sign of a servant anywhere 
 about. The doors were open and the rooms were vacant. 
 She hurried upstairs again in growing mystification, and 
 turned toward Gervasio s room. The little fellow was in 
 bed and sound asleep. What did it mean ? she asked her-
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS aay 
 
 self. What could have become of Gerald, and where had 
 11 the servants gone ? 
 
 Suddenly a horrible suspicion flashed over her. Ger- 
 vasio s stepfather could he have stolen Gerald by way of 
 revenge ? That was why Bianca was crying I It was s. 
 plot. She had overheard, and they had threatened to kiU 
 her ii she told. Perhaps they would hold him for a ransom. 
 Perhaps as the sound of her uncle s careless laugh floated 
 up from below she caught her breath in a convulsive scb 
 and stretched out her hand against the wall to steady herseli 
 
 COLLECTING herself sufficiently to know that she must col 
 cry ;;ut or alarm her aunt, Marcia hurried to the front 
 staircase and stood a moment on the landing, hesitating 
 what to do. Sybert was lounging in the doorway leading 
 on to the loggia. She leaned over the balustrade and 
 called to him softly so as not to attract the attention of to* 
 others. He turned with a start at the sound of his name, 
 and in response tofjher summons crossed the hall in his usual 
 leisurely stroll. But at the foot of the stairs, as he caught 
 sight of her face in the dim candle-light, he came springing 
 op three steps at a time. 
 
 What s the matter ? What s happened ? he cried. 
 
 Gerald i * Marcia breathed in a sobbing whisper. 
 
 Gerald ! he repeated, anxious lines showing in his fac& 
 Good heavens, Marcia I What s happened ? 
 
 1 don t know ; he s gone, she said wildly. Come up 
 here, where Aunt Katherine won t hear us. She led th 
 way up into the hall again and explained in broken sen 
 tences. 
 
 Sybert turned without a word and strode back to Gerald s 
 room. He stood upon the threshold, looking at the empty 
 little crib and tossed pillows. 
 
 It will simply kill Uncle Howard and Aunt Kat herins 
 if anything has happened to him, Marcia faltered. 
 
 Nothing has happened to him/ Sybert returned shortly. 
 The scoundrels wouldn t dare steal a child. Every police 
 py in Italy would be after them. He must be with Bianea 
 somewhere. 
 
 H turned away from the room and went on down the 
 tone passage toward the rear of the house. He paused
 
 28 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 it the head of the middle staircase, thinking the matte; 
 over with frowning brows, while Marcia anxiously studied 
 his face. As they stood there in the dim moonlight that 
 streamed in through th small squar* window over the 
 stairs they suddenly heard the patter of bare feet in the 
 passage below, and in another moment Gerald himself came 
 currying up the winding tone stairway, looking like a 
 little white rat in th dimness. 
 
 Marcia uttered & cry of joy, and Sybert squared his 
 shoulders as if a weight had dropped from them. Their 
 second glanc* at ths child s face, however, told them that 
 something had happened. His little white nightgown wa$ 
 draggled with dew, his fac was twitching nervously, and 
 his eyes were wild with terror. He reached the top step and 
 plunged into Marcia s arms with a burst of sobbing. 
 
 Gerald, Gerald, what s the matter ? Don t make such 
 n. noise. Hush, dear ; you will frighten mamma. Marcia 
 won t let anything hurt you. Tell me what s the matter. 
 
 Gerald clung to her, crying and trembling and pouring 
 out A torrent of unintelligible Italian. Sybert bent down, 
 and taking him in his arms, carried him back to his owe 
 room. No one s going to hurt you. Stop crying and 
 tell us what s the matter/ he said peremptorily. 
 
 Gerald caught his breath and told his story in a mixture 
 of English and Italian and sobs. It had been so hot, and the 
 nightingales had made such a noise, that he couldn t go to 
 deep ; and he had got up very softly so as not to disturb 
 mamma, and had crept out the back way just to get some 
 cherries. (A group of scrub trees, cherry, almond, and 
 pomegranate, grew close to the villa walls in the rear ) 
 While he was sitting under the tree eating cherries, some 
 raen came up and stopped In the bushes close by, and hi* 
 could hear what they said, and one of them was Pietro. 
 Here he began to cry again, and the soothing had to be dont 
 over. 
 
 Well, what did they say ? Tell us what they said, 
 Gerald/ Sybert broke in, in his low, insistent tones. 
 
 Vey said my papa was a bad man, an vey was going 
 to kill hi.d cause he had veir money in his pocket on 
 ! don t want my papa killed ! he wailed. 
 
 Marcia s eyes met Sybert s in silence, and he emitted r, 
 lo* breath that was half a whistle.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 229 
 
 What else did they say, Gerald ? You needn t be 
 We won t let them hurt your papa, but you must 
 remember everything they said, so that we can catch them. 
 
 Pietro said he was going to kill you, too, cause yotf 
 vas here an was bad like papa/ Gerald sobbed. 
 
 Go on, Sybert urged. What else did they say ? 
 
 Vey didn t say nuffin more, but went away in ve grove 
 An I was scared an kept still, an it was all nero under 
 ve trees ; an ven I cwept in pianissimo an I found you 
 an 1 don t want you killed, an I don t want papa killed. 
 
 Don t be afraid. W won t let them hurt us. And 
 now try to remember how many men there were. 
 
 Pietro an some uvers, an vey went away in ve trees/ 
 
 They questioned him some more, but got merely a vari 
 ation of the same story ; it was evidently all he knew. 
 Marcia called Granton to sit with him and tremulously 
 explained the situation. Granton received the information 
 calmly ; it was all she had ever expected in Italy, she said 
 
 Out in the hall again, Marcia looked at Sybert ques- 
 tioningly ; she was quite composed. Gerald was safe at 
 least, and they knew what was coming. She felt that he? 
 uncle and Sybert would bring things right. 
 
 What eball we do ? she asked. 
 
 Sybert, with folded arms, was considering the question. 
 
 It s evidently a mixture of robbery and revenge and 
 mistaken patriotism all rolled into one. It would be con 
 venient if we knew how many there were ; Pietro and 
 Gervasio s stepfather and your man with the crucifix we 
 may safely count upon, but just how many more we have 
 no means of knowing. However, there s no danger ot 
 their beginning operations till they think we re asleep/ H* 
 looked at bis watch. It is a quarter to ten. We have * 
 good two hourt still, and we ll prepare to surprise their*,. 
 We won t tell the people downstairs just yet, for it won t 
 do any good, and their talk and laughter are the best 
 protection we could have. You don t know where your 
 uncle keeps his revolver, do you ? 
 
 Yes ; in the top drawer of his writing- table. Sb 
 stepped into Mr. Copley s room and pulled open the drawee 
 Why, it s gone ! 
 
 1 say, the plot thickens \ " and Sybert, too, uttered & 
 hort, low laugh, as Copley had done on the terrace.
 
 i3 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 " And the rifle s gone/ Marcia added, her glance wandering 
 to the corner where the gun-case usually stood. 
 
 It s evident that our friend Pietro has been helping him 
 self ; but if he thinks he s going to shoot us with our own 
 arms he s mistaken. We must get word to tht soldier* 
 at Palestrina did you tell me the servants were gone ? 
 
 I couldn t find any one but Granton. The whole house 
 is empty/ 
 
 It s the Camorra I he exclaimed softly. 
 
 The Camorra ? Marcia paled a trifle at the nan;,* 
 
 Ah it s plain enough. We should have suspected it 
 before. Pietro is a member and has been acting as a spy 
 from the inside. It appears to be a very prettily worked 
 out plot. They have waited until they think there s money 
 in the house ; your uncle has just sold a big consignment 
 of wheat. They have probably dismissed the iervants 
 vith their usual formula : " Be silent, and you live ; speak, 
 and you die." The servants would be more afraid of the 
 Camorra than of the police. How about the stablemen ? 
 r Oh, I can t believe they d join a plot against us, Marcia 
 aried. Angelo and Giovanni I would trust anywhere, 
 1 In that case they ve been silenced ; they are where 
 they won t give testimony until it is too late. I dare say 
 the fellows are even planning to ride off on the horses them 
 selves. By morning they would be well into the mountains 
 of the Abruzri, where the Carnorrists are at home. We ll 
 have to get help from Palestrina. If we could reach those 
 guards at the cross-roads, they would ride in with the 
 
 message. It s only two miles away, but He frowned 
 
 m trifle. I suppose the house is closely watched, and it 
 will be difficult to get out unseen. We ll have to try it, 
 though. 
 
