THE VILLA 
 CLAUDIA 
 
 MITCHELL 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 

 
THE VILLA CLAUDIA 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE LAST AMERICAN 
 AMOS JUDD 
 THAT FIRST AFFAIR 
 GLORIA VICTIS 
 THE PINES OF LORY 
 LIFE'S FAIRY TALES 
 
THE 
 
 VILLA CLAUDIA 
 
 By 
 John Ames Mitchell 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. D. BLASHFIELD, BY THE 
 AUTHOR, AND FROM ANCIENT SOURCES 
 
 New York 
 
 Life Publishing Company 
 1904 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Not to 'weary you overmuch 'with tedious details." 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Copyright, 1904 
 
 BY J. A. MITCHELL 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, by 
 James Henderson &= Sons 
 
 Printed in the United States 
 
 All rights reserved 
 THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. ENGLISH SPOKEN . 
 
 II. A MOONLIT GARDEN 
 
 III. FRA DIAVOLO'S FLUTE . 
 
 IV. PARADISO 
 V. INFERNO 
 
 VI. FRA DIAVOLO'S FACE 
 
 VII. STRANGE STORIES . 
 
 VIII. Two LOVERS 
 
 IX. A TALE OF DISCOVERY . 
 
 X. FORGOTTEN THINGS 
 
 XI. MR. HOLLOWELL . 
 
 XII. PROPHETIC . 
 
 XIII. "You!" 
 
 XIV. FRIENDS OF FATE . 
 XV. IN THE CHAMBER 
 
 XVI. SANTOVANO'S VICTORY . 
 
 XVII. WORD FROM HORACE 
 
 XVIII. THE PRICE . .^ . 
 
 XIX. THE LOST VERSE . 
 
 XX. A POSTSCRIPT 
 
 XXI. A VERY OLD FRIEND . 
 
 XXII. Si PARLA ITALIANO 
 
 9 
 
 22 
 
 35 
 
 47 
 64 
 
 83 
 
 103 
 119 
 
 144 
 
 154 
 162 
 
 176 
 189 
 
 202 
 
 2I 7 
 
 235 
 
 248 
 260 
 270 
 283 
 
 293 
 
THE 
 VILLA CLAUDIA 
 
 I 
 ENGLISH SPOKEN 
 
 UPON Tivoli, the Tibur of the ancients, 
 upon its cliffs, its water-falls, its cypresses 
 and its ruined temples lay the mellow 
 haze of an October sunset. Various poets, 
 through the ages, have sung the beauties of 
 the scene. Painters have striven to record 
 its charm; the charm of a wild but flowery 
 hill where human hands, for nearly thirty cen 
 turies, have built, destroyed, embellished; where 
 Nature softens their mistakes and gives the 
 crowning glory to their triumphs. 
 
 High up the hill, and just below the town, 
 a traveler from a young republic in the west 
 stood leaning upon the parapet of a road that 
 
 9 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 descended, in a tortuous line, to the world 
 beneath. Across the Campagna his eyes fol 
 lowed the slowly changing light, to the dome 
 of St. Peter's, sixteen miles away, now a pur 
 ple dot on the long, straight line of the hori 
 zon. This young man was not so tall as the 
 majority of his countrymen. And he showed 
 a tendency to plumpness. A very short mouth 
 intensified the juvenility of his boyish, tranquil 
 face. 
 
 Just now he was in a revery, with an absent, 
 somewhat melancholy look; such a look as be 
 fitted a poet and philosopher amid these sur 
 roundings. For, in spite of youth, he was both 
 these things. At the present moment, he saw 
 not the shattered arches, the fallen columns and 
 the ruins that lay about him but the Tivoli of 
 two thousand years ago, the "many-fountained 
 Tibur" of Horace, where flocked, for summer 
 pleasure, the power, the beauty and the wealth 
 of Rome. He saw it glistening with villas, and 
 white with marble temples : and Roman maidens 
 were gazing across this same Campagna watch 
 ing for belated youths. And he pictured Hor 
 ace his beloved Horace seated in the gar 
 dens of the villa down below there, talking with 
 10 
 
English Spoken 
 
 Maecenas perhaps reading a new poem. 
 Changed, indeed, was this hill since Horace 
 knew it! 
 
 The big red sun had sunk behind the distant 
 city when the American straightened up and re 
 turned, with a sigh, to his own times. Observ 
 ing, in the valley below, a group of homeward- 
 wending goats, he murmured, from an ancient 
 poet, 
 
 Amidst the mighty ruins play, 
 And frisk upon the tombs of kings. 
 
 Turning away, he walked slowly up the high 
 road, in the direction of the town. But he had 
 barely started when he noticed, high above him, 
 along the top of a terrace wall beside the road, a 
 marble balustrade surmounted by four statues. 
 These statues, with a splendid contempt for the 
 world at large, stood with their backs to the 
 street. The traveller stopped and looked up, in 
 amused astonishment. Evidently there was a 
 garden the other side. He found himself re 
 senting, gently, the complacent insolence mani 
 fested by these four marble backs. At the same 
 time they filled him with a kind of admiration : 
 and they excited his curiosity. 
 ii 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 As he stood there, in contemplation, his face 
 upturned, his hands behind him, three figures 
 came down the road; a donkey with empty pan 
 niers, followed by a man and woman whose 
 chatter and noisy merriment sounded, to the 
 pensive youth, out of place among these silent 
 marbles. The man raised his hat and saluted 
 the traveller. The greeting was returned, and 
 the traveller recognized, in the Italian, a lin- 
 guacious guide whose friendship he had secured 
 that afternoon by a few unworthy cigars. Also, 
 the traveller remembered being deeply im 
 pressed by the man's delight at speaking Eng 
 lish, and by his fluency; a fluency unchecked by 
 any laws of grammar or pronunciation. But 
 the unfailing good-nature of his square, brown 
 face almost compensated for ambiguity of 
 speech. A set of very white and very even 
 teeth were now displayed as he said: 
 
 "Good-day, Mister. Ze day bello." 
 
 u Yes, a fine day. Can you tell me what that 
 is, behind the wall, up there? Some villa?" 
 
 u Yaz. Zat ze Villa Claudia. It is to Amer 
 ican high weeman." 
 
 "American highwaymen !" 
 
 "Yaz high lady. Her sposo what him in 
 12 
 
English Spoken 
 
 English? her sposo dead. She consunta dal 
 dolore. O vera dolente ! She sorry to be dead. 
 But afater he she marry not afater her death." 
 
 "She doesn't marry after her death?" 
 
 "Yaz, she marry afater her death." 
 
 "After her own death?" 
 
 "Yaz." 
 
 "Well, that is unusual." 
 
 The Italian shrugged his shoulders and said, 
 with a wise look, "No, it is soma time custom. 
 She marry to Mister Capodilista Mister Al- 
 lesandro Capodilista." 
 
 "Oh! she married after her first husband's 
 death, perhaps." 
 
 "Yaz." 
 
 This local gossip proved of no special inter 
 est to the traveller. And so, with a parting look 
 at the girl and the donkey who stood waiting, a 
 few feet distant, he was about to turn away. 
 But the Italian, after an upward glance toward 
 the statues to assure himself there were no 
 eavesdroppers, came a step nearer and said, in 
 a lower voice and with an air of mystery: 
 
 "Zat villa is a ontaida." 
 
 "A ontaida?" 
 
 "Yaz: grata ontaida." Then detecting a 
 13 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 want of comprehension on his listener's face, he 
 opened his eyes very wide, pointed his ten fin 
 gers heavenward and wiggled them with a look 
 of horror. "Spirito ! anima de morti. Spet- 
 tro. You know : spirito. Ouse of spirito." 
 
 "Spirito? You mean spirits?" 
 
 "Yaz; yaz! Too mucha spirits." 
 
 "The lady drinks too much?" 
 
 "No! No! No! She gooda lady. It is on- 
 taida ouse. Mister Capodilista he dead by not 
 evera day common. Someting stranga not 
 morire di morte naturale. No Some tinga 
 straordinario orrendo. Is it?" 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 The cheerfulness with which the American 
 received this news caused an obvious disappoint 
 ment to the narrator, and the girl who was 
 standing near by, with a hand upon the donkey, 
 laughed aloud. The Italian looked at her, 
 frowned, and shrugged his shoulders. Then, 
 with great earnestness : 
 
 "The signore is well know his own language 
 ze word Ontaida Ouse." 
 
 The traveller also frowned in his endeavor to 
 grasp the meaning. "Ontaida Ouse? No. I 
 really do not know it." 
 
 14 
 
English Spoken 
 
 The Italian pointed to one or two buildings 
 in sight, saying: 
 
 "Ouse, ouse." 
 
 "House!" exclaimed the traveller. 
 
 "Yaz, ouse. And zis ouse is ontaida." 
 
 "Ontaida." And the American closed his 
 eyes and drew a hand across his forehead in a 
 final effort. "Ontaida," he repeated. "Do you 
 mean untidy?" 
 
 "Oonteedy? I do not know him." 
 
 "I guess that's what you mean. Untidy 
 house. That is, a dirty house." 
 
 "Dirty! Ah, no, no, no! Giammai ! Zat 
 word not. I know him. Zese oosa eleganta 
 pulita bene pulita." 
 
 After a short pause of discouragement, and 
 in a tone of mild remonstrance, he murmured, 
 "It ees great astonish you know not ontaida." 
 
 Holding up his left hand and tapping the 
 point of a finger as each syllable was uttered, he 
 said, slowly and with dramatic solemnity: 
 
 "In-fes-ta-ta degli spi-ri-ti. The signor com- 
 prend? No?" 
 
 The American nodded. "Yes, I comprehend. 
 Infested by spirits." 
 
 "Yaz, zat ees ! Ontaida." He stepped back, 
 
 15 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 hunched up his shoulders, and moving to and 
 fro with a gliding motion, rolled his eyes and 
 uttered sepulchral noises. 
 
 "I see!" exclaimed the spectator. "I was 
 very stupid. It is a haunted house." 
 
 "Yaz, ontaida ouse." And the victor, in full 
 enjoyment of his triumph, showed his white 
 teeth and made a bow. Ill-flavored cigars were 
 once more presented, and a moment later the 
 traveller was again alone. But he could hear 
 the laughter of the guide and girl as they joked 
 and fooled, and scolded the donkey on their 
 downward way. 
 
 While having no faith in haunted houses he 
 studied, with renewed interest the four marble 
 backs. These Italian peasants were supersti 
 tious. That he knew. "Haunted! How easy 
 to give that reputation to a dwelling! Proba 
 bly every town in Italy has its haunted house." 
 And he smiled as he reflected on what a multi 
 tude of ghosts there would be among the ruins 
 of Tivoli if her departed residents should re 
 turn. 
 
 As he started leisurely up the hill he found, at 
 the end of the wall that hid the Villa Claudia, a 
 flight of stone steps leading to a sort of alley, or 
 
 16 
 
English Spoken 
 
 very narrow street. This passage, although 
 somewhat gloomy in the fading light, promised 
 a shorter cut toward the centre of the town. 
 He ascended the steps, a dozen or so in all, but 
 had gone a very few feet along the alley 
 when he paused before an opening in the wall at 
 his side. A heavy wooden door had swung 
 open, giving a view of the garden within the 
 garden of the Villa Claudia. Just beyond this 
 doorway he noticed a man and woman in ear 
 nest conversation. The man was in his shirt 
 sleeves; he had round shoulders and a very 
 small head. As the young American stood look 
 ing through this doorway he could see a statue 
 of Cupid on a pedestal, and the dancing water 
 of a fountain, both in clear relief against the 
 sombre cypresses beyond. In this glimpse 
 through the open doorway there was something 
 irresistibly inviting. After a moment's hesita 
 tion the youth stepped within. He found him 
 self in a spacious garden, the Villa Claudia on 
 one hand, on the other a long balustrade with 
 the four statues. This time they were facing 
 him. He saw expanses of grass, broken here 
 and there by dark masses of shrubbery and by 
 beds of flowers. A broad, straight walk led 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 from the semicircular space near the four stat 
 ues, where the fountain played, to a little ter 
 race before the house. But what most im 
 pressed the intruder was the profusion of ancient 
 marbles. Along the sides of the garden, at an 
 gles of beds and walks, in corners of shrubbery 
 and against the walls of the villa were busts and 
 statues, vases, pedestals and tablets. 
 
 He walked toward the four statues, prompted 
 by a curiosity to see the fronts of these persons 
 with whose backs he was already so familiar. 
 They seemed to be goddesses or the four sea 
 sons so far as he could discover in the twi 
 light. But when he looked off, toward the west, 
 between these figures, he stood entranced. The 
 only foreground was the bit of earth between 
 himself and the balustrade; then, beyond, a 
 bird's-eye view of the Campagna with nothing 
 but the open country between himself and the 
 horizon. The dome of St. Peter's had vanished 
 in the gathering gloom, and above all was the 
 same sky that he loved in the old Italian paint 
 ings a deep, rich, greenish blue, growing light 
 er toward the horizon. To complete the pic 
 ture, a silvery moon hovered midway in the 
 western sky. 
 
 18 
 
English Spoken 
 
 In a corner of one of the marble seats that 
 formed a semicircle near the fountain, he es 
 tablished himself. And in so doing he drew a 
 long, deep breath of comfort of luxurious 
 physical relaxation. The scene before him, 
 with its almost supernatural beauty, seemed un 
 real. Laden with perfume was the air of the 
 garden of jessamine, and styrax, and of roses 
 all heavy in the night air. In a dreamy en 
 chantment he gazed lazily at the fountain, at 
 the moon, and at the four statues, now shadowy, 
 mysterious masses, darkly outlined against the 
 vivid blue. From somewhere down the hill, 
 over beyond the wall, arose the plaintive utter- 
 ings of a flute. It ceased at times : then seemed 
 to be coming nearer. 
 
 The splashing of the fountain, the perfume 
 of the flowers, the flute and the universal still 
 ness, all were soothing: and his eyelids kept 
 shutting out the moon. 
 
' 
 
 
 O Sestius, happy Sestius ! use the 
 Moments as they pass; 
 
 Horace. 
 
 20 
 
II 
 
 21 
 
II 
 
 A MOONLIT GARDEN 
 
 FROM the Villa Claudia, through a case 
 ment window that opened to the floor, a 
 girl stepped out upon the terrace. 
 Slight of figure, short but very erect, with a 
 dainty head and delicate features her eye 
 brows so high above her eyes as to give a 
 constant expression of mild astonishment she 
 moved jauntily toward the steps that descended 
 to the gravel walk. On seeing the moon, now 
 confronting her in the western sky, she stopped, 
 wheeled rapidly about and smiled upon it, over 
 her right shoulder. Again facing about, she 
 courtesicd three times to that resplendent lumi 
 nary and stepped down into the garden. For 
 an instant she paused in her walk, raising her 
 chin, inhaling the perfumed air and regarding 
 the moon through half-closed eyes. Then, 
 slowly, she continued along the gravel path to 
 the fountain. Here she paused again, merely 
 
 22 
 
A Moonlit Garden 
 
 to enjoy the things about her the odor of the 
 flowers, the splashing of the water, the moon 
 light and the general calmness. In a moment, 
 however, she became aware of a sleeping figure 
 at her elbow a man in gray, reclining com 
 fortably on the marble bench. 
 
 Instinctively the maiden took a backward 
 step, then regarded him at her leisure. She 
 came nearer. Slowly, and with caution, she 
 leaned forward, and was studying the boyish 
 face on which the moon shone full and bright 
 her head within a yard of his own when 
 the closed eyes began to open, slowly at first, 
 then wider with a start. The girl stepped back. 
 The youth, in confusion, rose hastily to his feet. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I came in through 
 the gate. It is a perhaps you speak Eng 
 lish?" 
 
 The young lady nodded; and unless the 
 moonlight deceived him, there was a smile on 
 her face. His embarrassment increased. For 
 there she stood in silence, like a vision, in her 
 white dress like something unreal in the sil 
 very light; and he feared that before he was 
 fully awake she might mingle with the statues, 
 with the waters of the fountain and 
 23 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 vanish. For, as yet, he was none too sure of 
 being awake. 
 
 At last she spoke. 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 Her voice, in a vague, indefinable way, 
 stirred youthful memories in the young man's 
 brain. Vainly he tried to identify it where 
 he had heard it, and when. But he answered 
 simply, 
 
 "Morris Lane." 
 
 "I thought so." 
 
 He moved a little nearer, more between the 
 girl and the moon, for a better light on her 
 face. 
 
 "Betty Farnham!" 
 
 She nodded and held forth her hands, which 
 he seized in both his own. Laughingly, she 
 said, "I recognized you, at once fat little 
 Morris Lane, as soon as I saw you!" 
 
 "But I had no idea you lived here in Tivoli !" 
 
 "Yes, we have been in Tivoli five years. We 
 came here when mamma married Signer Capo- 
 dilista." 
 
 "But you have been in Italy longer than 
 that?" 
 
 "Oh, thirteen years! I was only seven when 
 24 
 
A Moonlit Garden 
 
 we came. Why, just think how long it is since 
 we played together in Harrington !" 
 
 The youth heaved a long, deep sigh. "And 
 what good times we did have!" 
 
 "Didn't we!" 
 
 "I supposed it would never end." 
 
 Then many questions were asked, and an 
 swered : questions regarding family and friends, 
 and of her life in Italy, and of his affairs at 
 home. 
 
 As they seated themselves upon the marble 
 bench where Morris had taken his nap, he said, 
 "And here we are; both grown up." 
 
 "Yes, I can hardly believe it. Time has 
 stolen a march on us. It seems but a few years 
 ago that the old express-wagon ran away with 
 us down the hill, behind the Methodist church. 
 I shall never forget it. I was frightened to 
 death." 
 
 "So was I. But I didn't let on." 
 
 "Of course not, being a man!" 
 
 Then both laughed as if they still were chil 
 dren. But the young lady stopped suddenly 
 and exclaimed, as if making a surprising dis 
 covery, 
 
 "Why, you have the same laugh the same 
 
 25 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 funny little chuckle as ever! I never heard 
 anybody else laugh in such a way. But I like 
 it!" 
 
 "Well, I am glad you like it." 
 
 "It's a very curious laugh, though. You 
 must admit that." 
 
 "Well, I suppose it is." 
 
 "How I teased you about what old Dr. 
 Perry said. You know he took us into his 
 greenhouse one day, after Sunday-school, and 
 gave us some grapes, and told us a funny story ? 
 And when you laughed at the funny story he 
 had never seen you before he thought you 
 were mocking him, with your absurd little sing 
 song chuckle. Do you remember that?" 
 
 "Sort of." 
 
 "Well, he was quite disgusted with you; but 
 only for a moment. I explained to him that 
 you always laughed that way." 
 
 Then, more seriously, "But how strange that 
 you should turn up in this mysterious manner, 
 Morris! And that you should be older and 
 grown up surprises me. I supposed you would 
 always remain a little boy a fat, pleasant, 
 comfortable, very nice little boy. You hated 
 to be called 'Roly Poly.' " 
 26 
 
A Moonlit Garden 
 
 "Oh, yes. I remember that!" 
 
 "And you were always exasperatingly serene 
 and rather slow, and oh, how truthful I And 
 you were always changing color. Do you do 
 that still? I can't see in this moonlight." 
 
 "I am afraid I do." 
 
 "Well, so far as I can discover, you are just 
 the same. And I am glad of it!" 
 
 Her words gave him pleasure. For to him, 
 these unfamiliar, somewhat fairylike surround 
 ings, with the mysterious girl beside him the 
 adored little girl of his boyhood now miracu 
 lously transformed into a woman seemed of 
 a different world; a world of sweet surprises 
 and not quite real. This feeling a sense of 
 exaltation, gentle, indefinable, was intensified 
 by the ancient garden with its ghostly tenants 
 its moonlit gods and goddesses. In the notes 
 of the distant flute, in the waters of the foun 
 tain in the voice beside him he found ex 
 quisite melodies. 
 
 The maiden, as if responding to his thoughts, 
 but more to herself than to him, murmured 
 gently, 
 
 "A heavenly night." 
 
 The young man straightened up a little and 
 27 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 looked about. "I suppose you are accustomed 
 to scenes like this, but to me it is like fairyland : 
 like a scene in an opera, or an illustration to a 
 poem. And what a moon! Is this the usual 
 Italian night?" 
 
 "No. It is better than usual. And that 
 must be an American moon. It is newer, 
 brighter, bigger, than the others. I believe it 
 must have followed you across the Atlantic." 
 
 "What a stanch American! But that moon 
 was shining on this hill many centuries before 
 America was discovered." 
 
 "Yes, but it was shining on America many 
 centuries before this hill had risen from the 
 
 sea." 
 
 "True." 
 
 With less animation, and rather sadly, she 
 continued, "I hope you do not allow yourself 
 to believe for an instant that the moon, or 
 anything else in any other country, is to be 
 compared with the corresponding article in 
 America." 
 
 "Not in your presence." 
 
 "I am homesick for America and always 
 have been. But mamma loves Italy. She pre 
 fers Italian to English. She always calls me 
 28 
 
A Moonlit Garden 
 
 Elizabetta, and I can't prevent it. But I call 
 myself Elizabeth, for that is my name. I 
 should like to go to America to-night and stay 
 there. I love all Americans." 
 
 u Not all Americans?" 
 
 "Yes, all!" 
 
 "Well," said the young man, in his low, 
 smooth voice, "I am afraid you don't know us 
 all." 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "Not the whole seventy millions!" 
 
 "I know their faults and virtues, and I love 
 them all." 
 
 "I hope I am included." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 "Well, better one seventy millionth of your 
 heart than none at all." 
 
 "You had the whole of it once that is, you 
 and Ginger between you." 
 
 "What became of Ginger?" 
 
 "He died of old age." 
 
 "A deserving dog. And my half was gradu 
 ally transferred to him, I suppose?" 
 
 "All, except your seventy millionth." 
 
 He made no reply, and a silence followed. 
 At last he said, 
 
 29 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Thirteen years is a very long time." 
 
 "Indeed, it is!" 
 
 "And now that we meet again, it seems as 
 if as if they had not existed: as if nothing 
 had happened in the meantime." 
 
 "Yes, so it seems to me." 
 
 Then, for a time they gazed in silence upon 
 the calm, round moon. Both felt the beauty 
 of the night, and its soothing influence. And 
 those figures in the wall in front, seemed, in 
 this silvery flood, four Olympian spirits that 
 might awake if the silence were disturbed. 
 
 At last the maiden spoke. "You were a 
 funny little boy. And rather bad, too. You 
 got me into lots of scrapes." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "You always looked so good so round- 
 faced and cherubic that you deceived people. 
 But you were bad. Oh, yes! You were so 
 horribly truthful, too. You would never tell 
 the least kind of a fib even to save the life of a 
 friend. Yes, you were very exasperating at 
 times. Perhaps you remember the raft we 
 made for the duck pond." 
 
 "As if it were yesterday. Two barrels and 
 an old door." 
 
 30 
 
A Moonlit Garden 
 
 "And you made me go out on it with you." 
 
 "It was you who made me go." 
 
 "Well, perhaps it was: but you tipped us 
 both over, anyway." 
 
 The young man said nothing. 
 
 "Didn't you?" 
 
 Very gently he replied, "You know I did 
 not." 
 
 She laughed. "Yes, I know you did not. 
 But we both got an awful soaking and had to 
 wade ashore." 
 
 He chuckled. "I remember all that. And 
 your mother came along and was very angry 
 when " he stopped, cleared his throat, but left 
 the speech unfinished. He had remembered 
 suddenly and with a blush, invisible in the 
 moonlight that he and his little friend, in 
 fear of punishment, had spread all their clothes 
 on the grass to dry; and it being a warm day, 
 he and she, clad only in their innocence, were 
 sitting on the bank when an outraged parent 
 hove in sight. Possibly Betty Farnham re 
 membered too, for she appeared to lose interest 
 in that episode. And she said, in a more serious 
 tone, 
 
 "How splendid it is, Morris, that you should 
 31 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 get on so well in your work ! Only twenty- four, 
 and Mr. Goddard has already given you an in 
 terest in the business." 
 
 "Yes, I have been very lucky." 
 
 "Lucky! Very clever, you mean. Very use 
 ful, reliable, intelligent, industrious, and all the 
 other good things. I do like men who amount 
 to something! I have heard all about it, and 
 we have been proud of you." 
 
 These words, to the youth, caused a joyful 
 thrill; and Betty Farnham would have seen, by 
 daylight, the flush of pleasure they brought into 
 his face. While he hesitated for a reply, there 
 came a sound of footsteps on the gravel walk 
 behind them; then a woman's voice, very gen 
 tle and somewhat plaintive, 
 
 "Are you there, Elizabetta?" 
 
Ill 
 
 33 
 
"Pis not Imperial Rome 
 
 But quiet Tibur that delights me now. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 34 
 
Ill 
 
 FRA DIAVOLO'S FLUTE 
 
 THE girl arose and faced about. "Yes, 
 mamma, and who do you think is 
 here?" 
 
 As Morris stood up and regarded the ap 
 proaching figure of a woman in a black velvet 
 dress he recognized at once the dainty, grace 
 ful, and always somewhat fragile, Mrs. Farn- 
 ham of his boyhood. But time had brought 
 melancholy changes; more melancholy, perhaps, 
 than either she or her daughter fully realized. 
 The moon of course gave a pallor to all things, 
 but this little lady seemed so slight, so frail 
 almost ethereal that the young man was grate 
 ful to the darkness for concealing the surprise 
 and pain that came into his face. 
 
 She looked searchingly at the new arrival, 
 and came nearer. 
 
 "Don't you recognize him, mamma?" 
 
 35 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Madame Capodilista slowly shook her head. 
 And the moon, as it illumined her face, also 
 made clear to Morris that this mother was not 
 pleased at finding her daughter alone in the 
 garden with an unexpected guest. 
 
 "Speak to her!" cried Betty Farnham. "Say 
 something, but don't tell your name. See if 
 she won't guess." 
 
 Now, to strike with dumbness an embar 
 rassed youth, there is nothing more effective, 
 perhaps, than a command to say something 
 and, above all, to a lady who is, apparently, dis 
 approving of him. But Morris cleared his 
 throat and tried hard to frame a sentence. 
 
 "Speak ! Say something !" insisted the daugh 
 ter. And she waved a hand to hurry him up. 
 
 Again he cleared his throat. "Your mother 
 would would hardly be likely to remember 
 me after so many years." 
 
 Morris Lane's manner of speech had its 
 peculiarities. His voice was low and very 
 quiet: and he spoke slowly, as if choosing his 
 words. And in his tone there was the same 
 smooth, indefinable, half-musical quality that 
 amused Betty Farnham every time he laughed 
 rather chuckled. 
 
 36 
 
Fra Diavolo's Flute 
 
 "Why, it is Morris Lane!" exclaimed the 
 lady, extending a hand as she stepped nearer 
 for a better look at his face. Betty Farnham 
 was delighted. 
 
 "There! I knew you would guess! Yes, 
 mamma, it's that fat little boy grown up. And 
 not too much grown up, either." 
 
 Madame Capodilista gave him a cordial 
 welcome. "Indeed, it is a pleasure to see you 
 again, Morris. When did you come to Tivoli ?" 
 
 "This morning, with a friend. We walked 
 here from Hadrian's Villa." 
 
 "And how long do you stay?" 
 
 "Oh a day or two. Just long enough to 
 see the town and visit Horace's Farm." 
 
 "Well, you must come and stay with us, and 
 prolong your visit: you and your friend." 
 
 "You are very kind, Mrs. Farnham, but my 
 friend " 
 
 "Of course you must come, Morris!" ex 
 claimed the daughter. "The idea of your not 
 coming! Insist upon it, mamma. Make him!" 
 
 "Yes, I insist," said Madame Capodilista. 
 "You really must move over to-morrow morn 
 ing." 
 
 "But my friend is not here. He was called 
 37 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 back to Rome by a telegram, and when he re 
 turns he might " 
 
 "Think it a bore," suggested the daughter. 
 
 "Oh, no !" said Morris. 
 
 "Or, think he was not wanted. But he is 
 wanted if he is a friend of yours. Is he nice?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! He is a splendid fellow." 
 
 "American?" 
 
 "He is an Englishman." 
 
 "That's bad." 
 
 "Why, Elizabetta!" exclaimed the mother. 
 "How silly you are! And how rude!" 
 
 "I only mean that Americans are the best; 
 and that if he is not an American, it doesn't 
 matter much what he is." 
 
 "You are very silly. What is his name, 
 Morris?" 
 
 "Hollowell. Lydon Hollowell." 
 
 "Well," said Madame Capodilista, "you and 
 your baggage must come to-morrow morning, 
 Morris, and you can meet your friend at the 
 station in the afternoon and bring him home 
 with you." 
 
 But Morris seemed in doubt. "Really, it is 
 an imposition to quarter ourselves on you in that 
 fashion." 
 
 38 
 
Fra Diavolo's Flute 
 
 Madame Capodilista raised a hand in pro 
 test. "Say no more about it. We should feel 
 very much hurt if you denied us this pleasure." 
 
 "You are very kind, Mrs. Farnham " 
 
 "Capodilista " suggested the daughter. 
 
 "Of course! I beg your pardon " 
 
 "Don't mind her, Morris. She is a very for 
 ward little girl. But we must not stay too long 
 in this night air. Come, let us go into the 
 house, where we can get a better look at you." 
 
 As they turned away, the flute, which Morris 
 had been hearing at intervals, suddenly raised 
 its plaintive voice just beyond the garden wall, 
 in the road below. 
 
 Betty stopped. "There's poor old Fra Dia- 
 volo." 
 
 "Fra Diavolo," repeated Morris. "So it is. 
 I have been trying to remember what opera that 
 air belongs to." 
 
 "But we call the old man himself 'Fra Dia 
 volo' because it is the only air he plays. And 
 he has no other name." 
 
 "He plays it mighty well," said Morris. 
 
 "I must give him something," said the girl. 
 
 Her mother restrained her. "No, let him 
 go to-night. He could not find it in the dark." 
 39 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "But I have it done up in a piece of white 
 paper, all ready." 
 
 "Then he is a regular thing/' said Morris. 
 
 "Yes, he comes every night." 
 
 "He is one of Elizabetta's admirers," said 
 Madame Capodilista. 
 
 "No, it is the villa and the garden he is in 
 love with, not me. He never looks at me, nor 
 even thanks me for my gifts." 
 
 "Love is surely blind," said Morris. "A 
 wise beggar would encourage you." 
 
 "But Fra Diavolo is not a beggar." 
 
 Her mother protested. "Why, Elizabettal 
 What is he if not a beggar?" 
 
 "But a beggar begs, mamma. Fra Diavolo 
 never asks for anything. If you toss him money 
 he may forget to pick it up." 
 
 "Then his disguise is very clever." 
 
 Madame Capodilista and Morris Lane stood 
 watching the benefactress while she ran back to 
 the balustrade, took something white from her 
 pocket and tossed it into the street below. As 
 she rejoined them and they started again toward 
 the house, Madame Capodilista in the centre, 
 Betty continued her defence of the flutist. 
 "Truly poor Fra Diavolo is not mercenary. 
 40 
 
Fra Diavolo's Flute 
 
 He used to play here for months before we 
 gave him a copper. That tune is the only one 
 he seems to know. Yet he must have been a 
 good musician before he lost his mind. Do 
 you think it likely, Morris, that a man could 
 play one piece so well and know no others?" 
 
 "I should think not. Was he a professional, 
 originally?" 
 
 "Nobody knows. He is our Tivoli mystery. 
 Most of the beggars here have grown up in the 
 town, but this old man appeared a few years 
 ago, and seemed to come from nowhere." 
 
 "That is a long journey," said Morris. 
 
 "But that is precisely where he comes from. 
 No other town has ever had him. The Tivoli 
 authorities tried hard to look up his past and 
 send him home, but there is not a district in 
 Italy that knows him." 
 
 "The Eternal City might lose him and be 
 none the wiser." 
 
 "He was never seen in Rome." 
 
 "Rome is a big place." 
 
 "Indeed, it is! But between the police and 
 the various charities no beggar escapes. And 
 the city of Rome has no record of him." 
 
 "Were there no letters in his pockets, nor 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 papers of any kind to identify him?" asked 
 Morris. 
 
 "No. Signer Accoramboni says he had no 
 coat on. That it was very hot weather in 
 midsummer and that he may have thrown it 
 aside for comfort, with his letters and papers 
 in the pockets. You see his mind was gone." 
 
 "Pretty tough," said Morris. "But it does 
 seem as if they might have identified him. Did 
 no old man disappear about that time?" 
 
 "Nobody that resembled him in any way." 
 
 As Morris Lane surveyed the moonlit villa 
 and the statues on every side, standing forth 
 in ghostly relief against the shadows of the 
 night, he said, 
 
 "But this unaccountable Fra Diavolo and his 
 extraordinary history all harmonize with their 
 surroundings. To me nothing would be sur 
 prising here in Tivoli. Your own house and 
 grounds seem full of secrets. And, by the 
 way," he added, "you may be interested to 
 hear that your villa is haunted." 
 
 Madame Capodilista stopped and faced 
 about. "Who told you that?" she exclaimed 
 in a voice of suppressed excitement. 
 
 "One of the guides," he answered. 
 42 
 
Fra Diavolo's Flute 
 
 "What did he say? Tell me just what he 
 said!" 
 
