TO LEEWARD 
 
 BY 
 
 F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 n 
 AUTHOR OF "MR. ISAACS," "DR. CLAUDIUS," "A ROMAN SINGER" 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 New York : 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 
 1884 
 
Copyright, 1883, 
 BY F. MARION CRAWFORD 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge: 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co. 
 
TO 
 
 MY UNCLE, 
 SAMUEL WARD, 
 
 OP NEW TORE, 
 
 s Nobel is affectionatels 
 
 M11988 
 
TO LEEWARD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THEKE are two Romes. There is the Rome of 
 the intelligent foreigner, consisting of excavations, 
 monuments, tramways, hotels, typhoid fever, in 
 cense, and wax candles ; and there is the Rome 
 within, a city of antique customs, good and bad, a 
 town full of aristocratic prejudices, of intrigues, of 
 religion, of old-fashioned honor and new-fashioned 
 scandal, of happiness and unhappiness, of just peo 
 ple and unjust. Besides all this, there is a very 
 modern court and a government of the future, 
 which may almost be said to make up together a 
 third city. 
 
 Moreover, these several coexistent cities, and 
 their corresponding inhabitants, are subdivided to 
 an infinity of gradations, in order to contain all 
 and make room for all. The foreigner who hunts 
 excavations does not cross the path of the foreigner 
 who sniffs after incense, any more than the prime 
 val aristocrat sits down to dinner with the repre 
 sentative of fashionable scandal; anymore than the 
 
6 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 just man would ever allow the unjust to be pre 
 sented to him. They all enjoy so thoroughly the 
 freedom to ignore each other that they would not 
 for worlds endanger the safety of the barrier that 
 separates them. Of course, as they all say, this 
 state of things cannot last. There must ultimately 
 be an amalgamation, a deluge, a unity, fraternity, 
 and equality ; a state of things in which we shall 
 say, " Sois mon frere, ou je te tue" - - a future 
 glorious, disgusting, or dull, according as you look 
 at it. But, meanwhile, it is all very charming, and 
 there is plenty for every one to enjoy, and an 
 abundance for every one to abuse. 
 
 When Marcantonio Cararitoni saw his sister mar 
 ried to a Frenchman years ago-, he was exceedingly 
 glad that she had not married an Englishman, a 
 Turk, a Jew, or an infidel. The Vicomte de Char- 
 leroi was, and is, a gentleman ; rather easy-going, 
 perhaps, and inclined to look upon republics in gen 
 eral, and the French republic in particular, with the 
 lenient eye of the man who owns land and desires 
 peace first and a monarchy afterwards, whenever 
 convenient. But in these days it is not altogether 
 worthy of blame that a man should look after his 
 worldly interests and goods ; for how else can the 
 aristocracy expect to make any headway against 
 the stream of grimy bourgeois, who sell everything 
 at a profit, while the nobles buy everything a 
 loss ? So Marcantonio is satisfied with his brother- 
 in-law, and just now is particularly delighted be 
 cause Charleroi has got himself appointed to a post 
 
TO LEEWARD. 
 
 in Home ; and he goes to see his sister every day, 
 for he is very fond of her. 
 
 In truth, it is not surprising that Marcantonio 
 should like his sister, for she is a very charming 
 woman. She is beautiful, too, in a grand way, 
 with her auburn hair, and gray eyes, and fair skin ; 
 but no one can help feeling that she might be quite 
 as beautiful, and yet be anything but charming ; 
 so many beautiful people are vain, or shy, or utterly 
 idiotic. Madame de Charleroi is something of a 
 paragon, and has as many enemies as most para 
 gons have, but they can find nothing to feed their 
 envy. She was very unhappy years ago, but time 
 has closed the wounds, or has hidden them from 
 sight, and her dearest friends can only say that she 
 was cold and showed very little heart. When the 
 world says that a woman is a piece of ice, you may 
 generally be sure that she is both beautiful and 
 good, so that they can find nothing worse to say. 
 Marcantonio Carantoni s sister is a paragon, and 
 there are only two things to be said against her, 
 she did not marry Charleroi for love, and she has 
 not done half the things in the world that she might 
 have done. 
 
 On the January afternoon which marks the open 
 ing of this story, the brother and sister sat together 
 in a small boudoir in the Carantoni palace ; there 
 was room for all in the great house, and as Marc 
 antonio was not married, it was natural that his 
 sister and her husband, with their children, gov. 
 ernesses, servants, and horses should occupy the 
 
8 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 untenanted part of the ancestral mansion. Up in 
 the second story there is a room such as you would 
 not expect to find within those gray and ancient 
 walls, where the lower windows are heavily grated, 
 and huge stone coats of arms glare down forbid 
 dingly from above. It is a room all sun and 
 flowers and modern furniture, though not of the 
 more hideous type of newness, modern in the 
 sense of comfortable, well padded and airy. At 
 the time I speak of, the afternoon sun was pour 
 ing in through the closed windows, and there was 
 a small wood fire in the narrow fireplace. The 
 Vicomtesse de Charleroi sat warming her toes, and 
 her brother was rolling a cigarette as he looked at 
 her. A short silence had succeeded a somewhat 
 animated discussion. She looked at the fire, and 
 he looked at her. 
 
 " My dear Diana," said Marcantonio at last, ris 
 ing to get himself a match, " what in the world can 
 you have against her ? We are not Hindoos, you 
 know, to talk about caste in these days ; and even 
 if that were the objection, she comes of very proper 
 people, I am sure, though they are foreigners." 
 
 Madame moved her feet impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, you know it is not that ! " she said petu 
 lantly. " As if I had not married a foreigner my 
 self ! But then, if you had felt about it as I feel 
 about this, I would have thought twice " 
 
 " Have I not thought twice and three times?" 
 
 " Of course, yes all in a day, while your head 
 is* hot with this fancy. Yes, you have probably 
 
TO LEEWARD. 9 
 
 thought a hundred times, at least, this very day. 
 Listen to me, my dear boy, and do what I tell 
 you. Go away to Paris, or London, or Vienna, 
 for a fortnight, and tl:en come back and tell me 
 what you think about it. Will you not do that 
 to please me ? " 
 
 " But why ? " objected Marcantonio, looking very 
 uncomfortable, for he hated to refuse his sister any 
 thing. " Seriously, why should I not marry her ? 
 Is there anything against her ? If there is, tell 
 me." 
 
 Donna Diana rose rather wearily and went to 
 the window. 
 
 " I wish you would abandon the whole idea," she 
 said. " I am quite sure you will repent when it is 
 too late. I do not believe in these young girls who 
 occupy themselves with philosophy and the good 
 of the human race. Politics well, we all have 
 a finger in politics ; but this dreadful progressive 
 thought it is turning the world upside down." 
 
 " Oh it is the philosophy that you do not like 
 about her ? Ebbene, my dear sister, that is exactly 
 what I think so interesting. This young English 
 Hypatia " 
 
 " Hypatia, indeed ! " cried Donna Diana rather 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Yes. Is she not learned ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 "And beautiful?" 
 
 " No, certainly not. She is simply a little 
 pretty." 
 
10 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Marcantonio shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " you will not allow it." 
 His sister looked round quickly. 
 
 " That is rude," she said. In a moment her 
 brother was by her side. 
 
 " Forgive me, Diana mia ; you know I did not 
 mean it. But you see I think she is beautiful, and 
 that is everything, after all." 
 
 " Yes," answered she, " I suppose it is every 
 thing, now. But philosophy is not everything. 
 Put her out of your head, dear boy, and do not say 
 any more rude things." 
 
 Marcantonio had the power to avoid being rude, 
 but he was not able to follow the other piece of 
 advice. He could not put " her " out of his head. 
 On the contrary, he went out and shut himself up 
 in his own rooms and thought of " her " for a 
 whole hour. 
 
 He was not at all like his sister in appearance, 
 though he resembled her somewhat in character. 
 He was of middle height, sparely built, dark of 
 skin, and aquiline of feature ; neither handsome nor 
 ugly, but very decidedly refined, gentle of speech 
 and kind of face. Without any more vanity than 
 most people, he was yet always a little more care 
 fully dressed than other men, and consequently 
 passed for a dandy. Altogether he was a pleasant 
 person to look at, but not especially remarkable at 
 first sight. 
 
 As regards his position, he bore an ancient name, 
 dignified with the title of marquis ; he was an only 
 
TO LEEWARD. 11 
 
 son, and his parents were dead ; he owned the fine 
 old palace in Rome and a good deal of land else 
 where ; he never gambled, and was generally con 
 sidered to be rich, as fortunes go in modern Italy. 
 Of course, he was a good match, and many were 
 the hints he received, from time to time, to the ef 
 fect that he would be very acceptable as a son-in-law. 
 Nevertheless he was not married, and he did not par 
 ticularly care for the society of women. In truth, 
 women did not find him very amenable, for he 
 would not marry, and could not play adoration well 
 enough to please them. So they left him alone. 
 Grave old gentlemen nodded approvingly when 
 they spoke of him, and his uncle the cardinal re 
 garded him as one of the mainstays of the clerical 
 party. As a matter of fact, he did not aspire to 
 anything of the kind, and was merely a very honest 
 young nobleman of good education, who had not 
 made for himself any interest in life, but who never 
 theless found life very agreeable. Possessing many 
 good qualities, he yet knew very well that ho had 
 never been put to the test, nor required to show 
 much strength of character ; and he did not wish 
 to be put into any such position. His sister was 
 very fond of him, but she sometimes caught herself 
 wishing he would do something a little out of the 
 everlasting common round of social respectability. 
 He was twenty-nine years old, and she was a year 
 younger. 
 
 Of late, however, it had become apparent that 
 Marcantonio, Marchese Carantoni, had not only 
 
12 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 found an interest in life, but had also discovered 
 in himself the strength of will necessary to its pros 
 ecution. The dull regularity of his existence was 
 shaken to its foundations, and out of the vast social 
 sea a figure had risen which was destined to destroy 
 the old order of things with him, and to create 
 a new one. There was no doubt about it ; not so 
 much because he himself said so, as because his 
 whole manner arid being proclaimed the fact, that 
 he was seriously in love. Worse than that, he was 
 in love with a lady of whom his sister did not ap 
 prove, and he evidently meant to marry, whether 
 she liked it or not. 
 
 He was seriously in love ; and, indeed, love ought 
 always to be a serious thing, or else it should be 
 called by another name. There is a great deal of 
 very poor nonsense talked and written about love 
 by persons only vicariously acquainted with it ; and 
 it is a great pity, because there is absolutely no 
 subject so permanently interesting to humanity as 
 love, whether in life or in fiction. And there is no 
 subject which deserves more tenderness and deli 
 cacy, or which requires more strength in the hand 
 ling. 
 
 The relation of brother and sister is unlike any 
 other. It represents the only possible absolutely 
 permanent and platonic affection between young 
 men and young vvomen. Its foundation is in iden 
 tity of blood instead of in the spontaneous sympa 
 thy of the heart, and even when brother and sister 
 quarrel they understand each other. Lovers fre- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 13 
 
 quently do not understand each other when they 
 are on the best of terms, and the small difference of 
 opinion grows by that misunderstanding until it 
 makers an impassable gulf. Brothers and sisters 
 may be estranged, separated, divided by family 
 quarrels or by the bloody exigencies of civil war, 
 but if once they are thrown together again the mys 
 terious attraction of consanguinity shows itself, and 
 their life begins again where it had been broken off 
 by untoward fate. And yet they will allow small 
 things to make trouble between them ! 
 
 Madame de Charleroi was inclined to be angry 
 with Marcantonio, and when he was gone she sat 
 by the fire, wondering what he would be like when 
 he should be married. Somehow she had never 
 thought of him as married, certainly not as mar 
 ried to a pernicious young English girl, with all 
 sorts of queer ideas in her brain, and a tendency 
 to sympathize with the dynamite party. He might 
 surely have chosen better than that. Donna Diana 
 was not a woman of narrow prejudices, but she 
 really could not be expected to be pleased at seeing 
 her brother, a Catholic gentleman, bent on uniting 
 himself to a foreign girl with no fortune, no beauty 
 well, not much and a taste for explosives. 
 He might surely have chosen better. 
 
 Donna Diana thought of her father, and fancied 
 what he would have said to such a match, the 
 strict old nobleman. And so, between uer thoughts 
 and her memories the afternoon wore on, and she 
 bethought herself that it was time to go out. 
 
14 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 The horses spun along the streets through the 
 crisp golden air, and now and then a ray of the 
 lowering sun caught them as they dashed through 
 some- open place on the way, making them look Jike 
 burnished metal. And the light touched Madame 
 de Charleroi s beautiful face and auburn hair, so 
 that the people stood still to look at her as she 
 passed, for every -Roman knew Donna Diana 
 Carantoni by sight, just as every Roman knows 
 every other Roman, man, woman and child, distin 
 guishing lovingly between the Romans of Rome 
 and the Romans of the north. By and by the car 
 riage rolled through the iron gates of the Pincio, 
 and along the drive to the open terrace where the 
 band plays, till it stood still behind the row of 
 stone posts, within hearing of the music. The 
 place has been absolutely described to death, and 
 everybody knows exactly how it looks. There are 
 flowers, and a band-stand, and babies, and a view 
 of St. Peter s. 
 
 The first person Donna Diana saw was her 
 brother, standing disconsolately by one of the short 
 pillars and looking at each carriage as it drove up. 
 He was evidently waiting for some one who did not 
 come. His black moustache drooped sadly, and 
 his face was so melancholy that his sister smiled as 
 she watched him. 
 