 Whom can w* end ? 
 
 He was silent a moment. I don t like to leave you/ 
 be said slowly, but I m afraid I ll have to go. 
 
 Oh I said Marcia, with a little gasp. She stood looking 
 down at the floor with troubled eyes, and Sybert watched 
 her, careless that the time was passing. 
 
 Marcia suddenly raised her eyes, with an exclamation of 
 ydief . Gervasio I she cried. We can send Gervasio/ 
 
 * Could we trust him ? he doubted. 
 
 1 Anywhere I And he can (jet away without being see*
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 831 
 
 easier than you could. I am sure he can do it ; he is very 
 intelligent. 
 
 I d forgotten him. Yes, I believe that is the best way. 
 You go and wake him, and I ll write a note to the soldiers 
 Sybert turned to the writing-table as he spoke, and Marcia 
 hurried back to Gervasio s room. 
 
 The boy was asleep, with the moonlight streaming across 
 his pillow. She bent over him hesitatingly, while her heart 
 reproached her at having to wake him and send him out 
 on such an errand. But the next moment she had reflected 
 that it might be the only chance for him as well as for the 
 rest of them, and she laid her hand gently on his forehead. 
 
 Gervasio, she whispered. Wake up, Gervasio. Sh 
 silenzio I Dress just as fast as you can. No, you haven t 
 done anything ; don t be frightened. Signer Siberti is 
 going to tell you a secret un segreto, she repeated im 
 pressively. Put on these clothes, she added, hunting 
 out a dark suit from his wardrobe. And never mind your 
 hoes and stockings. Dress subito, subito, and then coma 
 >on tiptoe pianissimo to Signer Copley s room. 
 
 Gervasio was into his clothes and after her almost before 
 she had got back. When undirected by Bianca, his dress 
 ing was a simple matter. 
 
 Sybert drew him across the threshold and closed the 
 door. What shall we tell him ? he questioned Marcia. 
 
 Tell him the truth. He can understand, and we can 
 trust him. And dropping on her knees beside the boy, 
 she laid her hands on his shoulders. Gervasio, she said 
 in her slow Italian, some bad, naughty men are coming 
 here to-night to try to kill us and steal our things. Pietro 
 is one of them (Pietro had that very afternoon boxed 
 Gervasio s ears for stealing sugar from the tea-table), and 
 your stepfather is one, and he will take you back to Caste! 
 Vivalanti, and you will never see us again. 
 
 Gervasio listened, with his eyes on her fact and his lips 
 parted in horror. Sybert here broke in and explained 
 about the soldiers, and how he was to reach the guard 
 at the corners, and he ended by hiding the note in the front 
 of his blouse. Do you understand ? he asked, do yoa 
 think you ean do it ? 
 
 Gervasio nodded, his eyes now shining with excitement. 
 I ll bring the soldiers, he whispered, tieuro, signore.
 
 *3 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 xtcuritsitna f And if they catch roe, he added, I ll say 
 the padront has whipped me and I m running away. 
 
 You ll do, Sybert said with a half-laugh, and taking th 
 boy by the hand, he led the way back to the middle stair 
 case, and the three crept down with as little noise aa 
 possible. 
 
 They traversed on tiptoe the long brick passageway that 
 !ed to the kitchen, and paused upon the threshold. The 
 great stone-walled room was empty and quiet and echoing 
 a* on the nut day they had come to the villa. The doors 
 and windows were swinging wide and the moonlight waj 
 reaming in. 
 
 Sybert shook his head in a puzzled frown. What I 
 can t make out, he said in a low tone, is why they should 
 irave everything so open. They must have known that 
 we would find out before we went to bed that the servantj 
 were missing. Who usually locks np ? 
 
 1 Pietro. 
 
 You and I will lock up to-night. He considered a 
 moment. We mustn t let him out within sight of th 
 grove. A window on the eastern side of the house would 
 b best, where the shrubbery grows close to the walls. 
 
 Marcia led the way into a little store-room opening from 
 the kitchen, and Sybert gave Gervasio his last directions. 
 
 Keep well in the shadow of the trees across the drive 
 way sjid down around the lower terrace. Creep on your 
 hands and knees through the wheat field, and then strike 
 straight for the cross-roads and run every step of the way. 
 Capisci ? 
 
 Gervasio nodded, and Marcia bent and kissed him and 
 whispered in his ear, If you bring the soldiers, Gervasio, 
 you may live with us aJwayt and be our little boy, Jut 
 like Gerald. 
 
 He nodded again, fairly trembling with anxiety to gc 
 started. Sybert carefully swung the window open, and 
 the little fellow dropped to the ground and crept like a cat 
 into the shadows. They stood by the open window for 
 several minutes, straining their ears to listen, but no sound 
 came back except the peaceful music of a summer night 
 the murmur of insects and the songs of nightingales. Get- 
 rasio had got off safely. 
 
 Now we ll lock the house, Sybert added in ja under-
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 333 
 
 tone, so that when our friends come to call they will hav* 
 to come the front way. 
 
 He closed the window softly and examined with approval 
 the inside shutters. They were made of solid wood with 
 heavy iron bolts and hinges. The villa had been planned 
 In the old days before the police force was as efficient as 
 now, and it was quite prepared to stand a siege. 
 
 It will take considerable strength to open these, and 
 some noise, he remarked as he swung the shutters to and 
 thot the bolts. 
 
 They groped their way out and went from room to room, 
 closing and bolting the windows and doors with as little 
 noise as possible. Sybert appeared, to Marcia s astonished 
 senses, to be in an unusually light-hearted frame of mind. 
 Once or twice he laughed softly, and once, when her hand 
 touched his in the dark, she felt that same .warm thrill run 
 through her as on that other moonlight night. 
 
 They cam last to the big vaulted dining-room which 
 had served as chapel in the devotional days of the Viva- 
 land. Th three glass doors at the end were open to the 
 moonlight, which flooded the apartment, softening the 
 crude outliaes of the frescoes on the ceiling to the beauty of 
 old masters. Sybert paused with his back to the doors 
 to look up and down approvingly. 
 
 Do you know, it isn t half bad in this light, he remarked 
 casually to Marcia. That old fellow up there/ he nodded 
 toward Bacchus reclining among the vines in the central 
 panelling, might be a Michelangelo in the moonlight, and 
 in the sunlight he isn t even a Carlo Dolci. 
 
 Marcia stared. What could he be thinking of to cboos* 
 this time of all others to be making art criticisms ? Never 
 had she heard him express the slightest interest in the 
 subject before. She had been under so great a strain for 
 fto Jong, such a succession of shocks, that she was nearly 
 at the end of her self-control. And then to have Sybert 
 acting in this unprecedented way I She looked past him 
 out of the door toward the black shadow of the ilexes, and 
 shuddered a.s she thought of what they might conceal. The 
 next moment Sybert had stepped out on to the balcony. 
 
 Mr. Sybert ! she cried aghast. They may be watching 
 us. Come back. 
 
 He laughed and seated himself side wise on the iroa rail-
 
 34 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Ing. I! they re watching us, they re doubtless wondering 
 why we re closing the house so carefully. We ll stop here 
 * few minutes and let them see we re unsuspicious ; that 
 we re just shutting the doors for fear of draughts and not 
 of burglars. 
 
 They ll shoot you/ she gasped, her eyes upon his white 
 uit, which made a shining target in the moonlight. 
 