 She spoke rapidly, with a note of alarm in 
 her voice. Morris was a little taken aback by 
 this effect of his words. And he was further 
 embarrassed when Betty, who stood behind her 
 mother, shook her head and raised a finger to 
 her lips. The moonlight on her face revealed 
 a frown of warning. 
 
 Although somewhat mystified by these em 
 phatic signs, he answered, quietly, "I could not 
 make out just what the man was trying to say, 
 in his broken English. But it was some rigma 
 role, which he evidently did not believe him 
 self. Almost every town in the world has at 
 least one haunted house so I did not pay much 
 attention to him." 
 
 "But you just said yourself that it looked as 
 if there was something dreadful about it. What 
 did you mean?" 
 
 "Oh! Did I say that?" 
 
 "Something very like it." 
 
 "No, mamma, Morris did not say there was 
 anything dreadful about the villa." 
 
 "I only meant," said Morris, "that Tivoli is 
 so very ancient and so much has happened 
 
 43 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 here in times gone by, that every spot of ground 
 has its history. That this villa, like everything 
 else in Italy, must have a romance of its own 
 that we might hear interesting things if it 
 could only talk." 
 
 Betty put an arm about her mother's waist 
 and said, in a gentle voice, 
 
 "We were speaking of Fra Diavolo, were we 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe we were." But in her moth 
 er's voice were still traces of irritation. "And 
 a most disgusting old person he is. His tune 
 becomes exceedingly monotonous." 
 
 Then, with her two companions, she again 
 moved leisurely toward the house, preceded by 
 three elongated shadows as from attenuated 
 giants grotesque and very dark against the 
 moonlit walk. 
 
 The silence of the garden remained undis 
 turbed save by the splashing of the fountain, 
 and by the plaintive utterings of Fra Diavolo's 
 flute. 
 
 44 
 
45 
 
Such idle themes no more can move, 
 Nor anything but what's of high import 
 And what's of high import but love ? 
 
 Horace, 
 
IV 
 
 PARADISO 
 
 WHEN the sun, next morning, looked 
 in on Morris Lane at his room in the 
 Hotel Sibilla, its re-enforcement of 
 warmth and cheer seemed superfluous and un 
 called for. The young man's heart was already 
 warm; his soul aglow. Pleasant inward fires 
 had been kindled the night before and now were 
 blazing merrily. To him it mattered little 
 whether the sun shone or the tempest howled. 
 The Falls of Niagara would have made but 
 slight effect upon the welcome conflagration 
 that now devoured him. 
 
 While bathing he sang gently to himself. 
 And the melodies he hummed were of a joyous 
 nature. When he cut himself in shaving, and 
 later burst a vital button-hole to his collar, still 
 he murmured happy tunes, and with a radiant 
 face. The Fra Diavolo air was always creep- 
 47 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 ing in. It brought memories of a moonlit gar 
 den and a woman's voice. 
 
 Morris was ever careless about his dress. So, 
 when at last he cast a perfunctory and rapid 
 glance into his mirror more from habit than 
 from interest he smiled with blind approval 
 upon a badly fitting collar and a clumsy tie. 
 His untamed yellow hair with its crooked part 
 like the course of lightning through a corn 
 field had never disturbed the owner. The 
 full, round, boyish face with its tranquil eyes 
 and its confiding honesty was almost handsome : 
 and so kindly and unassuming the expression 
 that guileful strangers often mistook its benevo 
 lence and simplicity for want of experience. 
 Beggars instinctively marked him for their prey. 
 
 Having a genius for machinery, with an in 
 ventiveness and ingenuity unusual even in New 
 England, he had already perfected several de 
 tails of considerable importance to a certain 
 cotton-mill in Massachusetts. These services 
 had been appreciated, and his prospects were 
 correspondingly brilliant. Change from work 
 and relaxation he sought, whenever leisure al 
 lowed, in the study of art and music. He had 
 even written verse that was not unreasonably 
 
Paradise 
 
 bad: and with the violin as he himself had 
 said he could "hold his own with the poorest 
 professional." 
 
 Being a dreamer, he dreamed, that morning, 
 more than usual. He dreamed through his 
 breakfast, through his packing and his settling 
 up ; and he dreamed through the winding streets 
 of Tivoli to the home of Betty Farnham. 
 When he entered the Villa Claudia information 
 was conveyed to him by a smiling servant 
 first in Italian, then by pantomime that Ma 
 dame Capodilista had not yet descended from 
 her chamber; and that the Signorina Elizabetta 
 was in the garden. So into the garden he went. 
 
 As he started down the gravel walk in search 
 of the Signorina, he heard, from behind a mass 
 of shrubbery on his left, the voice of the person 
 he sought. She was speaking in Italian. Some 
 words in a man's voice also came to him. Not 
 knowing who might be with her, and fearing 
 to intrude, he stood and looked about him. 
 And as he did so, he drew a long, deep breath 
 of pure delight. For, to a dreamer and a poet 
 here was feasting for the senses. 
 
 Along the sides of the garden, from the villa 
 to the terrace wall, and reaching high into the 
 49 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 air, stood rows of gigantic cypresses, their dark- 
 green, sombre foliage in striking contrast to 
 the gorgeous coloring beneath masses of white 
 and crimson roses, and beds of purple violets. 
 And scattered everywhere, in lavish profusion 
 amid the shrubbery, all in restful harmony with 
 the rich verdure of the acacias and Judas trees, 
 were marble figures, busts, vases, columns, sin 
 gly and in groups; their primal whiteness now 
 softened by the passing centuries to an ivory 
 yellow. They seemed a natural element of the 
 garden works of time and not of man. Over 
 all was an air of antiquity and repose. These 
 various statues and marble fragments, which 
 were merely suggestions by moonlight, now 
 stood forth in the glare of day as objects of 
 exquisite beauty and of historic interest. 
 
 While Morris, in a sort of rapture, stood 
 gazing upon these things, a thrush alighted 
 upon a marble head of Trajan, close beside him, 
 and proceeded to fill the garden with its song. 
 The young man closed his eyes and slowly in 
 haled the quivering, languorous, flower-scented 
 air. To him, already dazed with love, this orgy 
 of art and color, of sunshine, of music and of 
 heavenly hope was intoxicating. Creation had 
 
 50 
 
Paradiso 
 
 never been so joyful, so inspiriting. Life was 
 too good to be true. 
 
 And beyond the garden beyond this blaz 
 ing, sunlit mass of color the air over the Cam- 
 pagna became soft, mysterious, a golden haze. 
 It invited one to repose, and dreams; and gave 
 no suggestion of cotton-mills or any other hu 
 man labor. It spoke or rather, murmured in 
 a lazy way of things quite different from ma 
 chinery. In this mellow glow that softened yet 
 illumined all things, there was something in 
 spiring, for to Morris all the world, just now, 
 was radiant with 
 
 The light that lies 
 In woman's eyes. 
 
 During a little silence that occurred behind 
 the shrubbery he heard a sound, as of someone 
 spading earth. So, probably, the other person 
 was the gardener. And when Morris ventured 
 nearer he found this gardener to be the man he 
 had seen the night before standing by the little 
 door to the garden the big man with the 
 round shoulders and very small head who was 
 talking with a woman. Now he was down upon 
 his knees, scooping earth with a big trowel, the 
 4 5I 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 girl standing beside him in a white dress a 
 pleasant picture in the morning sunshine. Two 
 wrestling cupids, in marble, served as back 
 ground; and around about, on every side, were 
 masses of gorgeous flowers. 
 
 He stood for a moment and closed his eyes: 
 then opened them again for a fresh impression 
 of the picture. 
 
 He stepped a little nearer. 
 
 "Good-morning, Signorina Elizabetta." 
 
 The little lady turned about and her face lit 
 up. Transferring a flower-pot from her right 
 hand to her left she came eagerly toward him. 
 
 "Why, Morris! How nice to have you here 
 again !" And, for an instant, she allowed her 
 hand to rest in his, returning the pressure. The 
 felicity of this contact and the warmth of her 
 greeting caused a thrill of joy: and with Mor 
 ris the outward manifestation of such a thrill 
 was a rush of color to his face. She saw it and 
 smiled: then, in mischievous delight, exclaimed, 
 
 "Ah, those same, old, funny little blushes! 
 In the daytime I can see them; and I suppose 
 they were going on all last evening. So, you 
 haven't changed a bit." 
 
 Whereupon the color deepened, and he tried 
 52 
 
Paradise 
 
 to frown. She pointed a finger at him. "I 
 should think you would be ashamed to blush 
 that way; like a girl." 
 
 "I am ashamed." 
 
 Again she laughed, with irrepressible merri 
 ment. "But I love it! It takes me back to my 
 childhood. You are the same cherubic, ingenu 
 ous Morris. And you always will be. You 
 can't help it if you live to be a hundred. And 
 I wouldn't have you different for the world!" 
 
 As she placed the flower-pot upon the ground 
 and turned again toward him, a frown, a smile, 
 and another blush, all crowded for supremacy 
 in the young man's face. Slowly along the 
 gravel walk they started toward the house. Al 
 though somewhat absorbed in a struggle to 
 regain his self-possession, Morris had already 
 discovered that the little person by his side, 
 while interesting by moonlight, was ten times 
 more so by the light of day. Her fresh color, 
 the constant changes in her frank, sensitive face, 
 all worked a spell which he made no effort to re 
 sist. He was amazed that any number of years 
 could achieve such wonders. And it was hard to 
 realize that this was the brown-faced, plump, 
 irrepressible little hoyden with whom he had 
 53 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 played and fought. Now she was matured and 
 softened a dazzling renaissance with all the 
 primitive graces in full blossom, and new ones 
 added. In her low voice and rapid speech he 
 found an ancient charm whose existence he had 
 forgotten. 
 
 As for himself, he seemed to have entered, 
 suddenly, upon a new career, all his previous 
 life being a blank. In fact, a miraculous change- 
 had come over the universe within a very few 
 hours. Colors were brighter; the air purer 
 more exhilarating. Had he so desired he could 
 have drawn a long breath and floated upward 
 into the Blue. But earth to-day was not a 
 place to leave. No heaven Christian, Bud 
 dhist, or Mohammedan could compare with 
 it. He agreed with Byron 
 
 Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven, 
 
 A spark of that immortal fire 
 With Angels shared, by Alia given, 
 
 With a mighty effort of his will, and in obe 
 dience to an instinct common to all human 
 lovers, he looked carelessly about the garden to 
 show his interest in other matters, and his in- 
 54 
 
Paradise 
 
 difference to the one thing in life worth living 
 for. And he remarked, politely, 
 
 "What a beautiful garden!" 
 
 "Yes, it is. Signer Accoramboni calls it 
 Paradiso. He says it comes very near his con 
 ception of heaven. So he tries to be good, as 
 he wishes to have one like it, when he dies. 
 But it is not my idea of heaven. I prefer your 
 father's old garden in Massachusetts." 
 
 "Oh!" he protested. "As if there was any 
 comparison !" 
 
 "Of course this is more beautiful in one way, 
 but I have often sat here and closed my eyes 
 and tried to think I was in that other garden 
 with all the New England flowers." 
 
 "What a persistent patriot! You may have 
 more affection for the other, but, really, you are 
 a little unfair to this one." Then, as his eyes 
 rested upon an ancient Roman chair, close at 
 hand, elaborately carved with sphinxes' wings 
 for arms, "Were all these things here when you 
 bought the place?" 
 
 "Yes, they were here, but all were not in 
 sight. Many were dug up in the garden." 
 
 "What luck!" 
 
 "Those two busts at the ends of the terrace, 
 55 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Juno and Servius, were found in cleaning the 
 old well. And the reclining figure off there at 
 the end of that path is Faustina. And where 
 do you think we discovered her?" 
 
 "I could never guess." 
 
 "Behind a fireplace. She was broken into 
 several pieces and built into one of the chimneys 
 of the house." 
 
 "Think of it! Well, we don't find such 
 things in New England houses. But what was 
 this place originally? A sculptor's yard?" 
 
 "No. A queen's yard. You know Zenobia 
 lived at Tivoli after she was brought to Rome." 
 
 "No. I did not know it." 
 
 "Well, she did. Aurelian gave her a villa 
 here, but its location was never known until 
 about a year ago. We were having new pipes 
 put in for the fountain and the workmen dug 
 up a bust of a woman, just off there by that 
 bronze vase with the plant. And as several 
 Syrian ornaments had already been discovered 
 here, and coins with her husband's head on them 
 King Odenatus the wise men concluded that 
 the foundations of our villa were a part of 
 Zenobia's house." 
 
 "Well, that is interesting!" exclaimed Mor- 
 
 56 
 
Paradise 
 
 ris. "Mighty interesting! So Zenobia used to 
 sit in this garden ! She probably strolled about 
 and bossed the gardener just as you do. And 
 she bossed the very ancestors of your old man 
 there, perhaps. " 
 
 "Perhaps. I never thought of that." 
 
 "Why, the whole place is crammed with his 
 tory. And think of all that has happened here 
 since!" 
 
 "Yes, but much more happened before than 
 since. Do you see that marble tablet over there, 
 in a niche of the old wall?" 
 
 "With a split through the middle, and one 
 end gone?" 
 
 "Yes. Well, the inscription on it is the rec 
 ord of a feast, or a celebration of some kind, 
 that occurred on this very spot, about three 
 hundred years before Zenobia came. There 
 was a villa here then, a building with columns 
 around the outside. The pedestals of some of 
 the columns are still standing in a semicircle in 
 our cellar, beneath the kitchen." 
 
 Morris listened with eager interest. "What 
 does the inscription say?" 
 
 "It is a very brief account of a series of ban 
 quets, with the names of the two men who gave 
 57 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 them, or presided, or whatever. And who do 
 you think those two men were?" 
 
 "I could never guess." 
 
 "Horace and Maecenas." 
 
 "What, the Horace?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Gracious! That is exciting! So Horace, 
 my own little Horace, used to come here. Very 
 likely he sat on some of these marble seats." 
 
 "Very likely. But it may not have been a 
 garden then." She smiled as she added, "Hor 
 ace was quite modern for us. Here in Tibur 
 we look on Romulus and Remus as parve- 
 
 nues." 
 
 "Yes, I know Tivoli is older than Rome. 
 But where was that inscription found?" 
 
 "Among the ruins of the columns, just be 
 neath the kitchen." 
 
 "Oh, I must study it myself. And I shall 
 prowl around your cellar. May I?" 
 
 "Of course you may. Prowl wherever you 
 like." 
 
 "What a foundation for a kitchen !" mur 
 mured the young man. "The shades of Hor 
 ace and Maecenas may be down there now ! I 
 could believe anything of this place." 
 
 58 
 
Paradise 
 
 Betty stopped. Into her eyes came a look 
 of trouble. Then, in a lower voice, 
 
 u The spirit of Horace? That would be a 
 blessing in this this horrid house." 
 
 "Horrid! Why horrid ?" After asking the 
 question Morris recalled the dark insinuations 
 of the guide. He also recalled Madame Capo- 
 dilista's annoyance when he alluded to them. 
 But Betty, instead of explaining, glanced up 
 ward, to the open window of her mother's 
 chamber, and started forward again. In the 
 same low tone she said, 
 
 "I will tell you later, perhaps. But don't 
 speak of it when mamma is about." 
 
 Again, and with increasing interest, Morris re 
 garded the smiling fagade of the Villa Claudia. 
 As an American he was unfamiliar with kitchen 
 cellars that yielded Roman emperors and poets. 
 The villa, while less ghostly than by moonlight, 
 still suggested, even at noonday, the possession 
 of secrets of its own: and it still appeared a 
 fit abode for any mystery. This effect was 
 helped, perhaps, by its material blocks of mar 
 ble quarried when Rome was young, and serving 
 originally for a temple to Bacchus now mel 
 lowed by centuries of sun and storm. After an 
 
 59 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 unknown period of oblivion these yellow blocks 
 still glistened in the soft October air. To the 
 young American there was eloquence in their 
 silent faces. Surely these stones had much to 
 tell! 
 
 Yet notwithstanding this impression of his 
 tory withheld or history concealed the Villa 
 Claudia presented a cheerful exterior. The 
 proportions were perfect; its details charm 
 ing. Exquisite carvings wandered along its cor 
 nice and about the three arches in the centre. 
 The two little oval niches with their busts, in 
 the second story, were playful in design. To 
 the artistic sense all was more than satisfying. 
 Nevertheless, as Morris feasted upon these 
 beauties he could not help feeling that the Villa 
 Claudia, while polite, was laughing at him 
 and at all other temporary things. But this feel 
 ing, as he very well knew, owed its origin to 
 the words of the garrulous guide. At all events, 
 the villa with its gardens impressed him in a 
 peculiar manner. He felt a strong desire to 
 know them better. And this, perhaps, might 
 be the natural thirst of the archaeologist. For 
 in archaeology, that most scholarly of intoxi 
 cants, he had freely indulged. Moreover, of all 
 the poets, Horace was his favorite. 
 60 
 
Paradiso 
 
 But Horace and the other poets combined 
 with art and literature and all history thrown 
 in were pitiful stuff to the living thing beside 
 him. To all her words he listened with the 
 keenest pleasure; and yet, no matter what she 
 said, he found the personality of the speaker of 
 still greater interest. But, withal, he experi 
 enced a vague uneasiness. His felicity was too 
 exalted; too acute and too unfamiliar in its 
 nature. Also, there were certain doubts accom 
 panying. Countless cases were recorded and 
 well authenticated in which man's affection 
 had not been returned. In short, Morris was 
 in full enjoyment of the "pleasure that is almost 
 a pain." However, he murmured to himself 
 these words of Hafiz the poet: 
 
 Whenas thou findest whom thou lovest 
 Bid farewell to the world and its cares. 
 
 61 
 
What if our ancient love return 
 And bind us with a brazen yoke ? 
 
 Horace. 
 
 62 
 
V 
 
 I . r 1. 
 
INFERNO 
 
 ON the terrace, at the top of the steps, 
 they turned and stood in silence, con 
 templating the garden and the many 
 tinted Campagna that lay beyond. Far away, 
 on the horizon, the dome of St. Peter's, a 
 luminous speck dimly visible through the noon 
 day haze, marked the position of the Eternal 
 City. And the thrush, perched upon the head 
 of Trajan, continued to fill the air with melody. 
 
 With half-closed eyes Morris breathed a sigh, 
 and with it a murmur of supreme content. "To 
 me, this house and garden, and all that back 
 ground with its splendid history, have a mighty 
 fascination. I would ask nothing better than 
 to quit the everlasting Yankee competition and 
 live my life in such a place as this." 
 
 U O, Morris!" exclaimed Betty, straighten 
 ing up and becoming severe. "What an ignoble 
 
Inferno 
 
 thought ! Do you mean to say you would aban 
 don your country? give up the splendid fight 
 for success and distinction ?" 
 
 "And lucre?" 
 
 "Well, yes, lucre, if you wish. Better strug 
 gle for lucre than be a drone." 
 
 "You prefer a hustling money-grabber to a 
 cultivated, entertaining drone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Morris shook his head. "A little art and 
 pleasure are just what the hustling Yankee 
 needs." 
 
 "But too much art and pleasure do lots of 
 harm. The very struggle you speak of makes 
 the man. Look at Fra Diavolo, for instance; 
 it is the dissipated, weak old face of one who 
 has lived only for pleasure. That is why I pity 
 him he is so utterly contemptible." 
 
 "Does Fra Diavolo, in his face, wear the in 
 signia of drunkenness?" 
 
 "No and yet, I suppose he does. He is re 
 pulsive in a way, but he has not the face of 
 other drunkards. It is indescribable : more sen 
 sitive, with nothing brutish or animal." 
 
 "But is it any more contemptible than a face 
 full of fuss and trouble?" 
 
 65 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Yes: because fuss and trouble are great de 
 velopers." 
 
 "Developers of what?" 
 
 "Of character." 
 
 "Art and pleasure do it better." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But surely," said Morris, "we should be 
 gainers if instead of seventy years of toil and 
 worry, with little snatches of pleasure, we could 
 omit all the fuss and wasted effort and take only 
 the happy moments: say a dozen years of un 
 diluted fun." 
 
 "Never! Never in the world!" exclaimed 
 Betty. "Why, half the pleasure is in the re 
 ward of our own effort; of helping others, and 
 the little triumphs of self-sacrifice." 
 
 "But my scheme would give them. You 
 would have joys of every kind." 
 
 "No. You couldn't make it work, Morris." 
 
 "I don't see why. It is merely giving you the 
 reward without the debasing scramble." 
 
 "The cake without the appetite. You know 
 as well as I there is often a deeper satisfaction 
 in the struggle than in the reward." 
 
 "Sometimes. But even your Fra Diavolo 
 here, and other drunkards they get lots of fun 
 66 
 
Inferno 
 
 with no effort. Also people who inherit piles 
 of money." 
 
 "Drunkards and spoiled children! You hit 
 it exactly. That is just what your scheme would 
 result in!" She closed her eyes and drew a 
 hand across her temples. "How curious that 
 you and I should get on to this subject! It 
 seems like one of those grewsome repetitions 
 as if I had been all over it before in a previous 
 existence Oh, yes ! I remember now. It 
 was with Santovano. Fra Diavolo's face sug 
 gested it. There seems to be something in that 
 old man's face something, I can't tell what, 
 that starts one thinking." 
 
 "I hope to meet this thought-inspiring drink 
 er. But who is Santovano? Another miracu 
 lous beggar?" 
 
 "Santovano!" And in surprise she looked 
 up into his face. "Didn't I mention him last 
 night?" 
 
 "Perhaps you did, but I don't remember." 
 
 With a smile, and in the manner of one who 
 gives news that is very old, she said, "Why, he 
 is the man I am to marry, three weeks from 
 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Into Morris's face came a look of stupefac- 
 5 67 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 tion. Clearer than words it told of an over 
 whelming shock of a dumb, pathetic protest. 
 Into Betty's own eyes, as she read these things, 
 for in his boyish, honest face was no conceal 
 ment there came an expression of surprise, 
 then of sympathy, both swiftly changing to 
 alarm. 
 
 As she realized the full significance of her 
 discovery the color flew to her cheeks. In con 
 fusion she lowered her eyes. With a backward 
 step, looking first toward the house, then down 
 the garden walk, at everything except the man 
 before her, she said, at last, very gently, "I 
 thought I spoke last night of my of my wed- 
 ding." 
 
 There was a little tremor in her voice. Mor 
 ris, at that moment, was dazed by his own woe. 
 Her words seemed to arouse him from a sort 
 of stupor. "What did you say? I beg your 
 pardon." 
 
 "I was only saying that I thought I had al 
 ready mentioned Santovano." 
 
 "Perhaps you did. I suppose I didn't realize 
 I mean I didn't hear it." 
 
 In silence Morris seated himself upon one of 
 the marble benches. She took the place beside 
 68 
 
Inferno 
 
 him, and her efforts at conversation became 
 heroic. These efforts were fully appreciated 
 and Morris tried to help. But his heart was 
 heavy: his spirit gone. At last he arose and 
 announced his intention of taking a stroll about 
 the town. In an absent-minded way he began 
 to button up his coat. His fingers, she noticed, 
 were trying to attach his coat to a button of his 
 vest. With a smile she very gently pushed 
 away his hand and arranged it as it should be. 
 Then she gave it a little tap and smoothed it 
 down in a motherly fashion, and frowned as she 
 said: 
 
 "Clumsy boy!" 
 
 He smiled. "Yes, I have always known 
 that." 
 
 She followed him to the front door and let 
 him out. "Remember, dejeuner is at one 
 o'clock." 
 
 And she stood there for a moment, watching 
 the juvenile figure in the suit of gray, until hid 
 den by a neighboring corner. 
 
 After closing the door, she leaned wearily 
 against it. For several moments she remained 
 with closed eyes and drooping head. At last 
 she straightened up and slowly moved away. 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 At the head of the stairs she paused again. The 
 door to her mother's chamber was half open, 
 but Betty wished to be alone, for a time and 
 to think; and so, in the hope of being unob 
 served, she started quietly along the hall. But 
 Madame Capodilista had good ears. 
 
 "Is that you, Elizabetta?" 
 
 u Yes, mamma." And the daughter entered. 
 
 It was a spacious chamber, somewhat formal 
 in design, its painted walls representing panels 
 of colored marbles. Over the four doors were 
 smaller panels, also painted in oil, in which 
 cupids, goats and dolphins disported themselves 
 amid a profusion of fruit and flowers and ruined 
 temples. At present the blinds were lowered, 
 giving a soothing half-light instead of the noon 
 day glare. The whole effect and atmosphere of 
 the apartment were those of a chamber in some 
 eighteenth-century palace. A faint odor of 
 mignonette Madame Capodilista's favorite 
 perfume hovered in the air. 
 
 In an easy-chair, with cushions at her back, 
 and her eyes still closed, Madame Capodilista 
 said, wearily, 
 
 u Who went out a few minutes ago, Eliza 
 betta?" 
 
 70 
 
Inferno 
 
 "It was Morris, mamma; he has gone for a 
 stroll about the town." 
 
 "Why didn't you go with him? You might 
 have shown him several things of interest that 
 he will never see by himself." 
 
 Betty, still standing near the door, raised her 
 eyebrows in amazement. "Wander about the 
 streets alone with a young man? Why, mam 
 ma ! You forget les convenances." 
 
 Her mother smiled. "I must have thought, 
 from Morris being here, that we were still in 
 America." 
 
 "I wish we were!" was on the daughter's 
 lips, but she refrained. The too free expres 
 sion of that sentiment annoyed her mother and 
 often led to arguments. And arguments, the 
 watchful daughter had discovered, were too ex 
 citing for this invalid. Involuntarily, however, 
 she heaved a sigh. "What a different country 
 this would be if all the men were Americans." 
 
 "The Italian women might object." 
 
 "No, mamma, they couldn't." 
 
 "Indeed, they could ! The Italian men have 
 far better manners than Americans." 
 
 "Their company manners, yes. But that 
 means so little ! For myself, I prefer the Amer- 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 ican. He doesn't leave his manners at the front 
 door as he enters his own home." 
 
 This was said in a gentle voice and with a 
 good-humored smile, but her mother, with a 
 frown, turned her face toward the window. 
 "Really, Elizabetta, your wholesale admiration 
 for everything American would be laughable if 
 it were not so very monotonous. Morris, for 
 instance, is a very good boy, but certainly no 
 body could call him a polished man of the 
 world." 
 
 "Perhaps not. But he is young yet." 
 u No matter how long he lives he will never 
 have the bearing of of Santovano, for in 
 
 stance." 
 
 "Very likely he will not, mamma, but be 
 tween Morris and Santovano there is a still 
 greater difference, and in more important par 
 ticulars." 
 
 "What do you mean, Elizabetta?" 
 With the same good-humored smile Betty 
 shrugged her shoulders, almost imperceptibly. 
 "You have never advised my strolling about the 
 streets with Santovano. And imagine what 
 your comments would have been had I sat out 
 in the garden, alone, at night, with Santovano 
 72 
 
Inferno 
 
 or with any other Italian. My reputation would 
 have gone forever!" 
 
 "But you have known Morris all your life." 
 
 "If I had known Santovano all my life would 
 there be less need of a chaperon? No; and 
 that is just the difference. The more you know 
 the American the more you trust him; and the 
 more you know the foreigner the less you trust 
 him." 
 
 "That is not true, Elizabetta." 
 
 "Not true?" repeated Betty. "Then why do 
 American mothers trust their daughters alone 
 with American men? Does any mother over 
 here think of trusting her daughter alone with 
 an Italian or a Frenchman, or any of the dis 
 gusting things?" 
 
 At this, Madame Capodilista, with an excla 
 mation of indignant protest, straightened up in 
 her chair. Betty heard the exclamation, and 
 saw the gesture, but she hurried on as if in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 "And I don't see how men who are unfit for 
 a girl's friendship can be matrimonial prizes. 
 Why shouldn't I marry one of my own country 
 men, and live for a purpose? to strive with 
 him and help him ? Why must I marry one of 
 73 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 these aristocratic good-for-nothings and be the 
 wife of a title, of a man who never means to do 
 anything more important than cultivate his sur 
 face manners? Manners! Yes, Santovano has 
 good manners and he ought to have, with noth 
 ing else on his mind." 
 
 u Elizabetta ! Elizabetta ! How can you 
 speak in that way of the man you are to marry?" 
 
 "Why not, mamma? You know it is true. 
 What business has he? None. Does he ever 
 pretend to a day's work?" 
 
 "But it is not expected of him in his position. 
 He is a gentleman of leisure by inheritance. 
 Santovano is an aristocrat. His family is one 
 of the highest in all Italy." 
 
 "I don't blame Santovano. He is the natural 
 result of his ancestors. For generations they 
 have probably been idle, dissolute rakes with 
 polished easy manners and with no ambition be 
 yond the gratification of their lowest appetites. 
 No, I don't blame Santovano. He comes by 
 himself honestly. But why should not I, if I 
 prefer it, have a husband with some purpose 
 in life? some ambition beyond clothes and man 
 ners and the care of his own finger-nails?" 
 
 Betty, while speaking, had come nearer; and 
 74 
 
Inferno 
 
 as Madame Capodilista looked into the girlish 
 face and saw the light of battle there, she real 
 ized the awakening of a force beyond her own 
 maternal control. For the last words were de 
 livered with an unwonted emphasis and decision, 
 quite different from Betty Farnham's usual man 
 ner when addressing her mother. Moreover, 
 Betty's eyes looked steadily into her mother's, 
 and although on the verge of tears, were almost 
 threatening in their earnestness. Plainly, some 
 newly awakened spirit was working a transfor 
 mation in this usually obedient and self-forgetful 
 maiden. 
 
 Madame Capodilista sank back among her 
 cushions. "Elizabetta, what has happened to 
 you? Do you realize what you are saying 
 and of the man you have promised to marry?" 
 
 "Yes, mamma, I do not forget him. And 
 I realize now I suddenly realize how it has 
 all come about. I have been kept away from 
 Americans. I have seen only Italians. Tell 
 me, why should I not marry one of my own 
 countrymen if I prefer it?" 
 
 There was a silence. Her mother drew a 
 long breath, and her delicate fingers picked nerv 
 ously at an arm of her chair. 
 
 75 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Tell me," repeated Betty, "why should I 
 not marry one of my own countrymen?" 
 
 Madame Capodilista pressed a quivering 
 hand against her forehead, and had Betty been 
 in a calmer mood the two warning spots of color 
 in her mother's cheeks would have brought a 
 sudden end to all discussion. But the excitement 
 of this revolt the first in many years obscured 
 her vision. 
 
 Very quietly, but in a weaker voice, Madame 
 Capodilista spoke. "Has Morris asked you to 
 marry him?" 
 
 There was a rush of color to Betty's cheeks. 
 "No, no, mamma ! Of course he has not !" 
 
 "But he wishes to?" 
 
 "Oh! How do I know? But supposing he 
 did! He is ten times the man that Santo- 
 
 vano is." 
 
 "Morris ! Morris Lane !" 
 
 "Yes, Morris Lane." 
 
 Madame Capodilista laughed; not the over 
 flowing merriment of a joyful heart, but the 
 laugh of a person of ordinary sense at an utter 
 ance of inconceivable foolishness. 
 
 "Poor Santovano! So he is less of a man 
 than that fat, little, round-faced, awkward Mor- 
 
Inferno 
 
 ris Lane, who hopes some day, perhaps to be a 
 superintendent in a New England factory! 
 Oh ! delightful ! Santovano's family espe 
 cially the duke and the two cardinals would 
 feel flattered." 
 
 In Betty's eyes the light of battle shone 
 clearer still; but she tried to be calm. "Yes, 
 Morris is young, and he is fat, and he has a 
 round face, and he changes color, and his man 
 ners are not easy and all that I grant all 
 that. But as to real manliness and solid quali 
 ties, as to industry and perseverance, and moral 
 sense and ambition, and all the things a girl 
 wants in a husband why, he is worth a hun 
 dred million Santovanos!" 
 
 Betty paused, merely to get her breath; but 
 she was off again before her mother could 
 speak. 
 
 "And, since you mention it, suppose I did 
 marry Morris. I should live in America, for 
 one thing, among our own people. And I 
 should have an honest, high-minded husband, 
 with a serious purpose in life. And we should 
 struggle and work together. Whereas here 
 here " For a brief instant she hesitated, then 
 hurried on, " here I should be the wife of a 
 77 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 dissolute, arrogant, lazy, good-for-nothing idler 
 and doomed forever, to a useless career 
 empty, fashionable and degrading. I hate it 
 hate it, hate it ! There!" 
 
 In Madame Capodilista's face the varying 
 expressions of amazement, contempt and indig 
 nation had suddenly changed to one of despair. 
 In a voice perceptibly weaker, she said, 
 
 "Elizabetta, you have promised yourself to 
 Santovano. The wedding day is fixed, the 
 guests invited and the gifts are coming in. If 
 you broke your faith with him now, it would 
 kill me. I should " 
 
 As she spoke, the two spots of color vanished 
 from her cheeks, and with closed eyes her head 
 fell back against the chair. 
 
 In an instant Betty was kneeling upon the 
 floor at her mother's side. "Oh, mamma, mam 
 ma ! What have I done ? Never mind what I 
 said. I do not mean it indeed, I do not !" 
 