 Marcantonio was soon aware of her presence, 
 but he had no intention of showing it, and stu 
 diously kept his head turned towards the drive, 
 watching the line of carriages. Madame de Char- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 15 
 
 leroi was soon surrounded by a crowd of men, all 
 dressed precisely alike, and all anxious to say some 
 thing that might attract the attention of the famous 
 beauty. Presently they bored her, and her car 
 riage moved on ; whereupon they pulled their hats 
 off and began to chatter scandal amongst them 
 selves, after the manner of their kind. They 
 nodded to Marcantonio as they passed him in a 
 body, and he was left alone. The sun was setting, 
 and there was a purple light over the flats behind 
 the Vatican, recently flooded by a rise in the Tiber. 
 There was no longer any probability of her coming, 
 and the young man sauntered slowly down the steps 
 and the steep drive to the Piazza del Popolo, andT 
 entered the Corso. 
 
 To tell the truth, he was disappointed, bored, 
 annoyed, and angry, all at once. He had fully ex 
 pected to see her, and to find consolation in some 
 sweet words for the hard things his sister had said 
 to him. Perhaps also he had enjoyed the prospect 
 of exhibiting himself to his sister in the society of 
 the lady in question, for Marcantonio was obsti 
 nate, and had just discovered the fact, so that he 
 was anxious to show it. Men who are new in fight 
 ing are sure to press every advantage, not having 
 yet learned their strength ; but in the course of 
 time they become more generous. Marcantonio 
 was therefore grievously chagrined at being cheated 
 of his small demonstration of independence, besides 
 being a little wounded in his pride, and honestly 
 disappointed at not meeting the young lady he 
 
16 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 meant to marry. In this state of mind he strolled 
 down the Corso, looked up at her windows, passed 
 and repassed before the house, and ultimately in 
 quired of the confidential porter, who knew him, 
 whether she were at home. The porter said he 
 had not seen the signorina, but that one of the ser 
 vants had told him she was indisposed. The 
 march ese bit his black moustache and went away 
 in a sad mood. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Miss LEONORA CARNETHY was suffering from 
 an acute attack of philosophical despair, which 
 accounted for her not appearing with her mother 
 on the Pincio. 
 
 The immediate cause of the fit was the young 
 lady s inability to comprehend Hegel s statement 
 that " Nothing is the same as Being ; " and as it 
 was not only necessary to understand it, but also, 
 in Miss Carnethy s view, to reconcile it with some 
 dozens of other philosophical propositions all dia 
 metrically opposed to it and to each other, the con 
 sequence of the attempt was the most chaotic and 
 hopeless failure on record in the annals of thought. 
 Under these circumstances, Miss Carnethy shut 
 herself up in a dark room, went to bed, and agreed 
 with Hegel that Nothing was precisely the same as 
 Being. She thus scattered all the other philoso 
 phies to the angry airts of heaven at one fell sweep, 
 and she felt sure she was going to be a Hindoo. 
 
 This sounds a little vague, but nothing could be 
 vaguer than Miss Carnethy s state of mind. Hav 
 ing agreed with Mr. Herbert Spencer that the 
 grand mainspring of life is the pursuit of happi 
 ness, and that no other motive has any real influ 
 ence in human affairs, it was a little hard to find 
 2 
 
18 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 that there \v:is nothing in anything, after all. But 
 then, since her own being was also nothing, why 
 should slit- trouble herself? Evidently it was ini- 
 pOSBible Tor nothing to trouble itself, ;m<l so the 
 only possible peace must, lie in realizing her own 
 
 nothingness, which could lie best Accomplished by 
 
 going to l M -(i in a dark room. It was very dreary, 
 of course, but she felt it was good logic, and must 
 tell in the long run. 
 
 It had happened before. There had been days 
 when she had reached the same point by a differ 
 ent road, and had been satisfactorily roused by a 
 Hash of Intelligence shedding enough light in her 
 darkened course to give her a new direction. To 
 day, however, it was quite different. She had 
 Certainly now reached the absolute end of all spec 
 ulation, for she was convinced of the general noth 
 ingness of ;ill created strength and life. 
 
 "For," said she, kw I am quite sure that if I saw 
 a train coming down upon me now, I would not get 
 out of the way, unless, the train being- nothing, 
 and I also nothing 1 , two nothings should make some 
 thing. \\i\l Hegel does not say that, and of course 
 he knew, or he would not have understood that 
 Nothing is the same as Heing." 
 
 This kind of argument is irreproachable. It is 
 like Ihe old lady who said she was so glad she did 
 not like beans, because if she did she would cat 
 them, and, as she detested them, that, would be very 
 Unpleasant. There is no answer possible to a prop 
 erly grounded philosophical argument of this kind. 
 
TO LlWWMtn. 
 
 On the whole. Miss ( 1 arnelhy did the right tiling 
 when she tried to realize the, physical being of noth 
 ing. 
 
 Miss Leonora was no ordinary girl. She be 
 longed to a small class of young women who take a, 
 certain elelight in being different from " the rest" 
 
 higher, of course. She had the misfortune to be 
 
 of a mixed race, as far as blood was concerned, for 
 her father was Knglish and her mother was a, Rus 
 sian. It would probably be hard to find two people 
 more utterly unlike than these two, for the beel- 
 eating conqueror is one, and the lire ca ling Tartar 
 is quite another, while this unlucky child ol an in 
 ternational parentage 1 had something of each. Her 
 history she was twent\ two years of age 1 , then 
 might be summed up in a very few words. An 
 Knglish e-hild, an Italian girl, a Russian woman. 
 Her father had many prejudices, and did not be 
 lieve in much ; her mother had no prejudices at all, 
 anel believed in everything under the sun, and in a 
 few things besieles, so that certain evilly disposed 
 persons had eve ii said of her that she- was supersti 
 tions. 
 
 There is something infinitely pathetic about sne h 
 a, growing to malunlyas had made Leonora, Car- 
 nethy what, she was. Imagine such an anomaly a ; :i 
 ])e>e>r little seeel, of which no one can say whether it. 
 is a rose or a nightshade , alternately treated as :t 
 fair blossom and as a poisonous weed. Imagine :i 
 young girl, full of >< certain lierce courage anel im- 
 paticiico of restraint, chafing under the. moral Hat- 
 
20 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 iron of a hopelessly proper father, whose ininel is of 
 the great levelling type and his prejudices as moun 
 tains of stone in the midst, reared to heaven like 
 pyramids to impose a personal moral geography on 
 the human landscape ; and imagine the same girl 
 further possessed of certain truly British instincts 
 of continuity and unreasonable perseverance, eter 
 nally offending by her persistence a mother whose 
 strong point is a kind of gymnastic superstition, a 
 strange perversity of exuberant belief, forcing itself 
 into the place of principle where there is more, 
 imagine a young girl in such a situation, in such 
 a childhood, and it will not seem strange that she 
 should grow up to be a very odd woman. 
 
 The father and mother understood each other 
 after a fashion, but neither of them ever understood 
 Leonora, and so Leonora tried to understand her 
 self. To this laudable end she devoured books and 
 ideas of all sorts and kinds, not always perceiving 
 whether she took the poison first and the antidote 
 afterwards, or the contrary, or even whether she 
 fed entirely on poisons or entirely on antidotes. 
 Poor child! she found truth very hard to define, 
 and the criticism exercised by pure reason a very 
 insufficient weapon. Moreover, like Job of old, 
 she had friends and comforters to help in making 
 life hideous. She wondered to-day, as she lay in 
 her darkened room, whether any of them would 
 come, and the thought was unpleasant. 
 
 She had just made up her mind to ring the bell 
 and tell her maid that no one should be admitted, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 21 
 
 when the door opened after the least possible apol 
 ogy for a knock, and she realized that she had 
 thought of the contingency too late. 
 
 " Dear Leonora ! " 
 
 " Dearest Leonora ! " 
 
 The room was so dark that the young ladies 
 stood still at the door, as they fired off the first 
 shots of their brimming affection. Leonora moved 
 so as to see their dark figures against the light. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "is it you?" 
 
 She was not glad to see her dear friends Made 
 moiselle Le Creux and Mademoiselle Le Vide, for 
 her fits of philosophical despair were real while 
 they lasted, and she hated to be disturbed in them. 
 But as these two young women were her com 
 panions in the study of universal hollowness, she 
 felt that she must bear with them. So, after a 
 little hesitation she allowed them to make a little 
 light in the room, and they sat down and held 
 her hands. 
 
 "We want to talk to you about Infinite Time," 
 began Mademoiselle Le Vide. 
 
 " And Infinite Space," added Mademoiselle Le 
 Creux. 
 
 " I am persuaded," said the former, " that our 
 ideas of Time are quite mistaken. This system of 
 hours and minutes is not adapted to the larger 
 view." 
 
 " No," said Leonora, " for Timo is evidently a 
 portion of universal pure Being, and is therefore 
 Nothing. 1 am sure of it." 
 
22 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " No," answered Mademoiselle Le Vide, " Time 
 is not Nothing, it is Color." 
 
 " How do you mean, dear ? " asked Leonora in 
 some surprise. 
 
 " I do not quite know, dearest, but I am sure 
 it must be. It is quite certain that Color is a 
 fundamental conception." 
 
 " Of course," remarked Mademoiselle Le Creus 
 sagely. There was a pause. Apparently the iden 
 tity of Infinite Time with Color did not interest 
 Miss Carnethy, who stared at the light through 
 the blinds between her two friends. 
 
 "It seems to me that we girls have no field 
 nowadays," said she, rather irrelevantly. 
 
 " An infinite field, dear," said Mademoiselle Le 
 Creux. 
 
 " And infinite time, dearest," said Mademoiselle 
 Le Vide. 
 
 " I would give anything I possess to be able to 
 do anything for anybody," began Leonora. " We 
 know so much about life in theory, and we know 
 nothing about it in practice. I wish mamma would 
 even let me order the dinner sometimes ; it would 
 be something. But of course it is all an illusion, 
 and nothing, and very infinite." 
 
 Poor Miss Carnethy turned on her pillow with a 
 dreary look in her eyes. 
 
 " It will be different when you are married, 
 dear," suggested one. 
 
 " Of course," acquiesced the other. 
 
 44 But can you not see," objected Miss Carnethy, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 23 
 
 " that we shall never marry men whose ideas are 
 so high and beautiful as ours ? And then, to be 
 tied forever to some miserable creature ! Fancy 
 not being understood I What do these wretched 
 society men care about the really great questions 
 of life ? " 
 
 " About Time " began Mademoiselle Le Vide. 
 
 " And Infinite Space " suggested Mademoi 
 selle Le Creux, scornfully. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, nothing ! " cried Miss Car- 
 nethy in real distress. 
 
 "And yet it would be dreadful to be an old 
 maid " 
 
 " Perfectly dreadful, of course ! " exclaimed all 
 three, in a breath. Then there was a short silence, 
 during which Leonora moved uneasily, and finally 
 sat up, her heavy red hair falling all about her. 
 
 " By the bye," she said at last, " have you been 
 out to-day, dears ? What have you been doing ? 
 Tell me all about it." 
 
 " We have been to Lady Smyth-Tompkins s tea," 
 said Mademoiselle Le Vide. " It was very empty." 
 
 "You mean very hollow," corrected Mademoi 
 selle Le Creux, "for there were many people 
 there." 
 
 " Yes," said the other, " it was very hollow 
 empty everything of that sort. Then we went 
 to drive on the Pincio." 
 
 " So very void," said Mademoiselle Le Creux 
 sadly. 
 
 " Yes," assented Mademoiselle Le Vide. " We 
 
24 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 saw Carantoni leaning against a post. I am sure 
 lie was thinking of nothing. He looks just like a 
 stuffed glove, such an inane dandy ! " 
 
 Miss Carnethy s blue eyes suddenly looked as 
 though they were conscious of something more than 
 mere emptiness in the world. Her strong, well- 
 shaped red lips set themselves like a bent bow, and 
 the shaft was not long in flying. 
 
 " He is very pleasant to talk to," said she, " and 
 besides he really dances beautifully." It was 
 probably a standing grievance with her two friends 
 that Marcantonio did not dance with them, or Leo 
 nora could scarcely have produced such an impres 
 sion in so few words. 
 
 " What does he talk about ? " asked Mademoi 
 selle Le Vide with an affectation of indifference. 
 
 " Oh, all sorts of things," answered Leonora. 
 " He does not believe at all in the greatest good 
 of the greatest number. He says he has discov 
 ered the Spencerian fallacy, as he calls it." 
 
 " Alas, then that also is nothing ! " groaned 
 Mademoiselle Le Creux. 
 
 " Absolutely nothing, dear," continued Leonora. 
 " He says that, if there is no morality beyond hap 
 piness " 
 
 " Of course," murmured Mademoiselle Le Vide 
 in great dejection. 
 
 " then every individual has as much right to 
 be happy as the whole human race put together, 
 since he is under no moral obligation to anybody 
 or anything, there being no abstract morality. Do 
 
TO LEEWARD. 25 
 
 you see ? It is very pretty. And then lie says it 
 follows that there is no absolute good unless from a 
 divine standard, which of course is pure nonsense, 
 or ought to be, if Hegel is right." 
 
 " Dear me ! " ejaculated Mademoiselle Le Creux, 
 " of course it is ! " 
 
 " And so, dears," concluded Leonora triumphant 
 ly, " we are all going to the big, big D do you 
 
 see ? " The association of her friends with the in 
 itial letter in question seemed exhilarating to Miss 
 Carnethy, and in truth the conclusion was probably 
 suggested more by her feelings than by her logic, 
 if she really possessed any. She felt better, and 
 would put off the further consideration of Nothing 
 and Being to some more convenient season. She 
 therefore gave her friends some tea in her bed 
 room, and the conversation became more and more 
 earthly, and the subjects more and more minute, 
 until they seemed to be thoroughly within the grasp 
 of the three young ladies. 
 
 At last they went, these two charming damsels, 
 very much impressed with Leonora s cleverness, 
 and very much interested in her future, which 
 she would only refer to in the vaguest terms possi 
 ble. They were both extremely fashionable young 
 persons, possessed of dowries, good looks, and vari 
 ous charms, such as good birth, good manners, and 
 the like ; and it would be futile to deny that they 
 took a lively intei est in the doings of their world, 
 however hollow and vain the cake appeared to 
 them between two bites. 
 