 Nonsense, Miss Marcia I They couldn t hit me if they 
 tried. He marked the distance to the grove with a cal 
 culating eye. There s no danger of their trying, however. 
 They won t risk giving their plot away Just for the sak 
 of nabbing me ; I m not King Humbert. They don t hate 
 me as much as that. He leaned forward with another 
 laugh. Come out and talk to me, Miss Marcia. Let m* 
 see how brave you are. 
 
 Marcia flattened herself against the wall. I m not brave. 
 Please come back, Mr. Sybert. We must tell Uncle Howard. 
 
 If Marcia did not know Sybert to-night, he did not 
 know himself. He was under a greater strain than she. 
 He had sworn that he would not see her again, and he had 
 weakly come to-night ; he had promised himself that he 
 would not talk to her, that he would not by the slightest 
 ign betray his feelings, and he found himself thrown with 
 her under the most intimate conditions. They shared a 
 secret ; they were in danger together. It was within the 
 realms of possibility that he would be killed to-night. The 
 Camorrists had attempted it before ; they might succeed 
 this time. He actually did not care ; he almost welcomed 
 the notion. Ambition was dead within him ; he had no 
 thing to live for and he was reckless. He thought that 
 Marcia was in love with another man, but he dimly divined 
 his own influence over her. Once at least, he told himself 
 once, before she went back to the boy she had chosen, 
 he should acknowledge his power ; she should bend her 
 will to his. He knew that she was frightened, but she 
 should conquer her fear. She should come out into the 
 moonlight and stand beside him, hand in hand, facing the 
 shadows of the ilex grove. 
 
 He bent forward, watching her as she stood in her white 
 vening gown outlined against the dark tapestry of the 
 wall, her face surrounded by glowing hair, her grey eyet 
 big with amazement and fear.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 35 
 
 He stretched out his hand toward her. Marcia, ha 
 e&lled in a low, insistent tone. Come here, Marcia. Come 
 out here and stand beside me, or 1 shall think you are a 
 coward. 
 
 She turned aside with a little shuddering gasp and hid 
 her head against the wall. What if they should shoot him 
 in the back as he sat there ? 
 
 Sybert suddenly came to himself and sprang forward! 
 with an apology. Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Marcia ; I 
 didn t mean to frighten you. 1 don t know what I m saying. 
 
 He began closing the doors and fhutteri farthest away. 
 As he reached her side he paused and looked at her. Ker 
 eyes were shut and she did not move. He closed and 
 barred the last shutter, and they stood silent in the dark. 
 Marcia was struggling to control herself. I shall think 
 you a coward, was ringing in her ears. She had borne 
 a great deal to-day, from the moment when she had first 
 seen the man asleep in the grass ; and now, as she opened 
 her eyes in the darkness, a sudden rush of fear swept ovv 
 her such as she had experienced in the old wine-cellar. 
 It was not fear of any definite thing ; she could be as brave 
 as any one in the face of visible danger. It was merely 
 a wild, unreasoning sensation of physical terror, bred of the 
 dark and overwrought nerves. She stretched out her hand 
 and touched Sybert to be sure he was there. The next 
 moment she was beyond herself. I m afraid/ she sobbed 
 out, and she clung to him convulsively. 
 
 She felt him put his arm around her. Marcia ! My 
 dear little girl. There s nothing to be afraid of. When 
 they find we are on our guard they won t dare molest us. 
 Nothing can hurt you. It was so exactly his tone to 
 Gerald, she would have laughed had she not been crying 
 too hard to stop. Then suddenly his arms tightened abont 
 her. Marcia, he whispered hoarsely, Marcia, and he 
 bent his head until his lips touched hers. They stood for 
 an instant without moving ; then she felt him become 
 quickly rigid as he dropped his arms and gently loosened 
 her hands. They groped their way into the hall without 
 a word, and neither looked at the other. They were both 
 ashamed. The tears still stood hi Marcia s eyes, but her 
 cheeks were scarlet. And Sybert was pale beneath the 
 olive of his skin.
 
 3 6 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 He stepped to the threshold of th salon. " Ah, Copley/ 
 he said in a low tone. Are you nearly through ? I want 
 *o teli you something. 
 
 Copley waved him off without looking up. Sh it s a 
 crucial moment. Don t interrupt. The scores are vea 
 Mid only one hand more to play. I ll be out in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Marcia sat down in a chair on the loggia. It was on the 
 opposite side of the house from the ilex grove, and besides, 
 her spasm of fear had passed. Everything was blotted 
 out of her mind except what had Just happened. Her 
 thoughts, her feelings, were in wild commotion ; but one 
 thing stood out clearly. She had thrown herself into his 
 arms and he had kissed her ; and then he had unloosed 
 Ler hands. She shut her eyes and winced at the thought ; 
 he felt that she could never face him again. 
 
 And on the other end of the loggia Sybert was pacing up 
 and down, lighting cigarettes and throwing them away. 
 He, too, was fiercely tailing himself names. He had 
 frightened her when he knew that she was beside herself 
 with nervousness ; he had taken advantage of the fact that 
 she did not know what she was doing ; he knew that she 
 was engaged to Paul Dessart, and he had forgotten that h 
 was a gentleman. With a quick glaace toward the salon, 
 he threw away his cigarette, and crossing the loggia, he sat 
 down in a chair at Marcia s side. She shrank back quickly, 
 ind he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his 
 eyes on the brick floor. 
 
 Marcia, he taid in a tone so low that it was barely 
 audible, I love you. I know you don t care for me ; I 
 know you are engaged to another man. I didn t mean tu 
 ee you again ; most of all I didn t mean to tell you. I 
 had no right to take advantage of you when you were off 
 your guard, but I couldn t help it ; I m not so strong as 
 I thought I was. Please forgive me and forget about it. 
 
 Marcia drew a deep breath and shut her eyes. Her 
 throat suddenly felt hot and dry. The rush of joy that 
 swept over her made her feel that she could face anything. 
 She had but to say, I am not engaged to another man, 
 and all would come right. She raised her head and looked 
 buck into Sybert s deep eyes, it was he this time who 
 dropped his Raze.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 137 
 
 Mr. Sybert she whispered. 
 
 A shadow suddenly fell between them, and they both 
 sprang to their feet with a little exclamation. A man 
 was standing before them as unexpectedly as though he 
 had risen from the earth or dropped from th* sky. He 
 was ihort and thick-set, with coarsely accentuated fea 
 tures ; he wore a loose white shirt and a red cotton sash, 
 and though the shirt was fastened at the throat, Marcia 
 could see the mark of the crucifix on his brown skin cc. 
 plainly as if it wer visible. 
 
 It s the tattooed man I she gasped out, but as she felt 
 Sybert H restraining touch on her axm she calmed herself. 
 
 The man took on* his hat with a polite bow and an im 
 pertinent smile. 
 
 Buona sera, signorina, he murmured. Buona tsra, 
 Friend of the Poor. I m sorry to interrupt you, but I com* 
 on business vnolio ttrgcntc. 
 
 What is your business ? Sybert asked sharply. 
 
 My business is with Signer Copley. 
 
 What is this ? Some one to see me ? Copley asked, 
 ppearing in the doorway. Well, my man, he added la 
 Italian, what can I do for you ? 
 
 Uncle Howard, don t speak to him 1 It s the tattooed 
 man, Marcia cried. There s a plot. He wants to kill you. 
 
 An expression approaching amusement flitted over Mr. 
 Copley s face as he looked his visitor over. 
 
 I wish to speak to the signore alone, in private, on 
 urgent business, the man reiterated, looking scowlingly 
 from one face to the other. He did not understand the 
 foreign language they spoke among themselves, and he felt 
 that it gave them an advantage. 
 
 Don t apeak to him alone, Sybert warned. He * 
 dangerous. 
 
 Well, what do you want ? Copley demanded peremp 
 torily. Say whatever you have to say here. 
 
 The man glanced at Marcia and Sybert, and then, shrug 
 ging his shoulders in true Italian fashion, turned to Copley 
 
 I wish the money of the poor, he said. 
 
 The money of the poor ? I haven t any money of thr 
 poor. 
 
 S, si, signore. The money you stole from the mouth* 
 o! the poor the wheat money.
 