 But there was no response. Betty, her own 
 face grown suddenly pale, rang the bell for 
 assistance, then flew into the adjoining room, 
 snatched a bottle from a shelf, and at last suc 
 ceeded in getting a spoonful of its contents be 
 tween her mother's lips. 
 
 78 
 
Inferno 
 
 To the maid who came hurrying to the cham 
 ber, she cried, in Italian, 
 
 "Run, Anita, quick, for Dr. Olibrio! Tell 
 him mamma has another of those attacks. Get 
 him here at once. Quick! Quick!" 
 
 Before the doctor's arrival a little color came 
 creeping back into the ashen lips. Then the 
 eyes, as they slowly opened, remained fixed 
 upon Betty's face with a, look of distrust and 
 terror. This look, to the watching, agonized 
 daughter, brought the sharpest remorse. 
 
 Again dropping to her knees at her mother's 
 side, she held one of the slender hands in both 
 her own, and tenderly stroked it. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, dearest mamma ! forget what 
 I said. Please forget. I was not myself. I 
 don't know what possessed me some sudden, 
 horrid impulse. Oh, do say you forgive 
 
 me" 
 
 Madame Capodilista's voice was weak, and 
 her words came with an effort. "Yes, darling. 
 Of course I forgive you. But, Elizabetta, are 
 you telling me the truth? You, will not do what 
 you threatened?" 
 
 "No! No! mamma! I promise you. Only 
 live and get well again, and forget how thought- 
 79 
 
Inferno 
 
 less I have been. I shall do just as you wish. 
 Indeed, I shall. I promise you." 
 
 When Dr. Olibrio came he found the invalid 
 very weak, but out of danger. To the daugh 
 ter, however, he repeated the familiar warning 
 that another of these attacks might prove fatal: 
 that they must be avoided at whatever cost. 
 
 80 
 
81 
 
quocirca vivite fortes 
 fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 82 
 
VI 
 
 FRA DIAVOLO'S FACE 
 
 WHEN he turned his back upon the 
 girl at the open door, Morris Lane 
 walked blindly through the streets of 
 Tivoli. His look was vacant. His heart was 
 numb. To be lifted into Paradise, to drink 
 from the fountain of Hope, and then, without 
 warning, to be hurled into Purgatory is bitter. 
 Nearly an hour he walked, seeing nothing; 
 for in spirit he was treading the sunless caverns 
 of despair. Waterfalls, Roman ruins, the in 
 describable picturesqueness of the world about 
 him, all were wasted. He neither saw, nor knew, 
 nor cared. 
 
 Once he halted. With his back to a world- 
 renowned view, he gazed absently at a blank 
 wall. But he saw therein the face of a girl. 
 And he looked deep into her eyes, trying hard, 
 but trying vainly and for the twentieth time 
 to find their meaning. For, surely, it was not 
 
 6 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 a look of indifference, nor of dislike : more of 
 trouble, of anxiety, or of some inward struggle. 
 No, he did not believe that she disliked him. 
 But, on the other hand, he must not forget the 
 light-hearted manner in which she said, "He is 
 the man I am to marry in a fortnight." And 
 that man, Santovano, was in all human proba 
 bility one of those 
 
 A voice at his elbow brought him back, with 
 a shock, from the girl and the garden. 
 
 Had the gentleman seen the temple of the 
 Sybil, or La Madonna di Quintiliolo? And 
 did he care to visit the villa of Maecenas? 
 
 Morris gazed upon the man with a look of 
 blank surprise. 
 
 Maecenas! A person who lived hundreds of 
 years before Betty Farnham was born before 
 history began ! He turned away. 
 
 Onward he marched through the winding 
 streets of Purgatory. 
 
 At last, his willing but unguided legs having 
 brought him to an open square, where the little 
 iron chairs and tables of a cafe stood along the 
 pavement, he dropped into a seat. With his 
 chin in his hands he sat, and brooded. His 
 brooding, however, was disturbed by the voice 
 
 84 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 of a waiter at his side, asking politely in the 
 language of the country what the signore would 
 be pleased to consume. Morris wished for noth 
 ing, but he ordered a glass of Marsala. It was 
 brought. Then, for a period, he sat with folded 
 arms, gazing vacantly down upon the table. 
 This table was painted white and blue to rep 
 resent marble; now, in the rays of the sun, a 
 dazzling surface. His reflections upon the care 
 lessness, the cruelty, and the hideous errors of 
 creation were continued. 
 
 Before him, across one side of the piazza, ran 
 a balustrade, and beyond the balustrade, lay a 
 view such as Tivoli alone can offer a wondrous 
 blending of rocks and ruins and waterfalls; of 
 mountains and of valleys, of foliage, of flow 
 ers, and of gorgeous color. 
 
 The green steep whence Anio leaps 
 In floods of snow-white foam. 
 
 But of this view the young American saw 
 nothing. Earth is covered with views, but not 
 with Betty Farnhams. As for himself, he real 
 ized, at last, the futility of his own existence: 
 what a failure he was how grotesquely unim 
 portant. 
 
 85 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Santovano ! 
 
 He repeated the name, for it gave him pleas 
 ure; the pleasure of exquisite self-torture. Per 
 haps this Santovano was dropping dead of heart 
 disease at this very moment. Possibly Italians 
 were given to heart disease. But, no, of course 
 not! Perhaps Betty, since meeting him Mor 
 ris might change her mind about Santovano. 
 She might give up the man she had promised 
 to marry. This idea, even as it entered his 
 head, was so stupendously absurd as to become 
 laughable for Vanity and Morris were not 
 companions. And then, for the first time since 
 he had left the Villa Claudia, he smiled. But 
 it was the smile of the stoic of the North 
 American Indian at the stake all for effect 
 and partly, perhaps, to show himself that he 
 could do it. For what is sweeter than to fool 
 one's self? 
 
 And what kind of looking man was Santo 
 vano? Morris, being rather short himself, and 
 plump, blond, boyish, and of benevolent aspect 
 evidently not the kind that Betty Farnham 
 preferred conceived a Santovano the reverse 
 of all this a man tall, dark and fierce, and 
 of ravishing beauty. Now that he came to 
 86 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 think of it, how could a girl like Betty Farn- 
 ham ever care for him, Morris Lane, even if 
 this Santovano had failed to exist? No. Why 
 should she? Fool, fool, fool to have hoped! 
 
 These helpful thoughts, which might have 
 continued until nightfall, were interrupted in a 
 manner that brought the dreamer sharply to 
 himself. The other half dozen patrons of the 
 cafe occupied seats beneath an awning. But 
 Morris had not observed the awning. It mat 
 tered little, now, whether he was hot or cold; 
 whether he languished in sunlight or in shadow. 
 Down over his eyes he had pulled the brim of 
 his hat, and he was gazing in silent desolation 
 at the glass of amber liquid upon the little table 
 before him. The Marsala caught the sunlight 
 and shimmered like molten gold. 
 
 As he sat there, in spirit at the Villa Claudia, 
 his eyes upon the glistening fluid, he became 
 dimly conscious of a figure standing by his side. 
 This fact, however, was not of sufficient interest 
 to draw him from his woe. But when the 
 shadow of a hand upon the table, followed by 
 the hand itself a wrinkled, bony, old man's 
 hand moved slowly within the radius of his 
 vision, he awoke, and straightened up. 
 
 8? 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Leisurely this hand approached the little glass 
 of sunlit wine and, with trembling fingers, lifted 
 it from the table. Then Morris raised his head. 
 He did not care for the wine, but he resented 
 the impertinence. The person who was doing 
 the deed, an aged beggar, calmly poured the wine 
 upon the ground, and as calmly replaced the 
 empty glass before the astonished youth. Then 
 Morris, as he looked up into the eyes that 
 met his own, knew at once who stood before 
 him. 
 
 Fra Diavolo was in beggar's garb, tall and 
 slight of figure. At his chest, from a string 
 about his neck, hung a flute. But it was not 
 from the flute alone that Morris recognized 
 him. It was more from the sudden recollection 
 of Betty Farnham's words: from the giiTs en 
 deavor to describe a face whose character she 
 could not divine. For he not only recognized 
 the truth of her words, but he was startled by 
 the accuracy of her description. A debauched 
 old face without strength or character it cer 
 tainly was: yet, that was not all. There was 
 something more; something indefinably sugges 
 tive of a nobler past; and, as she had said, more 
 pathetic than repulsive. 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 Calmly the old beggar's eyes gazed down 
 into those of the young American when in angry 
 surprise they met his own. But Morris's anger 
 changed quickly to a succession of quite different 
 emotions, as he realized the character or rather 
 found himself trying to divine the significance 
 of this peculiar countenance. The face was 
 clean shaven, and it appeared, at first glance, 
 an unqualified record of about seventy years of 
 intemperance. As Morris looked more care 
 fully, however, he detected in this visage the 
 existence of contradictory things something ab 
 normal that aroused his curiosity: and quite dif 
 ferent from the usual traces of debauch. The 
 dark eyes had once been handsome. At present 
 they were maudlin; but they were not the eyes 
 of a common drunkard. A gentle expression 
 as of protest against existing conditions a 
 mingling of pride and helplessness, gave infinite 
 melancholy to a face which was both repellent 
 and engaging. And it seemed to Morris that 
 Fra Diavolo's eyes, as they gazed serenely and 
 somewhat vacantly into his own, were asking for 
 aid or enlightenment to be rescued from him 
 self, perhaps. 
 
 The face was thin, the features good; the 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 hair and eyebrows a silvery gray. The mouth, 
 in spite of its feeble corners and its pendant 
 lower lip, gave a distinct impression of having 
 been long years ago, perhaps something very 
 much better than at present : for it still retained 
 traces of a character and refinement that even 
 fifty years of self-indulgence could not entirely 
 efface. 
 
 While attempting no analysis of these con 
 flicting witnesses in Fra Diavolo's face, Morris 
 experienced the identical sentiments that Betty 
 Farnham had endeavored to define. He felt, 
 above all, an absorbing curiosity to know its 
 history; a desire to help the man. He felt also 
 a keen compassion something in the nature of 
 a bond of sympathy between himself and this 
 personification of human weakness this many- 
 sided, amiable, pathetic, almost disgusting old 
 beggar. As Betty Farnham had said, it was a 
 contemptible face. But as she had also said, 
 it was very much more than that. Lines of old 
 age, as lines of character, 'did not exist. In 
 other faces those lines about the brow, the eyes 
 and the mouth, those records of experience and 
 mental processes, of mirth, of sorrow and of 
 struggle, such lines were absent in Fra Diavolo's 
 90 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 face. And their absence produced a strange 
 effect. 
 
 It seemed the face of an infant who had 
 lived many years. The only lines were the ac 
 cidental and meaningless wrinkles formed by 
 receding tissues. There was no record of work 
 or of trouble. And, as Morris studied Fra 
 Diavolo, he agreed heartily with Betty for, 
 surely, a superabundance of pleasure was an 
 awful thing if the penalty were a face like this. 
 "Yes," he thought, "Betty is right: the ever 
 lasting struggle is a blessing in disguise no 
 man is a man without it." 
 
 His interest in this unaccountable old person 
 age was quickened by a second look at his flute, 
 an elaborate instrument, with silver mountings. 
 For he remembered that he was also a cultivated 
 musician. 
 
 To this scrutiny of his countenance Fra Dia 
 volo gave little attention. It caused him no 
 embarrassment. After calmly returning the 
 young man's gaze for a moment, he pointed to 
 the now empty glass, and in a thick, uneven, 
 somewhat timorous tone as of one who spoke 
 so rarely as to become unfamiliar with his own 
 voice he uttered three or four words in Italian. 
 
 91 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 At the same time he slowly shook his head, as 
 if in disapproval or in warning. 
 
 Morris, not speaking Italian, made no reply. 
 And none was needed. For the waiter, who had 
 witnessed the episode from a distance, came 
 hurrying forward with a bottle of Marsala in 
 his hand. He shook a finger at Fra Diavolo 
 and scolded him, in what seemed to Morris, a 
 very friendly spirit; as an overindulgent parent 
 might rebuke an infant. After which he refilled 
 the empty glass. 
 
 Morris inquired, first in English, then in 
 French, why the old man had spilled the wine. 
 But neither of those languages was understood 
 by the waiter. He amply expressed his feelings, 
 however, by further Italian and by emphatic 
 gestures of regret. While these apologies were 
 under way another person joined the group : one 
 who as a master of the English tongue, and as a 
 friend of Morris, came forward to make every 
 thing clear, for all concerned. His smile was 
 genial and his teeth were white as he raised his 
 cap to the American, then rested a friendly hand 
 upon Fra Diavolo's shoulder. 
 
 "He not bad spirito. No ! oh, no ! Juss olda 
 boy, ancora bambino what." Then, tapping 
 
 92 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 his own forehead, u Verra littla inside all ruina 
 as lika Tivoli. Everatings forget dimentico 
 is it?" 
 
 Morris nodded. "Yes, I thought so. Is he 
 not Fra Diavolo?" 
 
 "Yaze, Fra Diavolo. Zat peoples spik him 
 but he ees anonimo not name. His name go 
 out dispear perduto." 
 
 u Yes, too bad he cannot account for himself." 
 
 "He come not from ze world any ware no. 
 He nevar bambino zat what who in English ?" 
 
 "Baby." 
 
 "Gia, gia ! Baby ! He nevar baby. He born 
 alia big all olda first." 
 
 "Yes, so I hear. His coming has never been 
 explained. But there must be people in Tivoli 
 who know something about it." 
 
 Whether the garrulous guide misunderstood 
 this speech, or whether he resented any doubts 
 of Fra Diavolo's miraculous advent was not di 
 vulged. But he at once burst forth into a vehe 
 ment harangue. So vehement that Morris at 
 first thought the speaker was angry. He soon 
 discovered, however, that this rapidity of utter 
 ance, the violent gestures and ferocity of glance, 
 were merely temperamental his natural manner 
 93 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 of enforcing facts. And the impassioned orator 
 soon showed his contempt for the English lan 
 guage as a medium of communication. For in 
 this discourse the Italian tongue predominated. 
 The frequent use of English words always, 
 however, with an Italian pronunciation and of 
 Italian words which happened to be the same in 
 both languages, all clarified and enforced by a 
 running accompaniment of dramatic gesture and 
 explanatory pantomime, enabled the American 
 to catch the drift of the argument. 
 
 Which was this: Fra Diavolo's advent, here 
 in Tivoli, was miraculous supernatural. How 
 he came still remained a mystery. Not by 
 railway did he come; neither did he walk, for 
 no person had met him on the road. Through 
 no other town had he passed. And in the fields 
 no peasant had seen him. Did he come from 
 heaven? Or from down below? Some people 
 in Tivoli believe he is Orpheus because he plays 
 the flute so well just come to earth again. 
 But, no: that belief is childish. Others say he 
 is Bacchus grown old. That his love for the 
 Falernian wine unquenchable even by death 
 drags him back to Tivoli, and like other drunk 
 ards he lingers by the vineyard. But, then, you 
 94 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 say, he never drinks. For answer, these be 
 lievers point at his face, and say he drinks at 
 night when the rest of us are sleeping. But 
 that is a fairy-tale not credible. These gods 
 are dead and gone forever. 
 
 Parents, he has none neither brother nor 
 sister not a relative in the whole of Italy. No 
 body claims him, nor wants him nor misses 
 him; nor even knows about him, 
 So, what? 
 
 Morris, his elbows on the table, had been 
 leaning forward in his effort to catch the mean 
 ing of the discourse. Now he straightened up 
 and shook his head. 
 
 "Most remarkable. Very mysterious." 
 "Lasta night I tell Mister ze Villa Claudia : 
 ze ontaida Oosa it. He remember? sovve- 
 nire?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember. I know the Villa Claudia." 
 "Bene ! Fra Diavolo have vera like yaze." 
 "You say that he owns a villa very much like 
 it?" 
 
 "Yaze ze Villa Claudia he vera likes 
 mucha." 
 
 "You mean he likes it very much?" 
 
 "Yaze. He put evera day night what sera. 
 
 95 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Goes it." And the speaker, with lips and fingers 
 played an imaginary flute. 
 
 "And he goes to it every day or night, and 
 plays ?" 
 
 "Yaze, night and also day spesse volte. 
 Butta, butta esteriore notta in." 
 
 "Outside, yes." 
 
 u Yaze, outsida. He hava fool tummy." 
 
 "A fool tummy." 
 
 "Yaze." 
 
 "You mean he has a a poor digestion?" 
 
 "For di gessan? Zoze word I not. Butta 
 peoples soma peoples, tell his old spirito 
 what? molesta zat villa and drinka blood. 
 Butta not vera stolto ridicolo." 
 
 "Yes, that is surely absurd. But how, in what 
 way in the first place, did he turn up?" 
 
 "Tanuppa?" 
 
 "Appear how did he come? In what way? 
 Who found him?" 
 
 When this question was once understood 
 copious information followed : Signor Accoram- 
 boni returning home at two o'clock in the morn 
 ing passed the temple of the Sibyl : and he heard 
 from within the sound of a flute. He went 
 nearer to discover who played so well and he 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 saw a sight that caused the roots of his hair to 
 tingle. For there, inside the little temple, en 
 circled by the columns, sat a figure in the moon 
 light radiant all in white, as an angel, a 
 prophet or some holy spirit. Many men 
 many bold men would have turned and fled 
 or fallen to the earth. But not the Signer Acco- 
 ramboni. Being fearless, he approached the 
 little temple and gazed upon the figure. And, 
 lo ! It was this old man clad in a single gar 
 ment. 
 
 "His night-shirt?" 
 
 "Nighta shut, what?" 
 
 "And that was the first appearance, the very 
 beginning of Fra Diavolo?" 
 
 "Yaze he not befora was. Zat hour be- 
 fora nevar." 
 
 "He probably came from his bed from a 
 house somewhere in the neighborhood." 
 
 "No ! No ! Giammai ! Not oosa in Tivoli. 
 Peoples know olla peoples in Tivoli. Impos- 
 sibile!" 
 
 And it was emphatically explained that an 
 official search throughout the town only deep 
 ened the mystery. No person here had ever 
 seen him. 
 
 97 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 This conversation had been closely followed 
 by the fat waiter, and when the tale was finished, 
 he hitched a shoulder, raised his eyebrows, and 
 opened his hands, as if to say: 
 
 "Yes, wonderful, is it not? and incredible, 
 yet very true." 
 
 Fra Diavolo, in the meanwhile, stood gazing 
 at nothing. But his eyes, at this point, in mov 
 ing vacantly about, rested upon the sunlit wine 
 glass, now refilled with Marsala. He stepped 
 forward with extended arm, again to take it. But 
 the linguacious guide interposed a hand and 
 gently pushed him back, away from the table. 
 
 "Does he want the wine?" Morris asked. 
 "He can have it if he wishes." 
 
 "Ah, nevar zat ! He wish again throw down. 
 He nevar eats ze wine drink Ah ! nevar, al 
 ways nevar!" 
 
 "You say he never drinks wine never wine 
 of any kind?" 
 
 "No; it fright him do him sick. Regard." 
 And lifting the glass, with apologies to Morris, 
 he proffered it to Fra Diavolo. Whereupon, 
 with a look of fear in his drunken old face, Fra 
 Diavolo held up his hands as if to avert a danger. 
 
 "He always lika zat from begin." Resting a 
 98 
 
Fra Diavolo's Face 
 
 hand affectionately upon the old man's shoulder, 
 he went on. "Alia peoples in Tivoli evera- 
 bodee lova Fra Diavolo. He for notzing 
 inutile. Butta, he mak ze moozic, vera bene. 
 Rich gentlemenz an' laddee givva money. 
 Would ze signer be please him Fra Diavolo 
 maka ze flute go what?" 
 
 "Yes, ask him to play." 
 
 The guide raised the flute to its owner's lips, 
 with a request in pantomime that he play upon it. 
 And Fra Diavolo, obediently and with no change 
 of expression, in a listless, vacant, almost uncon 
 scious manner, began to play. He played the 
 same old air, but he did it extremely well; 
 smoothly, and with the nicest feeling. He 
 showed a perfect knowledge of his instrument. 
 The guide and the little waiter watched Morris's 
 face to see the effect. Morris had already heard 
 this performance the night before, at the Villa 
 Claudia but he expressed his pleasure. He 
 also took a piece of silver from his pocket and 
 held it toward the musician. The musician, 
 however, took no notice of the offering but kept 
 on with his playing until the guide, very gently, 
 withdrew the instrument from his lips. In fact, 
 the performer seemed almost unaware of the 
 7 99 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 movement, and stood, with impassive features, 
 looking vaguely at whatever person or object 
 happened to attract his gaze. 
 
 But the piece of silver was taken by the guide, 
 who dropped it into one of Fra Diavolo's pock 
 ets. "Him leetla bambino bebe notta great 
 finanziere what? Evera peoples can steal olda 
 Diavolo." 
 
 But Fra Diavolo's flute had proclaimed his 
 whereabouts. Two children came running into 
 the square, crying, u Ecco ! Ecco!" 
 
 Quietly, and with his usual indifference, yet 
 always with a certain dignity, he suffered himself 
 to be led away. And Morris saw him delivered 
 by the children to a pleasant-faced woman who 
 stood waiting at the corner of the street. 
 
 The guide smiled. "She promenade his din 
 ner." 
 
 "She what?" 
 
 "She promenade no? She walk him his 
 dinner." 
 
 "She takes him for his dinner?" 
 
 "Yaze. She good as madre. Woman tirty- 
 fiva tak son seventee ha !" 
 
 Then, lifting his cap and wishing Morris a 
 long life under the protection of God, he also 
 departed. 
 
 100 
 
MAECENAS 
 
 VII 
 
 101 
 
Do you laugh at dreams, at magic terrors, prodigies, and witches, 
 at nightly ghosts and spells of Thessaly ? 
 
 Horace. 
 
 IO2 
 
VII 
 
 STRANGE STORIES 
 
 AT lunch that day, with Betty Farnham 
 and her guest, sat grim Despair. There 
 was food, but its role seemed unimpor 
 tant. 
 
 Despite all efforts of the hostess and the best 
 endeavors of her joyless visitor, this repast, to 
 the end, was notable for a solemnity and con 
 straint impervious to attack. The two young 
 people, at intervals, gazed in silence through the 
 windows that opened to the terrace; and they 
 looked across the sunlit garden to the Campagna. 
 This Campagna had appeared to Morris, in the 
 morning, a cheerful thing. Now it was a dreary 
 waste. According to Chateaubriand : 
 
 Une terre composee de la poussiere des morts et des 
 debris des empires. 
 
 And the round-faced guest observed, with the 
 keenest sympathy, that since he had left the 
 103 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Villa Claudia two short hours ago a melancholy 
 change had come in Betty Farnham's face. She 
 was paler. Her youthful spirits had departed. 
 Even to him, blinded as he was by his own de 
 jection, it was plain that she had suffered, and 
 that she was making a desperate effort to conceal 
 it, and to entertain him. Against this effort he 
 protested. 
 
 "I know your mother's illness alarms you, 
 and that you would rather be with her. So 
 please do not consider me. Let me meet Hollo- 
 way at the station, and take him to the hotel, 
 where we both belong." 
 
 To this she refused to listen. Her mother 
 was out of danger. She might even be down to 
 dinner. No, they would never forgive him if 
 he cheated them out of his visit. He had given 
 his word, and they should hold him to it. 
 
 Once, during a silence, their eyes met, and 
 both smiled; and in Betty's smile there was a 
 tenderness, almost tearful so it seemed to Mor 
 ris. And this so affected him that the color flew 
 to his face ; whereupon he was filled with shame. 
 But she, instead of laughing at him as she had 
 done in the morning, appeared embarrassed her 
 self. Into her own face came a warmer color. 
 104 
 
Strange Stories 
 
 This surprised the young man ; and he wondered 
 if she had guessed his secret. At this awful pos 
 sibility he blushed again, and hotter than before. 
 But she did not see it at least, so he thought. 
 
 After the repast Betty went upstairs and re 
 mained with her mother for a time. And while 
 she was away Morris sat in the drawing-room 
 in deep in very deep reflection. And inci 
 dentally he strove to regret that he had entered 
 the grounds of the Villa Claudia last night. But 
 these efforts were futile. He was learning that 
 certain interesting forms of sorrow are more sat 
 isfying than ordinary forms of contentment. 
 The silence of these reflections was interrupted 
 by a sound of footsteps on the stairs, and he sup 
 posed the doctor was coming from Madame 
 Capodilista's chamber. The steps approached 
 the drawing-room and a man came in. He 
 was slight of figure, with a thin, clean-shaven 
 face. His black hair was brushed smoothly 
 down across his forehead, and he was dressed 
 in black. 
 
 Morris, at first glance, thought he recognized 
 a New England clergyman he once met in Bos 
 ton, and he arose to greet him. He started to 
 express his surprise at this coming together in the 
 105 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Villa Claudia. The stranger, however, seemed 
 the least bit startled as this other man suddenly 
 issued from a corner, and when he apologized 
 in Italian for his intrusion Morris realized his 
 own mistake. He also muttered words of apol 
 ogy, but in English ; then the man in black bowed 
 deferentially, took a letter from a desk, and de 
 parted. Again Morris heard his footsteps on 
 the stairs, and he wondered who he was. Cer 
 tainly he was no New England clergyman and 
 his general bearing was not that of a doctor. 
 
 Betty came down at last, and she and Morris 
 went out into the garden. Down a side path, 
 by the southerly wall, she took him, to the ruins 
 of an ancient structure where still remained the 
 fragments of six Ionic columns. The original 
 floor, in marbles of different colors, was two or 
 three feet below the level of the garden. 
 
 Morris studied this with a lively interest. 
 "What is it the remains of an ancient villa?" 
 
 "No, a little temple. Signer Capodilista, my 
 stepfather, unearthed it. That head of Bacchus 
 with the wreath of grapes he found just here, in 
 the centre of this floor." 
 
 Morris studied the head. "Was it part of a 
 statue?" 
 
 106 
 
Strange Stories 
 
 "Yes, there was a body to fit it, originally, 
 but only a few pieces were found." 
 
 "What fun he must have had, Mr. Capodilis- 
 ta ! And what a garden to dig in !" 
 
 "Yes, he was tremendously interested. He 
 found lots of things." 
 
 "And that," said Morris, pointing to a marble 
 fragment against the wall, "is the inscription 
 you told me about this morning. The record of 
 the feast in which Horace and Maecenas figured." 
 
 "Yes, that is it." 
 
 "Too bad those little drunken Cupids are 
 broken. It must have been a portion of the 
 frieze." 
 
 "No, both Signor Capodilista and Santovano 
 thought it was inside the temple a fragment 
 of a slab that concealed a hiding place, or some 
 thing of that sort." 
 
 "Then your stepfather took an interest in 
 these things?" 
 
 "Oh, yes ! He was an enthusiast." After a 
 pause she added, "He died only a year ago. 
 And his death was very mysterious." 
 
 "Mysterious?" 
 
 Her head moved solemnly up and down. 
 "Yes, very, very mysterious. There is some- 
 107 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 thing evil about this house about one chamber 
 in it, at least, that nobody can explain." 
 
 "That must be what the guide was trying to 
 tell me last night." 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 "I am afraid I offended your mother in allud 
 ing to it." 
 
 "That was no fault of yours. Mamma is ter 
 ribly sensitive about such gossip. You see, she 
 is rather superstitious, though she hates to admit 
 it: and this villa had begun to have a peculiar 
 reputation before we came here. But nobody 
 ever told us. Signer Capodilista's unexplain- 
 able death just upset poor mamma completely." 
 
 "In what way was it unexplainable?" 
 
 They had stepped down upon the floor of the 
 little temple, and Betty seated herself between 
 two of the columns. Morris took a place at her 
 side. 
 
 "It was unexplainable in every way : and worse 
 than unexplainable. It was really so sudden and 
 so extraordinary as to start afresh all the horrid 
 stories of the room being haunted." 
 
 "Was he murdered?" 
 
 "Oh, no ! There were no signs of violence of 
 any kind. Nobody had entered the room." 
 108 
 
Strange Stories 
 
 "A post-mortem examination might have 
 solved the mystery. " 
 
 "There was a post-mortem examination, but 
 it revealed nothing. The doctors said they had 
 never met with such conditions." 
 
 "He was found dead in the morning?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well," said Morris, inclining his head to one 
 side, and raising his eyebrows, "it is not for me to 
 doubt those doctors, but for every death there is 
 a cause. And when the doctors fail to find it, 
 they generally attribute it to heart failure. That 
 fits all cases, and is a safe solution." 
 
 "They said nothing about heart failure." 
 
 "Was nothing whatever discovered by the 
 post-mortem no apparent cause for his death?" 
 
 "Oh, yes in a way. They found a most un 
 natural change: a sort of general decay, and a 
 wasting away of all his tissues. They could only 
 attribute his death to some sort of exhaustion 
 or a sudden and unaccountable extinction 
 of vitality a thing unknown in their expe 
 
 rience." 
 
 "That did explain his death, however." 
 "But it satisfied nobody, not even the doctors. 
 For Signer Capodilista was a man of exceptional 
 109 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 health and vigor, and was in perfect health a 
 few hours before. It only added to the mystery, 
 in fact. It merely made clear that he had sud 
 denly died from some shock, or other cause that 
 the medical men could not discover." 
 
 Morris saw that the little person beside him 
 was much in earnest, and seriously disturbed. 
 Although convinced, himself, that the doctors 
 were the ones at fault, he meant to respect her 
 belief, whatever it might be. 
 
 u To agree with the haunted-house theory, 
 you should have found a look of terror in his 
 face, or some indication of a shock." 
 
 "On the contrary, his expression was most 
 happy and contented. So much so that it startled 
 us. We could not believe him dead." 
 
 "Well, that is unusual," murmured the youth. 
 After a silence he said, "But why do you call it 
 'worse than unexplainable' ? It seems to me an 
 ideal death." 
 
 "Yes, one would think so : but if you had seen 
 his face you would understand me better. I can 
 not describe its expression. It was quite a differ 
 ent face from the one we had known in life. For, 
 in life, it was full of strength and character, 
 while in death it was weak and almost foolish." 
 no 
 
Strange Stories 
 
 "Really?" and Morris turned toward her in 
 surprise. 
 
 Betty inclined her head. 
 
 "That is most extraordinary," he said. "Even 
 the weakest face takes on a certain solemnity in 
 death." 
 
 "Yes, and it was all the more unnatural for 
 that reason." 
 
 During the silence that followed, Morris's 
 eyes moved slowly over the ruins of the little 
 temple, then across the radiant garden, to 
 ward the portion of the Villa Claudia that was 
 visible between the intervening masses of shrub 
 bery. Its walls of glistening marble and its de 
 lightful carving were now, in the afternoon sun 
 light, a delicate shade of pink, all in exquisite 
 harmony with the luxuriant masses of crimson, 
 white and purple flowers. 
 
 "It seems unfair," he said, "that such an event 
 should injure the house itself. It might occur 
 anywhere." 
 
 "But that chamber had already a bad name 
 as a place to be avoided. According to the na 
 tives, the room was haunted. They say a curse 
 
 is on it." 
 
 "What started such an idea?" 
 in 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Something horrid had happened there. No 
 body knows exactly how. But the people of 
 Tivoli tell tales of ghosts and evil spirits." And 
 the little lady shrugged her shoulders contempt 
 uously, as she said, "There are people in town 
 and very intelligent people, too who insist upon 
 it that they have seen, at midnight, a bloody hand 
 at the windows of that chamber. Others have 
 seen a flickering light always at midnight, of 
 course with a white figure moving to and 
 fro." 
 
 "I suppose no tale is too big for an Italian 
 peasant, if it is really interesting, and once gets 
 a hold on him." 
 
 "They believe anything. Why, one old ser 
 vant we had here insisted on hanging a broom 
 at the window to keep away witches. And they 
 all believe in the lupo-manaro, a sort of super 
 natural wolf that comes on rainy nights." 
 
 Morris smiled and shook his head. "We are 
 unpicturesque in America, and commonplace, so 
 we don't allow ghosts to affect the price of real 
 estate. But did the villa have this reputation 
 before your stepfather's death?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 "Then why did your mother buy it?" 
 112 
 
Strange Stories 
 
 "We never heard the stories until we had 
 bought the house and were living in it." 
 
 "Well," said Morris, "I don't see why those 
 old yarns need worry you much. There is prob 
 ably nothing behind them." 
 
 "But there is something behind them." 
 
 Morris looked incredulous. 
 
 "Indeed, there is!" said Betty. "The death 
 of the last owner, for instance, Alessandro di 
 Forli." 
 
 "Did he die in the same room?" 
 
 "He went to bed in that chamber and he was 
 never seen afterward." 
 
 "Never seen at all, either dead or alive, by 
 anybody?" 
 
 "Never seen at all, nor even heard from: nor 
 has there been any trace of him." 
 
 "Well, that is interesting." 
 
 "That chamber," said Betty, "had a bad name 
 even then, and he knew it. But the house was 
 full of guests and all the other beds taken, so 
 Signer di Forli went in there to sleep. His ser 
 vant bade him good-night and left him alone. 
 Since that moment no trace of him has been dis 
 covered." 
 
 The puzzled expression on Morris's face 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 gradually faded into a smile. "Well," he said, 
 "that was mighty clever." 
 