26 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Are you going to-night, Leonora dear ? " they 
 inquired as they left her. 
 
 " Of course," answered Miss Carnethy. " I must 
 hear the rest of the Spencerian fallacy you 
 know I " 
 
 When Leonora was alone she had a great many 
 things to think of. 
 
 The atmosphere had cleared during the last hour, 
 as far as philosophy was concerned, and as she 
 looked at herself in the glass, she was wondering 
 how she would look in the evening. Not vainly, 
 at least, not so vainly as most girls with her ad 
 vantages might have thought, but reflectively, the 
 English side of her twofold nature having gained 
 the upper hand. For as she gazed into her own 
 blue eyes, trying to search and fathom her own 
 soul, she was conscious of something that gave her 
 pleasure and hope, something which she had 
 treated scornfully enough in her thoughts that very 
 afternoon. 
 
 She knew, for her mother had told her, that 
 Marcantonio Carantoni had written to her parents, 
 and had called, and had had an interview, and had 
 been told that he would be an acceptable son-in- 
 law, provided that he could obtain Leonora s con 
 sent. She knew also that in the natural course of 
 things he would this very evening ask her to be 
 his wife ; and, lastly, she knew very well that she 
 would accept him. 
 
 She wondered vaguely how all those strange un 
 settled ideas of hers would harmonize in a married 
 
TO LEEWARD. 27 
 
 life. How far would she and her husband ever 
 agree ? She had a photograph of him in her desk, 
 wliich he had given to her mother, and which she 
 had naturally stolen and hidden away. Now she 
 took it out and brought it to the window, and 
 looked at it minutely, wonderingly, as she had 
 looked at herself a moment before in the mirror. 
 
 Yes, he was a proper husband enough, with his 
 bright honest eyes and his brave aristocratic nose 
 and black moustache. Not very intelligent, per 
 haps, by the higher standard, that everlasting 
 " higher standard " again, but withal goodly and 
 noble as a lover should be. A lover ? What weal 
 and woe of heart-stirring romance that word used 
 to suggest ! And so this was her lover, the one 
 man of all others dreamed of as a future divinity 
 throughout her passionate girlhood. A creature of 
 sighs and stolen glances ay, perhaps of stolen 
 kisses a lover should be ; breathing soft things 
 and glancing hot glances. Was Marcantonio really 
 her lover ? 
 
 He was so honest and so rich ! He could 
 hardly want her for her dower s sake, no, she 
 knew that was impossible. For her beauty s sake, 
 then ? No, she was not so beautiful as that, and 
 never would be, though the fashion has changed 
 and red hair is in vogue. A pretty conceit, that 
 mankind fjhould make one half of creation fashion 
 able at the expense of the other! But it is so all 
 the same, and always will be. However, even with 
 red hair, and an immense quantity of it, she was 
 not a great beauty. 
 
28 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Perhaps Marcantonio would have married a great 
 beauty if he could have met one who would accept 
 him. It would not be nice, she thought, to marry 
 a man who could not have the best if he chose. To 
 think that he might even look back and wish she 
 were as beautiful as some one else ! But after much 
 earnest consideration of the matter no image of 
 " some one else " rose to her mind, and she con 
 fessed with some triumph that she was not jealous 
 of any one ; that he had chosen her for herself, and 
 that she was without rival so far as he was con 
 cerned. Not even the dark and classic Mademoi 
 selle Le Vide nor the fair and dreamy Mademoi 
 selle Le Creux could boast of having roused his 
 interest. That was a great advantage. 
 
 But did she care for him did she love him ? 
 Of course ; how else would it be possible for her, 
 with her high ideas of manr s goodness, to think of 
 ever consenting to marry him ? Of course she loved 
 him. 
 
 It was not exactly the kind of thing she had ex 
 pected, when she used to think of love a year ago ; 
 when love was a detached ideal with wings and 
 arrows, and all manner of romantic and mythical 
 attributes. But considering how very hollow and 
 barren she had demonstrated the world to be, this 
 thing had a certain life about it. It was a real 
 sensation, beyond a doubt, and not an unhappy one 
 cither. 
 
 The room grew dark and she sat a few moments, 
 the photograph lying idly in her hand. Out of the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 29 
 
 dusk, coming from the fairyland of her girl s fancy, 
 rose a figure, the figure of the ideal lover she used 
 to evoke before she knew Marcantonio Carantoni. 
 He was a different sort of person altogether, much 
 taller and broader and fiercer ; a very impossibility 
 of a man, coming towards her, and upsetting every 
 thing in his course ; trampling rough-shod over the 
 mangled fragments of her former idols, over society, 
 over Marcantonio, over everything till he was close 
 and near her, touching her hand, touching her lips, 
 clasping her to him in fierce triumph, and bearing 
 her away in a whirlwind of strength. A quick sigh, 
 and she let the photograph fall to the ground, sink 
 ing back in her chair with a light in her eyes that 
 overcame the darkness. 
 
 Dreamland, dreamland, what fools you make of 
 us all ! What strange characters there are among 
 the slides of your theatre, only awaiting the nod of 
 Sleep, the manager, to issue forth, and rant and 
 rave, make love and mischief, do battle and murder, 
 play the scoundrel and the hero, till our poor brains 
 reel and the daylight is turned on again, and all the 
 players vanish into the thinnest of thin air ! 
 
 Miss Carnethy rang for her maid, who brought 
 lights and closed the shutters and let down the cur 
 tains preparatory to dressing her mistress for din 
 ner. Leonora looked down and saw Marcantonio s 
 photograph lying where it had fallen. She picked 
 it up and looked at it once more by the candle 
 light. 
 
 " Perhaps I shall refuse him after all," she 
 
30 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 thought, coldly enough, and she put it back into 
 the drawer of her desk. 
 
 Perhaps you are right, Miss Carnethy, and tho 
 world is stuffed with sawdust. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE soft thick air of the ball-room swayed 
 rhythmically to the swell and fall of the violins ; 
 the perfume of roses and lilies was whirled into 
 waves of sweetness, and the beating of many young 
 hearts seemed to tremble musically through the 
 nameless harmiiy of instrument and voice, and 
 rustling silk, and gliding feet. In the passionately 
 moving symphony of sound and sight and touch, 
 the whole weal and woe and longing of life throbbed 
 in a threefold pace. 
 
 The dwellers in an older world did well to call 
 the dance divine, and to make it the gift of a nim 
 ble goddess ; truly, without a waltz the world would 
 have lacked a very divine element. Few people 
 can really doubt what the step was that David 
 danced before the ark. 
 
 The ball was at a house where members of vari 
 ous parties met by common consent as on neutral 
 ground. There are few such houses in Rome, or, 
 indeed, anywhere else, as there are very few people 
 clever enough, or stupid enough, to manage such ail 
 establishment. Men of entirely inimical convictions 
 and associations will occasionally go to the house 
 of a great genius or a great fool, out of sheer curi 
 osity, and are content to enjoy themselves and even. 
 
32 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 to talk to each other a little, when no one is look 
 ing. It is neutral ground, and the white flag of 
 the ball-dress keeps the peace as it sweeps past the 
 black cloth legs of clericals and the -gray cloth legs 
 of the military contingent, past the legs of all sorts 
 and conditions of men elbowing each other for a 
 front place with the ladies. 
 
 Conspicuous by her height and rare magnificence 
 of queenly beauty was Madame de Charleroi, mov 
 ing stately along as she rested her fingers on the 
 arm of a minister less than half her size. But 
 there was a look of weariness and preoccupation on 
 her features that did not escape her dear friends. 
 
 "Diana is certainly going to be thin and 
 scraggy," remarked a black-browed dame of Rome, 
 fat and solid, a perfect triumph of the flesh. She 
 said it behind her fan to her neighbor. 
 
 "It is sad," said the other, "she is growing 
 old." 
 
 " Ah yes," remarked her husband, who chanced 
 to be standing by and was in a bad humor, " she 
 was born in 1844, the year you left school, my 
 dear." The black-browed lady smiled sweetly at 
 her discomfited friend, who looked unutterable 
 scorn at her consort. 
 
 Donna Diana glanced uneasily about the room, 
 expecting every moment to see her brother appear 
 with Miss Carnethy. She was very unhappy about 
 the whole affair, though she could not exactly ex 
 plain to herself the reason of what she felt. Miss 
 Carnethy was rich, had a certain kind of distin- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 33 
 
 guished beauty about her, was young, well born, - 
 but all that did not compensate in Madame de 
 Charleroi s mind for the fact that she was a heretic, 
 a freethinker, a dabbler in progressist ideas, and 
 
 and what ? She could not tell. It must be 
 
 prejudice of the most absurd kind ! She would 
 not submit to it a moment longer, and if the op 
 portunity offered she would go to Miss Carnethy 
 and say something pleasant to her. Donna Diana 
 had a very kind and gentle Italian heart hidden 
 away in her proud bosom, and she had also a de 
 termination to be just and honest in all situations, 
 most of all when she feared that her personal 
 sympathies were leading her away. 
 
 The diplomat at her.side chatted pleasantly, per 
 ceiving that she was wholly preoccupied ; he talked 
 quite as much to himself as to her, after he had 
 discovered that she was not listening. And Donna 
 Diana determined to do a kind action, and the 
 swinging rhythm of the straining, surging waltz 
 was in her ears. She was just wondering idly 
 enough what the little diplomat had been saying to 
 her during the last ten minutes, when she saw her 
 brother enter the room with Miss Carnethy on his 
 arm. They had met in one of the outer drawing- 
 rooms and had come in to dance. Donna Diana 
 watched them as they caught the measure and 
 whirled away. 
 
 "She is affreusement interesting," remarked the 
 little man beside her as he noticed where she was 
 looking. 
 
34 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " She is also decidedly a beauty," answered Ma 
 dame de Charleroi, with the calm authority of a 
 woman whose looks had never been questioned. 
 
 People who are in love are proverbially amusing 
 objects to the general public. There is an air of 
 shyness about them, or else a ridiculous incapacity 
 for perceiving the details of life, or at least an ab 
 surd infatuation for each other most refreshing to 
 
 O 
 
 witness. There is no mistaking the manner of 
 them, if the thing is genuine. 
 
 The sadness that had been on Donna Diana s 
 face, and which the resolution to be civil to Miss 
 Carnethy had momentarily dispelled, returned now 
 as she watched the young couple. She remembered 
 her own courtship, and she fancied she saw similar 
 conditions in the wooing now going on under her 
 eyes. Marcantonio was furiously in love, after his 
 manner, but she thought Leonora s face looked 
 hard. How could she let her brother marry a wo 
 man who did not love him ? Her resolution to be 
 civil wavered. 
 
 But just then, as luck would have it, the waltz 
 brought the pair near to where she was standing. 
 Marcantonio was talking pleasantly, with a quick 
 smile coming and going at every minute. Leonora 
 stood looking down and toying with her fan. One 
 instant she looked up at him, and Donna Diana 
 saw the look and the quick-caught heave of the 
 snowy neck. 
 
 " I do not know what it is," she said to herself, 
 " but it is certainly love of some kind." She moved 
 
TO LEEWARD. 35 
 
 towards them, steering her little diplomat through 
 the sea of silk and satin, jewels and lace. 
 
 " How do you do, Mademoiselle Carnethy ? " she 
 said, in a voice that was meant to be kind, and was 
 at least very civil. 
 
 Leonora stood somewhat in awe of the Vicom- 
 tesse de Charleroi, who was so stately and beauti 
 ful and cold. But she was very much pleased at 
 the mark of attention. It was an approval, and an 
 approval of the most public kind. The few words 
 they exchanged were therefore all that could be 
 desired. The vicomtesse nodded, smiled, nodded 
 again, and sailed away in the easy swinging cadence 
 of the waltz. Marcantonio looked gratefully after, 
 her. The air was warm and soft, and the light 
 fluff from the linen carpet hung like a summer haze 
 over the people, and the hundreds of candles, and 
 the masses of flowers. 
 
 Marcantonio was silent. Something in the air 
 told him that the time had come for him to speak, 
 something in Miss Carnethy s look told him 
 plainly enough, he thought, that he would not 
 speak in vain. The last notes of the waltz chased 
 each other away and died, and the people fell to 
 walking about and talking. Marcantonio gave Leo 
 nora his arm, and the pair moved off with the 
 stream, and through the great rooms till they 
 reached an apartment less crowded than the rest, 
 and sat down near a doorway. 
 
 The young man did not lack courage, and he was 
 honestly in love with Leonora. He felt little hesi- 
 
86 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 tation about speaking, and only wished to put the 
 question as frankly and as courteously as might be. 
 As for her, she was obliged to acknowledge that 
 she was agitated, although she had said to herself a 
 hundred times that she would be as calm as though 
 she were talking about the weather. But now that 
 the supreme moment had come, a strange beating 
 rose in her breast, and her face was as white as her 
 throat. She looked obstinately before her, seeing 
 nothing, and striving to appear to the world as 
 though nothing were happening. Marcantonio sat 
 by her side and glanced quickly at her two or three 
 times, with a very slight feeling of uncertainty as 
 to the result of his wooing, very slight, but 
 enough to make waiting impossible, where the stake 
 was so high. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, in low and earnest 
 tones, "I have the permission of monsieur your 
 father, and of madame your mother, to address you 
 upon a subject which very closely concerns my 
 happiness. Mademoiselle, will you be my wife ? " 
 He sat leaning a little towards her, his hands folded 
 together and his face illuminated for a moment 
 with intense love and anxiety. But Miss Carnethy 
 did not see the look, and only heard the formal 
 proposition his words conveyed. She saw a man 
 standing in the door near them ; she knew him, and 
 she wondered a little whether he would have used 
 the same phrases in asking a woman to marry him, 
 whether all men would speak alike in such a 
 case. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 37 
 
 She had looked forward to this scene more 
 than once. Again the figure of the ideal lover of 
 her dreams came to her, and seemed to pour out 
 strong speech of love. Again she involuntarily 
 drew a comparison in her mind between Marcan- 
 tonio and some one, something she could not define. 
 On a sudden all the honesty of her conscience 
 sprang up and showed her what she really felt. 
 