 38 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Marcia shuddered at the word wheat/ It seemed to 
 her that it would follow her to her dying day. 
 
 Ah I So it s the wheat money, is it ? Well, my good 
 man, that happens to be my money. I didn t steal if from 
 the mouths of the poor. I bought the wheat myself to 
 give to the poor, and. I sold it for half as much as I paid 
 for it ; and with the money I intend to buy more wheat. 
 In the meantime, however, I shall keep it in my own hands/ 
 
 You don t remember me, signore, but I remember you. 
 We met in Naples. 
 
 Copley bowed. * On which occasion I put you in jail 
 t pleasure I shall avail myself of a second time if you trouble 
 me any further. 
 
 I have come for the money/ 
 
 You fool ! Do you think I carry thirty thousand lire 
 around in my pockets ? The money is in the Banta 
 d Italia, in Rome. You may call there if you wish it/ 
 
 The man put his hands to his mouth and whistled. 
 
 Ah ! It s a plot, is it 1 Copley exclaimed. 
 
 Si, signore. It is a plot, and there are those who will 
 carry it out/ 
 
 He turned with an angry snarl, and before Sybert could 
 epring forward to stop him he had snatched a stiletto from 
 his girdle. Copley threw up his arm to protect himself, 
 and received the blow in the shoulder. Before the man 
 could strike again, Sybert was upon him and had thrown 
 him backward across the balustrade. At the same moment 
 half a dozen men burst from the ilex grove and ran across 
 the terrace ; and one of them it was Pietro levelled 
 the stolen rifle as he ran. 
 
 Back into the house ! Sybert shouted, and but the 
 salon windows/ He himself sprang back to the threshold 
 and snatched out his revolver. You fools 1 he cried to 
 the Italians in front. We re all armed men. We ll shoot 
 you like dogs/ 
 
 For answer Pietro fired the rifle, and the glass of an uppei 
 window crashed. 
 
 Sybert closed the door and dropped the bar across it. 
 He faced the excited group in the hall with a little laugh. 
 If that s a specimen of his marksmanship, we haven t much 
 to fear from Pietro/ 
 
 He glanced quickly from one to the other. Marcia, ia
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 239 
 
 the salon, was slamming the shutters down. Mrs. Melville 
 and Mrs. Copley were standing in the doorway with white 
 faces, too amazed to move. Copley, in the middle of the 
 hall, with his right arm hanging limp, was dripping blood 
 on the marble pavement while he loudly called for a pistol j 
 and Melville was standing on a chair hastily tearing from 
 the wall a collection of fourteenth-century Florentine arms. 
 
 Pietro s got your pistol/ Sybert said. But I ve got 
 five shots in mine, and we ll do for the sixth man with one 
 of those bludgeons. I ought to have shot that tattooed 
 fellow when I had the chance he s the leader but I ll 
 make up for it yet. 
 
 A storm of blows on the door behind him brought out 
 another laugh. That door is as solid as the side of the 
 house. They can hammer on it all night without getting in. 
 
 The assailants had evidently arrived at the same con- 
 elusion, for the blows ceased while they consulted. A 
 crash of glass in the salon followed, and Sybert sprang in 
 there, calling to Melville to guard the hall window. The 
 nutters held against the first impact of the men s bodies, 
 and they drew of! for a minute and then redoubled the 
 blows. They were evidently using the butt of the rifle 
 as a battering-ram, and the stoutest of hinges could not 
 long withstand such usage. With a groan one side of the 
 shutter gave way and swung inward on a single hinge. 
 
 Put out the lights, Sybert called over his shoulder to 
 Marcia, and he fired a shot through the aperture. The 
 assailants fell back with groans and curses, but the next 
 moment, raising the cry, * Avanti I Avanti I they came 
 on with a rush, the Camorrist leading with the stolen 
 revolver in his hand. Sybert took deliberate aim and 
 fired. The man slowly sank to his knees and fell forward 
 on his face. His comrades dragged him back. 
 
 Marcia, in the darkness behind, shut her eyes and clenched 
 her hands. It was the first time she had ever seen t 
 person die, and the sight was sickening. The men with 
 drew from the window and those waiting inside heard them 
 consulting in low, angry guttural tones. The next moment 
 there was a crash of glass at the hall window which opened 
 Into the loggia, and again the rifle as a battering-ram. 
 
 Ah I said Sybert under his breath, and he thrust th 
 revolver into Marcia s hand. Quick, take that to Melville
 
 340 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 and bring me one of those spiked truncheons. We ll 
 make em think we ve got a regular arsenal in here/ 
 
 Marcia obeyed without a word, and the next moment 
 shots and cries rang out in the hall. She had scarcely 
 placed the unwieldy weapon in Sybert s hands when another 
 man thrust himself into the salon opening. They had 
 vident.ly determined to divide their forces and attack 
 the two breaches at once. Both Marcia and Sybert recog- 
 aized the man instantly. It was Tarquinio, the son of 
 Domenico, the baker of Castel Vivalanti. 
 
 Tarquinio I You fool I Go back/ Sybert cried. 
 
 Ah-h Signot Siberti ! th* young fellow cried as he 
 lunged forward with a stiletto. You have betrayed us ! 
 
 Sybert shut his lips, and reversing the truncheon, struck 
 biro with the handle a ringing blow on the head. Tar 
 quinio fell forward into the darkness of the room, and th* 
 moonlight streamed in on his bloody face. 
 
 Sybert bent over him a moment with white lips. You 
 poor fool I he muttered. I had to do it. 
 
 The next moment Marcia uttered a joyous cry that rang 
 through the rooms, 
 
 Listen I 
 
 A silence of ten seconds followed, while both besieged 
 *nd besiegers held their breath. The sound was unmis 
 takable a shout far down the avenue a,nd the beat of 
 galloping hoofs. 
 
 The soldiers I she cried, and the men outside, as f 
 they had understood the word, echoed the cry. 
 
 / soldati I I soldati / 
 
 The next moment a dozen carabinieri swept into sight, 
 th* moonlight gleaming brightly on their white cross-belts 
 and polished mountings. The men on the loggia dropped 
 their weapons and dashed for cover, while the soldiers 
 leaped from their horses and with spiked muskets chased 
 them into the trees. 
 
 Sybert hastily bent over Tarquinio and dragged him 
 back into the shadow. 
 
 Is he alive ? Marcia whispered. 
 
 He s only stunned. And, poor fellow, he doesn t know 
 any better j he was nothing but their dupe. It s a pity 
 to send him to the galleys for life. 
 
 They dropped a rug over the man and turned into tht
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 245 
 
 ball, which was hot with the smell of powder and smoking 
 candles. Sybert threw the door wide and let the moon- 
 tight stream in. It was a queer sight it looked upon, 
 Copley, weak from his wound, had collapsed into a taJ] 
 carved chair, while the two ladies, in blood-stained evening 
 dresses, were anxiously bending over him. Melville, with 
 the still smoking revolver in his hand and a jewelled dagger 
 sticking from his pocket, was frenziedly inquiring, For 
 the Lord s sake, has any one got any whisky ? Gerald, 
 in bis white nightgown and little bare legs, was howling 
 dismally on the stairway ; while Granton, from the landing, 
 looked grimly down upon the scene with the air of an 
 avenging Nemesis. The next moment the soldiers had 
 come trooping in, and everything was a babel of cries and 
 ejaculation* and excited questions. In the midst of the 
 confusion Mrs. Copley suddenly drew herself up and pro 
 nounced her ultimatum. 
 
 4 On the very first steamer that sails, we are going back 
 *6 America to livt t 
 
 Marcia uttered a little hysterical laugh, and Melviila 
 joined in. 
 
 And I think you d better go with them, my boy, ha 
 said, laying a grimy hand on Sybert s arm. 1 suspect that 
 your goose is pretty thoroughly cooked in Italy. 
 
 Sybert shook the elder man s hand off, with a short 
 laugh that was not very mirthful. 
 
 I ve suspected that for some time/ And ne turned 
 on his heel and strode out to the loggia, where he began 
 talking with the soldiers. 
 