 "Clever!" 
 
 "It was a successful disappearance, wasn't it?" 
 
 "It was certainly complete." 
 
 "When those things happen in America," said 
 Morris, "we look for the woman in the case, or 
 for a shortage in his accounts, or for both. 
 They often come together." 
 
 But Betty shook her head. "Not in this case. 
 Signor di Forli was quite rich and out of busi 
 ness. And he left his affairs in excellent order. 
 He had everything to live for health, wealth, 
 a host of friends everything. And he was be 
 trothed to a charming girl with whom he was 
 thoroughly in love." 
 
 "Then it is a puzzle. Did he own the Villa 
 Claudia?" 
 
 "Yes, we bought it of his heirs." 
 
 "Perhaps he was spirited away by brigands." 
 
 "Brigands ! Here in Tivoli ?" 
 
 Morris smiled. "I supposed you had every 
 thing that was picturesque here in Tivoli. But 
 was nothing missing in the way of money or 
 jewels, or valuables of any kind?" 
 
 "No, nothing went: not even his clothes." 
 114 
 
Strange Stories 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Morris, brightening up 
 with a sudden thought, u you say he departed in 
 his night-clothes?" 
 
 "Well that is all his other clothes were 
 found in his room the next morning." 
 
 And the girl experienced a mild amazement at 
 finding herself conversing with a young man 
 about these nocturnal habiliments : and without 
 a shock! 
 
 But Morris was absorbed in the excitement of 
 an important discovery. "Did you know this 
 man this Signer di Forli?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. He had visited here." 
 
 "Was he musical?" 
 
 "Yes, like many other Italians." 
 
 "Did he play the flute?" 
 
 "I think so, and one or two other instruments. 
 And he sang." 
 
 "How long ago did he disappear?" 
 
 "About two years ago." 
 
 "And when did Fra Diavolo appear?" 
 
 "About the same time." 
 
 "Then," said Morris, straightening up, "why 
 should not your friend di Forli and Fra Diavolo 
 be the same person?" 
 
 As he asked this question their eyes met. But 
 8 115 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Betty smiled, and shook her head. "Because 
 Signer di Forli was a young man of twenty-six, 
 while Fra Diavolo was over seventy." 
 
 "Oh," said Morris. "I didn't know this other 
 man was so young." And then, from sympathy 
 with his own discomfiture, his cheeks grew 
 warmer. But the girl beside him was very merci 
 ful now, and she looked off into the garden as 
 if nobody in her vicinity was changing color. 
 
 A silence followed. Morris, bending for 
 ward, his chin in his hand, gazed mournfully 
 upon the ancient marbles at his feet. The little 
 woman at his side, her head against the wall, 
 was watching him askance, with half-closed, 
 melancholy eyes. 
 
 It was she, at last, who broke the silence by a 
 smothered exclamation. And it seemed to her 
 companion that in her tone there was less of 
 pleasure than surprise as she murmured: 
 
 "Why, there is Santovano! He must have 
 come by the early train." 
 
 116 
 
VIII 
 
 117 
 
Quaff with the gods immortal wine. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 118 
 
VIII 
 
 TWO LOVERS 
 
 MORRIS raised his eyes. 
 Among the dazzling colors of the 
 garden moved a gentleman of patrician 
 aspect. He was apparelled in the style of Rome, 
 not of England or America : for between English 
 and Italian standards of men's attire a wide gulf 
 exists. His high silk hat, of a pattern unfamiliar 
 to Morris, his black coat, his pearl-gray trousers, 
 his collar, his cravat, his lavender gloves and the 
 cut of his hair were distinctly Italian. 
 
 Of medium height, erect and of graceful 
 figure, he walked with easy confidence the sort 
 of confidence that showed an unaffected but 
 wholesome gratification in being the very person 
 that he was. At Betty's call he turned; then 
 raised his hat and came toward them. 
 
 So this was Santovano ! the presumptuous, in 
 terloping, superior, beloved, inexpressibly for- 
 119 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 tunate and by the American thoroughly de 
 tested and many times accursed Santovano. 
 Morris studied the approaching figure with mel 
 ancholy interest, as he would have studied the 
 approach of War, Pestilence and Famine. 
 
 The features of the accepted lover were good; 
 his forehead wide, square and full, his hair dark. 
 With the exception of a mustache that turned up 
 ward at the ends, his face was clean-shaven. 
 There was nothing in his countenance to attract 
 special notice, except, perhaps, his nose, which 
 was large for Northern climes but not out of 
 scale in Italy. It was pleasantly Roman. His 
 dark eyes, his firm mouth and chin signified noth 
 ing unusual. But the whole ensemble his car 
 riage, his easy bearing and perfect self-possession 
 proclaimed him a "man of the world." He 
 aslo gave the impression of being a man of lei 
 sure. This impression was correct. Giulio di 
 Lunigiani di Santovano had never been a victim 
 of overwork: nor was he the victim of any such 
 aspirations. 
 
 If the presence of Morris Lane or the fact 
 
 of his fiancee being alone with a man in this 
 
 secluded corner caused him any surprise, it 
 
 was well concealed. As he stepped down upon 
 
 120 
 
Two Lovers 
 
 the ancient pavement he held his hat by his side 
 and bowed with a graceful dignity to the two 
 people before him. Then, taking the lady's ex 
 tended hand, he raised it toward his lips. But 
 the hand was suddenly withdrawn. Santovano, 
 as he straightened up, regarded its owner in a 
 mild amazement. It was of short duration, 
 however. Turning toward Morris, he favored 
 that young man with a ceremonious bow. All of 
 which, while simply done, reminded the Amer 
 ican of similar performances he had seen upon 
 the stage. Morris acknowledged this bow with 
 one of his own the perfunctory bow of New 
 England, seemingly the outward manifestation 
 of inward hostility; stiff and cold in itself, and 
 further frosted by an hereditary and invincible 
 self-consciousness that cruel legacy of the Puri 
 tan. It is only fair to Morris, however, to state 
 that the animosity of this ceremonial was tem 
 pered by the kindliness and good-nature which 
 seemed to radiate from his boyish face. And 
 these Heaven-born attributes, even at this trying 
 moment, were not wholly submerged. 
 
 Betty presented the two gentlemen. "This is 
 Morris Lane, Santovano, an old friend of my 
 childhood. He has just come from America. 
 121 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 And America produces the very best of every 
 thing in the way of men." 
 
 Santovano smiled. And Morris noticed with 
 regret that the smile rendered his face far more 
 attractive than in repose. It was not only 
 friendly and sympathetic, but it was most becom 
 ing to the owner. It gave to his countenance a 
 most unusual charm as he replied, in perfect 
 English : 
 
 u To be a product of the same country as the 
 Signorina Farnham is an enviable distinction. 
 Mr. Lane has my heartiest congratulations." 
 
 Whereupon Morris discovered also with re 
 gret that Santovano's voice had a peculiar fas 
 cination. It was rather deep and of a singular 
 mellowness of tone: and so musical in quality, 
 so impressive in its strength and calmness, so 
 very gentle and so melodiously sympathetic as 
 to create a belief in some hidden saintliness of 
 character. Moreover, Santovano managed this 
 heavenly gift with exquisite skill. Habitually, 
 it was low in tone, persuasive, of a quality to 
 disarm all possible antagonism and to win your 
 confidence. There was even a tear in it when 
 necessary. Or, if desired, it gained in force and 
 commanded attention; or became thrilling in its 
 122 
 
Two Lovers 
 
 dramatic intensity. And it was never overdone. 
 All his words were pronounced with clearness 
 and precision, and with a seductive modulation. 
 
 Morris exclaimed, impulsively: 
 
 u How well you speak English, sir!" 
 
 Santovano acknowledged this compliment 
 with another graceful inclination. "You are 
 very kind to say so, Mr. Lane." 
 
 "Why shouldn't he !" said Betty. "He had 
 an English nurse when he was a child. But that 
 makes no difference. He would have learned it 
 anyway. He speaks every language in the 
 world." 
 
 "Oh, Signorina!" he protested, holding up a 
 hand. "What are you saying? Do not will 
 ingly deceive your friend." 
 
 "Well, how many languages is it?" 
 
 "Only a few." 
 
 "Only a few !" and she turned toward Morris. 
 "He calls a dozen a few." 
 
 "No, no!" said Santovano. "Not a dozen!" 
 
 Whereupon the lady began counting upon her 
 fingers. "You speak Latin, to begin with; and 
 Italian, English, Spanish, Portuguese, Rus 
 sian " 
 
 "No, not Russian." 
 
 123 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "But you read Russian: you know all those 
 horrid letters." 
 
 u Yes, but I do not speak it." 
 
 "You speak French," she went on, "and Ger 
 man three or four kinds of German Turkish, 
 Greek " 
 
 "Oh, I beg, I beg!" he interrupted. "Please 
 go no further ! Mr. Lane will detest me for a 
 prig. And, besides, some of those languages I 
 speak very imperfectly." 
 
 "On the contrary, he speaks them all exceed 
 ingly well," she insisted, always addressing Mor 
 ris. "But he deserves no credit. They came to 
 him of their own accord. He breathes them in 
 as you and I breathe air. Why, if you should 
 whisk him through China in a fast express, with 
 the windows closed, he would catch the lan 
 guage." 
 
 Santovano's eyebrows, and his shoulders, were 
 elevated in mild denial. Betty leaned back and 
 frowned. In another instant, however, and to 
 Morris's surprise, she went on in a nervous, 
 somewhat excited manner, and with a show of 
 irritation very different from her good-natured 
 gaiety of the morning: 
 
 "But, after all, why shouldn't he talk in every 
 124 
 
Two Lovers 
 
 language? He has never had anything else to 
 do." 
 
 For a short moment there was an awkward 
 pause, but she hurried on, with a note of scorn 
 in her voice. "And as for the Latin, why, he 
 inherited that. He is descended, you know, 
 from all the Roman Emperors. But they are 
 incidental merely blots on the Santovano es 
 cutcheon the stain of the parvenus. The San- 
 tovanos were the leading family in Praeneste. 
 And Praeneste, you know, was founded by a son 
 of Vulcan, and became a mighty city before 
 Romulus started on his travels." 
 
 Morris saw that the accepted lover was taken 
 aback. But he seemed more surprised than an 
 noyed. A perceptible flush, however, came 
 slowly into his face. But he was not a man to 
 be discomfited by trifles. With a pleasant smile, 
 he asked Morris how long he had been in 
 Italy. 
 
 "About a month." 
 
 "I hope you find it interesting." 
 
 "Indeed, I do I Even more interesting than I 
 expected and I expected the utmost." 
 
 "Have you been to Horace's farm?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 125 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "You might find it worth while, especially if 
 you happen to be a reader of Horace." 
 
 "Oh, yes, a persistent reader ! I know every 
 line he wrote about that farm. He had much 
 fun with it." 
 
 "In spite of the last lines in the 'Invitation to 
 Maecenas' : 
 
 ' Compulsory virtue is the charm 
 Of life upon the Sabine Farm.' " 
 
 "So you, too, are an admirer?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed." And Santovano took from his 
 pocket a little volume of the poet. "I read him 
 in the cars." 
 
 "The Latin comes more naturally to you Ital 
 ians than to us. We seldom master it without a 
 painful effort." 
 
 "The Latin itself may come to us more easily, 
 but you Anglo-Saxons seem to be his best friends. 
 In fact, the peasants hereabouts think Horace 
 was an Englishman so many of them worship 
 at his shrine." 
 
 "We go there to-morrow." 
 
 "You say we?" and he looked inquiringly at 
 Betty. "Some friend goes with you ?" 
 
 "Yes, a friend of mine who comes this after 
 noon." And Morris looked at his watch. 
 126 
 
Two Lovers 
 
 "Must you go to the station for Mr. Hollo- 
 well?" Betty asked. 
 
 "No; I telegraphed him how to find the Villa 
 Claudia, as he could not say which train he would 
 take." 
 
 "Mr. Hollowell is an American?" inquired 
 Santovano. 
 
 "No such luck for him!" said Betty. "He's 
 an Englishman." 
 
 "Hollowell is not a common name," said San 
 tovano. "I knew a Mr. Lydon Hollowell once." 
 
 "That is my friend's name," said Morris. 
 "Was he rather stout, with a reddish face: very 
 jolly and full of fun?" 
 
 Santovano with an affirmative nod acknowl 
 edged the accuracy of this description as applied 
 to his own Lydon Hollowell. But Morris no 
 ticed an involuntary but quickly suppressed look 
 of annoyance on the Italian's face. And he won 
 dered, at the moment, how anybody could pos 
 sibly object to Hollowell. 
 
 "This is a very little world," said Betty, "that 
 you and Santovano should have a mutual friend. 
 Perhaps Mr. Hollowell is the happy medium 
 that unites the two extremes." 
 
 "Extremes of what?" said Morris, with a 
 127 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 smile. "Extremes of vice and virtue, or igno 
 rance and wisdom? It is bound to be hard on 
 one of us." 
 
 "That question," said Santovano, "I pray, for 
 my own sake, she may not answer. I am clearly 
 in disgrace to-day." 
 
 The little lady frowned, looked down and 
 tapped her foot upon the ancient pavement ; but 
 she made no reply. 
 
 "It is some years since I have seen Mr. Hollo- 
 well," said Santovano. "He may have forgotten 
 me. He studied architecture, as I remember. 
 But you will both enjoy Horace's farm, although 
 there is really not much of the villa left." 
 
 "It is something of a sentimental journey. 
 We are both lovers of the poet." 
 
 "So am I." Santovano stepped toward the 
 drunken Cupids. "Did you happen to notice this 
 tablet?" 
 
 "Now, Morris, you are in for it!" Betty ex 
 claimed. "He will talk to you by the day or 
 week if you once get him on archaeology and 
 that slab in particular." 
 
 Morris laughed. "Well, I am ready to listen 
 by the week or by the year. For I, also, am an 
 enthusiast a crank, or whatever you call us." 
 128 
 
Two Lovers 
 
 "Well, you will find all human knowledge in 
 Santovano." 
 
 That gentleman shook his head. "As the Si- 
 gnorina is pleased to be ironical, you can easily 
 divine my ignorance." 
 
 "Not at all!" she exclaimed. "I am serious. 
 The extent of your learning is almost offensive." 
 
 Santovano smiled. "Now we are nearer the 
 truth, I fear except as to the learning. But one 
 of your English poets says John Selden, I 
 think : 
 
 ' No man is the wiser for his learning : wit and 
 wisdom are born with a man.' 
 
 Which, in my melancholy case, merely proves 
 that it requires neither wit nor wisdom to become 
 offensive." 
 
 The Signorina made no reply. She merely 
 looked away, with cold indifference. Morris, as 
 he turned with Santovano toward the ancient in 
 scription, wondered at woman's ways. Why try 
 so hard to conceal all affection for the man she 
 had chosen to marry ? But he could not help see 
 ing that her words and her contemptuous manner 
 were clearly a surprise to Santovano. However, 
 that gentleman merely smiled politely; then, 
 129 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 with a slight movement of the hands and eye 
 brows which seemed to say, "We must pardon 
 everything," he gave his attention to the slab. 
 
 "The discovery of this marble, with its legend, 
 created a lively interest. Its meaning we cannot 
 decipher. It hints at the existence of something 
 hereabouts that is yet undiscovered." 
 
 "Does not the inscription say what it is?" and 
 Morris easily deciphered several of the words. 
 
 "It did say, once. Unfortunately the critical 
 letters are among the few that are missing. 
 There was a supplementary slab, but the words 
 upon it were obliterated. The papyrus scroll 
 was the thing that would have " 
 
 "Oh, begin at the beginning," said Betty, 
 "and lead up to the scroll. I know Morris would 
 be interested." 
 
 "Indeed, I would ! Unless, of course, it bores 
 you." 
 
 Santovano smiled. "It is you, not I, who run 
 that risk. For the Signorina Betty tells the 
 simple truth when she says that I can talk of it 
 by the day or week. However, if you go to 
 sleep or walk away, no offence will be taken." 
 
 "Have no fears. I am good for a week, at 
 least." And approaching the shattered inscrip- 
 130 
 
Two Lovers 
 
 tion, Morris passed his hand along the drunken 
 cupids, as if hoping the silent marble might 
 answer to his touch. For it pleased him to imag 
 ine that between these infant revellers with their 
 elusive legend and the fateful record of the Vil 
 la Claudia some bond existed. 
 
 Centuries of oblivion had brought to these 
 marble children a warmth and mellowness of 
 tone that suggested living flesh. And now the 
 western sun gave deeper shadows and a yet rosier 
 glow. Surely, had they intention ever to divulge 
 their secret the time was ripe. During twenty 
 centuries they had kept it well. 
 
 Two thousand years ! And these boys to-day 
 seemed as plump and young and drunk as when 
 they started on their long career. 
 
Which stored in Grecian jar 
 By my own hand sealed. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 132 
 
IX 
 
 133 
 
IX 
 A TALE OF DISCOVERY 
 
 IN his calm, well-modulated voice, Santovano 
 began : 
 "Before Signor Capodilista purchased this 
 villa, it belonged to a friend of mine, Alessandro 
 di Forli." 
 
 "I have told Morris all about Signor di Forli," 
 said Betty, "also about the haunted room, and 
 what has happened there. So you can go right 
 
 on." 
 
 Santovano acknowledged this information 
 with a courteous inclination of the head, and 
 continued: "I was visiting Signor di Forli about 
 two years ago. The last morning of my visit, 
 as we stepped out upon the terrace, his gardener 
 told him a suitable stone had been found to re 
 place some broken paving in the courtyard. He 
 described it as a solid piece of marble but very 
 old and discolored. He had just found it in 
 digging a hole for transplanting a tree. So we 
 134 
 
A Tale of Discovery 
 
 came down into the garden to see it here, on 
 this spot. But at that time the level of the earth 
 was two or three feet higher than the rest of 
 the garden. 
 
 "He showed us the slab of marble, resting 
 against the wall, just below where it is at present. 
 It had, as he said, an even surface and seemed 
 good enough for the purpose; that is, to patch 
 the paving in the courtyard. So di Forli gave 
 instructions to have it set in place. Then, as we 
 were turning away, the mason happened to re 
 mark that the marble was very much thicker in 
 some places than in others, and he must either 
 chisel it down or dig out the concrete foundation 
 to set it properly. This seemed an excuse for 
 making a longer job of it, so di Forli took a look 
 at the back side of the slab. You can imagine 
 our surprise at seeing those two children." 
 
 "Indeed, I can I" 
 
 "We were both quite excited over it." 
 
 "I should think so !" And Morris, his round 
 face all aglow with the keenest interest, turned 
 to Betty and exclaimed, "We don't unearth such 
 things in New England, do we?" 
 
 "No. Those drunken Cupids and the Puri 
 tans could never have lived together." 
 
 135 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 The frown had left her face as Morris spoke, 
 and her eyes met his with a sad but somewhat 
 tender smile. This smile was so unlike her pre 
 vious severity as to bring to her woeful com 
 patriot an added pang. For, if she treated those 
 she loved as she had just been treating her fiance, 
 and if frowns and snubs were reliable signs of 
 her serious attachment; and if, consequently, 
 kindness meant indifference, then he, Morris, 
 was indeed unfortunate ! And so the little lady's 
 tender look he acknowledged with a perfunctory, 
 joyless smile, which ended in a frown and a 
 mortifying blush. But the blush, thank heaven ! 
 was not seen by the Italian. 
 
 Santovano, unconscious of this silent drama, 
 went on with his tale. u We lost no time in turn 
 ing the marble about. Then we washed it off. 
 We knew at once it was only a fragment, and 
 that the other pieces were lying, probably, at the 
 bottom of the same hole. To the great disgust 
 of the gardener the same old fellow that is here 
 now we had the newly planted tree uprooted. 
 Then we began to dig." 
 
 "Why wasn't I here?" exclaimed Morris. 
 "How I would have dug !" 
 
 "It is not too late now," said Betty. "Come 
 136 
 
A Tale of Discovery 
 
 and be our gardener. You shall have the whole 
 place to dig in. There are lots of good things 
 left." 
 
 "Yes," said Santovano, u but not of such pe 
 culiar interest as this, I fear. However, there is 
 no telling, here in Tivoli, what a spade may di 
 vulge. You already know, perhaps, that in ex 
 cavating ancient villas hereabouts we dig down, 
 as a rule, through three strata. So we first laid 
 aside the upper layer of earth, formed by the 
 decay, through the ages, of the ruins themselves; 
 of trees and vegetable matter generally, of soil 
 and dust deposited by wind and other agencies. 
 In this upper stratum we expected nothing, and 
 we found nothing. Then we came to the middle 
 stratum. This consisted, as usual, of bricks and 
 plaster, of blocks of stone, cement, and frag 
 ments of marble. Here we found bits of ex 
 quisite carving, but nothing of special value. We 
 went slowly, however, and very carefully, for we 
 saw, from the style of the fragments of colored 
 marbles and from pieces of moulding and elab 
 orately carved capitals, that we were in the ruins 
 of a villa or temple of exceptional elegance. The 
 first obstacle unearthed was a heavy fragment 
 of one of these columns, of Greek marble, lying 
 137 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 as it had fallen, centuries ago. It took us half a 
 day to get it out. We had to have horses and 
 a derrick. It was that one over there the tall 
 
 one." 
 
 Morris turned and looked, his face aglow with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 u just beneath the column," Santovano contin 
 ued, "we came to the lowest stratum, the one 
 lying directly upon this marble pavement we are 
 standing on. This stratum was, as is usually 
 the case, made up of tiles and roofing materials; 
 for the roof, in these ancient buildings, was al 
 ways the first thing to fall. But we noticed, with 
 some interest, that between this lower stratum 
 and the one above it lay a bed of vegetable 
 soil, showing the roof must have fallen a very 
 long time centuries perhaps before the col 
 umns and the side walls came down. And there, 
 just beneath the column, jammed down into the 
 lowest layer of all, we found the other fragments 
 of the tablet." 
 
 "Too bad !" And Morris looked sadly at the 
 shattered pieces. 
 
 "But the real excitement," said Betty, "is yet 
 to come. Go on, Giulio." 
 
 Santovano obeyed. "The tablet had been im- 
 
 138 
 
A Tale of Discovery 
 
 bedded in the wall, just in front of that recess 
 you see beneath it." 
 
 And Santovano pointed to a horizontal cav 
 ity in the wall below the tablet. This cavity was 
 about four feet long, two and one-half feet high, 
 and not more than two feet in depth. At present 
 it was empty. 
 
 "The marble slab," said Santovano, u was evi 
 dently placed there to conceal the recess, but the 
 column in falling had knocked it out of place and 
 smashed it. The cavity was filled with the dirt 
 and dust that had been drifting into it for cen 
 turies. But, as good luck would have it, the 
 column happened to lie just in front of the open 
 ing, completely hiding it. Otherwise the place 
 would have been rifled long ago. When the col 
 umn was out of the way, di Forli and I got down 
 upon our knees. Then, with our fingers, we re 
 moved and very carefully the dust and earth 
 that filled the recess. We had hardly begun, 
 however, when I uncovered the top of an am 
 phora a sort of vase-like jug for holding wine. 
 You know them, perhaps." 
 
 "Yes, I know them." 
 
 "It was covered with a coating of pitch, orig 
 inally, to keep the air out; but now all thickly 
 139 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 encrusted with dust and dirt. A material that 
 looked like lime, or cement, had settled upon it. 
 We soon found there were three amphorae orig 
 inally, but of the other two only fragments were 
 left. Also, we picked up, among the bits of 
 broken pottery, three gold coins of the time of 
 Augustus." 
 
 "Placed there and forgotten, perhaps." 
 
 "No. Di Forli and I and others think 
 they were put there for luck one for each am 
 phora : a custom still observed, sometimes, here 
 in Italy." 
 
 "And in America, too," said Morris. u But 
 what did you find in the unbroken jar?" 
 
 "It was not opened that is, not to my knowl 
 edge. I don't know what di Forli did with it." 
 
 "Gracious!" exclaimed the American. "I 
 should think you would hunt it up ! It may con 
 tain some precious secret some treasure some 
 document or bit of history; the ashes of Horace 
 himself, perhaps. Who knows ?" 
 
 "Nothing of such interest, I fear. The other 
 two the broken ones held wine originally. 
 You can still see the stains upon the stone. They 
 were filled as an offering to the gods, probably, 
 or as part of a ceremony. The one that was 
 140 
 
A Tale of Discovery 
 
 whole may also have contained wine. But any 
 liquid would have dried up, or evaporated some 
 hundreds of years ago." 
 
 "How long had the jar been there?" 
 Santovano laid a finger on the slab. "There 
 is the date 736 A. U. C., that was eighteen 
 years before Christ. Just nineteen hundred and 
 twenty-one years ago." 
 
 141 
 
Be wise ; filter your wines, and abridge your hopes to 
 the shortness of your life. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 I 4 2 
 
143 
 
X 
 
 FORGOTTEN THINGS. 
 
 DURING the silence that followed Mor 
 ris again stepped forward and examined 
 the tablet. u Some interesting events 
 have taken place between the hiding of that vase 
 and your bringing it to light again." 
 
 u Yes. The Rome of Horace and Maecenas 
 has crumbled and faded away. Even its lan 
 guage is dead.' 1 
 
 "And it's hard to realize," said Morris, turn 
 ing toward the west, u how different the Cam- 
 pagna looked to Horace and Maecenas as they 
 stood upon this very spot. In those days, a pan 
 orama of villas and fertile farms." 
 
 u Now," said Betty, "a malarial waste." 
 Santovano heaved a sigh. "Even the sites of 
 its cities forgotten. And this poor old town 
 this Tibur that Horace loved, where the wealthy 
 Roman came for his summer pleasure look at 
 144 
 
Forgotten Things 
 
 it now! Its temples and splendid villas first 
 looted by the barbarian, then scattered in the 
 dust and at last forgotten. Its thousands of 
 priceless statues burned by the natives in medi 
 aeval lime-kilns. And for a crowning insolence, 
 as if to wipe even its memory from the earth, 
 its very name was changed." 
 
 "When did that occur, by the way, that change 
 of name, from Tibur to Tivoli ?" 
 
 "In the eighth century." 
 
 "And seven hundred years after that," said 
 Betty, "came the most important thing of all." 
 
 Both men turned toward her. "And what was 
 that, Signorina?" 
 
 "The discovery of a new continent in the 
 west." 
 
 "Do you mention that as one more calamity?" 
 Morris inquired. 
 
 "Indeed, I do not!" 
 
 "Well, you know, Betty, it has been said that 
 the mission of America is to vulgarize the 
 world." 
 
 "Morris Lane! How can you say such a 
 thing ? And you an American !" 
 
 "It's no statement of mine. I only repeat the 
 scandal." 
 
 145 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "That's just as bad ! I am ashamed of you, 
 Morris!" 
 
 "The Signorina forgets," said Santovano, 
 with a grave salutation, "that America like any 
 flower when deprived of the light of the sun 
 for fourteen years, or more may lose its 
 charm." 
 
 "That is just what has happened !" said Mor 
 ris. 
 
 But the lady herself drew back with a frown. 
 Santovano did not conceal his surprise at this 
 reception of his words. There was an awkward 
 silence, but Morris came to the rescue. 
 
 "I should like to see that jar." 
 
 Santovano looked inquiringly at Betty. "Do 
 you know where it is?" 
 
 "No, I have never seen it." 
 
 "Well, really, I am ashamed to say I have no 
 idea myself where it is. Somewhere about the 
 house, I suppose. Poor di Forli's tragic disap 
 pearance that very night drove it out of my 
 mind." 
 
 "Why not hunt it up, just from curiosity? 
 There might be an inscription on it." 
 
 "I am glad you spoke of it." Then, turning 
 to Betty, "It may be in the cellar or in that store- 
 146 
 
Forgotten Things 
 
 room upstairs, with all those fragments of 
 statues." 
 
 "What color was it?" 
 
 "A reddish brown, with very dark patches 
 a sort of grimy terra-cotta, almost black in 
 places. We might look for it to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes, let's do it," said Morris. "Even dregs 
 of wine, if put up by Horace, are entitled to 
 respect." 
 
 And then, as he recalled the many mysteries in 
 which the place abounded, he added, "And who 
 knows but it may contain the evil spirit that 
 haunts the Villa Claudia." 
 
 Santovano smiled. "No; it is too tightly 
 corked. The spook could never get out. Be 
 sides, the bedevilment of the Villa Claudia is of 
 a different nature." 
 
 "Of what nature?" 
 
 The Italian raised his eyebrows, and with a 
 slight movement of his hands and shoulders 
 replied : 
 
 "Ah, that! If we only knew, we could find 
 the cure perhaps." 
 
 "But you have a suspicion?" 
 
 "Not the slightest. We only know that it's a 
 wide-awake and enterprising curse." 
 10 I47 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "O Giulio!" Betty exclaimed, "don't speak 
 in that way! It's too serious to joke about." 
 
 "I am not joking about it, my dear. I merely 
 wished to say that this curse, or evil spirit, or 
 combination of circumstances or whatever we 
 choose to call it is too healthy and able-bodied 
 to slumber peacefully in an empty wine-jug. But 
 there is one consolation. Its baleful deeds are 
 confined to a single room." 
 
 "Where is that room in what part of the 
 house?" 
 
 Santovano pointed to the drunken cupids. 
 "Just behind that wall." 
 
 But all this, to Betty, was a disagreeable sub 
 ject: 
 
 "When you hear about the scroll, Morris, 
 you will be still more eager to see the jar. Go 
 ahead, Santovano, and tell him." 
 
 Santovano went on. "Well, as we were scrap 
 ing away, with our fingers, the very last of the 
 dust and dirt that filled the niche, we found, be 
 side the fragments of the broken jars, a papyrus 
 scroll." 
 
 "Rolled up, or flat?" 
 
 "Flat rolled up, originally, but the cord had 
 rotted." 
 
 148 
 
Forgotten Things 
 
 "Was it the usual Roman size of an ordi 
 nary book with several leaves?" 
 
 "Yes, and the usual stick at the back to roll it 
 on. We found it, as I say, and picked it up; 
 and then we stood out here in the sunlight and 
 committed the stupidest, most criminal act of our 
 lives or of any other lives; a thing to be 
 atoned in blood and ashes in everlasting purga- 
 tory." 
 
 "Did you throw it away?" 
 
 "Worse than that, for we might have found it 
 again." 
 
 "Murder your companions in a struggle for 
 the treasure?" 
 
 "Worse still ; oh, infinitely worse ! We opened 
 the book, in our excitement, out here in the sun 
 light, and began to decipher it." 
 
 "That seems an intelligent crime." 
 
 But Santovano shook his head. "We can 
 only guess and nobody can ever know the 
 price of that folly. Di Forli believed and I 
 believe that we held in our hands an unpub 
 lished poem of Horace, in his own handwriting." 
 
 "Really!" And Morris's round, boyish face 
 became radiant with enthusiasm. 
 
 "We were sure of it. His name was there, 
 149 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 on the first page as it is also on the tablet. 
 And the one verse we read, as we stood there 
 together, was in exquisite Latin." 
 
 u But what happened? Did you lose it was 
 it stolen before you read it?" 
 
 "No, we read the verse. There was but one. 
 The other pages, only five or six in all, seemed 
 given to some directions about the preservation 
 of something or other. We barely glanced at 
 them. But di Forli read the verse more than 
 once and committed it to memory." 
 
 "But wherein was your folly?" 
 
 "In not taking the book into the house at once 
 and copying off the text. When we opened it 
 again, an hour later, the pages were blank. 
 Exposure to the air after twenty centuries of 
 darkness must have wrought some chemical 
 change in the ink. All the letters had faded 
 away." 
 
 "Oh ! Completely disappeared ?" 
 
 "Completely." 
 
 "That's awful." And Morris closed his eyes 
 in sorrow. He turned to Betty as he opened 
 them, to see if she, also, was horror-stricken at 
 the realization of this unspeakable calamity. 
 But that melancholy maiden, who was somewhat 
 150 
 
Forgotten Things 
 
 behind the two men, and leaning forward with 
 her chin in her hand, gazing solemnly at Morris, 
 seemed embarrassed by this sudden attention. 
 The color came to her cheeks. For it so hap 
 pened that she was thinking, at that instant, of 
 her compatriot's peculiar little laugh the half- 
 suppressed boyish chuckle that recalled so vividly 
 her childhood and she realized that this sound 
 had not been heard since she mentioned Santo- 
 vano, some hours ago. 
 
 She smiled pleasantly even tenderly and 
 straightened up; and she nodded in an absent 
 way, as if a little more or less of Horace was 
 immaterial. Other things, indeed, came nearer 
 home just then! Absorbed and tortured by a 
 matter of terrifying import, she knew she had 
 reached a crisis in her life and was helpless. 
 
 But she could not discuss it with these two 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Heaven forbid! 
 
If, as Mimnermus thinks, there's nought enjoyable unless with 
 love and mirth, then spend your years in love and mirth. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 152 
 
XI 
 
 153 
 
XI 
 
 MR. HOLLOWELL 
 
 SANTOVANO, happily ignorant of his 
 fiancee's reflections, stood in silence for a 
 moment, gazing thoughtfully upon the 
 bibulous cupids. 
 