 A thousand times she had said to herself that 
 she would never marry a man she did not love ; 
 and for once that she had said it to herself, she 
 had said it ten times over to her friends, feeling 
 that she was inculcating a good and serviceable 
 lesson. And now her conscience told her that she 
 did not love Marcantonio, at least not truly, 
 certainly not as much as she would have liked 
 to love. Then she remembered what she had 
 thought that afternoon. How was it possible that 
 she could have thought of him for a moment as 
 her husband, if she did not love him, especially 
 with her high standard about such things? Oh, 
 that high standard ! With a quick transition of 
 thought she made up her mind ; but there was a 
 strange little feeling of pain in her, such as the 
 prince might have felt in the fairy tale when the 
 ring pricked him. Nevertheless, her mind was 
 made up. 
 
 " Yes," she said very suddenly, turning so that 
 she could almost see his eyes, but not quite, for she 
 instinctively dreaded to look him in the face ; "yes, 
 I will be your wife." 
 
38 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Merci, mademoiselle," lie said. The room was 
 nearly empty at the moment, and Marcantonio took 
 her passive hand and touched his lips to her fingers, 
 being 1 quite sure that no one was looking. But the 
 man who stood at the door saw it. 
 
 " Such a good match, you know ! " said some 
 people, who had no prejudices. 
 
 " Such a special grace ! " said the resident Anglo- 
 American Catholics ; " he is quite sure to convert 
 her ! " 
 
 " Such a special grace ! " exclaimed the resident 
 Anglo-American Protestants ; " she is quite sure to 
 lead him back ! " 
 
 " II faut toujours se me*fier ses saints," remarked 
 Marcantonio s uncle, concerning his nephew. 
 
 "Never trust red-haired women," said the man 
 who had stood at the door. 
 
 The engagement made a sensation in Rome, a 
 consummation Very easily attained, and very little 
 to be desired. In places where the intercourse be 
 tween young marriageable men and young marriage 
 able women is so constrained as it is in modern Eu 
 rope, a man s inclinations do not escape comment, 
 and a very small seed of truth grows, beneath the 
 magic incantations of society tea parties, to a very 
 large bush of gossip. Nevertheless these good peo 
 ple are always astonished when their prophecies are 
 fulfilled, and the bush bears fruit instead of vanish 
 ing into emptiness ; which shows that there is some 
 capacity left in them for distinguishing truth and 
 untruth. Marcantonio s marriage had long been a 
 
TO LEEWARD. 39 
 
 subject in every way to the taste of the chatterers, 
 and though Madame de Charleroi had accused her 
 brother of hastiness, for lack of a better reproach, 
 it was nearly a year since his admiration for Miss 
 Carnethy had been first noticed. During that time 
 every particular of her parentage and fortune had 
 been carefully sought after, especially by those who 
 had the least interest in the matter ; and the uni 
 versal verdict had been that the Marchese Caran- 
 toni might, could, should, and probably would, marry 
 Miss Leonora Carnethy. And now that the engage 
 ment was out, society grunted as a pig may when 
 among the crab-oaks of Perigord he has discovered 
 a particularly fat and unctuous truffle. 
 
 Probably the happiest person was Marcantonio 
 himself. He was an honest, whole-souled man, 
 and in his eyes Leonora was altogether the most 
 beautiful, the most accomplished, and the most 
 charming woman in the woild. That he expressed 
 himself with so much self-control and propriety 
 when he asked her to marry him was wholly due 
 to the manner of his education and training in the 
 social proprieties. That a man should use any 
 language warmer or less guarded than that of ab 
 solutely respectful and distant courtesy toward the 
 lady he intended to make his wife was not conceiv 
 able to him. In the privacy of his own rooms he 
 worshipped and adored her with all his might and 
 main, but when he addressed her in person it was 
 as a subject addresses his sovereign ; a tone of re 
 spectful and submissive reverence and obedience 
 
40 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 pervaded his actions and his words. He would 
 have pleased a woman who loved sovereignty, bet 
 ter than a woman who dreamed of a sovereign love. 
 But she was never out of his thoughts, and if he 
 wooed her humbly, he anticipated some submission 
 on her part after marriage. He had no idea of 
 always allowing her mind to wander in the strange 
 channels it seemed to prefer. He thought such an 
 intelligence capable of better things, and he deter 
 mined, half unconsciously at first, and as a matter 
 of course, that Miss Carnethy, the philosopher, 
 should be known before long as the Marchesa 
 Carantoni, the Catholic. Gradually the idea grew 
 upon him, until he saw it as the grand object of his 
 life, the great good deed he was to do. His love 
 consented to it, and was purified and beautified to 
 him in the thought that by it he should lead a great 
 soul like hers to truth and light. He was perfectly 
 in earnest, as he always was in matters of impor 
 tance ; for of all nations and peoples Italians have 
 been most accused of frivolity, heartlessness, and 
 inconstancy, and of all races they perhaps deserve 
 the accusation least. They are the least imagina 
 tive people on earth, apart from the creative arts, 
 and the most simple and earnest men in the matter 
 of love. Northern races hate Italians, and they 
 fasten triumphantly on that unlucky Latin sinner 
 who falls first in their way as the prototype of his 
 nation, and as the butt of their own prejudice. In 
 the eyes of most northern people all Italians are 
 liars ; just as a typical Frenchman calls England 
 
TO LEEWARD. 41 
 
 "perfide Albion," and all Englishmen traitors and 
 thieves. Who shall decide when such doctors disa 
 gree ? And is it not a proverb that there is honor 
 among thieves ? 
 
 Marcantonio never spoke of these ideas of his to 
 his friends when they congratulated him on his en 
 gagement. He only looked supremely happy, and 
 told every one that he was, which was quite true. 
 But his sister was to him a great difficulty, for she 
 evidently was disappointed and displeased. He de 
 bated within himself how he should appease her, 
 and he determined to lay before her his views 
 about Leonora s future. To that intent he visited 
 her in the boudoir, where they had so often talked 
 before the engagement. 
 
 Madame de Charleroi received him as usual, but 
 there was a look in her eyes that he was not accus 
 tomed to see there, an expression of protest, just 
 inclining to coldness, which had the effect of rous 
 ing his instinct of opposition. With his other 
 friends he had found no occasion for being com 
 bative, and his old manner had sufficed ; but with 
 his sister he found himself involuntarily prepar 
 ing for war, though his intentions were in reality 
 pacific enough. Marcantonio was very young, in 
 spite of his nine and twenty years. His manner 
 now, as he met his sister, was a trifle more formal 
 than usual, and he bent his brows and pulled his 
 black moustache as he sat down. 
 
 " Carissima Diana," he began, " I must speak 
 with you about my marriage, and many things." 
 
42 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 u Yes, what is it ? " said his sister, calmly, as 
 she turned a piece of tapestry on her knee to finish 
 the end of a needleful of silk. Marcantonio had 
 somehow expected her to say something that he 
 could take hold of and oppose. Her bland ques 
 tion confused him. 
 
 " You are not pleased," he began awkwardly. 
 
 " What would you have ? " she asked, still busy 
 with her work. " I am sure I told you what I 
 thought about it long ago." 
 
 " I want you to change your mind," said Marc 
 antonio, delighted at the first show of opposition. 
 Madame de Charleroi raised her eyebrows, gave a 
 little sigh of annoyance, and turned towards him. 
 
 " I will always treat your wife with the highest 
 consideration," she said, as though that settled the 
 matter and she wished to drop the subject. But 
 her brother was not satisfied. 
 
 "I want you to love her, Diana; I want you to 
 treat her as your sister." 
 
 Donna Diana was silent, and Marcantonio shifted 
 his position uneasily, for he did not know exactly 
 what to do, and he saw that he was failing in his 
 mission. But in a moment his heart guided him. 
 He went and sat beside her, and laid his hand on 
 hers. 
 
 " We cannot quarrel, dear," he said. " But will 
 you love her if I make her like you if I make 
 her thoughts as beautiful as yours ? " 
 
 Donna Diana s face softened as she turned to 
 him and affectionately pressed his hand. 
 
TO LEE WARD. 43 
 
 " I will try to love her for your sake, dear boy," 
 she answered gently; and lie kissed her fingers 
 in thanks. 
 
 "Dear Diana," he said, "you are so good! But 
 you know she is really not at all like what you 
 fancy her. She is full of heart, and so wonderfully 
 delicate and lovely, and so marvellously intelli 
 gent. There is nothing she does not know. She 
 has read all the philosophies " 
 
 " Yes, I know she has," interrupted his sister, as 
 though deprecating the discussion of Miss Carne- 
 thy s wisdom. 
 
 " But not as you think," he protested, catching 
 the meaning of her tone. " She has read them all, 
 but she will take what is best from each, and I 
 am cjuite sure she will be a good Catholic before 
 long." 
 
 " I really hope so," said Donna Diana seriously. 
 
 " Not that I should love her any the less if she 
 were not," continued Marcantonio, who was loth to 
 feel that there could be any condition to his love. 
 " I would love her just as much if she were a Chi 
 nese, just as much, I am sure. But of course it 
 would be much better." 
 
 " Of course," assented Diana, smiling a little at 
 his enthusiasm. . Somehow the peace was made, 
 it is so easy to make peace when each can trust the 
 other, and knows it ! Just as, on the evening when 
 her brother offered himself to Leonora, Madame 
 de Charleroi had determined to say something 
 pleasant, so now she made up her mind to stand by 
 
44 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Marcantonio, and to help him in his married life b^ 
 being as sympathetic and as kind as possible. 
 
 In due time Marcantonio obtained the permission 
 of the Church to unite himself with his Protestant 
 wife, and after a great many formalities the wed 
 ding took place in the late spring, after Easter. 
 
 Weddings are tiresome things to talk about, and 
 even the principal persons concerned in them al 
 ways wish them over as soon as possible. What 
 can be more trying for a young girl than to be set 
 up to be stared at by the hour, be-f eathered and be- 
 rigged in a multiplicity of ornaments, made flimsy 
 with tulle and lace, and ghastly with the accumtda% 
 tion of white things, when she is pale enough al 
 ready with the acute fever of an exceedingly com 
 plicated state of mind ? Or how can a man possibly 
 enjoy being envied, hated, loved, despised, and con 
 sidered a fool, by his rivals, his bride, the woman 
 he has not married, and his bachelor friends, all 
 in a breath ? It is absurd to suppose that any one 
 with an intelligence above that of the average pea 
 cock can enjoy playing a leading part in a matri 
 monial parade. 
 
 Marcantonio Carantoni and Leonora Carnethy 
 were married, and Mademoiselle Le Vide shed a 
 tear as she observed how extremely empty a form 
 it was. But Mademoiselle Le Creux looked a little 
 pale, and said she was quite sure she could have 
 chosen some one " better than that," 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " NEEDLES and pins, needles and pins," the 
 rhyme is obvious, and very old, " When a man 
 marries his trouble begins." Marcantonio is an 
 Italian, and his native language contains no precise 
 equivalent of this piece of wisdom, with which every 
 English baby is made acquainted as soon as it can 
 know anything. 
 
 The real difficulty seems to be that there are as 
 many different ways of looking at marriage as there 
 are people in the world. Marriage is*described as 
 being either a holy bond or a social contract. Ob 
 viously a holy bond implies at least a certain modi 
 cum of holiness on the part of the bound ; and it 
 is not likely that a single and very simple form of 
 contract can ever cover the multifarious require 
 ments and exigencies of a thousand million human 
 beings. A contract, in order to be satisfactory, 
 must be thoroughly understood and appreciated by 
 the parties who undertake it, and this seems to be 
 a very unusual case in the world. 
 
 When Marcantonio Carantoni married, he was 
 possessed of very noble and exalted ideas, totally 
 unformulated, but, as he supposed, only requiring 
 the seal of experience to define, cement, and consol 
 idate them. He believed that his wife would be 
 
46 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 the stately queen of his household, the gentle part 
 ner of his deeds and thoughts, a loving listener to 
 his words. He pictured to himself a magnificence 
 of goodness unattainable for a man alone, but within 
 easy reach of a man and a woman together; he 
 imagined a broad perfection of human relations 
 which should be a paradise on earth and an exam 
 ple of beatific possibility to the world. He dreamed 
 of that kind of happiness, which, as it undoubtedly 
 passes the bounds of experience, is aptly termed 
 by poets transcendent, and is regarded by men of 
 the world as a nonsensical fiction. He saw visions 
 in his sleep, and waking believed them real, for hs 
 had a great capacity for believing in all that was 
 good ; and as he was human he found ceaseless de 
 light in believing in these good things, more espe 
 cially, as in store for himself. He had always been 
 fond of the pleasant side of life, and found no dif 
 ficulty in conceiving of an infinite series of pleasant 
 ness, culminating in his union with Miss Leonora 
 Carnethy. He never analyzed. Only pessimists 
 analyze, and the best they can accomplish thereby 
 is to make other men even as themselves, critical to 
 see the darns in other people s clothes, and learned 
 to spy out infinitesimal mud-specks upon the gar 
 ments of saints. 
 