 Poor fellow I Melville glanced at Marcia and shook 
 his head. It s a bad dose! he murmured. I have a 
 curiosity to see with what grace he swallows it. 
 
 Marcia looked after Sybert with eyes that were filled with 
 sympathy. She realized that it wa a bitter time for him, 
 though she did not know just why ; but she had seen the 
 spasm that crossed his face at Tarquinio s cry, You have 
 betrayed us 1 She half started to follow him, and then 
 *he drew back quickly. Through the open do6r she had 
 caught a glimpse of Sybert and a soldier bending over the 
 Camorrist s body. They had opened his shirt in front, 
 and she had seen the purple crucifix covered with blood 
 She leaned back against the wall, faint at the sight. I?
 
 4a THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 teemed as if the impressions of this dreadful day could 
 never leave her I 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 MH. COPLEY S wounded arm was bandaged the best that 
 they could manage and a soldier dispatched to Palestrina 
 for a doctor. Gerald was put to bed and quieted for the 
 third time that night, and the excitement in the house was 
 subsiding to a murmur when Marcia came downstairs 
 again. Melville met her by the .door of the loggia, evidently 
 anxious that she should not go out. She had no desire 
 to ; she had seen more than she cared to see. 
 
 We have caught two of the men, he said ; but I am 
 afraid that the rest have got off that precious butler o! 
 yours among them. 
 
 Where is Mr. Sybert ? she asked. The thought of 
 Tarquinio had suddenly occurred to her ; she had for 
 gotten him in the distraction of helping with her uncle. 
 
 He s locking the house. 
 
 I will see if I can help him/ and she turned into the 
 salon. 
 
 Melville looked after her with a momentary smile. He 
 had a theory which his wife did not share. 
 
 Marcia passed through the empty salon and the little 
 ante-room, and hesitated with her hand on the dining-room 
 door. She had a premonition that he was within ; the 
 turned the knob softly and entered. 
 
 Sybert sprang up with a quick exclamation. Oh, it s 
 you I he said. I thought I had locked the door. Draw 
 the bolt, please. I brought him in here and I m trying 
 to bring him round. If they find him he ll be sent to the 
 galleys, and it seems a pity. He s got a wife and child to 
 support/ 
 
 Marcia looked down on the floor where Tarquinio was 
 iying. Sybert had thrown the glass doors open again and 
 the moonlight was flooding the room. A towel, folded 
 into a rough bandage, was wrapped around the young 
 Italian s head, and his pale face beneath it had all the dark, 
 tragic beauty of his race. 
 
 Poor man I she exclaimed as she bent over him. Are 
 you sure he s alive ? she asked, starting back. 
 
 Heavens, yes t It takes more than that knock to kill
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 243 
 
 one of these peasants. He groaned when I carried him m. 
 Here, let me giv* him some whisky. 
 
 He raised the man s head and pressed the flask to hit 
 lip. Tarquinio groaned again, and presently be opened 
 his eyes. Sybert raised him to a sitting posture against 
 the wall. For a moment his glance wandered about the 
 room, uncomprehendingly, dully. Then, as it fixed upon 
 Svbert, a wild f fierce light suddenly sprang into his eye. 
 Traitor i he gasped out, and he struggled to his feet. 
 
 Again Marcia saw that quick look of pain shoot over 
 Sybert s face ; he swallowed a couple of times before 
 peaking, and when he did speak his voice was hard and cold. 
 
 Can you walk ? Then climb over that railing and get 
 tway as fast as you can. The soldiers are here, and if 
 they find you they will send you to the galleys not that 
 it would be any great loss, be added with a contemptuous 
 laugh. Italy has no need of such men as you. 
 
 Something of the fierceness faded from the young fellow s 
 face, and he looked back with the pleading, child-like eyes 
 of the Italian peasant. The two men watched each other 
 a moment without speaking, then Tarquinio turned to the 
 open door with a shrug of the shoulders Young Italy s 
 philosophy of Hie. 
 
 They stood silently looking after him as he let himself 
 down to the ground and unsteadily crossed the open space 
 to the shadow of the grove. Sybert was the first to move. 
 He turned aside with a tired sigh that was half a groan, 
 and dropping into a chair, rested his elbows on his knees 
 and his head in his hands. AH the wild buoyancy that 
 had kept him through the evening had left him, and there 
 was nothing in its place but a dull, unreasoning despair. 
 For the last few weeks he had been glancing at the truth 
 askance. To-night he was looking it full in the face. The 
 people no longer trusted him ; he could do no more good 
 in Italy ; his work was at an end. Why had they not killed 
 him ? That would have been the appropriate conclusion, 
 
 Marcia, watching his bowed figure, dimly divined what 
 was going on within his mind. She hesitated a moment, 
 and then with a quick impulse laid her arm about his neck. 
 There isn t any one but you, she whispered. 
 
 He sat for a moment, motionless, and then he slowly 
 raised his eyes to hers. What do you mean, Marcia ? *
 
 444 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 I love you, 
 
 And you re fre* to marry me ? * 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 He sprang to his feet with a deep, shuddering breath of 
 rslief. I ve lost Italy, Marcia, but I ve found you ! 
 
 She smiled up at him through her tears, and he looked 
 back with aorabre eyes. 
 
 You aren t getting much of a man, he said brokenly, 
 I was just thinking of shooting myself. 
 
 A quick tremor passed over her, and she drew his face 
 down close to hers and kissed it. 
 
 They stood for a long time on the little balcony, hand 
 in hand, facing the shadows of the ilex grove ; but the 
 shadows no longer seemed black, because of the light in 
 their own souls. He talked to her of his past frankly, 
 freely and of Italy, his adopted land. He told her what 
 h had tried to do and wherein he had failed. And as she 
 listened, many things that had puzzled her, that had seemed 
 enigmas in his character, assumed their right relations. 
 The dark, glass that had half hidden his motives, that had 
 contorted his actions, suddenly cleared before her eyes. 
 She saw the inherent sweetness and strength of his nature 
 beneath his reserve, his apparent indifference. And as 
 h told the story of Italy, of the sacrifices and valour and 
 singleness of purpose that had gone to the making of the 
 nation, there crept involuntarily a triumphant ring Into 
 his voice. The. note of despondency that had dominated 
 him for the past few months disappeared ; for, as he dwelt 
 upon the positive things that had been accomplished, they 
 Beemed to take shape and stand out clearly against the 
 dimmer background of unaccomplished hopes. The re 
 membrance of the nation s smaller mistakes and faults and 
 crimes had vanished in the larger view. The story that he 
 had to tell was the story of a great people and a great land. 
 There had been patriots in the past ; there would be patriots 
 !n the future. The same strength that had made the 
 cation would build It up and carry it on. 
 
 Ah, Sybert 1 Miss Marcia ! Melville s voice rang 
 through the house. 
 
 I d forgotten there was any one in the world but us, 
 Marcia whispered as they turned back into the hall.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS *4S 
 
 Here s a young gentleman calling lor you, Miss Marci*, 
 Melville s hand rested on the shoulder of a barefooted littk 
 figure covered with the white dust of the Roman road. 
 
 Gervasio ! Marcia cried, with a quick spasm of self- 
 reproach. She had forgotten him. 
 
 The boy drew himself up proudly and pointed through 
 the open door to the soldiers pacing the length of the terrace. 
 
 Ecco I signorina. / solduti I 
 
 Marcia dropped on her knees beside him with a iittJe 
 laugh. You darling ! the cried as she gathered him info 
 her arms and kissed him. 
 
 Sybert bent over him and shook his hand. You re a. 
 brave boy, Gervasio, he said ; and you ve probably 
 saved our live* to-night. 
 
 Am I going to live with you now," he asked, lik> 
 Gerald ? 
 
 Always, said Marcia, just like Gerald. 
 
 He opened his eyes wide. And will I be an Americano 
 then ? 
 