 "But I am very sure," he said at last, "that 
 di Forli could repeat the verse. There were 
 only six or eight lines." 
 
 "Then it's not lost, after all." 
 
 "Alas, yes! I was called to Rome the same 
 day, and that very night poor di Forli disap 
 peared." 
 
 "And Betty tells me," said Morris, "that no 
 body has seen him since." 
 
 "No, nor heard of him." 
 
 "Then it was the very night of your discovery 
 that he vanished?" 
 
 "Yes, that very night." 
 
 "Could there be any connection between your 
 adventure and his disappearance?" 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 154 
 
Mr. Hollowell 
 
 "Oh, I have no idea !" said Morris. "I merely 
 suggested it, as both events were so remarkable 
 and so very close together." 
 
 "We have never connected them in any way." 
 
 The idea, however, seemed lodged in Morris's 
 mind. "Perhaps," he added, u di Forli took the 
 jar with him." 
 
 The Italian raised his eyebrows slightly and 
 looked at Betty, who exclaimed, "Why, that 
 might be!" 
 
 Santovano shrugged his shoulders. "It is pos 
 sible, of course; that is, if nothing is impossible. 
 But I cannot imagine how an empty jar could 
 accomplish just such a miracle the removal of 
 a human being from the face of the earth 
 annihilate him, as it were, and leave no trace 
 behind. And if the jar held treasure it was his 
 already. He owned the property." 
 
 "Did the scroll go too?" Morris asked. 
 
 "No, the scroll is in the house. I will show 
 it to you. But we are not sure that the jar is 
 gone. It was never hunted up, that's all." 
 
 "Well," said Morris, "you are terribly blase 
 over here to forget such a find as that. Why, 
 it may have been placed there by Horace him- 
 self." 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "I think it was." 
 
 "And now lying in some rubbish-heap I" 
 
 "No, not quite so bad as that. It was merely 
 overlooked in the excitement and confusion of 
 di Forli's disappearance. Besides, you know, 
 those amphorae are not uncommon." 
 
 The conversation, at this point, suffered an 
 interruption. Anita brought a card to Betty, 
 and that little lady, after glancing at it, said a 
 word or two in Italian and the servant departed. 
 In reply to an inquiring look from Morris, Betty 
 smiled and nodded. 
 
 "Yes, it is Mr. Hollowell." 
 
 And when Mr. Hollowell appeared, a few 
 moments later, he proved the accuracy of his 
 friend's brief description: "rather stout, with a 
 reddish face; very jolly and full of fun." Such, 
 in fact, he was. But that graphic summary failed 
 to do him justice. In person he was somewhat 
 peculiar. A mass of hair, not quite red and al 
 most curly, covered a large but well-shaped head. 
 Of neck there was none to speak of, as his head 
 seemed to begin at his shoulders. Yet he was 
 almost handsome. What gave his somewhat 
 heavy face its claim to beauty was an expression 
 of irresistible good-humor and of reckless jollity. 
 
Mr. Hollowell 
 
 There were, to be sure, certain indications of a 
 liberal indulgence in the good things of life, but 
 they formed a comfortable harmony with his 
 cheerful eyes, the pleasant lines about his mouth, 
 and his ruddy complexion. One dominating 
 feature in this gentleman's make-up was an ex 
 traordinary capacity or genius for snatching 
 from all the details of life, and from each pass 
 ing moment, every particle of pleasure they 
 could possibly yield. Moreover, after the 
 briefest period of his society, you felt you had 
 known him from childhood that is, if he liked 
 you. 
 
 And he liked Betty Farnham. 
 
 While his greeting to Santovano was that of 
 one old acquaintance to another, the formal 
 handshake gave evidence of a conventional duty 
 rather than an unexpected pleasure. 
 
 "Show me the door, Miss Farnham, if I am 
 in the way," he said, "and I shall bear no resent 
 ment. This is all Morris's doing, not mine, you 
 know. These Americans only the men, of 
 course are fearful pushers." 
 
 "You are doubly welcome," replied the lady, 
 "not only as a friend of his, but also from the 
 character he gave you." 
 
 157 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Oh, then I am undone if he told the 
 truth !" 
 
 "Are you so very bad?" 
 
 "Unspeakably bad ! I am a man of leisure, a 
 butterfly, a philosopher all that's bad." 
 
 "And a drone," said Morris. 
 
 "Yes. I forgot that." 
 
 "And this lady despises drones," added Mor 
 ns. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "And she has a special contempt for all your 
 pet opinions." 
 
 "Why, Morris! What do you mean?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "I was thinking of our conversation this morn 
 ing. Hollowell goes further yet in preferring a 
 life that is short and sweet." 
 
 "Oh, surely!" said Mr. Hollowell. ' "Let it 
 be concise and delectable. I don't care how short 
 you make it, so long as I get my measure of 
 delight. Better one day of concentrated joy than 
 seventy years of dilution." 
 
 "Oh, no, no !" exclaimed Betty. 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes!" laughed Mr. Hollowell. 
 "Indeed, yes! What is lovelier than love? 
 What more uplifting than wine ? What is duller 
 
Mr. Hollowell 
 
 than temperance, or more stupid than woe? 
 Why, Miss Farnham, this world will never be a 
 cheerful place until poverty and sickness and 
 work and worry are treated as crimes and 
 punished with death. Then ah, then! shall 
 we all be happy and good!" 
 
 Betty, with an exclamation of horror, threw 
 up her hands, and then followed a conversation 
 long remembered by two of the four persons 
 present. Its significance was prophetic. The 
 finger of Fate, it seemed, had already marked 
 its victims. 
 
 159 
 
Pauperis inmunda domus procul absit. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 I 60 
 
XII 
 
 t6i 
 
XII 
 
 PROPHETIC 
 
 SANTOVANO turned toward Morris. 
 "Our visitor, in his scheme of life, recalls 
 the lost verse of Horace." 
 
 "No!" Betty exclaimed. "I don't believe 
 Horace ever uttered such a sentiment !" 
 
 "I was just going to ask you about that verse," 
 said Morris. "Can't you give us the substance ?" 
 
 "I think so. It was about like this but ex 
 pressed, of course, in perfect form: Love and 
 wine being the essence of life, it behooves Cupid 
 and Bacchus to bestir themselves that the earth 
 may contain nothing but happy lovers and the 
 choicest grapes." 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed Hollowell. "My senti 
 ments exactly. The perfect life knows nothing 
 but love and wine. All else is abnormal, and a 
 waste of time. Moreover, such was clearly the 
 intention of the Almighty, but the scheme has 
 suffered through man's perversity." 
 
 The lady shook her head in solemn disap 
 proval. "You have not seen Fra Diavolo." 
 162 
 
Prophetic 
 
 "WhoisFraDiavolo?" 
 
 U A living result of that philosophy, and, in 
 cidentally, a warning to drunkards. But what 
 an uplifting career you advocate, Mr. Hol- 
 lowell. All ambition to be drowned in grape- 
 juice." 
 
 HolloweH's jovial smile became more jovial 
 still as he replied, with triumphant good-humor, 
 
 "But ambition, according to every moralist of 
 whatever school, is a curse. All the wise men 
 are agreed on that. It is merely a disease. 
 
 " I charge thee, fling away ambition." 
 
 Love and wine, however, are natural tastes." 
 
 Betty frowned and shook her head, with lips 
 compressed. But Santovano, in his richest voice 
 and in a calm, convincing tone, put in a word. 
 "Mr. Hollowell's argument is not only borne 
 out by every principle of logic, but by Nature's 
 own example. Happiness is normal: misery a 
 disease, toil a degrading necessity. The prom 
 ised reward and consolation of religion is not 
 a hereafter of labor and sickness. It is a future 
 of elegant leisure, with music and promiscuous 
 
 joy:" 
 
 11 
 
 163 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "And surely," said Hollowell, "serenity is 
 more elevating for the soul than worry." 
 
 The Italian smiled. "What philosopher ever 
 prayed for trouble?" 
 
 "Not one," replied the smiling Briton. "No 
 body seeks tribulation as a discipline for himself 
 nor do parents seek it for their own children. 
 Oh, no! It is always others who need the 
 chastening hand." 
 
 Santovano gravely nodded approval. "But 
 tribulation is our heritage the reward of folly. 
 A German statistician has discovered that the 
 amount of our adulterated happiness that is, 
 enjoyment with a string to it averages twelve 
 minutes out of every sixty : in other words, one- 
 fifth of our waking hours. And that the average 
 person, during the average year, attains an unal 
 loyed delight of seven hours." 
 
 "Oh, it is more than that!" said Betty. "I 
 had one hour of pure delight last evening at 
 meeting Morris Lane again !" 
 
 Hollowell laughed. "Oh, well, these figures 
 only apply to humans ! Not to heavenly beings 
 overladen with love and friendship." And he 
 arose and bowed. But Betty shook her head. 
 
 "The pure delight, however, never continues 
 164 
 
Prophetic 
 
 for a whole minute," Santovano added. "All 
 the rest of life is toil and trouble, sickness and 
 hope deferred, enlivened by patches of incom 
 plete content and defective pleasure." 
 
 "But the agony," said Hollowell, "is pure. 
 No adulteration there !" 
 
 "Moreover," continued Santovano, "a third 
 of our brief career is wasted in sleep. Out of 
 seventy years, we slumber twenty." 
 
 "Oh, no !" said Betty. "Not so much as that." 
 
 "Yes; more than seven hours out of every 
 twenty- four." 
 
 Hollowell frowned. "Inexcusable! Simply 
 inexcusable ! And to think that out of that piti 
 ful seventy we need twenty to get our growth 
 and the first glimmerings of sense. And the last 
 fifteen are all downhill a gradual, physical de 
 cay. So you see," he added, impressively, to 
 Betty, "there only remain let me see to a 
 good, long human life, but twenty-five years to 
 be relied on that are really ours." 
 
 "And only the favored few," said Santovano, 
 "get that." 
 
 Still Betty shook her head. "But those years 
 of sleep are not unhappy years." 
 
 Hollowell opened his hands in protestation. 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "No, but what a hideous waste of precious, irrev 
 ocable hours ! Is it an unreasonable prayer 
 or demand that our niggardly allowance of 
 conscious hours should be enjoyable ? n 
 
 "And the bad ones abbreviated," said Santo- 
 vano. 
 
 Again she shook her head in silence. 
 
 "The prayer of wisdom/' continued Santo- 
 vano, "is for a life that is short, and sweet; not 
 dull and long drawn out with agony and toil." 
 
 Hollowell bowed his head. "Amen to that." 
 
 Still Betty made no answer, but leaned back 
 with a sigh, and for a moment closed her eyes. 
 Her experiences, this day, had been exceptionally' 
 trying, almost more than she could bear with 
 outward composure. Once, indeed, since she 
 had been sitting here with Morris and Santovano 
 tears of helpless misery had come into her eyes. 
 And now, to be thus discomfited in an argument, 
 when she felt herself in the right, seemed, in the 
 present condition of her nerves, the final straw. 
 Too weary to renew the argument, she lowered 
 her eyes to conceal tears of vexation. Recalling 
 their talk of the morning, she gave Morris a 
 rapid but reproachful glance. In this glance he 
 read distinctly, 
 
 1 66 
 
Prophetic 
 
 "Et tu y Brute?" 
 
 He cleared his throat, and swallowed. Into 
 his boyish face came a look of decision as of 
 sudden resolve. Then he addressed the little 
 lady. 
 
 "What a joke upon these gentlemen if they 
 should become victims of their own philosophy 1" 
 
 "I don't know why," said Santovano. "I, for 
 one, am ready." 
 
 "The philosophy is sound," said Hollowell. 
 
 "No," said Morris, in a gentle tone, and with 
 his cherubic smile, "the philosophy is rotten. It 
 is merely an antidote for the ten commandments. 
 It is blear-eyed, spineless, and besotted. More 
 over, you two gentlemen like all other decent 
 persons would cut it dead if you met it in the 
 daytime." 
 
 "Not I !" said Hollowell. "I should fall upon 
 its neck and hug it." 
 
 Santovano nodded his indorsement. 
 
 "Which means," said Morris, "that to experi 
 ence during the next few hours the concentrated 
 joy of several years, you would consent to be 
 found dead in your beds to-morrow morning." 
 
 Betty straightened up and regarded her coun 
 tryman with grateful interest. 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Dead in our beds the next morning?" re 
 peated Hollowell. "Aren't you hurrying us off 
 a little?" 
 
 "No. You both say life cannot be too short 
 if only it is sweet enough that is, if you get 
 your share of fun. And according to the figures 
 of Mr. Santovano's German you could get all 
 that's due you before to-morrow morning and 
 still have a comfortable margin for extras." 
 
 Hollowell frowned and stroked his chin. 
 "There is food for thought in that." 
 
 Betty laughed, and pointed a finger at him. 
 "Ha ! You are backing down !" 
 
 "Not at all! Not at all! It would be an 
 interesting experience, and I would gladly try 
 it." 
 
 Again Santovano nodded his head, always a 
 little to one side. "And I should embrace the 
 opportunity with a grateful heart." 
 
 Morris turned to Betty. "How little we know 
 our friends ! Here is Hollowell, for the pleasure 
 of one delirious debauch, one gluttonous satiety 
 of every appetite and passion in short, to die 
 drunk with his front feet in the trough is will 
 ing" 
 
 "Oh, I say!" 
 
 168 
 
Prophetic 
 
 " To forget all friends and friendship, 
 his home, parents, country, all that other men 
 love, and fight, and die for." 
 
 Hollowell waved a hand. "Look here ! that's 
 another matter." 
 
 "And the Signor Santovano," Morris went 
 on, in the same gentle voice and with the same 
 cherubic smile, "to make sure of his own pleas 
 ure, and for the delights of a similar debauch, 
 which he admits appeal to him more strongly 
 than any human ties, is willing and eager to 
 forego, among other details, the woman he 
 thought of marrying." 
 
 Santovano threw a hasty glance at Betty, and 
 she, rising to her feet, met his look with one 
 which he had not seen in her face before a 
 look difficult to define. But it bore no message 
 of love. 
 
 Upon her champion, however, she smiled. 
 "Thank you, Morris. Now to the house for 
 tea. These philosophers may need refresh 
 ment." 
 
 As she moved across the ancient pavement 
 there came drifting in, among the perfumes of 
 the garden, the melancholy notes of Fra Dia- 
 169 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 volo's flute. They seemed to hover in the air 
 like the breath of sorrow; a plaintive harmony 
 with the funereal cypresses that towered on 
 either side. 
 
 Morris Lane, with half-closed eyes, drew a 
 long, slow breath. He would fill his soul with 
 the memories of this garden, with its odors and 
 its music, and with the voice and figure of 
 the girl before him with all this intoxicating 
 bitterness of life. For now the voice of the flute 
 stirred within him a responsive chord an in 
 definable pity for its unworded sorrow and for 
 its melodious, despairing message. He under 
 stood, of a sudden, the sympathy between Betty 
 and the pathetic monotony of the music. It 
 seemed a bond, or rather the mockery of a bond, 
 that brought him closer to this girl of all 
 women upon earth the only one he desired. 
 
 And after to-morrow they were to meet no 
 more! 
 
 Unconsciously, he heaved a sigh, so emphatic, 
 so laden with silent despair that she turned in 
 voluntarily and regarded him. Whereupon he 
 tried to smile, and the color flew to his face. 
 For the look in her eyes, as they met his own, 
 although he was not sure of its meaning, caused 
 170 
 
Prophetic 
 
 him a certain surprise and joy. But he thought, 
 in his blindness, that she had not guessed his 
 secret. 
 
 So, together, the blind fool and the all-seeing 
 maiden moved slowly along among the flowers 
 and the ancient marbles, toward the Villa 
 Claudia. 
 
 Casually, she glanced behind her toward the 
 little temple of Bacchus where the groom-elect 
 seemed to be conversing somewhat earnestly 
 with Mr. Hollowell. She said, with a smile, 
 "This talk of ours recalls another occasion when 
 you came to my rescue ; but, oh ! so long ago ! 
 Away back in a previous existence, many hun 
 dreds of years. There was deep snow, and run 
 away horses. You must remember." 
 
 But Morris shook his head. 
 
 "You were pushing me on a sled, toward the 
 village, when, all of a sudden, around the church 
 corner just in front of us, came a pair of run 
 away horses. Perhaps you remember now." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, I screamed. Then you looked up and 
 saw them, and away you scrambled through the 
 snow to the sidewalk, and behind the nearest 
 
 tree." 
 
 171 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "And left you alone in the middle of the 
 road?" 
 
 Betty smiled. "Yes, that is just what you did. 
 And I was fitted tight in a box that was nailed to 
 the sled. I couldn't move." 
 
 "Oh! Awful! Awful! Was I really such a 
 boy as that?" 
 
 "Who expects anything different of a boy 
 eight years old?" 
 
 "But a boy only eight months old ought to 
 stand by his girl." 
 
 Betty smiled. "You evidently had the same 
 opinion then, for you had hardly reached the tree 
 when back you floundered. You snatched the 
 empty basket I was holding and stood between 
 me and the coming horses." 
 
 "Ah, thank heaven!" And Morris gave a 
 sigh of relief. 
 
 "Perhaps you begin to remember now." 
 
 "Yes dimly." 
 
 "You swung the basket above your head and 
 shouted your loudest to scare away the danger. 
 And I can see the horses now. They looked 
 frightfully big and wild, coming straight upon 
 us. They filled the whole landscape." 
 
 "Well? We are not killed, for here we are." 
 172 
 
Prophetic 
 
 "No; because you did scare them, small as you 
 were. At least, they turned out for us and went 
 by. But gracious ! it was awfully close !" 
 
 "Well, I am glad I redeemed myself, for my 
 own sake as well as yours." 
 
 "Andy Gibbs was going by you remember 
 AndyGibbs?" 
 
 "Big, dark man with a deep voice ?" 
 
 "Yes. He came out into the middle of the 
 road, picked up your cap for you and said, 
 'Good for you, Fatty! You are built of the 
 right sort of stuff ! ' " 
 
 Betty laid a hand on his arm. With a look 
 that gave him another pleasant thrill and deep 
 ened the color in his face, she said, "Your 
 standard for eight-year-old boys is too high. 
 Some very good boys are not heroes. And as 
 for what you did that day well, I know of 
 riper warriors with whom I should not care to 
 trust myself." 
 
 And again she cast a backward glance. Mr. 
 Hollowell and her future husband seemed in 
 earnest conversation. Had the lady overheard 
 that conversation she would have found it of 
 surpassing interest. 
 
 173 
 
For I have learned that gods enjoy untroubled life. 
 
 -Horace. 
 
 I 
 
 174 
 
XIII 
 
 "YOU!" 
 
 WHEN Betty, followed by Morris and 
 Mr. Hollowell, ascended the three 
 marble steps into the garden, Santo- 
 vano laid a hand upon the Englishman's sleeve. 
 
 "May I have a word with you ?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "And may I also ask a favor?" 
 
 Hollowell bowed. And after the brief silence 
 that followed, he murmured, 
 
 "What a charming girl ! Most exceptional." 
 
 Santovano nodded. "Yes, I heartily agree 
 with you." 
 
 "What a jolly little couple they would make 
 those two Americans! Gad! do you think 
 there's a chance of it?" 
 
 "I trust not." 
 
 "Why? What's the objection?" 
 
 "Well, I hope to marry the lady myself, a 
 fortnight from to-morrow." 
 176 
 
"You!" 
 
 Mr. Hollowell raised his eyebrows and took 
 a backward step. He merely said, 
 
 "You I" 
 
 But the manner of its utterance had many 
 meanings; so many and so various that the Ital 
 ian could not repress a gesture of annoyance. 
 "I hope to make the lady happy." 
 
 Mr. Hollowell abstained from any immediate 
 reply. He drew in his lips and looked away into 
 the garden, up at the sky, down at the pavement, 
 and, finally, at his companion. "Then your wife 
 is not living?" 
 
 "She is not living." 
 
 "Does Miss Farnham know all about 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "All the details?" 
 
 Santovano hesitated. "All the essential de 
 tails." 
 
 "You mean, I suppose, all that you consider 
 essential for her peace of mind." 
 
 "I mean that she knows all the principal 
 facts." 
 
 "Does she know that you refused to marry 
 her and that your decision was accelerated by 
 relatives of the lady?" 
 
 177 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Santovano shrugged his shoulders. "Yes. 
 She knows all that." 
 
 "But it makes no difference?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Mr. Hollowell whistled. "Gad! She is 
 more more philosophical less fastidious, than 
 I should have supposed. In fact, judging from 
 my short acquaintance with her I should have 
 said that she might have taken some of those 
 details rather seriously. But she has no foolish 
 sentiments?" 
 
 "So it appears." 
 
 "Well, Santovano, you are lucky to have 
 found her. I know lots of women who would 
 give your record the whole road if they saw it 
 coming." 
 
 Santovano nodded politely. 
 
 "It is rather curious," continued the English 
 man, "for Miss Farnham strikes me as a some 
 what particular little person of devilish high 
 standardSo Just the girl who would scream and 
 run from such a biography as yours, don't you 
 know?" 
 
 As he spoke, he smiled pleasantly. His 
 companion also smiled, as their eyes met, but 
 his smile was limited, and perfunctory. "A 
 
"You!" 
 
 man can reform. I was younger in those 
 days." 
 
 "Reform ! You !" and Mr. Hollowell laughed 
 aloud, in cheerful ridicule. "Why, Santovano, 
 you and reform never entered the same town." 
 
 "Not so bad as that." 
 
 "Worse than that. Silenus and Don Juan 
 were squeamish old virgins compared with you." 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 "Why, she's not the person for you an in 
 experienced, sensitive, romantic, high-minded, 
 pure little thing. Gad, no !" 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "Why not? Why, good God, man! it's an 
 unrighteous fraud! You ought to marry some 
 divorcee with a spicy past; someone who could 
 meet you on your own ground." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "But you spoke of asking a favor. What can 
 I do for you?" 
 
 "I was going to ask you to say nothing to Mr. 
 Lane of my old reputation, which I know was 
 pretty bad. But all that is changed. Seriously, 
 I have turned over a new leaf. In the future I 
 shall lead a very different life. Mr. Lane, from 
 an honest sense of duty, might give Miss Farn- 
 12 179 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 ham what he considered a friendly warning and 
 make her very unhappy. For these American 
 women are given to quixotic sentiments in the 
 way of matrimony." 
 
 "But what harm could Mr. Lane accomplish 
 if she already knows everything ?" 
 
 u So much depends on how the case is stated." 
 
 u And you think another person might not 
 state the case as honestly as yourself?" 
 
 "I do not say that. I have merely given her 
 extenuating facts of which a stranger would be 
 ignorant." 
 
 "What were the extenuating facts at Wool 
 wich?" 
 
 "At Woolwich?" 
 
 "Yes, when you were frozen out of the regi 
 ment by your brother officers because of that 
 affair with the parson's daughter?" 
 
 "It is a long story." 
 
 "Did you tell that story to Miss Farnham?" 
 
 "That is not a story for a man to tell a young 
 unmarried lady as you know." 
 
 HollowelPs smile became mirthful. "I should 
 say not ! Did you tell her mother ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Wiseman!" 
 
 180 
 
"You!" 
 
 "Well, why should I deliberately blast my 
 own hopes ? That is all dead, buried and mostly 
 forgotten. I am not the man I was then." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are, unless honest men are 
 liars!" 
 
 A flush came over the Italian's face, as he 
 asked with outward calmness, "May I ask your 
 meaning?" 
 
 "Certainly. Unless honest men are liars your 
 recent very recent intimacy with a certain 
 lady in Florence, for instance, seemed to bear 
 some relation to her ruin and subsequent death 
 all within this very year." 
 
 Santovano's head inclined more to one side 
 than usual. "I murdered her, perhaps?" 
 
 "No, for it was apparently a case of suicide. 
 But the air in Florence to-day is laden with 
 rumors that might startle your fiancee." 
 
 "What rumors, if you please?" 
 
 "Are you asking for information?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Rumors that you not only ruined her in char 
 acter but in purse." 
 
 "That is a lie." 
 
 "Of course! A wicked lie, told by bold, bad, 
 naughty men." 
 
 181 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Do you mean that you believe it?" 
 
 "Are you still asking for facts, or for consola 
 tion?" 
 
 "For the truth." 
 
 "Yes, I do believe it." 
 
 "That I took her money?" 
 
 The smile on the Englishman's cheerful coun 
 tenance became a degree less amiable. "Don't 
 ask such awkward questions, Santovano." 
 
 "Then you believe that I am a cad of the low 
 est possible description a thieving blackguard." 
 
 Hollowell drew a long breath and closed his 
 eyes for a moment. "Those are not the epithets 
 I should take pleasure in applying to a gentle 
 man. But let us return to business. What you 
 ask is, that I refrain from giving Mr. Lane cer 
 tain facts that, if repeated to your fiancee or to 
 her mother, might break off the marriage?" 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 "That is, that I join the conspiracy." 
 
 Into the Italian's face came a harder look. 
 "Your choice of words, my friend, is either 
 thoughtless or insulting." 
 
 Mr. Hollowell took a backward step, and 
 from his face the smile departed. "Look here, 
 Santovano, I have neither time nor inclination for 
 182 
 
"You!" 
 
 a quarrel. My words are chosen to express my 
 thoughts. You ask me for truthful answers, 
 and you get them. If I came home and found 
 a sister of mine engaged to you or to any man 
 with your career I would move heaven and 
 earth to stop it. In this case if the girl and her 
 mother knew certain facts they also would stop 
 it. No one knows that better than yourself. 
 Now, you ask me to withhold these facts. Is 
 that fair to them?" 
 
 "It is fair to them because my future, not my 
 past, is what at present concerns us. I am older 
 now. My future is a different matter." 
 
 "Your future is speculative. Let us stick to 
 facts. The girl has no father nor brother. 
 She is ignorant of your reputation among men. 
 Consequently she is moving in the dark. I say 
 give her a chance. Let her know these things, 
 before she is married, and not learn them after 
 ward. But I will do this: I will give Morris 
 Lane the plain, unvarnished facts, with no exag 
 geration, and leave the rest to him. He is their 
 nearest friend." 
 
 Santovano smiled. "That is delightful ! 
 Nothing, my dear Hollowell, could display a 
 finer, more exquisite humor." 
 
 183 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "I am not trying to be humorous." 
 
 u Mr. Lane would like nothing better than 
 to marry the lady himself. His selection as 
 judge in this matter would make the angels 
 smile." 
 
 "You are right. Then shall I, myself, inter 
 view the mother?" 
 
 "If you insist. But may I ask a very great 
 favor that you say nothing before to-morrow 
 morning? Madame Capodilista is unwell to 
 night. She and I are the best of friends, and the 
 news you bring might be dangerous to a lady in 
 her present condition." 
 
 "Certainly. I will wait till to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 Hollowell turned, and the two men walked in 
 silence, between the flowers and the ancient mar 
 bles, toward the Villa Claudia. 
 
 The Englishman, as they proceeded, listened 
 with unwonted gravity, and with an interest he 
 could not have explained, to the utterings of a 
 distant flute. 
 
 Upon the terrace, before entering the villa, 
 Hollowell stopped and faced his companion. 
 
 "I should be sorry to have you think me a 
 184 
 
"You!" 
 
 meddler in this business, or that I am doing it 
 from an unfriendly motive." 
 
 Santovano, whose eyes were on the ground, 
 looked up as if startled with an involuntary 
 frown. He seemed taken by surprise; for, in 
 fact, an absorbing train of thought of peculiar 
 interest was interrupted. His face, to Hollowell, 
 seemed paler; but that might be the reflection 
 from the villa's marble walls. With his usual 
 composure, however, he replied, "No, I don't 
 think that." 
 
 "On my honor, Santovano, I am thinking only 
 of the girl. I have no grudge against you. It 
 is no more than just that these women should 
 know the facts." 
 
 Santovano nodded, but made no reply. 
 
 "I give you my word that I will exaggerate 
 nothing, nor falsely represent." He smiled as 
 he added, "And I promise, moreover, to handle 
 your appalling reputation as tenderly as if it be 
 longed to my own brother." 
 
 The Italian looked into the honest, mirthful 
 eyes of his companion, and he also smiled, a 
 friendly, frank, forgiving smile the smile that 
 had warmed many hearts toward him, of both 
 men and women. "That's all right, old man. 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 I appreciate and understand. That is where our 
 reputations differ. I have known you too long 
 and too well to doubt either your motives or your 
 word. But you will do nothing before to-mor 
 row morning?'' 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "On that also you give me your word, and I 
 may count upon it, absolutely?" 
 
 "Absolutely. I swear it." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 But on Santovano's face, as he stood aside for 
 his friend to enter the drawing-room, there came 
 a change of expression. The frank and friendly 
 smile remained for an instant, then faded into 
 something of another nature. The lips came 
 firmly together, and the eyes, as they rested on 
 the back of his companion's head, bore a look 
 that could never harmonize with the forgiving 
 smile. Its significance was clear. And Hollo- 
 well, had he seen it, might have been less easy 
 in his mind. 
 
 186 
 
Do not for a year defer the sweets of life. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 - X , A 
 
 187 
 
i88 
 
XIV 
 
 FRIENDS OF FATE 
 
 IN the drawing-room, near one of the win 
 dows that opened to the floor, sat the youth 
 ful hostess, in front of her a little table with 
 the tea-things. Morris Lane, sitting opposite, 
 put a cup to his lips. He detested tea. That, 
 however, was unimportant. The important 
 thing was the girl in front of him: for, alas! 
 the hours were few indeed in which they were to 
 be together. 
 
 When her eyes met his, he was embarrassed; 
 then his gaze for a period sought something else. 
 Both he and she were ill at ease. But Betty, as 
 hostess, maintained a cheerful front. And when 
 Hollowell and Santovano entered she looked up 
 with a smile and did her best to clarify an at 
 mosphere already overcharged with animosity 
 and revolt. The only member of the group who 
 enjoyed a tranquil mind and cheerful spirit was 
 189 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Hollowell. He had no breaking heart to con 
 ceal, no fruitless love to smother, no all-consum 
 ing hate to hide. 
 
 Morris easily understood why Santovano 
 should be an object of unusual interest to Betty 
 Farnham. His clean-cut features, his dark eyes 
 and melodious speech, seemed to give assurance 
 of a gentle, yet forceful spirit of heroism and 
 romantic things. And just at present, as he 
 stood in the golden glow from the western sky, 
 he resembled the painted and sculptured heroes 
 of his own fair land, the land of poetry and 
 art and brilliant deeds, in which his own pro 
 genitors, from earliest ages, had held high place. 
 As Morris studied this man, and envied his easy 
 bearing, his graceful manners, his enchanting 
 voice and winning smile, he wondered how a 
 merciful Providence could have cast him in Betty 
 Farnham's path. And it was painful to believe 
 him in perfect health, with every promise of a 
 long career. The American derived a feeble 
 pleasure from the change of color in Santovano's 
 cheeks. For he surely seemed paler now than 
 when he stood in the ruins of the temple of 
 Bacchus, a quarter of an hour ago. 
 
 After drinking his cup of tea, Santovano ex- 
 190 
 
Friends of Fate 
 
 cused himself, gracefully of course, and with 
 drew. But illness was not the cause of this de 
 parture. Santovano's health was never better. 
 The slight pallor in his cheeks came simply from 
 a mental condition. He had made, somewhat 
 suddenly, an important resolve. 
 
 Mounting thoughtfully the palatial staircase 
 of the Villa Claudia, he entered his own cham 
 ber. This chamber, like all other rooms in the 
 Villa Claudia, was spacious, with a lofty ceiling. 
 The hangings of the bed and windows were of 
 figured silk, now somewhat faded. In the cen 
 tre of each of the six large panels of the room 
 hung a portrait George Washington, Benja 
 min Franklin, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel 
 Hawthorne, Henry W. Longfellow and Abra 
 ham Lincoln. These faces were placed in Santo 
 vano's room by the daughter of the house, to 
 "elevate his thoughts and to remind him of the 
 greatest country in the world." 
 
 At the present moment, however, the portraits 
 were inadequate. To and fro Santovano walked, 
 a dozen times, his eyes half closed, gently push 
 ing the fist of his right hand into the open palm 
 of his left. Beside the mantel, and reaching to 
 the cornice, hung an old-fashioned bell-cord with 
 191 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 a heavy tassel. This he pulled, then resumed 
 his walk. A gentle knock at the door, three 
 minutes later, received no answer; and none was 
 expected. The door opened and a man entered 
 the little man that Morris Lane had taken for 
 a New England clergyman. His age was any 
 where between thirty and fifty. A naturally 
 alert and sensitive face had become, by constant 
 schooling, stolid and impassive. He closed the 
 door and stood beside it. Santovano, his head 
 to one side and in a tone of sorrow, thus ad 
 dressed him, in the language of the country: 
 
 "Gasparo, you may have observed the Eng 
 lish gentleman who arrived this afternoon the 
 Signer Ollovell." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "His presence in this house, Gasparo, is re 
 grettable, for he is not a good man." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "He laughs much, to be sure, and is always 
 merry. But what is worse than a false friend?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "I have learned from his o\vn lips, within an 
 hour, that he means to break off my marriage 
 with the Signorina Farnham." 
 
 Into the valet's face came a look that might 
 192 
 
Friends of Fate 
 
 be fear, incredulity or horror, all imperfectly sup 
 pressed. 
 