 Marcantonio was young. There is a faculty 
 which men acquire from mixing with the world, 
 which is not pessimism, nor analysis, nor indiffer 
 ence ; it is rather a knowledge of good and evil 
 with a fair appreciation of their proportion in hu- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 47 
 
 man affairs. Nothing is more necessary to thought 
 than the generalizing of laws ; nothing is more 
 pernicious than the generalizing of humanity into 
 types, the torturing application of the nineteenth 
 century boot to the feet of all, men, women, and 
 children alike. If men are only interesting for 
 what they are, regardless of what they may be, a 
 day of any one s actual experience must be a thou 
 sand times more interesting than all the fictions 
 that ever were written. If art consists in the ac 
 curate presentation of detail, then the highest art 
 is the petrifaction of nature, and the wax-works of 
 an anatomical museum are more artistically beauti 
 ful than all the marbles of Phidias and Praxiteles. 
 True art depends upon an a priori capacity for 
 distinguishing the beautiful from the ugly, and the 
 grand from the grotesque ; and true knowledge of 
 the world lies in the knowledge of good and evil, 
 not confounding the noble with the ignoble under 
 one smearing of mud, nor yet whitewashing the 
 devil into an ill-gotten reputation for cleanliness. 
 The temptation of Saint Anthony may convey a 
 righteous moral lesson, but the temptation of JSaint 
 Anthony as described by his pig would risk being 
 too unsavory to be wholesome. 
 
 But Marcantonio was young, and he troubled 
 himself about none of these things, supposing 
 everything to be good, beautiful, and enduring, 
 excepting such things as were evidently bad, inas 
 much as they were ugly and disagreeable. 
 
 Now Miss Leonora Carnethy had long been 
 
48 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 given over to a sort of sleek, cynic philosophy, 
 the kind of cynicism that uses lavender water in 
 its tub. Her dissatisfaction with the world was 
 genuine, but she found means to alleviate it in the 
 small luxuries and amenities of her daily life. She 
 and her friends had talked the kernel out of life, 
 or thought that they had, but the shell was stifl 
 fresh and well favored. Leonora herself was in 
 deed subject to moods and fits of real unhappiness, 
 for she was far too intelligent a person not to long 
 for something beautiful, even when she was most 
 convinced that life was ugly. There were times 
 when she dreamed of an ideal man who should win 
 her, and love her, and give her all the happiness 
 she had missed. And again she would dream of 
 the freedom of the earth-bound soul from ills, and 
 cares, and thorns, and she would enter some silent 
 Roman church and kneel for hours-before a dimly 
 lighted altar, praying for rest, and peace, and in 
 spiration of holiness. But there was too much 
 poetic feeling in her religious outpourings. If re 
 ligion is to be poetic, a very little thing wiU destroy 
 its harmony ; some careless sacristan chatting with 
 a crony in the corner of the church, or a couple of 
 thoughtless children wrangling over a half-penny 
 by the door, or any such little thing, would destroy 
 instantly the fair illusion that lay as balm upon 
 her unrestful soul. Religion must be real to every 
 man if it is to stand the test of reality. 
 
 Leonora s views of marriage were therefore more 
 or less subject to her moods. There were days, in- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 49 
 
 deed, few and far between, when her better intelli 
 gence got the upper hand of the fictitious fabric of 
 so-called philosophy which she had erected for her 
 self. Then for a brief space she thought of life very 
 much as Marcantonio did, and she contemplated 
 her marriage as a noble and worthy career, for 
 marriage is a career to most women of the world. 
 But then, again, all her uncertainty returned two 
 fold upon her, and the only real thing was the 
 dream of love, the vision of a lover, and the hope 
 of a realized passion. She was so strong and radi 
 antly human, that from the moment when her 
 mind fell into abeyance the material beauty of life 
 sprang up in her heart, until, being disappointed 
 and cast down through not attaining the end of her 
 passionate dreams, she once more sank into a half- 
 religious, half-poetic melancholy. Nevertheless, the 
 strongest element in her character was the desire 
 
 O 
 
 to be loved, not by every one, but by some one 
 manly man, and loved with all the strength he had, 
 overwhelmingly. Her studies were a refuge when 
 she saw how improbable such a piece of sweet for 
 tune was, and, as might have been expected, they 
 were far from regular and systematic. She read 
 a great deal, especially of such authors as had a 
 reputation for being profound rather than clear, 
 and, as her mind had received no kind of prelimi 
 nary training, the result was eminently unsatisfac 
 tory to herself. To Marcantonio, who knew more 
 about the opera than about philosophy, she seemed 
 a miracle of learning, and she loved to talk with 
 4 
 
50 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 him about theories, generally finding that, in spite 
 of his ignorance, he made extremely sensible re 
 marks upon them. But he always tried to lead 
 her to different subjects, for, in spite of his im 
 mense admiration for what he supposed to be her 
 wisdom, he was aware that it seemed very vague, 
 and that it even occasionally bored him. 
 
 Leonora had acquired the unfortunate faculty of 
 deceiving herself, and when the fit was upon her 
 she saw things obliquely. In spite of the little 
 prick of conscience that hurt her when she accepted 
 Marcantonio s offer, she had soon persuaded her 
 self that she loved him, on the principle that, since 
 her " standard " was so veiy " high," she could not 
 possibly have demeaned herself to accepting a man 
 she did not love. It is a very fine thing to believe 
 that we are so far removed from evil that we can 
 not do wrong, and therefore that whatever we do is 
 infallibly right, no matter how our instincts may 
 cry out against it. It is a most comforting and 
 comfortable vicious circle which we convert into a 
 crown of glory for ourselves on the smallest provo 
 cation. So when Leonora was finally married to 
 Marcantonio, she made herself believe that she 
 loved him, and all her vague theories were tem 
 porarily cast aside and trampled on in her determi 
 nation to realize in him all the happiness she had 
 dreamed of in her ideal. 
 
 She had got a husband who did most truly love 
 her, and whose one and absorbing thought would 
 be her happiness, but he was not exactly what she 
 
TO LEEWARD. 51 
 
 had longed for. She mistook his courtesy for 
 coldness, and his deference for indifference, and 
 since she had persuaded herself that she loved him 
 she wanted to find him a perfect fiery volcano of 
 love and jealousy. Marcantonio was nothing of the 
 kind ; he was calm, courteous, and affectionate ; he 
 had not the slightest cause for jealousy, and, not in 
 the least understanding his wife, he was perfectly 
 happy. 
 
 Of all tests of true love a honeymoon is the 
 severest, and by every right of sensible sequence 
 ought to come last of all in the history of married 
 couples. It is the great destroyer of illusions, and 
 the more illusions there are the greater the destruc 
 tion. Two people have seen each other occasionally, 
 perhaps for an hour every day, and that is a 
 great deal in Europe, during which meetings 
 they have become more or less deeply enamored, 
 each of the qualities of the other. People notori 
 ously behave very differently to the people they 
 love and to the world at large ; but their behavior 
 to the world at large is the outcome of their char 
 acter, whereas their conduct to each other is the 
 result, or the concomitant, of a passion which may 
 or may not be real, profound, and good. But each 
 has a great number of characteristics which prac 
 tically never appear during those hours of court 
 ship. Suddenly the two are married, and the lid 
 of Pandora s box is hoisted high with a vicious 
 jerk that scares the little imps inside to the verge 
 of distraction, and they fly out incontinent, with an 
 
52 TO LEE WARD. 
 
 ill savor. If the lid had been gently raised, the 
 evil spirits would probably have issued forth stealth 
 ily, and one at a time, without any great fuss, and 
 might not have been noticed. The two condemned 
 ones travel together, eat together, talk together, 
 until in a single month they have exhausted a list 
 of bad qualities that should have lasted at least 
 half a dozen years under ordinary circumstances. 
 
 Marcantonio and Leonora travelled for a time, 
 and at last agreed to spend the remainder of the 
 summer in some quiet seaside place in Southern 
 Italy. They soon discovered the fallacy of wan 
 dering about Europe with a maid and a quantity of 
 luggage, and they both hoped that under the clear 
 sky of the south they would find exactly what they 
 wanted. So they gravitated to Sorrento and hired 
 a villa overhanging the sea, and Marcantonio sug 
 gested vaguely that they might have some one to 
 stay with them if they found it dull. At this 
 Leonora felt injured. The idea of his finding life 
 dull in her company ! 
 
 " How can you possibly suggest such a thing ? " 
 she asked, in a hurt tone. 
 
 " Not for myself, ma chere" said Marcantonio, 
 with an affectionate smile. "It struck me that 
 you might not find it very amusing. I could 
 never find- it dull where you are, ma bien aimee" 
 And indeed he never did. Leonora was pacified, 
 as she almost always was when he was particularly 
 affectionate. 
 
 "But, of course," he continued, "you will enjoy 
 
TO LEEWARD. 53 
 
 the being able to read and study your favorite 
 books." 
 
 " I never want to read them now," said Leonora, 
 who chanced that day to be not very philosophi 
 cally disposed. She had been perusing the latest 
 French impossibility, she found it rather amus 
 ing to be allowed to have what she liked now that 
 she was married. 
 
 " I would be glad if you never read any more 
 philosophy," said Marcantonio, unwisely saying 
 what was uppermost in his thoughts. 
 
 " Really, though," answered Leonora, " I know 
 it all so very superficially that I feel I must go 
 back and be much more thorough. I think I will 
 take a sound course of Voltaire and Hegel, and 
 that kind of thing, this summer." 
 
 Her husband was silent. He began to suspect 
 his wife of being capable of an occasional contra 
 diction for the mere love of it. Besides, he saw no 
 particular connection between the two authors she 
 named. But then he knew very little about them. 
 He looked at Leonora. There was not a trace of 
 unpleasant expression in her face, and she seemed 
 to have merely made the remark in the air, without 
 the least intention of being contradictory or cap 
 tious. He liked to look at her, she was so fresh 
 and fair. Neither heat nor cold seemed to touch 
 her delicate white skin, her hair was so thick 
 and strong, and her blue eyes so bright. She was 
 the very incarnation of life. What if her features 
 were not quite classic in proportion ? 
 
54 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 "I am not so beautiful as Diana," she said 
 laughingly one day to Marcantonio, " but I am 
 sure I am much more alive than she is." He 
 laughed too, well pleased at the distinction drawn. 
 He was glad that his sister should be thought cold, 
 and he believed his wife loved him. He kissed her 
 hand tenderly. 
 
 They had been married two months when they 
 came to stay in Sorrento. It is a beautiful place. 
 Perhaps in all the orange-scented south there is 
 none more perfect, more sweet with gardens and 
 soft sea-breath, more rich in ancient olive-groves, 
 or more tenderly nestled in the breast of a boun 
 tiful nature. A little place it is, backed and 
 flanked by the volcanic hills, but having before it 
 the glory of the fairest water in the world. Straight 
 down from the orange gardens the cliffs fall to the 
 sea, and every villa and village has a descent, 
 winding through caves and by stairways to its own 
 small sandy cove, where the boats lie in the sun 
 through the summer s noontide heat, to shoot out 
 at morning and evening into the coolness of the 
 breezy bay. Among the warm, green fruit trees 
 the song-birds have their nests, and about the eaves 
 of the scattered houses the swallows wheel and 
 race in quick, smooth circles. Far along through 
 the groves echoes the ancient song of the southern 
 peasant, older than the trees, older than the soil, 
 older than poor old Pompeii lying off there in the 
 eternal ashes of her gorgeous sins. And ever the 
 sapphire sea kisses the feet of the cliffs as though 
 
TO LEEWAttD. 55 
 
 wooing the rocks to come down, and plunge in, and 
 taste how good a thing it is to be cool and wet all 
 over. 
 
 To this place Marcantonio and his wife came at 
 the beginning of July, having picked up numerous 
 possessions and a few servants in Rome. They 
 both had a taste for comfort, though they enjoyed 
 the small privations of travelling for a time. To 
 luxurious people it is pleasant to be uncomfortable 
 when the fancy takes them, in order that they may 
 the better enjoy the tint of their purple and the 
 softness of their fine linen by the contrast. For 
 contrast is the magnifying glass of the senses. 
 
 At sunset they walked side by side in their ter 
 raced garden overlooking the sea. They had trav 
 elled all night and had rested all day in consequence, 
 and now they were refreshed and alive to the magic 
 things about them. 
 
 "How green it is!" said Leonora, stopping to 
 look at the thick trees. 
 
 " Yes," answered Marcantonio, " it is very 
 green." He was thinking of something else, and 
 Leonora s very natural and simple remark did not 
 divert his thoughts. The cook had arrived with a 
 touch of the fever, and he was debating whether to 
 send for the doctor at once or to wait till the next 
 day. For he was very good to his servants, and 
 took care of them. But Leonora wanted some 
 thing more enthusiastic. 
 
 " But it is so very fresh and green ! " she re 
 peated. "Do you not see how lovely it all is?" 
 She laid her hand on his arm. 
 
56 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Oui, clierie" said he, getting rid of the cook 
 by an effort, " and green is the color of hope." 
 Then it struck him that the saying was rather com 
 monplace, and he began to realize what she wanted. 
 " It is a perfect fairyland," he went on, " and we 
 will enjoy it as long as we please. Are you fond 
 of sailing, my dear ? " 
 
 " Oh, of all things ! " exclaimed Leonora, enthu 
 siastically. " I love the sea and the beautiful col 
 ors, and everything " She stopped short and 
 put her arm through his and made him walk again. 
 She was conscious, perhaps, that she was making 
 an effort, why, she could not tell, and that she 
 had not much to say. 
 
 " Marcantoine " she began. They spoke 
 French together, though she knew Italian better. 
 She thought his name long, but had not yet de 
 cided how to abbreviate it. 
 
 " Yes, what would you say, my dear ? " he asked 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " I think I could no Marcantoine, now that 
 we are married, are you quite sure that you love 
 me quite, quite ? " Marcantonio s face turned 
 strangely earnest and quiet. He looked into her 
 eyes as he answered. 
 
 " Yes, my very dear wife, I am quite sure. And 
 you, are you sure, Leonora ? " 
 
 " How serious you are ! " she exclaimed, laugh 
 ingly. " Well, perhaps I am not so sure as you 
 are, but I think I could." Somehow he did not 
 smile ; he took some things so seriously. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 57 
 
 Honeymoon conversation - are insignificant 
 enough, but it would be well it tliay were still more 
 so. They should be limited oy an international 
 law to the phrases contained in the works of M. 
 Ollendorff. 
 