 No, Gervasio, said Sybert, quickly. You ll never b 
 ia Americano. You were born Italian, and you ll be 
 Italiano till you die. You should be proud of it it s your 
 birthright. We arc Americani, and we are going home, 
 You may come with us and study and learn, but when you 
 get to be a man you must come back to your own country. 
 It will need you and now run- to bed. And you too, 
 Miss Marcia, he added. You ar* tired and there s nothing 
 to be done. Melville and I will Attend to locking up. 
 
 Locking up ! cried Melville. * Good Lord, man, how 
 many locking-ups does this house require ? He watched 
 them a moment in silence, and then he added bluntly : Oh, 
 ee here, what s the good of secrets between friends ? I ve 
 known it all along. He held out a hand to each of them. 
 It s eminently fitting ; my congratulations come from my 
 heart. 
 
 You re too discerning by far/ Sybert retorted, his hatids 
 fast in his pockets. 
 
 Marcia, with a laugh and a quick flush, held out both of 
 hers. It s a secret, she said. I don t know how yo 
 guessed it, but you must promise on your honour as a 
 gentleman and a diplomat not to tell a single soul I 
 
 I must tell my wife, he pleaded. It s a case of " I
 
 46 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 told you so," and she usually comes out ahead in *ueh 
 cases. You can t ask me to hide what little light I have 
 under a bushel. 
 
 I don t care so much about Mrs. Melville, Marcia gave 
 a reluctant consent. But promise me one thing : that 
 you ll never, never breathe a word to I don t know her 
 name the Lady who Writes/ 
 
 Th* Lady who Writes ? Who on earth is sh talking 
 about, Sybert ? 
 
 The greatest gossip in Rome. appended Marcia. 
 
 Madame Laventi I Melville laughed. You re too late, 
 Miss Marcia. She knows it already. Madame Laventi 
 does not get her news by word of mouth ; the birds carry 
 it to her. Good night/ he added, and he strolled discreetly 
 into the lalon. But his caution was unnecessary ; their 
 parting was blatantly innocent. 
 
 Sybert chose a tall brast candlestick from the row on 
 the mantelpiece and handed it to her with a bow, 
 
 Thank you/ said Marcia. 
 
 She paused on the landing and smiled down. 
 
 Buona *oU& t Signor Siberti/ she murmured. 
 
 He smiled back from the foot of the stairs. 
 
 * Buona notte, signorina. Pleasant dreams I 
 
 Hearing the sound of voices within, Marcia paused at 
 Mrs. Copley s door to ask about her uncle. She found the 
 room strewn with the contents of several wardrobes, and 
 bit aunt and Granton kneeling each before an open trunk. 
 
 Good gracious, Aunt Katherine 1 she exclaimed in 
 amazement. What are you doing ? It s one o clock/ 
 
 We are packing, my dear/ 
 
 Marcia sat down on the bed with a hysterical giggle. 
 Aunt Katherine, if I didn t know the contrary, I should 
 swear you were born a Copley/ 
 
 Mrs*. Copley withdrew her head from the trunk and looked 
 about for something further to fit in. In passing she cast 
 her niece a reproachful glance. I don t see how you can 
 be so flippant, Marcia, after what we ve been through to 
 night and with your uncle lying wounded in the next 
 room I It s only one chance in a hundred that we aren t 
 all in our graves by now. I shall not draw an easy breath 
 ttntil we have landed safely in the ttreetu of New York.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 247 
 
 Just hand me that pile of things on the chair there. Her 
 gaze rested upon a parti-coloured assortment of ribbons and 
 laces and gloves. 
 
 Marcia suppressed another smile. I know it isn t the 
 time to laugh, Aunt Katherine, but I can t help it. You re 
 to sort of businesslike. It never would have occurred to 
 me to pack to-night. 
 
 We are going into Rome the first thing to-morrow 
 morning, and with only Granton to help there is no time 
 to lose. We might as well begin while we are waiting for 
 the doctor he surely ought to be here by now, she added, 
 her anxiety coming to the (ore. What do you suppost 
 takes him so long ? It s been an hour since we sent. 
 
 It s four miles to Palestrina, Aunt Katherine. And 
 you must remember it s the middle of the night ; the man 
 was probably in bed and asleep. It will be another half 
 hour at least before he can get here/ 
 
 Yes, I suppose so Mrs. Copley turned back to her 
 packing but I can t help being worried I One suspect* 
 everybody after an experience like this. I am really feeling 
 very nervous over your uncle s arm ; he makes light of it, 
 but it may bt more serious than any of us think. There s 
 always so much danger of lockjaw or blood-poisoning from 
 a wound of that sort. I shall not feel satisfied about it 
 until we can get into Rome and consult an American doctor." 
 
 May I see him ? Marcia asked, or is he asleep ? 
 
 No, he s awake ; but you must not excite him/ 
 
 Marcia tapped lightly on Mr. Copley s door and entered. 
 He was propped up on pillows, his arm in a sling. She 
 crossed over and sat down on the edge of the bed. I m 
 o sorry, Uncle Howard/ sht murmured. 
 
 Oh, it s nothing to make a fuss over. I got off vr.ty 
 easily/ 
 
 I don t mean just your arm I mean everything/ 
 
 Ah/ said Copley, and shut his eyes. 
 
 But, after all/ she added, it may be for the best. Tht 
 Italians don t understand what you are doing. I don t 
 believe two such different races can understand each other/ 
 
 He opened his eyes with a humorous smile. It s rather 
 b comic-opera ending/ he agreed. I have a feeling that 
 before the curtain goes down I should join hands with tht 
 bandits *nd come out and make my bow/
 
 348 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 There are lots of things to be done in America, and 
 they ll appreciate you more at home. 
 
 I think I ll buy a yacht and go in for racing, as your aunt 
 suggests. I may come off in that if I have a captain. 
 
 Marcia sat silent a moment, looking down on his finely 
 lined, sensitive face. 
 
 Uncle Howard/ she said slowly, it seems as if the good 
 you do is some ws.y cast up to the credit side of the world * 
 account and helps just so much to overcome the bad, 
 whether any one knows about it or not. You may go 
 away and leave it all behind and never be appreciated, 
 but it s a positive quantity just the same. It a so much 
 accomplished on the right side. 
 
 Her uncle smiled again. 
 
 I m afraid that s rather too idealistic a philosophy for 
 this generation. We re living in a material age, and il 
 (takes something more solid than good intentions to make 
 much impression on it. I have a sneaking suspicion that 
 I wasn t born to set the world to rights. Many men are 
 reformers in their youth, but I m reaching the age when 
 a dub and a good dinner are excellent anodynes for my 
 own and other * people s troubles. 
 
 A shadow fell over her face and she looked down in her 
 Isp without answering. 
 
 After a moment he asked suddenly, Where s Sybert, 
 Marcia ? 
 
 I think he s downstairs waiting for the doctor. 
 
 Ah ! said Copley again, with a little sigh. 
 
 Marcia slipped down on her knees beside the bed. Uncle 
 Howard, she whispered, I want to tell you something. 
 I m going to marry Mr. Sybert. 
 
 Copley raised himself on his elbow and stared at her. 
 
 You are going to marry Sybert ? he repeated Lncre- 
 dtilously. 
 
 Yes, uncle/ she smiled. He aslced me to/ 
 
 Sybert t Copley repeated, with an astonished laugh. 
 Holy St. Francis I What a change is here I 
 
 I thought you would be pleased/ she said a. Uttle tre 
 es ulously. 
 
 He stretched out his hand and laid it over hers. My 
 dear Marcia, nothing could have pleased me more. He s 
 tba finest man I have ever known, and I begin to suspect
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 249 
 
 that you are the finest girl. But good gracious I Marcia, 
 I must be blind and deal and dumb. I bad a notion you 
 didn t like each other. 
 
 We ve changed our minds/ she said ; and I wanted 
 you to know it because I thought it would make you feel 
 better. 
 
 And so it does, Marcia, he said heartily. The year 
 has accomplished something, after all ; and I m glad for 
 Sybert s sake that he s got this just, now, for, poor fellow, 
 he s in a deeper hole than I. 
 
 Marcia pressed his hand gratefully as her aunt came 
 bustling in with her arms full of clothes. 
 