 "But why should he do this thing?" 
 
 "Money. Unless I agree to pay him money, 
 an enormous sum of money, he will poison her 
 mind against me and the mind of her mother." 
 
 "But what can he tell ? What does he know ?" 
 
 "Lies. Anything. Perhaps a mixture of 
 truth and falsehood. But he will succeed, Gas- 
 paro. He has a knowledge of facts combined 
 with a rich invention. And whatever he says 
 will be believed, for he is the trusted friend of 
 the Signor Lane. To-morrow we may leave 
 this house, you and I, never to return." 
 
 The valet's face forgot its training and dis 
 played a genuine alarm. His lips parted, but no 
 sound came forth. 
 
 His master continued. "And so, instead of 
 becoming a man of position and the head of a 
 house, as my birth entitles me, I go back to the 
 army and my debts, a wandering bachelor." 
 
 Gaspare's chin had sunk upon his breast. 
 About his eyebrows and his mouth came the lines 
 of despair. 
 
 Santovano lighted a cigarette, then dropped 
 into a chair. "But this Englishman will say 
 193 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 nothing until to-morrow. So, if anything serious 
 should overtake him before the morning any 
 thing to close his merry lips forever then I 
 would marry the woman I love ; and mine would 
 be a happier life. And a comfortable old age 
 would fall to you, Gasparo." 
 
 Gasparo, with his lips apart, slowly nodded 
 his head. 
 
 "Is there no justice? A man so vile deserves 
 the wrath of God." 
 
 "Yes, you have spoken truly; the wrath of 
 God. Yet I wish him no worse punishment than 
 he deserves. But if the good God, in his wis 
 dom, should see fit to end the Signer Ollovell's 
 sinful life before another sunrise it would cause 
 me no anguish." 
 
 "Certainly not! All good men should pray 
 for it." 
 
 "And if such was God's purpose, I should not 
 oppose the divine will." 
 
 Upon the mantel stood a photograph of Alles- 
 sandro di Forli a handsome young face, rather 
 long and narrow, with a scholarly brow, and 
 calm, reflective eyes. Santovano regarded this 
 portrait with a thoughtful air. 
 
 "It would be interesting, extremely interest- 
 194 
 
Friends of Fate 
 
 ing, and in accord with our ideas of heavenly 
 justice, if this English gentleman were to disap 
 pear completely to vanish, as it were, like my 
 poor, dear friend. But my poor, dear friend 
 deserved a better fate." 
 
 There was a short silence, and the gentleman 
 threw a seemingly careless glance toward the 
 valet's face. The face, however, remained un 
 disturbed. Santovano's smile grew more benev 
 olent. In a tone of peculiar softness he added, 
 "We can render the good God effective aid in 
 this affair by permitting the Signer Ollovell to 
 slumber in in a certain chamber." 
 
 Another seemingly careless glance toward his 
 companion's face discovered the anticipated al 
 teration. 
 
 u ln that chamber!" gasped the valet; and, in 
 voluntarily, he took a step backward, with no at 
 tempt to hide his horror. 
 
 "Why not ? Is he so virtuous that Fate should 
 avoid him?" 
 
 Gasparo shook his head, with eyes still fixed 
 upon his master's face. "That would be mur 
 der!" he whispered. 
 
 "Murder? Why, my dear Gasparo, would 
 you accuse your Heavenly Father of murder? 
 13 195 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 For it is He, and He alone, who performs the 
 miracles in that apartment." 
 
 "Yes, perhaps without doubt; but " 
 
 "Listen, Gasparo. If you and I were to drop 
 the Signor Ollovell into deep water, or over a 
 precipice, that would be murder. But to lodge 
 him in a comfortable chamber, in charge of his 
 Creator, that is a different matter. What hap 
 pens to him in that case is no concern of ours. 
 We shall never be held accountable, either upon 
 earth or in heaven." 
 
 Gasparo drew a hand across his mouth and 
 mastered his countenance. But his lips were 
 dry. 
 
 "That is impossible !" he murmured. 
 
 "Why impossible?" 
 
 "Because no one is permitted to sleep in that 
 room. The ladies would never forgive it." 
 
 "It will be entirely accidental." 
 
 "Accidental?" 
 
 "Yes. A lamentable mistake." 
 
 The servant's eyes rested uneasily upon his 
 master's face. 
 
 "Listen, Gasparo. There is a new servant 
 here, is there not ? A girl who came from Rome 
 this afternoon?" 
 
 196 
 
Friends of Fate 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "She came through your recommendation 
 you brought her?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And she knows nothing, as yet, of that cham 
 ber and its its interesting history?" 
 
 "No, sir; not yet." 
 
 "Good! Our course that is, the course of 
 Providence, is clear." 
 
 Tossing the end of his cigarette into the fire 
 place, he inquired, in a gentle voice, "To what 
 apartment is the Signor Ollovell assigned?" 
 
 "The chamber with the painted ceiling, of the 
 four seasons, that looks upon the court at the 
 end of this corridor." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! It has one large window, opening 
 to the floor?" 
 
 Gasparo nodded. 
 
 "Now, Gasparo, pay attention to my words. 
 While we are dining to-night, you will enter this 
 chamber of the Signor Ollovell and carry with 
 you two stones, each about the size of your fist. 
 Those stones you will place upon the floor as if 
 they had been thrown through the window. 
 Then, with as little noise as possible, you will 
 press in and break two panes of glass. And 
 197 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 the fragments will be left upon the floor. Do 
 you understand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. The two stones were thrown from 
 the street." 
 
 "Bene! By the same bad boys who broke the 
 windows of the Signora Ruspoli not long ago. 
 Then, I will accompany the English gentleman 
 as he comes up to bed and I will be present when 
 the lamentable discovery is made. Of course, 
 he must realize that nobody breathes the air of 
 Tivoli at night: that a chamber with an open 
 window is uninhabitable." 
 
 "Which is true." 
 
 "And which fact I shall emphasize, in the 
 course of conversation, as we dine. But in the 
 meantime, to avoid discussion, his baggage will 
 already have been taken to that other apart 
 ment. You will attend to that." 
 
 Gasparo seemed on the point of making an 
 objection, but no time was given him. 
 
 "The new servant, who must not fail to be 
 on hand, will then conduct him to the more event 
 ful chamber. That of course will be her error. 
 Not knowing the house she will make a mistake 
 in the room. It is she who will have transferred 
 his things." 
 
 198 
 
Friends of Fate 
 
 Gasparo nodded. "It can be arranged." 
 
 Santovano took from his pocket a gold piece 
 of twenty lire. u As she might become talkative 
 this evening with the other servants, you would 
 do well to make sure of her silence. Give her 
 this, now, and the promise of another twenty in 
 the morning." 
 
 Gasparo smiled. "I know the girl. You may 
 count upon her." 
 
 "Then I leave the rest to you. The plan is 
 simple. And to-morrow morning, if the Signor 
 Ollovell, the quencher of love, the wrecker of 
 weddings, comes down to breakfast alive and 
 well, no harm is done. If, on the other hand, 
 a watchful Providence has fulfilled its obvious 
 duty, why" here the speaker's face became 
 illumined by the winning smile "we shall 
 merely have facilitated the accomplishment of a 
 divine purpose." 
 
 Gasparo also smiled. "The cause is surely 
 just." 
 
 Santovano nodded and turned away. 
 
 The servant waited a moment. 
 
 "Is there anything more, sir?" 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 Gasparo left the room, closing the door si 
 lently, as when he entered. 
 199 
 

 Debemur morti nos nostraque. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 200 
 
201 
 
XV 
 IN THE CHAMBER 
 
 ANOTHER morning. 
 The voices of singing birds, outside his 
 chamber window, awakened Morris Lane. 
 As his eyes wandered slowly around the spacious 
 room in which he lay upon a lofty bed with 
 crimson hangings, he recalled his humbler 
 quarters of the day before, in the Hotel Sibilla. 
 Reviewing his varied emotions since the previous 
 morning, he seemed to have lived another and a 
 longer life. And all in twenty- four hours ! 
 
 While dressing, he remembered, sadly, the 
 joyful spirit in which he attired himself the day 
 before. Now, withered hopes were his. This 
 morning there was no murmuring of happy 
 tunes. Melodies of a joyous nature were not 
 for him. He was far happier in fact, quite 
 happy and contented before discovering this 
 Villa Claudia and the grown-up Betty Farnham. 
 And yet, had the choice been offered him, of the 
 202 
 
In the Chamber 
 
 old contentment or the present misery, he would 
 not have hesitated. "Better to have loved and 
 lost " Yes, a thousand times better! Her 
 memory, through the empty years to come, 
 should be as a ray of sunlight in a gloomy for 
 est. A strain of sad but soothing music, and for 
 ever in his heart. 
 
 Among the many feminine efforts to mitigate 
 the formality of this palatial chamber were sev 
 eral photographs scattered, with thoughtful ir 
 regularity, along the mantel. One of these, a 
 portrait of a little girl, proved of interest to the 
 present guest. The diminutive person in this 
 picture had eyebrows high above her eyes, and 
 she seemed to study the spectator or the camera 
 in surprise and doubt. Her dark hair was 
 drawn severely back, and held by a ribbon. On 
 a pair of short, plump legs she stood, securely 
 planted, as if defying the lightning. This photo 
 graph, in a leather frame, Morris took from the 
 mantel for closer inspection. As he studied it, 
 certain tender memories of early boyhood, cer 
 tain recollections of long ago the tragic, in 
 consolable grief of a cruel parting, she to cross 
 the ocean, he to stay at home came crowding 
 over him. His eyes became wistful and a 
 203 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 trifle moist. Slowly, reverently, he raised the 
 photograph to his lips. As he did so there was 
 a knock at the door. He started like a guilty 
 thing, and replaced the picture. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " 'Ac qua calda, Signor" 
 
 "All right. Thanks." 
 
 So absent-minded, so absorbed by his priceless 
 woe had he been this morning, that on glancing 
 at his watch he found himself an hour ahead of 
 time. They were to breakfast at eight. It was 
 not yet seven. He would go out into the gar 
 den. 
 
 In a pensive mood he descended the stairs. 
 In passing through the drawing-room to the 
 garden, he happened to notice, at the end of a 
 corridor to his left, an open window with a bal 
 cony. Beyond this balcony he could see, through 
 the trees, the walls of another villa. Moved by 
 a desire to take a peep into this neighbor's gar 
 den, he was walking toward it when Betty's 
 voice, from a little room that opened upon the 
 corridor, gave his heart a quicker movement, 
 with added color to his boyish cheeks. 
 
 "What an early bird you are, Morris ! I hope 
 you are not down here because you dislike that 
 204 
 
In the Chamber 
 
 great, unhomelike chamber. But I gave you the 
 best in the house. Really, I did !" 
 
 "Oh, the chamber is all right too good, if 
 anything!" he protested. "I happened to wake 
 up early, that's all." 
 
 "I hope you slept well." 
 
 "Yes, very well, thank you." 
 
 But in her smiling face there lingered traces 
 of a sleepless night. As their eyes met, her own 
 a little tired, but with an affectionate and to 
 him, bewitching smile, that made him happy 
 and miserable he looked away, anywhere, at 
 anything. And as there happened to be a door, 
 close beside him, with a little crucifix upon it, 
 he asked, merely to turn attention from his own 
 face, if that was the entrance to a private chapel 
 or to a hermit's cell. 
 
 "No, indeed," she answered. "I wish it 
 were! That is the awful chamber I told you 
 about yesterday. The little crucifix was put 
 there by some servant, I suppose, to drive away 
 evil spirits." 
 
 "Does it work?" 
 
 Betty shook her head. "I don't know. No 
 body has slept there since my poor stepfather 
 disappeared." 
 
 205 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Was there a crucifix on the door at that 
 
 time?" 
 
 "No. It has been placed there recently." 
 "May I go in," he asked, "and see the room?" 
 "Yes, of course, if you wish. But don't stay 
 
 too long." 
 
 He smiled. "It surely must be safe by day- 
 
 light." 
 
 "You may laugh, but it is a very solemn joke 
 grewsome and tragic. However, go in if you 
 like. Only those who spend the night come to 
 grief. The door is unlocked." 
 
 Morris turned the knob and opened the door. 
 Betty shrank away. 
 
 "Aren't you coming?" he asked. 
 
 "No. I must go back. I have a horror of it. 
 But really, Morris, it is an evil place. Promise 
 you will not stay there long." 
 
 "All right. I promise. But I have a curiosity 
 to see it." 
 
 Betty turned back; and Morris stepped 
 within. 
 
 So deep was the darkness of the chamber in 
 
 which Morris found himself that he stood a 
 
 moment, his hand upon the door, until his eyes 
 
 became accustomed to the gloom. At the farther 
 
 206 
 
In the Chamber 
 
 end a narrow bar of light between the close- 
 drawn curtains of a window merely illumined the 
 floor in that vicinity. But, as he looked, he be 
 gan to distinguish certain articles of furniture; 
 a mantel with a portrait; and, in a corner, a 
 high-post bed, with heavy hangings. When he 
 moved toward the window to let in more light 
 he heard the door, which he had purposely left 
 open, close gently behind him. He stopped and 
 turned about. While neither nervous nor really 
 startled, he could not avoid the thought owing, 
 probably, to the tales he had heard that un 
 seen hands had moved it. But of this foolish 
 thought he felt properly ashamed. For he knew 
 that many doors swung shut or open of their 
 own free will. 
 
 In drawing aside one of the heavy curtains by 
 the window, there came a sense of disappoint 
 ment as the room disclosed itself. The further 
 corners, to be sure, remained dim and shadowy, 
 but all else was cheerful and unsuspicious. The 
 walls and draperies were a pleasant yellow, with 
 pictures here and there. 
 
 The whole room, in short, told its own story, 
 and told it, apparently, in a frank and friendly 
 way. It had been the study and the chamber 
 207 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 of a wealthy gentleman of artistic tastes, Signor 
 di Forli. Then, after Signor di Forli's unac 
 countable vanishing, it became the study of an 
 other gentleman of antiquarian habits, Signor 
 Capodilista. An Empire bookcase, a Louis 
 XVI. dressing-table and library desk, various 
 fragments of sculpture, a Gothic cabinet, and 
 sundry objects of different epochs, showed this 
 room to be the refuge for articles no longer re 
 quired elsewhere in the villa. But the whole 
 effect was harmonious, more homelike, in fact, 
 and more inviting, than the more formal apart 
 ments. 
 
 Besides, it bore the marks of having been 
 lived in and enjoyed. And as he surveyed the 
 room with its cheerful coloring, its inviting 
 chairs, and felt its general air of friendliness and 
 comfort, he smiled in recalling the childish tales 
 concerning it. He was amused that Betty, an 
 American, should believe those stories of ghosts 
 and witches, of supernatural wolves, of mys 
 terious deaths and vanishings. 
 
 While he stood, in this way, holding back one 
 of the heavy curtains of the window, and wonder 
 ing how such a chamber should acquire its ill 
 repute, he became conscious of a subtle odor. 
 208 
 
In the Chamber 
 
 This odor, delicate and hardly perceptible, and 
 somewhat in the nature of an essence or a drug 
 almost a perfume caused him to close his eyes 
 and try to inhale it in larger measure. It was 
 unfamiliar. Yet, it recalled, or suggested he 
 could not say what a flower, a fruit, or per 
 haps some long-forgotten fragrance, but its 
 charm was insidious. In a mild, indefinite, 
 dreamy way it stirred his imagination. He 
 found it, however, too elusive and too mys 
 terious for analysis. 
 
 When he opened his eyes, now more accus 
 tomed to the dimness of the room, certain ob 
 jects, before unseen, arrested his attention. He 
 noticed, with surprise, that the bed, a high, four- 
 posted affair, seemed freshly made up, as if an 
 occupant were expected. And he also noticed, 
 upon the coverlid, a night-shirt, carefully folded. 
 
 Had this room remained untouched since 
 the night of Signer Capodilista's mysterious 
 death? 
 
 This seemed to Morris the only explanation 
 of the bed with its clean, white sheets and pil 
 lows, and the folded night-shirt. 
 
 Then, as he looked away from the bed to a 
 farther corner of the room, he started, straight- 
 209 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 ened up, and held his breath. Along his spine 
 and upward through his hair, he felt a thrill. 
 
 In the dusky light, among the deeper shad 
 ows, two pale, blue, human eyes were watching 
 him. 
 
 Morris clutched the curtain with a tighter grip 
 and took a backward step. For a moment he 
 stood without moving. The eyes that seemed 
 fixed upon his own were also motionless. Other 
 faces were near it, two painted portraits and a 
 bust; but there was no deception. This face was 
 human flesh. It stood out from the background, 
 clear and real. 
 
 With a swift movement Morris drew the cur 
 tain wide open, and fastened it. Then, always 
 keeping his eyes upon the face that continued to 
 gaze impassively in his direction, he crossed the 
 window and drew back the other curtain. In 
 this stronger light the form of the other occu 
 pant of the chamber took clearer shape. It was 
 the half-reclining figure of a man seated upon a 
 lounge, one foot upon the floor, the other 
 stretched out upon the seat beside him, the head 
 against the back of the sofa. The light-blue 
 eyes, while partly closed, were fixed upon Mor 
 ris. But as the head and features, in this stronger 
 210 
 
In the Chamber 
 
 light, became more distinct, Morris, in astonish 
 ment, started forward with an involuntary ex 
 clamation. 
 
 "Hollowell! You here!" 
 
 But as he approached the irresponsive figure, 
 he stopped again: for, after all, the face was 
 not the face of Hollowell. Instead of Hollo- 
 well's chestnut hair, this head was covered with 
 a colorless growth; a dull, dead brown, and 
 sprinkled with gray. And Morris, now that he 
 was nearer, saw the face was older by many 
 years. This man had a dissolute, weaker face, 
 baggy beneath the eyes, with a pendent lower lip. 
 In fact, Morris was surprised that he should 
 have taken such a man for Lydon Hollowell. 
 Mingling with his other emotions as he stood 
 gazing into the lustreless eyes, came a morbid 
 fascination, as he realized that the man was 
 dead. To make sure, however, he stepped 
 nearer, and was about to touch one of the hands, 
 when he stopped and drew back: not from fear 
 exactly, but from a kind of dread something 
 like horror as he became more familiar with 
 the abnormal weakness and debauchery depicted 
 in this besotted countenance. But with his hor 
 ror and his shrinking from the repellent face be- 
 
 14 211 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 fore him, came the same pity that he had felt 
 for the old beggar with the flute : for this man 
 reminded him strangely of Fra Diavolo. There 
 was the same hue and texture of the skin, the 
 same pendent flesh upon the cheeks, the same 
 want of character about the eyes and mouth. 
 No records of thought or struggle were there 
 in short, no lines of character. 
 
 Certain facial lines are out of place in youth : 
 but the face of maturity, without them, is ab 
 normal. Abnormal was this face on which 
 Morris gazed. 
 
 He felt profoundly thankful that this new 
 victim of the Villa Claudia was not Lydon Hol- 
 lowell. But his joy was brief. Near the body, 
 on a chair, a valise was resting: and as his eyes 
 moved carelessly over it, he straightened up with 
 a shock; this time a hideous fear, a sense of 
 being confronted by something beyond his under 
 standing. On the bag were two familiar letters : 
 
 L. H. 
 
 And the bag itself was familiar. 
 
 With perspiration starting out upon his tem 
 ples, he took a step or two backward, his eyes 
 212 
 
In the Chamber 
 
 fixed upon the face before him. Who could it 
 be if not Hollowell? And after all, it the fig 
 ure might not be dead! It might be not a 
 ghost, of course! for Morris did not believe 
 in ghosts but it might be an illusion, an ap 
 parition of his own fancy. At all events the 
 room had a sinister record, and Morris began to 
 fear that the thing upon the sofa corpse, ghost, 
 or phantasma of his own imagination might 
 arise and do him harm. Already there had been 
 a grewsome death in this room : and a disappear 
 ance still unexplained. A swift glance at the 
 dressing-table increased his bewilderment and 
 his horror. Upon it lay Hollowell's silver 
 brushes and oval hand-glass, his monogram on 
 all. 
 
 Another glance at the night-shirt on the bed, 
 now close beside him, and he recognized a 
 garment that he and Hollowell had bought to 
 gether, in a little shop in Verona. He remem 
 bered well the ridiculous embroidery on the col 
 lar and down the front. 
 
 Again, as he gazed with straining eyes upon 
 the dead man's face, he whispered: 
 
 "Hollowell!" 
 
 And again, at this greater distance, he saw the 
 213 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 resemblance to his friend the stiff hair about 
 the brow, the square face and short neck, the 
 light-blue eyes. Morris retreated a step, draw 
 ing a hand across his forehead. The very air 
 of the room seemed to affect his nerves. 
 
 The barely perceptible perfume, odor, es 
 sence, or whatever it might be which he had for 
 gotten for a moment, had gained in strength. 
 Suspicious of all and everything, he was cool 
 enough, however, to realize his own nervousness 
 that he was afraid to approach and touch the 
 figure on the lounge; to ascertain, in fact, 
 whether his companion was alive or dead. It 
 seemed to be Hollowell. And yet it could not 
 be. In short, while utterly unlike, he still 
 believed it must be his friend. 
 
 Without taking his eyes from this mysterious 
 person, Morris moved toward the door si 
 lently, almost stealthily. He felt for the knob, 
 drew it slowly toward him, and then, after a 
 final look upon the strange, yet half-familiar 
 face, he stepped out into the hall. 
 
 214 
 
215 
 
No doubt 'tis useful to study wisdom. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 216 
 
XVI 
 
 SANTOVANO'S VICTORY 
 
 THREE hours later, when the clocks of 
 Tivoli were striking ten, certain people 
 had assembled in the fateful chamber. 
 At a table in the centre, with his clerk beside him, 
 sat a city official. The clerk was writing. 
 Toward the end of the room, near the door, 
 two men who spoke in whispers moved solemnly 
 about the casket they were closing. 
 
 Against the wall, . between Santovano and 
 Morris Lane, sat Betty Farnham. This little 
 lady, with downcast eyes, held a handkerchief 
 to her lips. The sensitive face was paler than 
 usual, and the handkerchief was there to aid in 
 the suppression of an occasional sob. But the 
 men on either side of her were not aware that 
 she had passed a sleepless night a night of 
 mental anguish, followed by her resignation to 
 a disheartening sacrifice. Now, all her thoughts 
 were with Lydon Hollowell. She felt a keen 
 217 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 remorse, and she exaggerated her own responsi 
 bility. Had she not urged Morris and his friend 
 to come here ? Mr. Hollowell, otherwise, would 
 have been alive this morning and tramping gayly 
 toward Horace's farm. 
 
 Similar thoughts, but with himself as the evil 
 doer, filled Morris with a like remorse. Through 
 him it was, and to be with him, that Hollowell 
 came to the Villa Claudia. 
 
 Santovano's face also expressed affliction. But 
 his inward sufferings were less acute. They were 
 by no means unbearable. While sorry for the 
 deceased, and while regretting that Mr. Hollo- 
 well's unfriendly behavior had forced this trag 
 edy, he was consoled by the completeness of the 
 triumph and by the manner of its achievement. 
 It had been quiet, gentlemanly and artistic. 
 There was also enjoyment in the prospect of a 
 peaceable marriage with his promised wife. But 
 of these consoling thoughts his face made no be 
 trayal. Its sadness, on the contrary, excited the 
 compassion of the youthful clerk, and the ad 
 miration of Gasparo. 
 
 The city official, an elderly man with a brown, 
 thin face and gray mustache, turned to Santo- 
 vano when his clerk had finished writing. 
 218 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 "The identification of the body as that of the 
 Englishman, the Signer Lydon Hollowell, is 
 complete, is it not ? The American gentleman is 
 positive?" 
 
 Santovano translated the question to Morris, 
 who bowed to the city official, saying in Eng 
 lish, 
 
 "Yes, sir. I am positive." 
 
 The official bowed in return. Then to Santo 
 vano: 
 
 "The features, I understand, are greatly 
 altered by this this unusual, and, as yet, unex 
 plained manner of his death. But he was iden 
 tified, I am informed, by his clothing and by 
 papers in his pockets?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. And by a peculiar joint in one of 
 his fingers, that had once been broken. Also, 
 by his watch and chain, a ring, and various other 
 articles." 
 
 The clerk handed the paper on which those 
 articles were mentioned to his chief, who, after 
 looking it over, turned to Betty and said, with 
 extreme politeness, 
 
 "We beg you to believe, Signorina, that in 
 asking so many questions we are acting in accord 
 ance with an exacting duty not from any prefer- 
 219 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 ence of our own. We shall spare your feelings 
 whenever possible, and the question I ask is not 
 from suspicion, but to complete the investiga 
 tion. You, as mistress of the house, do not be 
 lieve this gentleman's death was due to any 
 human agency that is to any personal vio 
 lence?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "You do not believe any person in the house 
 to be in any way responsible for it?" 
 
 "Oh, no, sir!" 
 
 "You do not believe any person or persons In 
 the house had any reason for desiring the death 
 of the Signor Lydon Hollowell?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 Then, turning to Santovano, "Will you 
 kindly put that question to the American gen 
 tleman?" 
 
 Santovano put the question to Morris, who 
 gave the same reply. 
 
 "And you, Signor Santovano, do you know 
 of any person or persons, in this house or else 
 where, who could desire this man's death?" 
 
 "No, sir, I can think of no one. He had many 
 friends, but no enemies to my knowledge." 
 
 also, then, agree with the Signorina 
 220 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 Farnham and the Signer Lane in their belief 
 that this death is in no way attributable to human 
 agency, either intentional or by accident?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 Again the clerk wrote. He was a young man 
 with large black eyes and an immature but prom 
 ising mustache. He made no concealment of his 
 interest in Betty Farnham; and when not at 
 work, his eyes were fixed upon her face in open 
 adoration. "One more superfluous lover," 
 thought Morris. 
 
 As the clerk wrote, Morris turned his head 
 and looked through the open window to the gar 
 den. Above the sombre foliage of the cypresses 
 was a patch of sky, intensely blue. Lower down 
 he could see the tops of the marble columns of 
 the old temple to Bacchus where Hollowell, yes 
 terday afternoon, had sat and talked. Two 
 quarrelling birds, as he looked, alighted on one 
 of the marble shafts, and after a moment's chat 
 ter, flew off again, still quarrelling. Back into 
 the room he turned his eyes, to a farther corner 
 where a coffin held the body of his friend; the 
 jolly, pleasure-loving, but ever reliable friend. 
 And he thought of their plans for the coming 
 week the little journey to Paestum and later 
 221 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 on, to Sicily. He thought of the shock to the 
 mother and sister in England who 
 
 "Vuol ella avere la bonta di dirc'i, Signo 
 rina" the voice of the city official arrested his 
 wandering thoughts. "Will you be so good, 
 Signorina, as to inform us where the deceased 
 was last seen alive?" 
 
 "In this room." 
 
 "And who was the person who last saw 
 him?" 
 
 "Caterina Testi, a servant." 
 
 "At what hour, Signorina ?" 
 
 "About eleven o'clock, I think," and she 
 looked inquiringly at Santovano. 
 
 Santovano nodded. "Yes, about eleven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "Did she come to the chamber at his request 
 that is, did she come in answer to a call a 
 ring of the bell, or any summons of that nature ?" 
 
 "I think not. She merely showed him to this 
 
 room." 
 
 "She brought him here instead of to the room 
 you intended?" 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Entirely by mistake, you believe?" 
 "Oh, yes, sir ! Entirely by mistake !" 
 222 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 "I am happy, Signorina, that you can give me 
 that assurance. Such is the history and the 
 reputation of this chamber that if any person 
 were suspected of having persuaded the English 
 gentleman, in his ignorance, to sleep here, it 
 would have the appearance of malicious intent; 
 and the consequences might be serious. Will 
 you be so good as to send for Caterina Testi ?" 
 
 "She is no longer here." 
 
 "Not far away, I hope, as her testimony may 
 be important." 
 
 "She has gone to Rome." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. "Gone to Rome !" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The official leaned back in his chair and 
 frowned. 
 
 Morris's eyes, at that moment, happened to 
 be resting, in an absent way, upon another silent 
 observer of these proceedings, a man who was 
 standing in the background, away from the win 
 dow. As these last words were uttered Italian 
 words, whose significance was lost to Morris, 
 he noticed that this face, already somewhat 
 striking from its pallor, became whiter still. 
 
 The man's eyes, of a sudden, were fixed in 
 terror, first upon the city official, then upon San- 
 223 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 tovano. As Morris had already been startled 
 once that day by an unexpected face in this apart 
 ment, he straightened up and gave the keenest 
 attention. And he recognized, in this pallid 
 countenance, as he looked more closely, the per 
 son whom he had mistaken yesterday for a New 
 England clergyman. And the thought occurred 
 to Morris suggested partly by the solemnity of 
 the scene about him that a guilty man would 
 act in just that way when confronted with the 
 proofs of his crime. He wished to know more 
 of this anxious person, but the present moment 
 was not the time for asking questions of Betty 
 or Santovano. 
 
 "That was done," said Santovano, in his quiet, 
 full, well-modulated voice, "at my suggestion. 
 Had the girl remained here after realizing the 
 tragic consequences of her mistake, she might 
 have become ill or hysterical ; and anything like 
 a disturbance would have reached the ears of 
 Madame Capodilista, who, as you know, is lying 
 ill upstairs. We are using every precaution to 
 keep her from any knowledge of this affair. In 
 her present condition the slightest excitement 
 might have serious results. Therefore, I lost 
 no time in getting this servant out of the house 
 224 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 and off to her own home as quickly and as quietly 
 as possible." 
 
 "Madame Capodilista's condition," said the 
 city official, "should certainly be considered. It 
 is regrettable, however, that there should be so 
 much delay in procuring this servant's testi 
 mony." 
 
 "She could give no testimony that you would 
 value. I took pains to question her this morning 
 and found that she merely came to the door of 
 this chamber with my friend, opened it for him 
 to enter, and closed it after him." 
 
 "Did she happen to notice his appearance?" 
 
 "Yes. I questioned her very closely regarding 
 it. She observed nothing unusual. She said he 
 smiled pleasantly, and he said 'good-night' to 
 her in Italian." 
 
 "Thanks. Your statement, Signer Santo- 
 vano, saves us the delay of sending for the 
 girl." 
 
 It was at this point that Morris saw a surpris 
 ing change come over the face of the person he 
 had mistaken for a New England clergyman. 
 The look of terror gave way to an involuntary 
 smile of relief, and Morris, as he watched the 
 face, saw the color slowly return. 
 225 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 When the clerk had inscribed this testimony, 
 the city official turned to a gentleman at the other 
 side of the room, a man of seventy, erect and 
 well preserved, who stood with his hands behind 
 him, paying close attention to the proceedings. 
 His white hair and beard were cut close, and his 
 expression, at first glance with his heavy eye 
 brows and Roman nose appeared somewhat 
 ferocious. It was into this face that Betty Farn- 
 ham, during the trying moments of the inquest, 
 looked frequently for support. And the support 
 was unfailing. It came in various forms, a 
 slight movement of the head or eyebrows; a 
 faint smile, or a barely perceptible shrug of the 
 shoulders which might have any meaning. But 
 he and Betty were old friends, and the under 
 standing was complete. 
 
 "And now, Dr. Olibrio, may I request your 
 statement as to the cause of the Signor Lydon 
 Hollowell's death ? There are no outward signs 
 of violence ?" 
 
 "None whatever." 
 
 "Nor traces of poison?" 
 
 "I believe not. If he died of poison it was a 
 poison of whose action we have no knowledge." 
 
 "Then what is your opinion?" 
 226 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 Dr. Olibrio frowned. "The condition of the 
 body is so abnormal that the immediate cause of 
 death is somewhat speculative. A thorough ex 
 amination is not permitted." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "The gentleman leaves a sister and mother, 
 and they would seriously object to it; at least, 
 so his American friend informs us." 
 
 "That is unfortunate." 
 
 "Possibly; but I think we should discover 
 nothing we do not know already. The appear 
 ance of the body is precisely the same as in the 
 case of Signer Capodilista, our lamented friend. 
 And in his case we made a careful examina 
 tion." 
 
 "Then be good enough to tell me what you 
 consider the immediate reason for death, in both 
 
 cases." 
 
 "Organic waste, and complete exhaustion of 
 the system. A wearing away of all the tissues; 
 a feeble condition of the blood with a surprising 
 degeneration of certain vital organs, especially 
 the heart, brain and kidneys; such a condition as 
 exists in cases of death from old age. A wear 
 ing out of the machinery, in short." 
 
 "That is the only cause?" 
 15 227 
 
:i 
 
 The KC wwdd h 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 contentment. As with Signer Capodilista the 
 expression is so happy, so sensuously satisfied, as 
 to be almost imbecile." 
 
 "But to what shall we attribute the immediate 
 cause of this death?" 
 
 "In the absence of more positive knowledge 
 I will pronounce it heart failure from extreme 
 exhaustion, brought on by some cause to me un 
 known." 
 
 Dr. Olibrio's words were written down, and 
 the inquest came to an end. 
 
 As Betty was leaving the room she turned to 
 Santovano and said, in a low voice : 
 
 "Then you will take the next train to Rome 
 and attend to that matter of sending the body 
 to England, as you promised?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "You can do it so much better than Morris, 
 as he speaks no Italian." 
 