 " Is it a fine day, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes, madam, it is a very fine day, but the 
 baker has the green hat of the officer." 
 
 " Has the baker also the red cow of the general s 
 wife?" 
 
 " No, madam, the baker has not the red cow of 
 the general s wife, but the undertaker has the pen 
 knife of the aunt of the good butcher." 
 
 It would be hard for the most ill-disposed couple 
 to quarrel if confined to this simple elegance of 
 dialectics, where truths of the broadest kind are 
 clothed in the purest and most energetic words. 
 Young married people are allowed too much lati 
 tude when they are turned loose upon a whole lan 
 guage with a sort of standing order to make con 
 versation. When they have exhausted a certain 
 fund of stock poetry and enthusiasm, they have 
 very little to fall back upon, except their personal 
 relation to each other ; and unless they are equally 
 serious or equally frivolous, the discussion of such 
 matters is apt to get them into trouble. 
 
 Like most Italians Marcantonio had difficulty 
 in understanding English humor. When Leonora 
 said she was not quite sure she loved him, she had 
 meant it for a jest, and if the jest had a deeper 
 meaning and a possibility of truth for herself, that 
 
58 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 was no reason, she thought, why Marcantonio 
 should consider it no jest at all. She was some 
 what annoyed, and she made up her mind that 
 there must be an element of Philistinism in his 
 character. She hated and feared Philistines, partly 
 because they were bores, and partly because she had 
 met one or two of them who had known vastly more 
 than she did, and who had not scrupled to show it. 
 But, after all, how could Marcantonio be really like 
 them ? He did not know very much, nor did he pre 
 tend to, and he had very good taste and was alto 
 gether very nice, no, he was not a Philistine ; he 
 loved her, and that was the reason he was serious. 
 All this she thought, springing from one idea to 
 another, and ending by drawing her arm closer 
 through his and moving along the terrace by his side. 
 
 The sun had set over there in front of them, and 
 the air was cool and purple with the afterglow. 
 They stood by the wall and looked out silently, 
 without an}^ further effort at conversation. Talk 
 ing had been a failure, probably because they were 
 tired, and for a brief space they were content to 
 watch the clouds, and to listen to the swift rush of 
 the swallows and the faint, soft fall of the small 
 waves on the sand far below them. There they were, 
 linked together, for better for worse, to meet the 
 joys and the sorrows of life hand in hand ; to stand 
 before the world as representatives of their class, 
 to play a part in public, and in their homes to be 
 all in all to each other, man and wife. 
 
 Man and wife ! Ah me ! for the greatness and 
 
TO LEEWARD. 59 
 
 the littleness of the bonds those names stand for ! 
 Is there a man so poor and thin-souled in the 
 world that he has not dreamed of calling some 
 woman " wife " ? Is there any wretch so mean and 
 miserable in spirit that he has not looked on some 
 maiden and said, " I would marry her, if I could " ? 
 Or has any woman, beautiful or ugly, fair or dark, 
 straight or crooked, not thought once, and more 
 than once, that a man would come, and love her, 
 and take her, and marry her ? 
 
 But have all the woes and ills of humanity, 
 massed together and piled up in their dismal 
 weight, ever called forth one half the sorrow that 
 has ensued from this wedding and being wedded ? 
 Alas and alack for the tears that have fallen thick 
 and fast from women s eyes, and for the tears 
 that have stood and burned in the eyes of strong 
 men, good and bad ! Who shall count them, or 
 who shall measure them ? Who shall ever tell the 
 griefs that are beyond words, the sorrows that all 
 earthly language, wielded by all earthly genius, 
 cannot tell? Will any man make bold to say that 
 he can describe what pain his neighbor feels ? He 
 may tell us what he does, for he can see it ; he 
 may tell us what he thinks, for perhaps he can 
 guess it ; but he cannot tell us what he suffers. 
 The most he can do is to strike the sad minor 
 chord that in every man s heart leads to a dirge 
 and a death-song of his own. 
 
 A man who tries to tell of great suffering is 
 rebuked. "No human creature," says the critic, 
 
60 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " could suffer as this man describes, and live. 
 There can therefore be no such suffering in the 
 world." But does any critic or reader or other in 
 telligent person say, when he reads about great 
 happiness, " This joy is too much for humanity ; 
 there is no such joy in the world " ? 
 
 We shrink from suffering, in others as in our 
 selves, and we turn to happiness and cannot get 
 enough of it, so that however the tale ends, we 
 would have made it end yet more joyfully ; for so 
 would we do with our own lives if we could. The 
 strength of half mankind is spent in trying to 
 remedy mistakes made at the outset, and I suppose 
 that there is not one man in ten millions who is 
 not striving to make himself happier, in his own 
 fashion. A man is only happy when he believes 
 himself to be so, in whatever way the proposition 
 is turned, and no man believes himself so happy 
 but what he might be happier. 
 
 Marcantonio Carantoni was in just such a posi 
 tion. He was more than contented, for he looked 
 forward to much in the future that he had not yet 
 attained, and he looked forward to it with cer 
 tainty. His wife Leonora was trying hard to be 
 as happy as he, but there had been a doubt a 
 cruel, hot little doubt in her soul from the first. 
 She had deceived herself with the best intention 
 until she could hardly ever be sure that what 
 she felt was genuine. She had asked questions of 
 her heart until it was weary of answering them, 
 and would as soon speak false to her as true. 
 
 And here ends the prologue of this story. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A FEW days after the arrival of the Carantoni 
 establishment in Sorrento, Leonora was sitting 
 alone on a terrace of the villa with a book and a 
 great variety of small possessions in the way of 
 needlework, shawls, cushions, flowers, parasols, fans, 
 and a white cat. Marcantonio was gone to the town 
 alone, intending to buy more possessions ; for Sor 
 rento is famous for its silk-weaving and its ex 
 quisite carved work of olive wood, and Leonora 
 loved knickknacks. 
 
 " I would give anything in the world for a sen 
 sation," she thought, as she looked out over the 
 sea. 
 
 It was towards evening, and the water was as 
 smooth as glass and tinged with red. 
 
 Marcantonio was right after all. It was very 
 dull in Sorrento, with no one but one s husband to 
 speak to, and he had made such a fuss about the 
 cook s illness. Of course, it was very beautiful and 
 all that ; but life with the beauties of nature is so 
 very tiresome after a time. She longed for some 
 of her friends, even her mother, she thought, 
 would be a relief. But no on^ had c<*.ned, except 
 ing some very proper people of the Roman set, 
 who all had gout and rheumatfsm and a dictionary- 
 
62 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 ful of diseases, and were taking sulphur baths at 
 Castellamare. 
 
 She was wishing with all her might that some 
 amusing person would call, when, as though in an 
 swer to her thoughts, a servant brought her a card. 
 Then she yawned slightly, supposing it to be some 
 toothless old princess of Rome or some other wea 
 risome bore. But as she looked at the name, 
 " Mr. Julius Batiscombe," she gave a little start 
 and pulled and touched her lace and ribbons, and 
 smoothed her thick hair with her hand, and said 
 she would receive. 
 
 Mr. Julius Batiscombe was a man of five and 
 thirty years of age, and a person who would be 
 sure to attract attention anywhere. He was tall 
 and looked strong, but he trod as lightly as a wo 
 man ; none of his movements were clumsy or awk 
 ward. Not that he stepped daintily or affected any 
 feminine grace of movement ; there was something 
 in his build and proportion that made it always 
 seem easy for him to move, as though his strength 
 were perfectly under control. 
 
 People were divided in opinion concerning his 
 appearance. Some said he was handsome and some 
 said he was coarse. Some said he was refined and 
 some said he looked ill-tempered. As a matter of 
 fact he had a rather small head, set upon a strong 
 neck. His nose was large and broad, and de 
 cidedly aquiline, and he had a remarkably clean- 
 cut and determined jaw. His mouth was compara 
 tively too small for his face, but well shaped and 
 
TO LEEWARD. 63 
 
 well closed, shaded by a black moustache of very 
 moderate dimensions. His blue eyes were set deep 
 in his head and far apart. Of hair he had an 
 unusual quantity, of a blue black color, and he 
 brushed it carefully. A single deep line scored its 
 mark across, just above his brows. He had a way 
 of looking at things, that hid the half of the iris 
 under the upper lid, showing the white of the eye 
 a little beneath the colored portion. His complex 
 ion was of that brilliant kind which sometimes 
 goes with black hair and blue eyes, and is known 
 as especially a characteristic of the Irish race. 
 Moreover he was noticeably well dressed, in a 
 broad, neat fashion of quiet color, and he wore no 
 jewelry nor ornament except an old seal ring. 
 
 Opinions varied almost as much about Mr. Julius 
 Batiscombe s character and reputation as about his 
 claims to be thought good-looking. He had no in 
 timate friends, or was supposed to have none ; and 
 he never answered many questions, because he asked 
 none. It was known that he was an Englishman 
 
 O 
 
 or an Irishman by birth, but that he had never 
 lived long in his own country, whereas he seemed 
 to have lived everywhere else under the sun. 
 
 " I am so glad you came to-day, Mr. Batiscombe," 
 said Leonora after he was seated, and looking at 
 him rather curiously. He was no other than the 
 man who had stood in the doorway at the ball when 
 Marcantonio offered himself to her. She knew 
 him as well as she knew most of the stray foreign 
 ers who from time to time frequent Roman society 
 
64 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 He had been in Rome all that winter, and she had 
 met him two years before, when she first went out. 
 He interested her, however, by a certain reserve of 
 manner and by an air of " having a *story about 
 him" as young ladies put it which was un 
 usual. 
 
 "I am very fortunate," he answered, with a 
 slight inclination and a polite smile. " I called en 
 tirely at random. Somebody said you were com 
 ing here, and so I came to see if you had arrived." 
 " Yes," said Leonora, " we have been here sev 
 eral days, with all sorts of troubles on our hands. 
 It is such very hard work to settle down, you 
 know." 
 
 " What has been the trouble ? " inquired Mr. 
 Batiscombe glancing at the evidences of comfort 
 that were scattered about. 
 
 Oh it is the cook," said Leonora with a lit 
 tle laugh ; she was just beginning to feel the nov 
 elty of housekeeping, and she laughed at the men 
 tion of the cook, as though the idea amused her. 
 " He has had a little fever, and my husband was 
 dreadfully anxious about him. But he is quite 
 recovered." 
 
 " I am very glad," said Mr. Batiscombe. " It 
 must be a terrible bore to have one s cook ill. Did 
 you get anything to eat in the mean while?" And 
 so forth, and so on, through a few dozen inanities. 
 He would not make an original remark, being quite 
 sure that Leonora would ultimately turn the con 
 versation to some congenial subject. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 65 
 
 " Shall you be in Rome next winter, Mr. Batis- 
 combe ? " she asked at length rather suddenly. 
 
 " It is rather doubtful," he answered slowly. " I 
 am a great wanderer, you know, marchesa. I can 
 never say with any certainty where I shall be next." 
 He was looking at her and thinking what a splen 
 did living thing she was, with the evening sun on 
 her red hair. That was all he thought, but it gave 
 him pleasure, and his glance lingered contentedly 
 upon her, as upon a picture or a statue. He sup 
 posed from her remark that she wanted him to talk 
 about himself, and he was willing to please her ; but 
 he was in no hurry, for he feared she would move 
 and show herself in a less favorable light. She 
 was so good to look at, it was worth a visit to see 
 her ; and yet she was not a great beauty. 
 
 " I was thinking a little of. going to the East," 
 he added presently. 
 
 " But you have been there, have you not ? " 
 
 " Not for a long time ; and it will bear revisiting 
 often, very often. I mean to go there and study 
 again as I did years ago. You have no idea how 
 interesting those things are." Mr. Batiscombe 
 looked thoughtfully out towards the sea. 
 
 "What are those things, as you call them?" 
 asked Leonora. 
 
 4 What many people call the wisdom of the 
 East. They make us the compliment of implying 
 that there is a wisdom of the W r est also, which 
 seems unlikely." 
 
 " Dear me, what a sweeping remark ! " exclaimed 
 Leonora, rather startled. 
 
66 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 
 
 " I will prove it," said Mr. Batiscombe. " It 
 seems to me that in the West no two wise men 
 think alike ; whereas in the East no two wise men 
 think differently. Is not that a kind of proof ? " 
 
 " Not a very valuable proof," said the marchesa. 
 " But I do not know much about it." 
 
 " You have the reputation of knowing more about 
 it than most people, marchesa," answered Batis 
 combe. " I have been told that you know every 
 thing " Leonora blushed very slightly. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said she; " I might say the 
 same of you." 
 
 " I observe that you do not, however," said he, 
 laughing. 
 
 ".I never flatter any one," she answered calmly. 
 
 " Obviously, there is but one thing for me to say," 
 said Batiscombe still smiling. 
 
 "What is that?"" 
 
 " That no one could possibly flatter you, mar 
 chesa, since the truth is no flattery." 
 
 " No, but imitation is," retorted Leonora, well 
 pleased at having got a small advantage of him. 
 
 " Very good," said Batiscombe ; " but do you 
 know who said so ? " 
 
 " Shakespeare " - began Leonora, but stopped. 
 "No I cannot tell." 
 
 " A man called Colton said it. He wrote a book 
 called Lacon, containing innumerable reflections 
 on things in general. He was a wandering sea- 
 parson and wrote books of travels. He died of a 
 complication of nautical and religious disorders 
 
TO LEEWARD. 67 
 
 he confused the spirituous with the spiritual but 
 he was a wise man for all that." 
 
 " I suppose you remembered all that for the sake 
 of showing that you really know everything," said 
 Leonora, looking up from behind the fan that 
 shaded her eyes. The last rays of the sun shone 
 horizontally across the terrace. The movement she 
 made caused the book she had been reading to slip 
 from her lap. With a quick movement Batiscombe 
 caught it before it fell and laid it on the little ta 
 ble. Leonora noticed the action and admired the 
 ease of it. She was altogether disposed to admire 
 the man, though she would have confessed that his 
 conversation hitherto had not been at all remark 
 able. Nevertheless there was something in his 
 manner that attracted her. He was quick and 
 gentle, and yet he looked so big and strong. 
 