 Howard, she asked, shall I have Granton pack your 
 heavy flannels, or shall you want them on the steamer ? 
 
 Her husband attempted a shrug and found the bandages 
 would not permit it. 
 
 I think perhaps I d better leave them out. It s Tuns, 
 of course ; but I ve known very cold crossings even in July. 
 
 Copley turned on his side and wrenched his arm again. 
 
 Oh, for heaven s sake I Katherine, he groaned, pack 
 them, throw them away, burn them, do anything you 
 please. 
 
 Mrs. Copley came to the bedside and bent over him 
 anxiously. What s the matter, dear ? Is your arm very 
 painful ? You don t suppose/ she added in sudden alarm, 
 that the stiletto was poisoned, do you ? 
 
 Lord, no I he laughed. Poisoned daggers went out 
 two centuries ago it s a mere scratch, Katherine ; don t 
 worry about it. Go on with your packing I should hate 
 to miss that first steamer. 
 
 His wife patted the pillows and turned toward the door. 
 Marcia/ she called over her shoulder, go to bed, child. 
 You will be absolutely worn out to-morrow and don t 
 talk to your uncle any more. I m afraid you will get him 
 excited. 
 
 Marcia bent over and lightly kissed him on the forehead. 
 Good night/ she whispered. I hope you will feel better 
 In the morning/ and she turned back to her own room. 
 
 She sat down on the couch by the open window and 
 drew the muslin curtains back. The moon was low in 
 the west, hanging over Rome. A cool night breeze was 
 tirring, and the little chiU that precedes dawn was in th
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 air. She drew a rug about her and sat looking out, lis 
 tening to the shuffling tramp of the soldiers and thinking 
 of the long day that had passed. When she waked that 
 morning it had been like any other day, and now every- 
 thing was changed. This was her last night in the villa, 
 and her heart was full of happiness and sorrow sorrow 
 for her uncle and Laurence Sybert and the poor peasants. 
 It was Italy to the end beauty and moonlight and love, 
 mingled with tragedy and death and disappointment. 
 She had a great many things to think about, but she was 
 rery, very tired, and with a half-sigh and a half-smile her 
 head drooped on the cushions and she fell asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MARCIA woke at dawn with the sun in her eyes. She 
 started up dazedly at finding herself dressed in her white 
 evening gown, lying on the couch instead of in bed. Then 
 in a moment the events of yesterday flashed back. The 
 floor was covered with broken glass, and on the wall 
 opposite a dark spot among the rose-garlands showed where 
 Pietro s misaimed bullet had lodged. On the terrace 
 balustrade below her window two soldiers were sitting, 
 busily throwing dice. They lent an absurd air of unreality 
 to the scene. She stepped to the open doors of the balcony 
 and drew a deep, delighted breath of the fresh morning 
 air. Rome in the west was still sleeping, but every separate 
 crag of the Sabines was glowing a soft pink, and the newly 
 risen sun was hanging like a halo behind the old monastery. 
 It was a day filled with promise. 
 
 The next moment she had brought her thoughts back 
 from the distant horizon to the contemplation of homelier 
 matters nearer at hand. Mingled with the early fragrance 
 of roses and dew was the subtly penetrating odour of 
 boiling coffee. Marcia sniffed and considered. Some one 
 was making coffee for the soldiers, who were to be relieved 
 at the Ave Maria/ She reviewed the possible cooks. 
 Not Granton. The soldiers were Italians, and, for all 
 Granton cared, they could perish from hunger on their 
 way back to Palestrina. Not her aunt. In all probability, 
 she did not know how to make coffee. Not her uncle. He 
 was hors de concours with his wounded arm. The Melvilles I 
 They would not have known where to look for the kitchen.
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 151 
 
 She interrupted her speculations to exchange las* 
 evening gown for a fresh blue muslin, and her hasty glance 
 at the mirror as she stole out on tiptoe told her that the 
 slight pallor which comes from three hours sleep was eos 
 unbecoming. She crept downstairs through the dim hall 
 and paused a second by the open door of the loggia ; her 
 eyes involuntarily sought the spot outside the salon window. 
 The rug was back in its place again, and everything was in 
 its usual order. She felt thankful to some one ; it was 
 easier so to throw the matter from her mind. 
 1 She approached the kitchen softly and paused on the 
 threshold with a reconnoitring glance. The big stone- 
 floored room, with its smoky rafters overhead, wai dark 
 always, but especially so at the sunrise hour ; its deep- 
 embrasured windows looked to the west. In the farthest, 
 darkest corner, before the big, brick-walled stove, some one 
 was standing with his back turned toward her, and her 
 heart quickened its beating perceptibly. She stood very 
 still for several minutes, watching him ; she would hypno 
 tize him to turn around ; but before she had fairly com 
 menced with the business, he had picked up the poker by 
 the wrong end and dropped it again. The observation 
 which he made in Italian was quite untranslatable. Marcia 
 tittered and he wheeled about. 
 
 That s not fair/ he objected. I shouldn t hav said 
 anything so bad if I had known you were listening/ 
 Do you know what we do with Gerald when he swear* 
 in Italian ? 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 We wash bis mouth with soap/ 
 
 I hope it doesn t happen often, he shuddered, 
 
 He speaks very fluent Italian nearly as fluent as you*!.* 
 
 Suppose we change the subject/ 
 
 Very well/ she agreed, advancing to the opposite aidt 
 of the long central table. What shall we talk about ? * 
 
 We haven t said good morning/ 
 
 She dropped him a smiling curtsy. Good morning, 
 Mr, Sybert/ 
 
 Mr. Sybert ! You haven t changed your mind ov* 
 night, have you ? 
 
 Her eyes were more reassuring than her speech. N-%* 
 
 No what ?
 
 153 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 Sir I * She laughed. 
 
 He came around to her side of the table, and faced he* 
 with his hands in his jacket pockets. 
 
 You ve never in your life pronounced my name. I don t 
 believe you know it 1 
 
 She whispered. 
 
 Say it louder. 
 
 It sounds too familiar, she objected, backing agasast 
 the wall with impudently laughing eyes. You re so so 
 ort of old like Uncle Howard. 
 
 Oh, I know you re young, but you needn t put on such 
 airs about it. You don t own all the youth in the world. 
 
 Thirty- five j she murmured, with a wondering shake 
 of her head. 
 
 Ah thirty-five. A very nice age. Just the right age, 
 in fact, to make you mind me. Oh, you needn t laugh ; 
 I m going to do it fast enough. And right here we ll 
 begin/ He folded his arms with a very fierce frown, but 
 with a smile oil his lips, quizzical, humorous, comprehend 
 ing, kindly the finished result of so many smiles that had 
 gone before. The business in hand, my dear young 
 woman, is to find out whether or not you happen to know 
 the name of the man you ve promised to marry. Come, 
 iet me hear it ; say it out loud. 
 
 Marcia looked back tantalizingly a moment, and then, 
 fter an inquiring glance about the room as if she were 
 searching to recall it, she dropped her lids and pronounced 
 ft with her eyes on the floor. 
 
 Laurence. 
 
 He unfolded his arms. 
 
 The coffee s boiling over ! Marcia exclaimed. 
 
 Kiss 1 me good morning. 
 
 The coffee s boiling over. 
 
 I don t care if it is. 
 
 The coffee boiled over with an angry spurt that deluged 
 the stove with hissing steam. Marcia was patently too 
 anxious for its safety to give her attention to anything 
 be. Sybert stalked over and viciously Jerked it back, 
 and she picked up the plate of rolls and ran for the door. 
 He caught up with her in the hall. 
 
 I know why you discharged Marietta, he threw out. 
 
 Why ?
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 253 
 
 H I were a French cook with a moustache and a goatee 
 and a fetching white cap, and you were a black-eyed little 
 Italian nursemaid with gold ear-rings in your ears, I should 
 very frequently Jet things burn. 
 
 Oh, Marcia laughed. And I should probably let the 
 little boy I ought to be looking after fall over the balustrade 
 and break his front tooth while I was sitting on the door 
 step smiling at you. 
 