 "And I do it with pleasure." 
 
 "When does the train go?" 
 
 "Not for an hour or more." 
 
 "Then will you please wait here, just a little, 
 until these people are gone, and close the window 
 and lock the door?" 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish." 
 229 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "I ask it because the servants are all afraid to 
 come in here, now." 
 
 "I am delighted to be of any service, Eliza- 
 betta. Is that all I can do?" 
 
 u That is all, thank you," and she turned away, 
 and left the room. 
 
 When Dr. Olibrio and the city official with 
 his clerk had departed, Morris turned to Santo- 
 vano and extended his hand. 
 
 "I appreciate all your kindness, and I thank 
 you sincerely." 
 
 Santovano took the hand and returned the 
 friendly pressure. "I am very glad, indeed, to 
 be of any service, Mr. Lane. I was very fond 
 of Hollowell. His death is a sad loss to all his 
 friends and a very hard thing for his mother 
 and sister." 
 
 "Terrible !" said Morris. "I wrote them a 
 long letter this morning. But tell me, what 
 caused his death?" 
 
 Santovano raised his head. "I have no idea, 
 Mr. Lane." 
 
 "I take it for granted that you do not believe 
 in ghosts?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Nor in haunted rooms?" 
 230 
 
Santovano's Victory 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Then what killed Hollowell?" 
 
 Santovano looked searchingly into the Amer 
 ican's eyes. But he saw no suspicion; only a 
 desire for more light. 
 
 "I wish I could answer that question, Mr. 
 Lane. The mystery, whatever it is, seems se 
 curely hidden." 
 
 For a moment the two men stood in silence, 
 their eyes upon the coffin as it was borne from 
 the apartment. 
 
 "Did you notice," said the Italian, in a lower 
 tone, "the peculiar expression on poor Hollo- 
 well's face?" 
 
 "Yes. I hardly recognized him. It seemed 
 another man." 
 
 "Did it recall to you in any way our conversa 
 tion of yesterday?" 
 
 "Yes, it did ! And you also thought of it?" 
 
 Santovano nodded solemnly. "And I could 
 not help thinking that his wish had been granted ; 
 the wish he and I expressed for our share of 
 pleasure in the briefest time." 
 
 "Perhaps. But at what a price !" 
 
 "The price we were willing to pay." 
 
 As Morris, with a melancholy face, walked 
 231 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 out of the room, Santovano smiled: he glanced 
 toward the spot where the coffin had been lying 
 and he murmured in Italian : 
 
 "But to pay the price without the full reward, 
 my precious Hollowell, is unwise. Such was 
 never my own intention." 
 
 232 
 
From an ancient coin. 
 
 XVII 
 
 233 
 
Where it hath slept full many a year. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 234 
 
XVII 
 WORD FROM HORACE 
 
 ALONE in the room, Santovano turned 
 and moved toward the window. At an 
 unexpected sound he stooped and looked 
 behind him. It was only the door, however, as 
 it closed after the departing American. But it 
 seemed to close of its own volition. The same 
 sound had startled Morris; and, like Morris, 
 Santovano was thereupon reminded of the sinis 
 ter record of the room. Also, like Morris, he 
 suspected, for an instant, the influence of some 
 unseen power. Having no desire to be held a 
 prisoner in so fateful a place, he preferred to 
 assure himself that the lock had not been turned 
 by somebody on the other side. So he stepped to 
 the door and opened it. The hall was empty. 
 The spirit of Hollowell, perchance! 
 A shrug of contempt for a thought so puerile. 
 Then, with firm steps, he walked to the win- 
 235 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 dow and closed it. His hand was on one of the 
 heavy curtains, to draw them together, when he 
 paused, then loosened his hold. He folded his 
 arms and surveyed the room. Santovano was 
 neither timid nor sentimental. In the few se 
 rious matters of his life as in archaeology he 
 was capable of enthusiasm; but he was always 
 logical. 
 
 "What is the trick?" he murmured. "How is 
 it done ? Come forward, ghost, and let us talk 
 it over." 
 
 Down the room he sauntered, scrutinizing the 
 ceiling and the floor, and tapping the wall in 
 places for a secret door. 
 
 "Come out into the daylight, O skilful curse, 
 and show yourself. As a brother artist I wish 
 to congratulate you." 
 
 He paused, but nothing appeared. He leaned 
 upon the sofa, where Hollowell had reclined, and 
 he looked searchingly over that end of the cham 
 ber for some sign or token some clew to its re 
 lentless mystery. On all things, however, lay 
 an air of peace and innocence, the restful silence 
 of a comfortable abode. Is there some poison 
 in the air, he wondered, that kills the man who 
 breathes it long enough? A deadly plant or 
 236 
 
Word from Horace 
 
 flower hidden in some secret place, between the 
 leaves of a book or in a drawer ? Does the ghost 
 of some departed victim frighten men to death 
 or drive them from the world, never to be 
 seen again like poor di Forli ? 
 
 No, not that ! 
 
 Judging from the faces of the two latest vic 
 tims, it is a pleasanter thing than fear that kills. 
 Can it be some creature, divinely seductive 
 some Helen of Troy, Diane de Poitiers, or 
 Ninon de 1'Enclos? or, more likely, a Cleo 
 patra or Lucretia Borgia, whose love is death 
 a happy, sensuous death? 
 
 He held up his head and smiled. 
 
 "If so, come forth, O fair one, and touch 
 your lips to mine ! Kill me with love. I ask for 
 nothing better." 
 
 From the silent chamber there was no re 
 ply. The tinted walls, the furniture of various 
 styles and epochs, the pictures and the Roman 
 relics, all preserved their secret, and the general 
 aspect of the room remained, as ever, harmless, 
 homelike, and inviting. 
 
 Now, while at his end of the chamber, Santo- 
 vano became conscious of a barely perceptible 
 odor which he had noticed on a previous occasion. 
 237 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 He remembered it, and he drew a long breath. 
 Then, closing his eyes, he again inhaled, slowly 
 and with a sense of pleasure. For this odor, 
 aromatic and fragrant, subtle, yet definite, 
 seemed to stir his imagination. He opened his 
 eyes and moved slowly toward the corner to in 
 vestigate the source of this mysterious exhala 
 tion. For, in that direction, it was more notice 
 able. 
 
 Of a sudden his face lit up, and he stopped, 
 involuntarily. Before him, within his reach, 
 stood an object that filled him with an unexpected 
 rapture. From his face the bravado vanished. 
 Info his eyes came a look of surprise of incre 
 dulity; and from his lips an exclamation of de 
 light. He seemed and he was for the time 
 transformed from a reckless adventurer to a self- 
 forgetful enthusiast. All thoughts of ghosts or 
 haunted rooms were driven from his mind. The 
 heart of the archaeologist was once more aflame. 
 
 For here, before his eyes, on an old sar 
 cophagus, stood one of the missing jars of 
 Horace ! 
 
 And he knew it well. There was no mistake. 
 All was familiar the size, the color, the Gre 
 cian shape, the incrusted surface. It stood about 
 238 
 
Word from Horace 
 
 two feet in height, and might hold about half a 
 gallon. And it came from Rhodes, originally. 
 This he knew, as a connoisseur of ancient pot 
 tery; and from Rhodes came the best amphorae. 
 Kneeling before this treasure, he turned it 
 slowly around, gently, lovingly, with the joy 
 and the enthusiasm known only to the victorious 
 antiquarian. 
 
 The ancient sealing of pitch and gypsum about 
 the cork had been disturbed, but the jar itself 
 was unbroken. The thought that this amphora 
 with its contents had been the special care of 
 Horace himself filled Santovano with a reverent 
 ecstasy. He recalled the fact that the historian 
 Procopius in 560 A.D., alluded to a little cere 
 mony, or celebration, by Maecenas and Horace 
 at a temple of Bacchus in Tivoli. Both Santo 
 vano and di Forli had spoken of it on the day 
 they discovered the amphorae with the verse of 
 Horace. And now, perhaps, he was again in 
 touch with the poet ! 
 
 As he caressed this priceless vessel he found, 
 by a little coaxing of his fingers, that the deposit 
 of centuries upon its surface the grimy coating 
 of lime and earth and ashes came off in flakes. 
 And his heart beat faster as he discovered that 
 
 239 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 the removal of the crust toward the bottom of 
 the jar revealed Roman letters upon the ancient 
 surface. These letters, painted in a brownish 
 black, were as sharp and clear upon the yellow 
 clay as when first inscribed, more than nineteen 
 centuries ago ! 
 
 Further removal of this coating disclosed sev 
 eral lines in Latin, and a name that caused his 
 eyes to brighten 
 
 QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS 
 
 Rapidly, yet with infinite care, Santovano un 
 covered the whole inscription. Then with greedy 
 eyes, and with a perfect knowledge of the lan 
 guage, he read a message from the immortal 
 poet. Roughly translated, the purport of the 
 lines was this: 
 
 MARCUS LOLLIUS, CONSUL WITH Q. /EMILI- 
 
 us. 
 
 TO LOVERS YET UNBORN, QUINTUS HORATIUS 
 FLACCUS SENDS GREETING WITH THIS JUG OF 
 BEST FALERNIAN. CHOICEST WINE OF CHOIC 
 EST VINTAGE SHOULD FOREVER RIPEN AND 
 IMPROVE. SO, FRIENDS, LET IT SLEEP IN 
 PEACE DURING ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM 
 THIS SEPTEMBER, 736 A. U. C. THEN, HE 
 24O 
 
Word from Horace 
 
 WHO SIPS SHALL BE LIFTED TO OLYMPUS AND 
 TASTE THE JOY OF ALL IMAGININGS. 
 
 AND THOU, FALERNIAN, BRING GOOD FOR 
 TUNE TO SOME HONEST LOVER. 
 
 Santovano, for a moment, stood motionless. 
 In awe he gazed upon the vase. 
 
 "After one hundred years!" he murmured. 
 "And now 'tis after nineteen hundred years! 
 Not often does one meet with wine that counts 
 its age by centuries !" 
 
 Carefully he took hold of the cork, thickly 
 coated, originally, with pitch and gypsum, now 
 loose in the neck of the jar. It came out easily. 
 And as it came out he discovered the source of 
 the subtle odor pervading the apartment. For 
 now, holding his face over the amphora, he in 
 haled, instead of a subtle odor, a luscious, full- 
 flavored aroma almost intoxicating in its 
 strength. Again and again he inhaled it, in an 
 ecstasy half sensuous, half antiquarian. With 
 half-closed eyes he murmured, 
 
 "Falernian old Falernian from Horace 
 and Maecenas!" 
 
 Then, as he remembered the nineteen hundred 
 years since those lines were written since Hor 
 ace had known this jar he added, sadly, 
 241 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Wine no longer merely a crust of hard 
 ened dregs upon the bottom." 
 
 But surely dregs alone could not give forth 
 so fresh and full an odor an odor as from rich 
 est wine. In spite of its many centuries there 
 must be something more than dregs. No life 
 less, dry deposit could so fill the nostrils and 
 affect the brain. 
 
 Gently, yet with a sudden movement, he 
 tipped the vessel and heard the unmistakable 
 splashing of a liquid down within. Its seductive 
 fragrance brought a yearning for deeper knowl 
 edge for a closer acquaintance with this nectar 
 of the ancients. In seeking some smaller vessel* 
 wherewith to taste it he detected, behind the jar 
 itself, a wine-glass placed there, it seemed, by 
 a thoughtful providence as if the gods were 
 with him. Piously, with infinite care, he poured 
 forth the precious liquid. It showed the rich, 
 full yellow of the classic Falernian. And as 
 Santovano held it aloft, between himself and the 
 light, the contents of the little wine-glass shim 
 mered like liquid gold. 
 
 "Bottled sunshine!" he mused, his eyes feast 
 ing upon the color. "Yes, the sunshine in the 
 grapes of Tibur of nineteen centuries ago." 
 242 
 
Word from Horace 
 
 But he noticed that the wine, while perfectly 
 clear, was thicker than ordinary wine, more like 
 a cordial in body. Like a cordial, too, its odor 
 was pungent and aromatic. So strong, in fact, 
 and so penetrating its exhalation that the fumes 
 had already reached his brain, and he seemed to 
 experience, in advance, certain pleasurable sensa 
 tions: as of a gentle, but divine intoxication. 
 With his eyes upon this cup of quivering sunlight 
 he murmured, 
 
 "Your health, dear Horace. In the wine you 
 loved and sang I drink to your happiness among 
 your own gods. May all the pleasures of Olym 
 pus be forever yours." 
 
 He put the glass to his lips. 
 
 With the first swallow, he felt the sudden 
 exhilaration of a quickened life of a fresher 
 existence. Every nerve, from head to foot, tin 
 gled with a responsive thrill. 
 
 This mental exhilaration created a singular 
 lightness of brain and body. He began to feel 
 that by his own volition he could float upward 
 and away into higher worlds. No pleasure- 
 loving mortal could resist another taste. 
 
 "Good fortune to some honest lover? Well, 
 the young American needs cheering." 
 16 243 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 There was mockery in his smile as he added, 
 
 "Here's one more sip to Mr. Lane better 
 luck to him another time." 
 
 Again the nectar passed his lips. The glass 
 was still half full, yet never in his life had he 
 enjoyed, in brain and body, a happiness so sud 
 den and so complete. 
 
 In obedience to a craving yet unsatisfied he 
 was raising the glass once more to his lips, when 
 he paused; then, with a movement of decision, 
 replaced it upon the top of the sarcophagus. His 
 own wisdom a wisdom acquired from much ex 
 perience with wines told him that a liquor 
 so potent and so rapid in its effect was capable of 
 mischief. But no previous experience of his own 
 could tell him that this particular wine, in its 
 journey through the ages, had not only attained 
 its own perfection, but had gone far beyond ; that 
 while gaining in force and flavor it had become 
 a deadly drug. Although feeling the ecstasy of 
 a heavenly contentment stealing over him, Santo- 
 vano was yet himself. Still in perfect control 
 of all his faculties, he realized that with every 
 beat of his heart he was becoming more serenely 
 indifferent to the world about him. He had no 
 thought of resistance and no desire. With 
 244 
 
Word from Horace 
 
 half-closed eyes and a smile upon his lips, he 
 moved with extended hands as a blind man 
 gropes toward the sofa, upon which he slowly 
 sank, and there, at ease, reclined. 
 
 Into his brain came golden dreams, unfolding 
 and unfolding into the unspeakable joys of 
 an existence immeasurably happier, completer 
 and more delectable than he had ever conceived. 
 His wildest ambitions, his appetites, his passions, 
 all were gratified. All human joys intensified 
 a thousandfold pursued and overpowered him 
 in these Elysian Fields. The women he had 
 loved were his. 
 
 As he slumbered, with upturned face, the 
 smile grew more and more like the smile on the 
 lips of Hollowell when found upon this same 
 divan. 
 
 For now, to Santovano, had come 
 
 "THE JOY OF ALL IMAGININGS." 
 
 245 
 
precious jar, whose summers date 
 Like mine, from Manlius' consulate, 
 
 1 know not whether in your breast 
 Lie maudlin wail or merry jest, 
 Or fumes of soft caressing sleep, 
 
 Or what more potent charms you keep ; 
 But this I know, your ripened power 
 Befits some choicely festive hour ! 
 
 Horace, 
 
 246 
 
247 
 
XVIII 
 THE PRICE 
 
 THE smile still lingered upon his lips 
 when Santovano returned to earth. 
 Slowly he awoke, and with effort. For 
 the joys of Olympus were enthralling, and not 
 easily relinquished. 
 
 His eyes, as they moved about the chamber, 
 brought no enlightenment to his brain no re 
 membrance of the past. The room and its con 
 tents were strangers to him. For a period of 
 time he lay without moving. This unexpected 
 entry into another life was bewildering. Had 
 he been dreaming, and was he now awake ? Or, 
 was this a dream and the other rapturous career 
 the real existence ? His mind was like a splendid 
 orchestra when the music ceases : the silent air 
 still throbbing with melody. But for Santovano 
 the harmonies were forever gone. The orchestra 
 had disbanded. The silence was for all time. 
 248 
 
The Price 
 
 After closing his eyes during another period 
 he made a fresh attempt toward some recogni 
 tion of his whereabouts. He succeeded in recall 
 ing this chamber, vaguely, as a place which he 
 had known of old. But how many years had 
 passed since that nebulous epoch he had no con 
 ception. Through the large window at the end 
 of the apartment he could see the tops of cypress- 
 trees, dark masses against a deep-blue sky. And 
 the sky was brighter toward the horizon. From 
 the sunlight upon the wall, up near the ceiling, 
 he guessed the time to be early morning, or late 
 in the afternoon, but of what day? of what 
 year? He could remember nothing that had 
 happened within an indefinite length of time. 
 
 The effort wearied him, and again he closed 
 his eyes. 
 
 By summoning all his will power, he arose and 
 stood up, with one hand, for support, upon the 
 arm of the lounge; and he marvelled, in a dull 
 way, at the irresponsiveness of his muscles and 
 the stiffness of his joints. His back and legs 
 might have belonged to another person to 
 some invalid, or baby. But the condition of his 
 brain caused him greater alarm. Control over 
 his own thoughts, over his memory and will, had 
 249 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 forsaken him. With closed eyes and a weary 
 frown he pressed a hand against his temples. 
 Then, drawing a long breath, he straightened 
 up; but his shoulders, the next moment, sank 
 down and forward. 
 
 At the portals of his memory he knocked in 
 vain. From its empty chambers came no re 
 sponse. Not an incident of his life could he 
 recall. 
 
 His own identity eluded him. He became 
 feebly conscious, however, of having visited this 
 room some years ago. But just how long ago, 
 or for what purpose, he strove in vain to remem 
 ber. Now, standing in bewilderment, like a lost 
 child, groping for a ray of light upon the past, 
 he began to realize the presence of an odor, as 
 of spirits or a drug. Having once perceived 
 its presence the odor seemed to increase in 
 strength, and became oppressive. It created, in 
 fact, a sense of nausea. More from instinct than 
 from any exercise of will, he looked around him 
 with a desire to escape it. Starting toward a 
 door, he staggered and nearly fell : for he seemed 
 to be learning the uses and the limitations of 
 a pair of unfamiliar legs. And they were not the 
 best. Communication between brain and limbs 
 250 
 
The Price 
 
 seemed incomplete. When his trembling hand 
 failed at first to grasp the door-knob Santovano 
 smiled and murmured, "Somebody has been 
 drinking, I fear." 
 
 The symptoms were not unfamiliar, particu 
 larly after a night of pleasure. But he opened 
 the door and stepped out into a corridor. At 
 once he felt the benefit of a purer air. His brain 
 responded, and as he began to remember slowly, 
 and with much uncertainty, a few disconnected 
 incidents of his own career, it flashed upon him, 
 of a sudden, that this was the villa of his be 
 trothed. And he almost recalled her name. 
 Turning his steps toward the center of the build 
 ing, he approached a marble staircase in a more 
 spacious hall striving vainly as he walked, to 
 recall the lady's name. Her appearance, how 
 ever, he remembered erect, and slight of fig 
 ure; dark eyes with delicate eyebrows high 
 above. A haughty little person, and extremely 
 pretty; yes, more than pretty 
 
 He stopped, and stared. 
 
 Eccof The girl herself! Santovano blinked 
 
 and strained his eyes for clearer vision. Yes, it 
 
 was she ! And her face, as he looked, seemed 
 
 to dispel the clouds in his brain and to restore, 
 
 251 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 for a period, fresher memories of an interesting 
 epoch. Across the hall she was walking slowly, 
 a young man at her side, both with downcast 
 eyes, in a mournful study, apparently, of the 
 marble floor. The young man's face, round and 
 boyish, seemed familiar but where had he seen 
 him? 
 
 Through a large window that opened to the 
 floor the afternoon sun, now low in the western 
 sky, illumined the hall, and sent its rays, in 
 golden patches, upon the stairs and marble pave 
 ment and upon the two young people. Santo- 
 vano could see, outside the window, a terrace 
 he had known of old; and beyond the terrace a 
 gorgeous garden. As he gazed upon the maiden, 
 his heart beat faster, for he remembered that 
 she was all his own! But this happy sense of 
 ownership suffered a relapse. The young couple, 
 although they passed beyond his vision, remained 
 clearly reflected in one of the mirrors of the hall 
 as they stood by the door. And the words of 
 parting came clearly to the listener's ears. Even 
 through the mirror the changing color could be 
 seen in the cheeks of the round-faced youth. 
 
 As they shook hands, at parting, the girl 
 looked up earnestly into his face. 
 252 
 
The Price 
 
 "You will write me from England, won't you, 
 and tell me of that poor mother and sister?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Promise." 
 
 "Yes, I promise." 
 
 "And I shall write you, Morris, and tell you 
 everything that can possibly interest you." 
 
 "Thank you, Betty." 
 
 The young man made a movement to with 
 draw his hand, and Santovano could see that 
 she held it more tightly. 
 
 "And, little Morris, we will keep alive our 
 old friendship, and never again let it be forgot 
 ten." 
 
 "Of course! Yes of course!" 
 
 "And I shall write to you occasionally, and 
 you will always answer, even if it is a bore." 
 
 "A bore! Of course I mean I shall be 
 glad enough to get a letter ! Well, good-by." 
 
 "Good-by, Morris." 
 
 The door closed and the blushing youth de 
 parted. But the girl, at the open door, stood 
 looking after him until he was out of sight a 
 very long time, it seemed to Santovano. At 
 last the door was closed and she buried her face 
 in her hands and wept; not gently, but in con 
 vulsive sobs. 
 
 253 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Why should she weep ? Was this young man 
 yes dimly Santovano remembered him as 
 another lover. But he also remembered that he, 
 Santovano, was the affianced husband. 
 
 He stepped forth, out into the hall. At the 
 sound of his feet upon the marble floor the little 
 lady raised her face and hastily dried her eyes 
 with a handkerchief. Then, slowly, she came 
 toward him. With the changing color in her 
 face, the glistening eyes, the startled air, and 
 the effort, withal, to appear unmoved, she be 
 came yet more entrancing. But the affianced 
 husband, with a formal inclination of the head, 
 spoke coldly, and he addressed her in Italian. 
 
 u May I ask if that gentleman is a relative of 
 yours?" 
 
 His voice seemed unfamiliar to himself; more 
 uneven, thinner, and it came with an effort. She 
 appeared surprised at the question, but answered, 
 quietly, 
 
 "No, Signor." 
 
 "Then am I permitted to inquire why his de 
 parture should cause you so deep a grief ?" 
 
 She hesitated, frowned, and moved a step or 
 two nearer the window for a better light upon 
 his face. "He is a very old friend." 
 254 
 
The Price 
 
 "Not old in years, surely, not an uncle or a 
 grandfather?" 
 
 Her only response was a slight elevation of 
 the eyebrows. Santovano smiled and advanced 
 a step. "Come, let us not quarrel." 
 
 She retreated a corresponding distance. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Signor, but are you not 
 making a mistake? Am I the person you wish 
 to see?" 
 
 "You must really be angry to call me Signor, 
 my dear my dear " But the name refused to 
 come. 
 
 With an impatient gesture he frowned and 
 snapped his fingers. 
 
 "Well, never mind! My wits are wandering 
 to-day. Forgive me if I am not myself, just at 
 present." And he held out his hand. 
 
 But the haughty little lady became yet more 
 erect, dropping all pretence of hiding her annoy 
 ance, and again retreated. 
 
 "Excuse me, Signor, but whom did you wish 
 to see in this house?" 
 
 Santovano tried hard to smile. 
 
 "Really, you are doing it extremely well, 
 Elizabetta." 
 
 Elizabetta! the name had come to him! 
 
 255 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 And from fear of it again escaping, he repeated 
 it, nodding his head, u Elizabetta, Elizabetta." 
 
 With a look of alarm she glanced toward the 
 stairs. 
 
 "Oh, come !" he exclaimed. "Let us end this 
 comedy! Are we meeting for the first time? 
 Have you never seen me before? Am I so 
 changed that " 
 
 The words died upon his lips. For, as he 
 spoke, he turned, in mockery, to the large mirror 
 beside him. But the mocking smile melted sud 
 denly away, and his jaw dropped. Motionless, 
 the cold sweat upon his brow, he stared, then 
 closed his eyes, and looked again and yet again 
 at the person in the mirror who was regarding 
 him; a besotted, maudlin old man another 
 Fra Diavolo, but more repulsive, more sensual 
 and brutish. The flesh was pale, yet blotched 
 with color; the hair an ashen gray. Bleared eyes 
 with bags beneath; a purple nose and pendent 
 lower lip all told together one ignoble, vicious 
 tale. 
 
 No ! It could not be he ! This was some 
 
 nightmare, some ghastly apparition that follows 
 
 a debauch : some trick of nerves or brain. For a 
 
 moment he dared not move from fear this vile 
 
 256 
 
The Price 
 
 old man might do the same. Slowly, in the des 
 perate hope that the object in the mirror might 
 not respond, he began a gesture. But as his right 
 hand moved stealthily upward the venerable 
 drunkard moved his left each watching the 
 other with a look of dread. Then, quickly, San- 
 tovano jerked his head and lowered his hand. 
 The stranger did likewise, and the motions 
 were simultaneous. 
 
 As over Santovano's deadened senses, now 
 quickened by terror, came the awful knowledge 
 that this creature was himself, he closed his eyes 
 and staggered toward the wall. Sinking upon a 
 chair, he hid, with quivering fingers, his senile, 
 sottish face. 
 
 257 
 
Far-reaching hopes are not for us, the creatures of a day. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 258 
 
XIX 
 
 17 
 
 259 
 
XIX 
 
 THE LOST VERSE 
 
 ALTHOUGH dazed and crushed for a 
 moment only, that moment, to Santovano, 
 contained a world of self-abasement and 
 of keenest shame. For the dominant trait in 
 this gentleman's character was pride, pride of 
 ancestry and of intellect; pride in his force and 
 courage; in his breeding, his presence, and his 
 personal appearance in short, an invincible 
 pride in Giulio di Lunigiani di Santovano. And 
 of this pride a living fragment still remained. 
 But even this, along with his memory, cour 
 age, will all were slowly melting away. 
 
 He looked up, and saw the woman who once 
 was his, regarding him with surprise and con- 
 temptuous pity. Summoning, with a final effort, 
 his fading energies, he arose from his chair. A 
 glance at her face and he gathered courage, for, 
 thank God! she had failed to recognize him. 
 260 
 
The Lost Verse 
 
 Ceremoniously, he bowed. "Pardon me, Signo- 
 rina," his voice came thinner and yet more 
 uneven than heretofore. "I see I have made a 
 mistake. This is not the house I was seeking. 
 Please forgive the intrusion and the inexcus 
 able annoyance I have caused you." 
 
 His salutation was returned. 
 
 "Certainly, Signer." 
 
 Again he bowed and retreated toward the 
 outer vestibule. He took a hat his own hat 
 from the console in the hall, and opened the 
 front door. But he saw, standing before the 
 house, and directly in his path, two ladies of his 
 acquaintance, and the Count d'Aquila. Their 
 laughter reached his ears, the laughter of a 
 merry conversation. At the thought of con 
 fronting these people, with the possibility of be 
 ing recognized, every fibre of Santovano's an 
 cient pride revolted. Shrinking back into the 
 Villa Claudia, he closed the door. 
 
 Then he tried to think. His recent efforts in 
 this field had not succeeded, but now he made 
 another attempt to direct his thoughts ; to reason, 
 to decide on a course of action. As he stood in 
 uncertainty, his hand upon the door-knob, he 
 heard Betty Farnham's footsteps ascending the 
 261 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 stairs to the floor above. Then, to his wander 
 ing senses, came an inspiration to escape by 
 the garden. For he understood that she, hear 
 ing the closing of the door, believed he had de 
 parted. 
 
 Silently across the hall he tiptoed, out upon 
 the terrace; then slowly, with uncertain legs, 
 down the marble steps to the gravel walk. He 
 stopped for a moment, astonished at the dazzling 
 colors of the garden. With childish delight he 
 inhaled the perfumes. He was also astonished 
 at the multiplicity of marbles; statues, busts, 
 sculptured slabs, and vases in stone and bronze. 
 Farther down the walk, a tall old man, now a 
 somewhat indefinable figure against the setting 
 sun, was coming toward the villa. This old man, 
 in beggar's garb, walked slowly and seemed to 
 stare about him as if in search of something. To 
 avoid this stranger Santovano turned into a side 
 path, and soon found himself at the ruins of a 
 little temple. Here, descending three steps to 
 an ancient pavement, he concealed himself be 
 hind a column. But the elderly beggar had also 
 taken this side path, and he also came to the little 
 temple, likewise descending to the ancient pave 
 ment. 
 
 262 
 
The Lost Verse 
 
 Santovano, annoyed at being thus pursued, 
 stepped forth and confronted the intruder. But 
 the intruder gave him no attention except a 
 careless glance. For the old beggar, whose 
 foolish, empty face was indefinably repugnant to 
 Santovano, turned at once with fascinated eyes 
 to an ancient marble slab on which were sculpt 
 ured two drunken cupids. These cupids Santo 
 vano had seen before but years ago, perhaps, 
 and under circumstances of which he had no re 
 membrance. Over the old beggar, however, 
 they seemed to weave a spell. Ignoring the pres 
 ence of Santovano, he fingered, with absent mind, 
 a flute suspended from his neck, his eyes intently 
 fixed upon the ancient tablet. Then, as if in a 
 dream or mistrusting his own senses he went 
 nearer and passed his hands over the sculptured 
 marble. 
 
 Turning about, his drunkard's face illumined 
 by a suddenly awakened memory, he recited, 
 with half-closed eyes, some lines in Latin lines 
 whose beauty of language and charm of style 
 are lost in translation. 
 
 And the old beggar recited them extremely 
 well, with delicate emphasis and a scholarly 
 appreciation. 
 
 263 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 The very first words brought a singular trans 
 formation to Santovano's face. 
 
 Love and the Grape, 
 What waste of life all else ! 
 And so, young winged god, 
 And joy-dispensing Bacchus, 
 Look to it, in years to come, 
 
 That vineyards thrive 
 
 And lovers meet, 
 To smother Time in kisses 
 
 And old Falernian. 
 
 Santovano's look of annoyance had departed. 
 His face lit up with an expression that bore a 
 curious resemblance to that of the beggar while 
 reciting the verse. There also came with the 
 words a sudden clearing of his memory a melt 
 ing of the mists. With eager face and parted 
 lips he moved nearer, and at the end, after a mo 
 ment of mute astonishment, he exclaimed in Ital 
 ian, 
 
 "That is the lost verse! The lost verse of 
 Horace!" 
 
 But from the old man's face the light was 
 already fading, and he regarded the speaker 
 with a vacant, uncomprehending stare. Santo- 
 vano repeated the verse as if to fix it in his mem 
 ory; then with a look of perplexity: 
 264 
 
The Lost Verse 
 
 "But when how how did you get it?" 
 
 Fra Diavolo gazed in silence at his questioner, 
 then looked away. 
 
 "Say something! Speak! Where did you 
 get it? How came you to know it?" 
 
 But there was no answer. With one hand 
 Santovano removed his hat, passing the other 
 against his forehead as if to calm his brain or 
 bring order out of chaos. 
 
 "Who else could know it? Nobody nobody 
 except he and I. It faded away, and di Forli, 
 only di Forli, could repeat it." 
 
 Then, with a sudden movement that startled 
 his companion, he let fall his hat, took a forward 
 step, and whispered, with a look of awe, 
 
 "Mother of God! Is it possible? Are you 
 are you di Forli ?" 
 
 Still no reply; merely a vacant stare into the 
 speaker's excited face. 
 
 "No! No! Impossible! But say something ! 
 Who are you?" 
 
 Stepping nearer, Santovano tapped him on 
 the chest and shook him. 
 
 "Who are you? Speak, you fool!" 
 
 Fra Diavolo, with the slightest possible shade 
 of annoyance in his sodden old face, stepped 
 265 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 away from the disturbing hands and toyed ab 
 sently with his flute. But Santovano studied 
 closely the old man's features and his figure. 
 
 "Yes, old friend, I see now. I understand. 
 We look alike, you and I. And you, poor di 
 Forli, you too, tasted the wine in the amphora. 
 An amusing joke of Horace ! Ha ! Oh, an 
 amusing joke ! But Capodilista and Hollowell 
 their faces too like ours. Why death for 
 them? Why so much luckier than we?" 
 
 Nodding his head, he went on in a melan 
 choly voice, 
 
 "Ah! I see we drank less we took one 
 little glass. Two glasses meant the dream with 
 out the awakening. God! If I had only 
 known !" 
 
 Then, with a gesture of impotent rage, 
 
 "We, poor fools, who had strength to resist 
 we live on to to to what? Justice of hell ! 
 my brain is is drunk Yes, drunk." 
 
 He whirled about, stooped for his hat and 
 put it on. Turning again to Fra Diavolo, "You 
 a beggar, and all this garden yours ! this villa 
 too! Why, why, do you not why why do 
 you " 
 
 But the final flash of memory had died away. 
 266 
 
The Lost Verse 
 
 From its flickering embers came no light. With 
 a glance at Fra Diavolo, of affection, of feeble 
 resentment and of pity, he ascended the three 
 steps and hurried away, down the garden path, 
 repeating mechanically the verse he had just re 
 covered. Through the doorway in the garden 
 wall by which Morris Lane, on a previous 
 evening, made his fateful entrance Santovano 
 passed out into the twilight. Into a new life he 
 entered, not as a high-born youth with splendid 
 talents, but as a repugnant, half-witted old man; 
 unknown and a pauper. 
 