 " Thanks," she said. " By the bye, are you going 
 to spend the summer here, or are you only pass- 
 ing?" 
 
 " I am only passing literally passing, for I 
 have come from the north, and am going south 
 ward. I believe I am doing rather an original 
 thing." 
 
 " You are generally supposed to be always doing 
 original things," said Leonora. 
 
 " At all events I am never bored," he answered, 
 " which cannot be said of most people. At present 
 I am going round Italy in an open boat. It is 
 great fun. I started from Nice six weeks ago." 
 
 " How delightful ! I should like it immensely ! " 
 
68 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Are you fond of sailing, march esa ? " 
 
 " I enjoy it of all things," she answered. In 
 spite of her remark to the same effect made to 
 Marcantonio on the day of their arrival, she had 
 not yet been on the water. He had been so anxious 
 about the cook. 
 
 " There is a man-of-war to be launched at Cas- 
 tellamare the day after to-morrow," said Batis- 
 combe. " May I have the pleasure of taking you 
 over in my boat ? " 
 
 At this moment Marcantoiiio appeared at the 
 extremity of the terrace and came towards them. 
 
 " Would you like to go ? " asked Batiscombe 
 quickly, in a lower voice. "If so I will propose 
 it at once." Leonora nodded, and her husband 
 approached. 
 
 " Marcantonio," she said, " you know Monsieur 
 Batiscombe ? " 
 
 "Mais certaincment" cried Marcantonio cor 
 dially, and the two men shook hands. Batiscombe 
 was at least as much at home in French as his host, 
 and immediately attacked the subject. 
 
 "I came to propose to Madame la Marquise," 
 he said, " that you should come over to Castel- 
 lamare in my boat the day after to-morrow to see 
 the launch. I trust the plan meets your ap 
 proval ? : 
 
 Marcantonio turned to his wife to inquire. She 
 nodded to him ; he nodded to her. 
 
 " We should be charmed," said he. 
 
 And so the matter was arranged j they agreed 
 
TO LEEWARD. 69 
 
 about the hour, and Leonora said she would bring 
 the lunch. 
 
 " Yes," said Marcantonio, " I am glad to say the 
 coo k " At this point Mr. Batiscombe rose to 
 go, and th^ remark about the cook s health was lost 
 in the stir. Batiscombe bowed, smiled, bowed 
 again, and moved smoothly away across the ter 
 race, disappearing with a final inclination, and a 
 sweep of his straw hat. 
 
 " He walks like a cat, that gentleman," said 
 Marcantonio as he sat himself down beside his 
 wife. 
 
 " He is charming," said Leonora. " He has 
 been so amusing." She looked at her husband 
 furtively to see how he took the remark. 
 
 "Perhaps," thought she, "he is one of those 
 men who have to be managed by being made 
 jealous. I have read about them in novels." 
 
 But Marcantonio was very glad that she had 
 been amused, and he merely smiled pleasantly and 
 said so. It never entered his head to suppose that 
 Leonora was not satisfied with his show of affec 
 tion, because he knew in himself that his love was 
 perfectly real. There is a little vanity in such men 
 as Marcantonio, together with a great deal of hon 
 esty. Their vanity makes them quite sure that the 
 woman they love is satisfied, and their honesty 
 makes them think the woman would speak out if 
 she were not, just as they themselves would do. 
 
 Leonora had vanity enough of a certain kind, 
 but it was not personal. She doubted her own 
 
TO LEEWARD. 
 
 powers and gifts more than she need have done, 
 and there was enough uncertainty about her own 
 affection to make her uncertain of her husband s 
 love. In the mean while she was bored since Mr. 
 Batiscombe had gone, and she wished M^rcantonio 
 would talk and amuse her. But when he did begin 
 to say something it was about local Koman politics, 
 and she understood nothing about that sort of 
 thing. She longed more and more for " a sensa 
 tion." It would probably be different to-morrow, 
 for her moods seldom lasted long. But this even 
 ing it was intolerable. She made the most absent- 
 minded answers to her husband s remarks, and 
 seemed so impatient that he suggested she must be 
 tired and had better go to bed. 
 
 " But I am not tired at all on the contrary," 
 she objected. " There is nothing to tire me here, 
 a little driving, a great deal of sitting on the ter 
 race, a great deal of reading, and very little con 
 versation " 
 
 " Yery little conversation ! " exclaimed Marcan- 
 tonio. "Mais, ma chere, here it is two hours we 
 have been talking, without counting the visit of the 
 gentleman who walks like a cat Bat Botis 
 I cannot say his name, but I know him." 
 
 " Ah, yes Mr. Batiscombe. Yes," said Leo 
 nora languidly, " he was very amusing. He talked 
 about all sorts of things." 
 
 " Shall we ask him to pass a few days with us ? 
 I would be very glad if you like him." 
 
 Marcantonio was really glad to do anything his 
 
TO LEEWARD. 71 
 
 wife might wish. Leonora was touched. He was 
 sitting beside her, and she put her arms round his 
 neck and laid her head on his shoulder. 
 
 "You are so good," she said in a low voice. 
 " Oh, I do not want anybody else here at all. I 
 only want you but all of you and I feel as 
 though I had not all yet." For the moment she 
 really loved him. He gently smoothed her hair 
 with his delicate, olive-tinted hand. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Julius Batiscombe had gone to 
 his hotel, and, having eaten his dinner, was sitting 
 on the tiled terrace over the sea, with a cup of 
 coffee at his elbow, and a cigarette in his mouth. 
 There were lamps on the terrace, and there was 
 starlight on the water, and Mr. Batiscombe was 
 alone at his small table. 
 
 " I wish I had not gone there. I wish I had not 
 asked them to go to Castellamare. I wish I were 
 at sea in my boat." He said these things over and 
 over to himself, and now and again he smiled a 
 little scornfully, and sipped his coffee. 
 
 Julius Batiscombe was generally in trouble. He 
 was a strong man in all respects save one. He had 
 conquered many difficulties in his life, and by 
 sheer determination had turned evil fortune into 
 good, winning himself a name and a position, and 
 such a proportion of wealth as he needed. Of 
 good family, and brought up in luxury and refine 
 ment, he had been left at twenty years of age with 
 out parents, without much money, and without a 
 profession. He knew some half dozen languages, 
 
72 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 ancient and modern, and he had a certain prema 
 ture knowledge of the world. But that was his 
 whole stock-in-trade excepting an indomitable will 
 and perseverance, combined with exceedingly good 
 health, and a great desire for the luxuries of life. 
 He had lived in all sorts of ways and places, get 
 ting his pen under control by endless literary hack 
 work. By and by he tried his hand at journalism, 
 and was successively addicted to three or four 
 papers, published in three or four languages in 
 three or four countries. Last of all he wrote a 
 book which unexpectedly succeeded. Since then 
 the aspect of life had changed for him, and though 
 he still wandered, from force of habit, so to say, he 
 no longer wandered in search of a fortune. A pen 
 and a few sheets of paper can be got anywhere, 
 and Julius Batiscombe set up his itinerary literary 
 forge wherever it best pleased him to work. He 
 had fought with ill-luck, and had conquered it, and 
 now he felt the confidence of a man who has swum 
 through rough water and feels at last the smooth, 
 clean sand beneath his feet. His success had not 
 turned his head in the least ; he was too much of 
 an artist for that, striving always in his work to 
 attain something that ever seemed to escape him. 
 But he felt now that he might some day get nearer 
 to what he aimed at, and there were moments, brief 
 moments, of genuine happiness, when he believed 
 that there was wrought by his pen some stroke of 
 worth that should not perish. Ten minutes later 
 he was dissatisfied with it all, and collected his 
 
TO LEEWARD. 73 
 
 strength for a new effort, still hoping, and striving, 
 and laboring on, with his whole soul in his work. 
 
 Strong in body and strong in determination, he 
 was yet very weak in one respect. He was eter 
 nally falling in love, everlastingly throwing himself 
 at the feet of some woman and making mischief 
 that he afterwards bitterly regretted. It seemed 
 as though it were impossible for him to live six 
 months without some affair of a more or less serious 
 character. It made no difference whether he wan 
 dered off into the recesses of the Italian mountains, 
 or went into hermitage in the Black Forest, or 
 steamed and sweltered under a tropical sun ; there 
 was always a feminine element at hand to make 
 trouble for him. 
 
 It was not only the universal woman calling to 
 him to follow, it was the universal woman seizing 
 him and carrying him away by main force. For it 
 was no matter of inclination. He struggled hard 
 enough to deserve victory, but without any percep 
 tible result. 
 
 What gave him most pain was the dreary con 
 sciousness of his own insincerity in his love-making, 
 the consciousness that came to him after the affair 
 was over. While it lasted he was carried away 
 and blinded by a sort of madness that took posses 
 sion of him and allowed him no time for thought. 
 But when it was over he remembered, bitterly 
 enough, how untrue it had all been, to himself and 
 to the one woman whom he had loved, and whom, 
 down in the depths of his turbulent heart, he loved 
 
74 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 still. His other loves were like horrible creations 
 of black magic, bodies with no soul, when he looked 
 back on them. And yet while they lasted they 
 seemed to him real, and high, and noble. 
 
 At first he fought against every new inclination, 
 and cursed his folly in advance ; and sometimes he 
 conquered, but not always. If once the fatal point 
 were passed there was no salvation, for then he de 
 ceived himself and the deception was complete. It 
 was no wonder people thought so differently about 
 him. He had been known to do brave and gener 
 ous things, and things that showed the utmost del 
 icacy of feeling and courtesy of temper; and he 
 had been known to act with a sheer, massive, self 
 ish disregard of other people, that made cynics 
 look grave and mild-eyed society idiots stare with 
 horror. The fact was that Julius Batiscombe in 
 love was one person, and Julius Batiscombe out of 
 love, repentant and trying to make up to the world 
 for the mischief he had done, was quite another ; 
 and he knew it himself. He was perfectly conscious 
 of his own duality, and liked the one state, the 
 state of no love, and he loathed and detested the 
 other both before and after. 
 
 And now he sat over his coffee, and the prophetic 
 warning of his soul told him that he was in danger, 
 so that he was angry at himself and feared the 
 future. He had known Miss Carnethy. as has been 
 said, for some time, and had danced with her and 
 sat beside her at dinner more than once, without 
 giving her a thought; he therefore had found it 
 
TO LEEWARD. 75 
 
 perfectly natural to call when he discovered that 
 she was at Sorrento. But his impression after his 
 visit was very different. The Marchesa Carantoni 
 was not Miss Carnethy at all. 
 
 She had looked so magnificent as she sat in the 
 evening sunshine, and he had gazed contentedly at 
 her with a sense of artistic satisfaction, thinking 
 no evil. But now he could think of nothing else. 
 The sun seemed to rise again out of the dark sea, 
 turning back on its course till it was jjist above the 
 horizon, with a warm golden light ; by his side sat 
 the figure of a woman with glorious red hair, and 
 he was speaking to her ; the whole scene was pres 
 ent to him as he sat there, and he knew very well 
 what it was that he felt. Why had he not known 
 it at first? He would surely have had the sense 
 not to propose such a thing as a day together. " A 
 day together " had so often entailed so much mis 
 ery. 
 
 Nevertheless he would not invent an excuse, nor 
 go away suddenly. It would be quite possible, he 
 knew, and perhaps also he knew in his heart that 
 it would be altogether right. But it seemed so un- 
 courteous, he was really anxious to see the launch 
 of the great ship and and he would not be 
 such a fool as to fancy he could not look at a 
 woman without falling in love with her on the spot. 
 At his age ! Five and thirty he seemed so old 
 when he thought of all he had done in that time. 
 No. He would not only go with them, but he 
 would be as agreeable as he could, if only to show 
 
76 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 himself that he was at last above that kind of 
 thing. 
 
 Some human hearts are like a great ship that 
 has no anchor, nor any means of making fast to 
 moorings. The brave vessel sails through the 
 stormy ocean, straining and struggling fiercely, till 
 she lies at last within a fair harbor. But she has 
 no anchor, and by and by the soft, smooth tide 
 washes her out to sea, so gently and cruelly, out 
 among the crests and the squalls and the rushing 
 currents, ancf she must fain beat to windward again 
 or perish on the grim lee shore. 
 
 Julius Batiscombe went to bed that night know 
 ing that he was adrift, and yet denying it to him 
 self ; knowing that in a month, a week perhaps, he 
 would be in trouble in love pah ! how he hated 
 the idea ! 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DURING the time that elapsed between Mr. Bat- 
 iscombe s visit and the expedition to see the launch, 
 Leonora had an access of the religious humor. 
 The little scene with her husband had made a deep 
 impression on her mind, and as was usual when she 
 received impressions, she tried to explain it and un 
 derstand it and reason about it, until there was lit 
 tle of it left. That is generally the way with those 
 people who make a study of themselves ; when they 
 have a good thought or a good impulse, they dis 
 sect the life out of it and crow over the empty shell. 
 