 And so we should be torn apart there was a tragedy I * 
 he mused compassionately. 1 hadn t realized it before. 
 It proves that you must suffer yourself before you can 
 appreciate the sufferings of others. 
 
 French cooks with fetching caps have elastic hearts. 
 
 Ah/ said he, and so have black-eyed little Italian 
 nursemaids I m glad you re not an Italian nursemaid, 
 Marcia. 
 
 I m glad you re not a French cook Laurence. And 
 then sh laughed. Will you tell me something ? 
 
 Anything you wish. 
 
 * Were you ever in love with the Contessa Torrenieri ? * 
 
 I used to fancy I was something of the sort nine or tea 
 years ago. But, thank heaven, she was looking for a count. 
 
 I m glad she found him 1 Marcia breathed. 
 
 As they crossed the terrace to the little table at the 
 corner of the grove where the afternoon before it seemed 
 ft century Mrs. Copley and Marcia had taken tea, one of 
 the soldiers came hastily forward. s Permit me, signorina, 
 he said with a bow, taking the plate from her hands. 
 Marcia relinquished it with a Grazia ianto and a friendly 
 smile. They were so polite, so good-natured, thtse Italian?, ) 
 Cups were brought, the table was spread, and Marcia 
 poured the coffee with as much ceremony as if she were 
 presiding at an afternoon reception. The two, at the 
 soldiers invitation, stayed and shared the meal with them. 
 Marcia never forgot that sunrise breakfast- party on the 
 ten-ace it was Villa Vivalanti s last social function. 
 
 She watched Sybert s intercourse with these men with 
 something like amazement, feeling that she had still to 
 know him, that his character was in the end the mystery 
 it had seemed. With his hand on their shoulders, he was 
 chatting to the group as if he had known them all his lift, 
 aordial, friendly, intimate, with an air of good-cojnrade*bip e
 
 54 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 of perfect comprehension, that she had never seen him 
 4 nploy toward even bis staunches* friends of the Embassy. 
 One of the soldiers, noticing the direction of her glance, 
 informed her that the signore had been up all night, alter 
 nately talking to them and pacing the walks of the ilex 
 grove, and he added that the signore was a galantuomo a 
 gentleman and a good fellow. 
 
 \Vhat did he talk about ? she asked. 
 
 * Many, many things/ said the man. Italia, and the 
 people s miser ia, and the priests, and the wine of Sicily, 
 and the King and the Camorra, and (he looked a trifle 
 conscious) our sweethearts. He is not like other fortstieri, 
 the signore ; he understands. He is a good fellow. 
 
 And then the young soldier he was most confiding 
 told her about his own sweetheart. Her name was Lucia 
 and she lived in Lucca. She was waiting for him to finish 
 his service, and then they would be married and keep * 
 t>irved-wood shop in Florence. That was his trade carv- 
 ir>g wood to sell to the forestieri, It was a beautiful trade ; 
 ht had learned it in Switzerland, and he had learned it well. 
 The eignorina should judge if she ever came to Florence. 
 How much longer did he have to serve ? Four months, 
 and then 1 He rolled bis eyes in the direction where Lucca 
 might be supposed to lie. 
 
 Marcia smiled sympathetically. Lucia was a beautiful 
 came, she said. 
 
 Was it not a beautiful name ? he returned in an ecstasy. 
 But the signorina should see Lucia herself 1 Words failed 
 him at this point. Santa Lucia, he murmured softly, 
 aiid he hunfmed the tune under his breath. 
 
 Marcia unclasped a chain of gold beads from her neck 
 and slipped it into his hand. When you go back to Lucca 
 give this to Lucia from me con atnore. 
 
 Here, here I what is this ? said Sybert in English, com- 
 !*ig up behind. Do I nnd you giving love- tokens to a 
 strange young man ? 
 
 Marcia flushed guiltily at the detection. It s for a 
 ft ^nd of mind in Lucca, she said, nodding over her shoulder 
 to the young soldier as they turned back toward the loggia. 
 
 Sybert laughed softly. 
 
 What are you laughing at ? she asked. 
 
 1 sent a wedding present to Lucia myself."
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 253 
 
 They strolled to the end of the loggia and stood by the 
 balustrade, looking off into the hills. The fresh, dewy 
 cents of early morning were in the air, and all the world 
 seemed beautiful and young. Marcia thought of Sybert 
 pacing up and down the dark ilex walks while the villa 
 slept, and of the dreadful thing he had spoken last night ID 
 that wild moment of despair. She searched his face 
 questioningly. There were shadows under his eyes, the 
 marks of last night s vigil ; but in his eyes a steady calm. 
 He caught the look and read her thoughts. 
 
 That s all over, Marcia/ he said quietly. IV* fought 
 it out. You mustn t think of it again. I don t very often 
 lose control of myself, but I did last night. Once in thirty- 
 five years, he smiled, a man ought to be forgiveu for 
 being a little melodramatic. 
 
 Will you really be happy ? she asked. 
 
 Marcia, America is for me, as for so many poor Italians, 
 the promised land. I m going home to you. 
 
 She shook her head sadly. That won t be enough. 
 
 It s all I have, and it s all I want. There s not room 
 In my heart for anything but you, Marcia. 
 
 Don t say that, she cried. That s why I love you - 
 because there s room in your heart for so many other people. 
 America is your own country. Let it take the place of 
 Italy. 
 
 He studied the Cainpagna, silent, a moment, while a 
 shadow crossed his face. He shook his head slowly and 
 looked back with melancholy eyes. 
 
 I don t know, Maccia. That may come later but 
 not Just now. You can t understand what Italy means to 
 me. I was born here ; I learned to speak the language 
 before I did English ; all that other men feel for their 
 country, for their homes, I feel for Italy. And these poor, 
 hard-working, patient people I ve done them harm instead 
 of good. Oh, I see the truth ; Italy must do for herself. 
 The foreigners can t help, and I m a foreigner like the rest. 
 
 Ah, Laurence, she pleaded, don t you see that you re 
 an American, and that nothing, nothing can stamp it out ? 
 It s all a mistake ; your place isn t here it s at home. 
 Every man can surely do his best work in his own country, 
 and America needs good men. Do you remember what 
 you said at Uncle Howard s dinner that last night we were
 
 THE WHEAT PRINCESS 
 
 in Rome ? That to be a loyal citizen of the world was the 
 best a man could do ? But you can t be a loyal citizen ol 
 the world unless you are first of all a loyal citizen of your 
 own country. America may be crude and it may have a 
 good many faults, but it l s our country just the same, and 
 we ought to love it better than any other. You do love 
 it, don t you ? .Tell me you do. Tell me you re glad 
 that you re an American. 
 
 She put her hands on his shoulders and looked up with 
 glowing eyes and cheeks that burned. 
 
 As he watched her a picture flashed over him of what 
 it meant. He thought of the vast country, with its rich 
 ness, its possibilities, its contrasts. He thought of its 
 vitality and force ; its energy and nervousness and daring. 
 And for a brief instant he felt himself a part of it. A 
 udden wave swept over him of that strange, irrational, 
 romantic love of fatherland which is fundamental under 
 neath the polish, underneath the wickedness, in every man 
 In every land. For a second he thrilled with it too ; and 
 then, as his eye wandered to the great plain beneath them, 
 the old love his first love rushed back. He bent over 
 siid kissed her with sudden tears in his eyes. 
 
 Some day, Marcia, I will tell you that I m proud to ba 
 an American. Don t ask me just yet. 
 
 And as they stood there, hand in hand, there was borne 
 to them from the mountain-top above the sweet, prophetic 
 sound of the bells of Castel Vivalanti ringing the Angelus ; 
 while below them on the horizon, like a great, far-reaching 
 sea, stretched the Campagna, haunting, mysterious, insati 
 able the Roman Campagna, that has demanded as sacri 
 fice the lives of so many miserable peasants, that has lured 
 from distant homes so many strangers and held them 
 prisoners to its spell the beautiful, deadly, desolate land 
 that has inspired more passionate love than any land on 
 
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