 Di Forli, left alone at the little temple, put the 
 flute to his lips and began his air from Fra Dia 
 volo. As this gave warning of his presence the 
 gardener with the high shoulders and small 
 head moved at once in that direction. Gently 
 he drew the instrument from the player's lips, 
 looking reprovingly into the eyes of his former 
 master, whose loss he sincerely mourned and for 
 knowledge of whose whereabouts he would have 
 given much. Leading him down the long path, 
 beyond the fountain, a few pieces of copper were 
 dropped into his pocket and di Forli was ten 
 derly ejected from his own garden, and the door 
 bolted behind him. 
 
 267 
 
When time allows, 
 'Tis sweet the fool to play. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 268 
 
\, 
 
 XX 
 
 269 
 
XX 
 
 A POSTSCRIPT 
 
 WEST of the Villa Claudia, five thou 
 sand miles or more, snow was falling 
 in the State of Massachusetts. It 
 gathered in little drifts at the corners of Mr. 
 Lane's garden, and against the old box hedges. 
 The March wind, with stinging force, drove 
 icy little flakes against the faces of its victims. 
 But on Mr. Elisha Goddard^ who had sur 
 vived seventy New England winters, this pres 
 ent flurry made no impression. He enjoyed the 
 air. As he alighted from his carriage at Mr. 
 Lane's garden, two passing citizens halted and 
 deferentially gave him right of way across the 
 sidewalk. And as he pushed open the garden 
 gate and walked up the path with head erect 
 and firm, long strides their eyes followed him 
 with the special interest that accompanies an im 
 portant personage. As the monarch of many 
 270 
 
A Postscript 
 
 mills, the wealthiest man in a wealthy county 
 and an erstwhile Senator, it was only natural 
 that he should have the bearing of an important 
 person. His appearance, moreover, was not 
 only important but intimidating. Fierce eye 
 brows, snowy white, projected over a pair of 
 searching eyes. A bony, overhanging nose in 
 tensified the severity of a long, tightly shut 
 mouth. But at the corners of the mouth were 
 certain wrinkles and movable curves that con 
 tradicted the threatening features above. 
 
 Upon the round-faced young man who came 
 down the walk to meet him he frowned, and 
 seemed to plant himself, with feet and cane, as 
 if preparing for attack. 
 
 "Good-morning, Morris." 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Goddard. Come into 
 the house." 
 
 . "Can't stop. I have just received a telegram 
 from those Boston people. They will be here 
 this forenoon at ten o'clock. I want you to go 
 straight to the North factory, have our men 
 ready, and superintend the adjustment of the 
 new engines. Come right along with me." 
 
 "Now? This morning?" 
 
 Upon the old man's face came an ironical 
 271 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 smile. "This morning! Oh, no! Any morn 
 ing next summer." 
 
 Morris smiled. "I suppose it is pretty im 
 portant, sir; isn't it?" 
 
 "The instalment of the new engines? Well, 
 I should have said so!" 
 
 Morris seemed embarrassed. Flicking a 
 bunch of snow from the hedge at his side, he 
 cleared his throat. "I wanted very much to go 
 to New York this morning." 
 
 "To New York?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 As Morris had been to New York but twice 
 in his life the announcement was unexpected. 
 For a brief moment Mr. Goddard studied the 
 young man's face. Then, with a frown in 
 which the fierce eyebrows became fiercer than 
 ever, he asked, 
 
 "Something urgent, I presume?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir! Very urgent!" 
 
 "What is her name?" 
 
 Morris started. And his face became red. 
 "Why, how in the world did you why do you 
 think there is a she?" 
 
 Mr. Goddard tightened his lips and his head 
 moved slowly up and down. 
 272 
 
A Postscript 
 
 "I saw it in your face this morning, before 
 you uttered a word. You have an exalted, fool 
 ish expression. Your feet have not touched the 
 earth since I entered this garden." 
 
 Morris laughed. "Well, sir, I didn't sup 
 pose you would know it until I told you." 
 
 "Until you told me!" and the old gentleman 
 tapped him on the shoulder with his cane. "In 
 nocent lamb ! You could not advertise it more 
 completely if you had hired a military band and 
 paraded the town with a banner, saying, 'I am 
 
 in love.' " 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "How long has this been going on?" 
 
 "Ever since I went to Italy." 
 
 "Yes. Well, as soon as you got back I knew 
 something was the matter. You have been 
 floating around the works on wings. Your ser 
 vices to the cotton business have been worth 
 about fifty cents a week. What kind of a per 
 son is it? Good looking?" 
 
 "Good looking! Why, Mr. Goddard, she is 
 she is well, really, it is a kind of beauty 
 that " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand; plain but honest. 
 And her disposition is probably angelic." 
 
 273 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Angelic, yes. Perfect." 
 
 "Of course. An unbiassed opinion is always 
 of value. A nasty temper, I have no doubt. 
 How old is she fifty?" 
 
 "Twenty-one." 
 
 "What's her name?" 
 
 "Farnham. Elizabetta Elizabeth. Betty 
 Farnham." 
 
 "Farnham Elizabetta Elizabeth Betty Farn 
 ham. A long name. And what is her nation 
 ality in all that?" 
 
 "Elizabeth Farnham is her name. She is 
 pure American. You knew her once. She was 
 your neighbor for several years." 
 
 "Farnham? Farnham? You don't mean 
 the little daughter of that pretty Mrs. Farn 
 ham?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And you are going to marry her?" 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "But she is only that high." And Mr. God- 
 dard held his cane horizontally a yard above 
 the ground. 
 
 "Yes, about fifteen years ago she was that 
 high." 
 
 "Poor wretches! And when are you to be 
 married?" 
 
 274 
 
A Postscript 
 
 "Oh, perhaps never!" Morris exclaimed. 
 "I don't know yet that she will take me!" 
 
 "Then this blissful condition of yours is all 
 put on; a hollow mockery, based on nothing." 
 
 "No, sir! No! I wrote her last month tell 
 ing her that I asking her to if she " 
 
 "Well, out with it." 
 
 " Would consider me." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "And last night I got this." 
 
 Morris drew a letter from an inner pocket 
 and held it toward his friend. But the old gen 
 tleman frowned and shook his head. "Read it, 
 if you must. I can't see without my glasses. 
 
 So the young man read: 
 
 PARIS, February twentieth. 
 
 DEAR MORRIS : 
 
 " Your surprising letter was forwarded from Tivoli. We 
 are here, on our way home to dear old America. Poor 
 mamma, as you know, was completely prostrated by the un 
 accountable disappearance of Santovano." 
 
 "Disappearance of what?" 
 
 "Of Santovano. He was the man she was to 
 marry. He disappeared about a fortnight be 
 fore the wedding." 
 
 is 275 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Good heavens, Morris! Is she so terrify 
 ing as that?" 
 
 Morris smiled and nodded. 
 
 "Well, well! And still you are not deterred 
 by her effect upon others?" 
 
 "No, sir, not a bit." 
 
 "And this Scanty Barno, how did he manage 
 to escape?" 
 
 "Nobody knows. He was to meet me in 
 Rome that afternoon, but he never turned up. 
 His hat was gone, so he probably went to 
 Rome; and the belief is that he met with foul 
 play in the city." 
 
 "Did they find the body?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Nor his watch or money?" 
 
 "No, sir, nothing. No trace, whatever 
 not a clue." 
 
 "He must have been desperate and thor 
 oughly frightened. I do like a man who does 
 a thing well. Many have shrunk from matri 
 mony very many do, but few in just that 
 way. I suppose she has given up waiting for 
 him?" 
 
 "Long ago." 
 
 "And you are the next best thing." 
 276 
 
A Postscript 
 
 "That is what I am hoping." 
 
 "Did she land you easily?" 
 
 "Nothing could be easier! I swallowed the 
 hook before it touched the water." 
 
 "Morris." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You are a fool." 
 
 "But I like it." 
 
 "Of course ! Fools always do. But go on 
 with your letter." 
 
 "An American doctor heaven bless him ! tells mamma 
 her own New England air will do her more good than any 
 thing in the world. So here we are on our way home. We 
 sail from Havre next Wednesday on the Touraine. 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 ELIZABETH FARNHAM." 
 
 Mr. Goddard's frown deepened. "I should 
 hardly call that a love-letter." 
 "But there's this postscript": 
 
 " P.S. I have not time at this moment to reply to all 
 you say in your letter, but I may have something of interest 
 to tell you if we should happen to meet in America." 
 
 At this Mr. Goddard made no effort to keep 
 a sober face. 
 
 277 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "If you should happen to meet in America ! 
 Good! And when is the steamer due?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning.'* 
 
 "And you are going to wait all night on the 
 wharf, if necessary, possibly in a snow-storm 
 to meet her?" 
 
 Morris nodded. "Yes, sir. A thousand 
 nights, if necessary, and through any kind of 
 weather." 
 
 "Well, it does look as if she might happen 
 to meet you in America quite by accident, of 
 course, on your part." 
 
 The next instant, however, the habitual frown 
 had returned. 
 
 "I have never known you to stay up all 
 night in a snow-storm watching one of my fac 
 tories." 
 
 "But I would if necessary." 
 
 The important personage shook his head 
 and turned away in the direction of his car 
 riage. Then, scowling upon the gravel walk, 
 he said, 
 
 "Well, go to perdition if you must, but try 
 and get back alive and to regular work within 
 a year or so." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. But seriously, Mr. God- 
 
 278 
 
A Postscript 
 
 dard, if you object to my leaving to-day I 
 will postpone the trip and attend to those en 
 gines." 
 
 Mr. Goddard wheeled about, the bushy eye 
 brows drawn together. 
 
 "Give up the trip ! Give up the real business 
 of life for a couple of bloodless engines ! 
 Sooner perish the whole cotton industry of the 
 United States!" 
 
 Then approaching Morris, he laid his cane 
 on the young man's shoulder and emphasized 
 his words by vigorous taps. 
 
 "Better those engines were strangled at their 
 birth than come between you and this deluded 
 girl. I was young once, and also a fool. It is 
 the pleasantest memory I possess. No, No ! 
 You go to New York and insist upon your 
 rights." 
 
 "My rights?" 
 
 "Yes, the right of every honest lover to be 
 come an unreasoning nuisance. Be as blissful 
 and foolish as the law allows. Youth comes 
 but once. And remember this: when you 
 are married I shall double your interest in the 
 business." 
 
 Morris gulped. His eyes moistened, his lips 
 279 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 parted, but he could only stammer, "Thank you, 
 Mr. Goddard, thank you." 
 
 But the senior partner shook his cane in warn 
 ing. 
 
 "On one condition though: that you get the 
 girl. If you fail after that postscript, I have 
 no use for you." 
 
 Then he wheeled about and walked away. 
 
 280 
 
XXI 
 
 28l 
 
To-day is ours : the rest the gods command. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 282 
 
XXI 
 
 A VERY OLD FRIEND 
 
 FOUR days later, on a tour of inspection 
 in his new mill, Mr. Goddard paused be 
 fore a half-open door. He stood for a 
 moment in contemplation of a young man who 
 sat within, a mechanical drawing stretched out 
 upon the table before him, his eyes, however, 
 gazing dreamily through the opposite window. 
 Gently Mr. Goddard pushed open the door, and 
 entered. But the humming of many looms, or 
 the absorbing nature of the dreamer's thoughts, 
 caused the new arrival to remain unnoticed. 
 The wandering thoughts, however, were re 
 called to earth by a familiar voice. 
 
 "Machinery is interesting." 
 
 Rising hastily from his chair, a little color 
 flying to his cheeks, Morris shook hands with 
 the man of terrifying aspect. And the man of 
 terrifying aspect studied him with frowning 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well, I am glad you are back alive. Had a 
 profitable visit?" 
 
 283 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Indeed, I did!" 
 
 "And I judge from your beatified and some 
 what maudlin expression a moment since that 
 you were favorably impressed by New York 
 and and by its contents?" 
 
 Morris nodded. 
 
 u Yes, it does present objects of interest: the 
 Hudson River; the Statue of Liberty; the Speed 
 way; Grant's Tomb; the Flatiron Building. 
 Things of beauty are joys forever." 
 
 "Yes, sir, and certain things above all others. 
 Joys forever and more than beautiful. Full of 
 spirit, yet gentle and lovable oh! lovable to 
 the last degree ! And lots of character ! Dark 
 eyes, always changing; and a mouth " 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course! You are speaking of 
 Grant's Tomb, I suppose." 
 
 "Grant's Tomb! Yes, sir, and the Statue of 
 Liberty, the Speedway, the City of New York, 
 the whole world! That is how it all looks to 
 me!" 
 
 "An observing young man !" 
 
 "And she sends you her love, sir." 
 
 "To me? How old do you say she is : forty- 
 nine?" 
 
 "Twenty-one." 
 
 284 
 
A Very Old Friend 
 
 "Impertinence! Inexcusable impertinence !" 
 And the bushy eyebrows came together in a sin 
 ister frown. "When did your last letter go to 
 her?" 
 
 "This morning." 
 
 "Then you may not write her again until to 
 night." 
 
 The lover laughed. "Well, yes, sir; to 
 night." 
 
 Mr. Goddard took the carnation from his 
 coat. "Put this in your letter. Tell her my 
 love, my best wishes and my sincere congratula 
 tions go with it. I am sure you both will be 
 very happy." Then, before the young man 
 could reply: "Sanderson tells me you are having 
 trouble with the large engine. Come along. 
 Let's look at it." 
 
 As they left the room Morris took an open 
 letter that was lying on his table and put it in his 
 pocket. It began : 
 
 " Darling Boy : Do you realize that three days have 
 passed since I have seen you and that you have written 
 me only four times ? Shame! 
 
 " But this letter is merely a warning that you will receive 
 a great big box to-morrow a little surprise from somebody 
 who thinks of you all the time and " 
 
 285 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 While the rest of the document was of no 
 importance to any other cotton-miller, Morris 
 had read and re-read it many times that morn 
 ing, until he knew it by heart. As to the big 
 box, he hurried home at noon in the hope of find 
 ing something, and lo ! there it was, awaiting 
 him in the woodshed; a huge case that might 
 hold a small piano, or a sofa. After a hasty 
 lunch he began with hammer and chisel to un 
 cover the surprise, whatever it might be. 
 
 In raising the lid a peculiar, and not unfamil 
 iar odor came forth. For a moment he could 
 not recall his acquaintance with it. Gradually, 
 however, it led him back to the Villa Claudia, 
 to the fateful chamber. The relation once 
 fixed he remembered it distinctly, and just how 
 it affected him at the time. This box, with its 
 straw and other packings, was full of it. As he 
 bent over the case the odor increased in strength. 
 It was not unpleasant, rather inviting than other 
 wise, but he felt that too much of it, as of any 
 drug, or cordial or even perfume might 
 prove overpowering. 
 
 But Morris was too much interested in his 
 present work to be influenced by subtle analy 
 sis of odors. 
 
 286 
 
A Very Old Friend 
 
 The first hard object he encountered proved 
 to be the top of Trajan's head, a marble bust 
 he had greatly admired in the gardens of the 
 Villa Claudia. To lift it out he summoned 
 Jared Flint, the hired man, and together they 
 placed it, temporarily, on the top of a refrig 
 erator. From which station the Roman em 
 peror surveyed his new surroundings without 
 surprise; feeling, perhaps, with Betty Farnham, 
 that a spacious New England woodshed of the 
 good old sort is fit for anybody. Next came a 
 splendid garden vase in bronze, with its figures 
 of Greek heroes : and, to Morris's inexpressible 
 joy, the slab of the drunken cupids. 
 
 These he dusted off and rested with affec 
 tionate care upon a bench against the wall. 
 They were in as good condition as when he had 
 seen them at Tivoli; beautifully chiselled, full 
 of expression, as happy and as drunk as ever. 
 They, also, were not discouraged by their sur 
 roundings. 
 
 But the greatest surprise, -the unique and price 
 less treasure, came last. In a box by itself, 
 within the larger case, elaborately packed and 
 protected with infinite care, it proclaimed its 
 own importance. From this inner treasure- 
 287 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 house Morris brought forth an ancient Roman 
 amphora with an inscription on its surface in 
 Augustan Latin. The inscription he translated 
 easily. 
 
 Jared Flint, in his experience of forty years, 
 had never seen a grown-up person so much 
 elated over an ordinary looking piece of pottery; 
 or, as he himself expressed it, "over a second 
 hand jug." But when the stopper was removed 
 and Morris explained that this odor came from 
 dregs of wine bottled by a Latin poet, nearly 
 twenty centuries ago, then Jared took a livelier 
 interest. Morris, with his nose over the jar, in 
 haled the odor and gave full play to his imag 
 ination. 
 
 Jared also inhaled. "Powerful hearty smell 
 for its years ! Why didn't it dry up in all 
 that time? Must have been mightly well 
 corked." 
 
 "With every possible care, probably. Things 
 keep forever, they say, if no air gets in. You 
 have heard of frogs and such things imbedded 
 in rock and found in perfect preservation ages 
 after." 
 
 "Yes, I've heard o' them. But this is old 
 enough." Then, after a thoughtful pause, 
 288 
 
A Very Old Friend 
 
 "I've been told them ancient Latin fellers 
 didn't know this continent was here." 
 
 "No; no suspicion of us. Why, Jared, when 
 Columbus was discovering America the wine 
 had been lying in this jar more than fifteen hun 
 dred years !" 
 
 Jared nodded slowly, deeply impressed. 
 Again he held his nose over the jar. 
 
 "Why, there's somethin' curious about this. 
 If I was to smell it long enough, by Jiminy, I 
 believe I'd be too drunk to git away ! I'm feel- 
 in' kind o' good already. Try it !" 
 
 Morris laughed and tried it. "That's true. 
 It does affect one in a curious way." 
 
 "Seems too bad," said Jared, "that the chap 
 who took all the trouble can't come back for a 
 few minutes and learn how it turned out; 
 cheered somebody up, I guess or laid him 
 low." 
 
 That evening in the library, as Morris sat in 
 contemplation of the jar, he recalled these last 
 words of Jared's and remembered what Betty 
 had told him three days before : that this am 
 phora, with the stopper lying beside it, and 
 the wine evaporated, had been found in the 
 "haunted room" by Dr. Olibrio after Santo- 
 289 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 vano's disappearance. And Dr. Olibrio thought 
 that possibly the contents of this jar bore 
 some relation to the tragedies in that fateful 
 chamber: believing wine, as certain Roman epi 
 cures perfected it, might gain in strength with 
 passing centuries; and notwithstanding its chem 
 ical changes remain a tempting beverage, as this 
 odor indicated and become a drug whose po 
 tency would be purely speculative. Moreover, 
 he believed its action upon a human victim 
 might be such as to accomplish, in an hour, the 
 same physical and mental results as years of 
 intemperance. 
 
 At last Morris arose from his chair, repeating 
 certain lines of the inscription. 
 
 " THEN HE WHO SIPS SHALL BE 
 LIFTED TO OLYMPUS AND TASTE 
 THE JOY OF ALL IMAGININGS. 
 AND THOU, FALERNIAN, BRING 
 GOOD FORTUNE TO SOME HON 
 EST LOVER." 
 
 He laid a hand on the amphora, affection 
 ately, as on the shoulder of a friend. 
 
 "For that last wish, dear Horace, my eter 
 nal thanks. Without your wine I should have 
 lost the greatest of all treasures." 
 290 
 
19 
 
 291 
 
1 will enjoy myself. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 292 
 
XXII 
 
 SI PARLA ITALIANO 
 
 "f I "MiERE is nothing like June." 
 
 And Betty, closing her eyes as she 
 "^ walked, inhaled the morning air with 
 a long, deep breath. 
 
 "Nothing," said Morris, "except yourself. 
 Then it is always June." 
 
 Her hat in her hand, the glow of exercise in 
 her cheeks, with upturned face and half-closed 
 eyes, Betty Farnham offered a picture of youth 
 and health and perfect happiness, whose beauties 
 were not wasted upon the man beside her. 
 
 This happens along a winding road, on one 
 side thickly wooded; on the other, open fields 
 and meadows sloping gently away to the Con 
 necticut River. Softly against the pedestrians' 
 faces came the breath of early summer, fra 
 grant with wild flowers and new mown grass, 
 and the many perfumes of New England June. 
 293 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Morris, do you see that sky? a deep, beau 
 tiful blue impossibly blue with the big white 
 clouds?" 
 
 He looked up. "Yes; they are old friends 
 of mine." 
 
 "Well, I love it all! And," stretching forth 
 her hands, "I love these trees and fields, and 
 that river. I love this air we are breathing, and 
 everything American!" 
 
 "Do not forget that I, too, am American." 
 
 She turned her head, and smiled. 
 
 "Apropos of which, little Morris, when did 
 you begin to take an interest in me?" 
 
 "When I was six years old. But the all-con 
 suming passion, the divine agony, came upon me 
 in the garden of the Villa Claudia." 
 
 "Ah ! Really? Tell me when at just what 
 moment!" 
 
 "That first evening, when I opened my eyes 
 on the marble bench and saw your face, in the 
 moonlight, close to mine." 
 
 "Truly?" 
 
 "I awoke, at that moment, to a new exist 
 ence; to realms of joy and torment of which I 
 had no previous conception." 
 
 "That is very good! And I, too, at that mo- 
 294 
 
Si Park Italiano 
 
 ment took an interest just a little, friendly, old 
 time interest in you." 
 
 They stopped and faced each other. "Then 
 yours," said Morris, "did not come as suddenly 
 
 as mine." 
 
 "Not until you told me you were in love with 
 me. But from that moment I I well I 
 began to think about it." 
 
 "But I never told you over there that I 
 was in love with you !" 
 
 "Oh, yes, you did!" 
 
 "Why, Betty, my angel, excuse me, but I did 
 
 not." 
 
 "Darling Morris, do you happen to remem 
 ber when you first heard of my engagement to 
 Santovano?" 
 
 "Do I remember it! The blackest moment 
 of my life ! We stood on the terrace." 
 
 "Yes. Well, it was then you told me." 
 
 "Told you what?" 
 
 "That the news of my engagement to an 
 other man was a cruel blow." 
 
 "On the contrary, I took especial care to keep 
 my secret to myself." 
 
 Betty smiled. "Simple boy! Your heart 
 was an open page. Such misery in your eyes! 
 295 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 such despair, and such resentment! No words 
 were needed. Really, my heart went out to 
 you." 
 
 "And I never suspected it! Then you did 
 have a little pity for me?" 
 
 "More than pity. But with my promises to 
 Santovano I felt very miserable and very 
 wicked. And I still feel wicked and very 
 much ashamed. But it showed me that I had 
 no real love for Santovano." 
 
 "Lucky Santovano!" Morris exclaimed. 
 "Happy the man who loses his life instead of 
 his girl!" 
 
 "Do you really think so?" 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "Morris," said Betty, "you are fat with a 
 round face like a cherub. Your nose is too 
 short and you are very presuming, and familiar; 
 and your cravat is crooked yet I love you 
 dearly." 
 
 Morris came nearer still and looked ear- 
 nestly into her eyes. "And, as for you, your 
 nose is a dream; you are perfect in every way, 
 and by far the most desirable thing in creation 
 and yet I love you dearly." 
 
 She was standing with her hands behind her, 
 296 
 
Si Parla Italiano 
 
 their smiling faces coming nearer, and still 
 nearer, together. But Morris, before proceed 
 ing further, cast a rapid glance along the road 
 behind them where nobody was in sight; then 
 another toward the village. With this second 
 glance he drew back, somewhat hastily, and 
 straightened up. Betty also looked in that 
 direction. 
 
 "Why, what on earth is it?" she murmured. 
 
 "Two men," said Morris, "and a a what?" 
 
 "It's a bear." 
 
 "Why, of course!" 
 
 Starting on again, they met in another mo 
 ment the three figures coming from the village : 
 an organ-grinder, bending beneath the instru 
 ment on his back, followed by an old man, 
 who led a bear. The grinder, a swarthy 
 person with the blackest of beards, raised his 
 hat and saluted, ceremoniously, the two Amer 
 icans. 
 
 "Gooda-day, lady." 
 
 "Good-day," said Morris. 
 
 The organ-grinder bowed again, still smil 
 ing, and swung his organ around in front of 
 him. In raising the faded green cloth that cov 
 ered it he disclosed a scene upon the operatic 
 297 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 stage, where a pasteboard Trovatore stood face 
 to face with his pasteboard Leonora. As the 
 grinder's hand touched the crank to set in mo 
 tion these figures and their music, Betty re 
 strained him with a gesture. In Italian she 
 said: 
 
 "Thanks; but do not trouble yourself to 
 play." 
 
 At these words in his own language the man's 
 face showed an irrepressible joy. 
 
 "Ah! The Signorina speaks Italian! She is 
 Italian herself, perhaps? Yes? Yes?" 
 
 "No, American; but I have lived a long time 
 in your beautiful Italy." 
 
 "Where in Italy? Where, Signorina?" 
 
 "In Rome, principally, and in Tivoli." 
 
 "Ah ! I also know Rome, a little : and I know 
 Tivoli very well. I am from Vicovaro, and 
 that is near Tivoli. Perhaps you know Vico 
 varo?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Turning to Morris, "He is from 
 Vicovaro, near Horace's farm, you know." 
 
 "Yes, the place I never reached." 
 
 "Si! Si!" exclaimed the grinder, "la villa 
 d'Orazio." 
 
 "Tell him," said Morris, "that we fear he 
 298 
 
Si Park Italiano 
 
 will find Italy very cold and colorless after the 
 sensuous splendors of Boston." 
 
 "I shall tell him no such thing!" But she 
 said to him instead, "If you have lived in Tivoli 
 perhaps you know Fra Diavolo?" 
 
 "Ah, yes, Signorina, everybody in Tivoli 
 knew Fra Diavolo. He is dead now." 
 
 "Dead!" And Betty's face showed real sor 
 row. "Oh! Is Fra Diavolo dead?" 
 
 "Yes, Signorina. He was found one day in 
 his usual place, sitting before the Villa Claudia, 
 his soul away. Did you happen to know the 
 Villa Claudia?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It is believed that some wicked spirit from 
 that abode came forth in broad daylight in 
 the sunshine of the morning and touched, with 
 the finger of death, the old musician." 
 
 "They found him there in the morning?" 
 
 "At noon, Signorina. When little Taddeo 
 Poggi, the boy who used to lead him home to 
 dinner, went that day, as usual, and pulled his 
 sleeve to wake him up, he found that he was 
 dead, his flute in his hand." 
 
 "How long ago?" 
 
 "In the month of February." 
 299 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 "Then you and your friend have not been 
 long in this country." 
 
 "We came in March, Signorina." 
 
 All this was translated to Morris, who also 
 expressed his sympathy for Fra Diavolo. "But 
 I think the old fellow lost little pleasure by his 
 dying." 
 
 "Yes, death could rob him of nothing that 
 others value," said Betty. "But his life was so 
 pathetic, so very empty and hopeless, that his 
 death, in one way, is all the sadder." 
 
 "Signorina," said the grinder, "if you and 
 your gentleman will grant me a moment you 
 shall see the dancing of my bear. It is worth 
 a short moment, even from the happiest peo- 
 pie." 
 
 He turned to the old man, who seemed lost 
 in sleepy admiration of the lady. 
 
 "Ola! Wake up, antico!" 
 
 With an imperative gesture toward the beast 
 he turned the crank. At once the encircling air 
 became filled with noise. 
 
 The old man, an unkempt, ragged, dusty 
 
 figure, whose dirty white beard and frowzy 
 
 hair covered most of his sunburnt visage, gave 
 
 the rope a jerk. The bear rose slowly upon 
 
 300 
 
Si Park Italiano 
 
 his hind legs. As the organ poured forth its 
 impassioned strains from "Trovatore," the 
 beast began to dance. He danced as all bears 
 dance : a ponderous, leisurely, rhythmic motion, 
 swaying to and fro with shaking sides, as if in 
 toxicated or convulsed with laughter. Both 
 Betty and Morris were amused; and their en 
 joyment gratified the organ-grinder. The old 
 man who held the rope, however, kept his dull 
 eyes fixed upon the lady, as the bear, pre 
 sumably, had ceased to amuse him. When the 
 music reached its final notes, and expired in a 
 long-drawn, melancholy gasp, the bear dropped 
 to earth again, all in a matter-of-fact way, ob 
 viously bored by the comedy. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed Betty, in Italian. u Very 
 good, indeed! He is most diverting, your 
 bear." 
 
 "Yes, Signorina. A useful bear." 
 
 "Did you bring him from Italy?" 
 
 "Oh, no! He is American." 
 
 "Where are you going now, to what town?" 
 
 "Toward the city of Springafield, Signorina. 
 There we stay a few days." 
 
 "Where next?" 
 
 "Oh, I do not know." Then, with a shrug 
 301 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 and a cheerful smile, "Where the good God 
 may decide. It matters little." 
 
 "Poor things ! Just think what a life ! Give 
 him some money, Morris." 
 
 Morris took out a quarter. 
 
 "Oh! More than that!" 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "A few dollars at least." 
 
 "What! Dollars! The old chap seems fee 
 ble-minded, and the bear can't use it." 
 
 "Never mind." 
 
 Morris examined a little roll of bills. "I 
 have nothing between a quarter and a five-dol 
 lar bill." 
 
 "Give him the five-dollar bill." 
 
 As Morris handed it to the grinder the old 
 hat was again removed, and again the swarthy 
 face became illumined by an expansive smile, of 
 surprise and gratitude. 
 
 "Oh, Signorina! And Signor! Many 
 thanks ! We all thank you ! The Old One has 
 few wits and cannot speak for himself, but he 
 shall have his share. Great happiness of all 
 kinds to you, Signorina." 
 
 A moment later, Morris turned to Betty as 
 302 
 
Si Park Italiano 
 
 they walked toward the town, and spoke of the 
 organ-grinder's pleasure in hearing his own lan 
 guage. "And," he added, "you, also, must en 
 joy speaking it a language of so many pleas 
 
 ant memories." 
 
 For a moment she walked on in silence. 
 "Yes, perhaps. But the memories might have 
 remained pleasanter if you had never ap 
 peared." 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 She moved nearer and slid a hand into one 
 of his. "What I mean, dearest Morris, is this: 
 that your coming to Tivoli made me realize how 
 much less happy I was than I had believed : that 
 I was marrying Santovano because he and 
 mamma wished it; not from love. Now I have 
 discovered something a heavenly, wonderful 
 thing." 
 
 "And what is that, angel?" 
 
 "The true, uplifting, self- forgetful, never- 
 dying kind." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 As they stopped and faced each other he read 
 his answer in the eyes that met his own two 
 serious, very earnest eyes, but shining with the 
 light of a supreme content. 
 303 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 Without waiting, this time, for precau 
 tionary glances either to right or left, Morris 
 encircled the little figure with his arms. Slowly 
 and gently it was done, as if alone in a for 
 est. Although not in a forest but on a high 
 way, with open meadows in sight and the 
 town not far away, no person saw them save 
 one. 
 
 The old man who held the bear was still 
 standing in the road with his two companions; 
 the Italian readjusting the strap to his organ; 
 the bear looking sadly, with reminiscent gaze, 
 into the woods near by. During the recent in 
 terview the old man's eyes had not moved from 
 Betty Farnham's face. Now they followed her 
 down the road. 
 
 As he stood and blinked in the sunshine, 
 watching the little scene between the lovers, he 
 murmured, in an ancient language unknown to 
 the organ-grinder, words to this effect: 
 
 And so, in years to come, 
 
 Let vineyards thrive 
 
 And lovers meet, 
 To smother Time in kisses 
 And old Falernian. 
 
 34 
 
Si Park Italiano 
 
 Beneath the brim of his faded hat the dull 
 eyes were following, in stolid fascination, the 
 receding figures of the two Americans. He 
 saw them very close together, moving beneath 
 the overhanging trees, now in shadow, now in 
 sunlight. And it was clear, even to this old 
 man, that they were finding in each other's 
 presence, 
 
 The joy of all imaginings. 
 
 Recalled sharply to himself by a brief com 
 mand as the grinder swung the organ upon his 
 back, the old man turned about and again took 
 up the unending tramp. 
 
 Trudging slowly along, his eyes upon the 
 dusty heels of his leader, with frequent jerks of 
 the rope to hasten the progress of the beast be 
 hind, he tried vainly to remember where he had 
 seen the lady. The mist would lift for an in 
 stant the mist between himself and his past, 
 revealing almost revealing the meaning of 
 her face. But the clouds, in another moment, 
 would again close in, and she, with all else, be 
 come the fading vision of a dream. 
 305 
 
The Villa Claudia 
 
 And her voice ! Forgotten music stirring 
 within him a vague remembrance. It lingered 
 in his ears, but growing fainter fainter until 
 it died away, an echo from the silent ruins of 
 his memory. 
 
 THE END 
 
 306 
 
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 Mitchell, J.A. M2 
 
 The Villa Claudia. V5 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
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