 It was clear, thought Leonora, that the sudden 
 outburst of affection which made her tell her hus 
 band that she wanted " all of him " was the result 
 of some sensation of dissatisfaction, of some unful 
 filled necessity for a greater sympathy. But, if at 
 the very beginning she had not the key to his heart, 
 if he did not wholly love her now, it was clear 
 that he never would at all. Why was it clear? 
 Oh ! never mind the " why," it was quite clear. 
 Moreover, if he could never love her wholly as she 
 wished and desired, she was manifestly a misunder 
 stood woman, a most unhappy wife, a condemned 
 existence, loving and not being loved in re 
 turn. And he, the heartless wretch, was anxious 
 
78 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 about the cook ! Good heavens ! the cook when 
 his wife s happiness was in danger ! In this 
 frame of mind there was evidently nothing more 
 appropriate for her to do than to take a prayer- 
 book and to hide her face in a veil, and slip away 
 to the little church on the road, a hundred yards 
 from the house. For a wrecked existence, thought 
 Leonora, there is no refuge like the Church. She 
 was not a Catholic, but that made no difference ; 
 in great distress like this, she could very well be 
 comforted by any kind of religion short of her 
 father s, which latter, to her exalted view, consisted 
 of four walls and a bucket of whitewash, seasoned 
 with the Rev. Dr. McSnivel s discourses and an 
 occasional psalm-tune. 
 
 What she could not see, what was really at the 
 bottom of the small tempest she rashly whirled up 
 in her over-sensitive soul, was her own disillusion. 
 She had deceived herself into believing that she 
 loved her husband, and the deception had cost her 
 an effort. She was beginning to realize that the 
 time was at hand when she might strive in vain to 
 believe in her own sincerity, when her heart would 
 not submit to any further equivocation, and when 
 she would know in earnest what hollowness and 
 weariness meant. As yet this was half uncon 
 scious, for it seemed so easy to make herself the 
 injured party. 
 
 Poor Marcantonio was not to blame. He was 
 the happiest of mortals, and went calmly on his 
 way, doubting nothing and thinking that he was of 
 all mortal men the most supremely fortunate. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 79 
 
 Meanwhile Leonora kneeled in the roug-h little 
 
 O 
 
 church, solacing herself with the catalogue of those 
 ills she thought she was suffering. The stones 
 were hard ; there was a wretched little knot of 
 country people, squalid and ill-savored, who stared 
 at the great* lady for a moment, and then went on 
 with their rosaries. A dirty little boy with a cane 
 twenty feet long was poking a taper about and 
 lighting lamps, and he dropped some of the wax 
 on Leonora s gown. But she never shrank or 
 looked annoyed. 
 
 "All these things are very delightful," she said 
 to herself, " if you only consider them as mortifi 
 cations of the flesh." She remembered how often 
 just such little annoyances had sent her out of 
 other churches disgusted and declaring that re 
 ligion was a vain and hollow thing ; and now, be 
 cause she could bear with them and was not angry 
 she felt quite sure it was genuine. 
 
 "Yes," said she piously, as, an hour later, she 
 picked her way home through the dusty road, " yes, 
 the Church is a great refuge. I will go there every 
 day." 
 
 Indeed, she was so resigned and subdued that 
 evening at dinner, that Marcantonio asked whether 
 she had a headache. 
 
 " Oh no," she answered, " I am perfectly well, 
 thank you." 
 
 " Because if you are indisposed, ma bien-aimee" 
 continued her husband with some anxiety, " we will 
 not go to Castellamare to-morrow." 
 
80 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " I will certainly go," she said. " I would go if 
 I had twenty headaches," she might have added, 
 for it would have been true. 
 
 " The occasion will be so much the more bril 
 liant, ma tres chere" remarked Marcantonio gal 
 lantly, as they went out into the garden under the 
 stars. 
 
 " It is a hollow sham," said Leonora to herself. 
 " He does not mean it." 
 
 But whether it was the effect of the morning, or 
 the magic influence of Mr. Batiscombe s personality, 
 is not certain ; at all events when that gentleman 
 appeared at the appointed hour to announce that 
 his boat was in readiness, Leonora looked as though 
 she had never known what care meant. She doubt 
 less still remembered all she had thought on the 
 previous afternoon, and she was still quite sure that 
 her existence was a wreck and a misery, but 
 then, she argued, why should we poor misunder 
 stood women not take such innocent pleasures as 
 come in our way ? It would be very wrong not to 
 accept humbly the little crumbs of happiness, etc., 
 etc. So they went to Castellamare. 
 
 It is not far, but the wind seldom serves in the 
 morning, and it was an hour and a half before the 
 six stout men in white suits and straw hats pulled 
 the boat round the breakwater of the arsenal. 
 Everything was ready for the ceremony. Half a 
 dozen Italian ironclads lay in the harbor, decked 
 from stem to stern with flags ; the royal person 
 ages had arrived, and were boring each other to 
 
TO LEEWARD. 81 
 
 death in a great temporary balcony, gaudily deco 
 rated with red and gold, which had been reared on 
 the shore within reach of the nose of the new ship. 
 The ship itself, a huge, ungainly thing, painted red 
 and bearing three enormous national flags, lay like 
 a stranded monster in the cradle, looking for all 
 the world like a prehistoric boiled lobster with its 
 claws taken off. The small water room opposite 
 the arsenal was crowded with every kind of craft, 
 and little steamers arrived every few minutes from 
 Naples to swell the throng. The July sun beat 
 fiercely down and there was not a breath of air. 
 The boatmen were all wrangling in a dozen south 
 ern dialects, and no one seemed to know why the 
 ceremony was delayed any longer. Nevertheless, 
 as is usual in such cases, there was half an hour to 
 wait before the thing could be done. 
 
 " I am afraid you will find this a dreadful bore," 
 said Batiscombe to Leonora in English, while Marc- 
 antonio was busy trying to make out some of his 
 friends on shore through a field-glass. Batiscombe 
 had sat in the stern sheets to steer during the trip, 
 and having Leonora on one side of him and her hus 
 band on the other, had gone through an endless 
 series of polite platitudes. If it had not been that 
 Leonora attracted him so much he would himself 
 have been bored to extinction. But then in that 
 case he would probably not have put himself in 
 such a position at all. 
 
 " Oh, nothing of this kind bores me," said Leo 
 nora cheerfully. 
 6 
 
82 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " You say that as though there were many kinds 
 of things that did, though," observed Batiscombe, 
 looking at her. It was a natural remark, without 
 any intention. 
 
 " Dear me, yes ! " exclaimed Leonora. " Life 
 is not all roses, you know." She therewith assumed 
 a thoughtful expression and looked away. 
 
 " I should not have supposed there were many 
 thorns in your path, marchesa. Would it be in 
 discreet to inquire of what nature they may be ? " 
 Leonora was silent, and put up her glass to ex 
 amine the proceedings on shore. 
 
 Batiscombe, who had come out that day with the 
 sworn determination not to say or do anything to 
 increase the interest he felt in the marchesa, found 
 himself wondering whether she were unhappy. The 
 first and most natural conclusion was that she had 
 been married to Marcantonio by designing parents, 
 and that she did not care for him. Society said it 
 had been a love-match, but what will society not 
 say? Poor thing, he thought, I suppose she is 
 miserable ! 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, in a low voice. " I did 
 not know you were in. earnest." Leonora blushed 
 faintly and glanced quickly at him. He had the 
 faculty of saying little things to women that at 
 tracted their attention. 
 
 " What lots of poetry one might make about a 
 launch," he said, laughing, for it was necessary 
 to change the subject, " ship dip ; ocean mo 
 tion; keel feel: the rhymes are perfectly endless." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 83 
 
 " Yes," said Leonora ; " you might make a son 
 net on the spot. Besides, there is a great deal of 
 sentiment about the launching of a great man-of- 
 war. The voyage of life and that sort of thing 
 don t you know ? How hot it is ! " 
 
 " I will have another awning up in a minute," 
 and he directed the sailors, helping to do the work 
 himself. He stood upon the gunwale to do it. 
 
 " I am sure you will fall," said Leonora, ner 
 vously. " Do sit down ! " 
 
 " If I had a millstone round my neck there would 
 be some object in falling," said Batiscombe. " As 
 it is, 1 should not even have the satisfaction of 
 drowning." 
 
 " What an idea ! would you like to be drowned ? " 
 she said, looking up to him. 
 
 " Sometimes," he answered, still busy with the 
 awning. Then he sat down again. 
 
 * " You should not say that sort of thing," said 
 Leonora. " Besides, it is rude to say you would 
 like to be drowned when I am your guest." 
 
 " Great truths are not always pretty. But how 
 could any man die better than at your feet ? " He 
 laughed a little, and yet his voico had an earnest 
 ring to it. He had judged rightly when he foresaw 
 that he must fall in love with Leonora. 
 
 Marcantonio, who did not understand English, 
 was watching the proceedings on shore. 
 
 " Ah ! it is magnificent ! " he cried, with great 
 enthusiasm. The royal personage who was to 
 christen the ship had just broken the bottle of 
 
84 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 wine, and the little crowd of courtiers, officers, and 
 maids of honor clapped their hands and grinned. 
 They all looked hot and miserable and exhausted, 
 but they grinned right nobly, like so many Che 
 shire cats. There was a sound of knocking and 
 hammering, a final shout of warning from the dock 
 officers, a slight trembling of the great hulk, and 
 then the ship began to move, slowly at first, and 
 ever more quickly, till with a mighty rush and a 
 plunge and a swirl she was out in the water. The 
 people yelled till they were hoarse, the boatmen 
 cursed each other by all the maledictions ever in 
 vented to meet the exigencies of a lost humanity, 
 the royal personages stood together on their plat 
 form looking like a troupe of marionettes in a toy 
 theatre, and congratulating each other furiously as 
 though they had done it all themselves ; everything 
 was noise and sunshine and tepid water ; Marc- 
 antonio was flourishing his hat, and Leonora waved 
 a little lace handkerchief, while Batiscombe sat 
 looking at her and wondering why he had never 
 thought her beautiful before. Indeed, she was 
 superb in her simple, raw silk gown, with fresh- 
 cut roses at her waist. 
 
 "It seems to me, marches^, that you are very 
 enthusiastic," said Batiscombe to Marcantonio. 
 
 " Mon Dieu I " exclaimed the other, shrugging 
 his shoulders, "one cheers these things as one 
 would cheer fireworks, or a race. It signifies noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Leonora ; " and besides, it 
 is so pretty." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 85 
 
 "I think it is horrible," said Batiscombe, sud 
 denly. 
 
 "Why what?" 
 
 " To see a nation squandering money in this way, 
 when the taxes on land are at sixty per cent, and 
 more, and the people emigrating by the shipload 
 because they cannot live in their own homes." 
 
 " Oh, for that matter, you are right," said Marc- 
 antonio, turning grave in a moment. " I could tell 
 you a story about taxes." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Leonora. " Those things 
 are so interesting." 
 
 " Last autumn I was in the Sabines ; I have a 
 place up there, altogether ancient and dilapidated 
 ereinte. I own some of the land, and the peas 
 ants own little vineyards. One day I saw by the 
 roadside a poor old man, a sort of village cretin, 
 that every one knew quite well. We used to call 
 him Angelino ; he was half idiotic and quite old. 
 He was weeping bitterly, poor wretch, and I asked 
 him what was the matter. He pointed to a little 
 plot of land by the road, inclosed with a stone wall, 
 and said the tax-gatherer had taken it from him. 
 And then he cried again, and I could not get any 
 thing more out of him." 
 
 " Poor creature ! " exclaimed Leonora, sympa 
 thetically. 
 
 " Eh bien," continued Marcantonio, " I made 
 inquiries, and I found that he had owned the little 
 plot, and that the tax-gatherer had first seized the 
 wretched crop of maize perhaps a bushel basket 
 
86 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 full to pay the tax ; and then, as that did not 
 cover his demands, he seized the land itself and 
 sold it or offered it for sale." 
 
 " Infamous ! " cried Leonora, and the tears were 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " A cheerful state of things," remarked Batis- 
 combe, " when the whole crop does not suffice to 
 pay the taxes on the soil ! " 
 
 " N est-ce pas ? " said Marcantonio. " Well, I 
 provided for the poor old man, but he died in the 
 winter. It broke his heart." 1 
 
 " I love the Italians," said Batiscombe ; " but 
 their ideas of economy are peculiar. I suppose 
 that without much metaphor or exaggeration one 
 might say that the poor cretin s bushel of corn is 
 gone into that ridiculous ironclad over there." 
 
 " But of course it is," said Marcantonio. " The 
 whole thing probably paid for one rivet. You, 
 who write books, Monsieur Batiscombe, put that 
 into a book and render it very pathetic." 
 
 " It needs little rendering to make it that," said 
 Batiscombe, and he looked at Leonora s eyes that 
 were not yet dry 
 
 By this time the royal marionettes had been 
 bundled off to their boats, and the crowd of small 
 craft on the water began to disperse. Batiscombe s 
 six men fell to their oars and the boat shot out 
 from the breakwater. Presently they hoisted the 
 bright lateen sails to the breeze. Batiscombe 
 perched himself on the weather rail, with his foot 
 
 l The author witnessed the facts here described in 1880. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 87 
 
 on the tiller, and the brave little craft heeled over 
 and began to cut the water. The wind fanned 
 Leonora s cheek, and she said it " was too delight 
 ful." 
 
 Batiscombe suggested that they should run into 
 one of the great green caves that honeycomb the 
 cliffs near Sorrento, and make it their dining- 
 room. So away they went, rejoicing to be out of 
 the heat and the noise. It was twelve o clock, and 
 far up among the orange groves the little church 
 bells rang out their midday chime, laughing to 
 gether in the white belfries for joy of the sunshine 
 and the fair summer s day. 
 
 " I would like to be always sailing," said Leo 
 nora, who had now quite forgotten her woes and 
 enjoyed the change. 
 
 " Ma chere" said her husband, " there is nothing- 
 simpler." 
 
 " You always say that," she answered rather re 
 proachfully ; " but this is the very first time I have 
 been on the water since we came." 
 
 " My boat and my men are always at your dis 
 posal, marchesa," said Batiscombe, looking down 
 at her, " and myself, too, if you will condescend to 
 employ me as your skipper." 
 
 " Thanks, you are very good," said she. " But 
 I thought you were only passing, and would be 
 gone in a few days?" She glanced up at him, as 
 though she meant to be answered. 
 
 " Oh, it is very uncertain," said Batiscombe. " It 
 depends," he added in a lower voice and in Eng- 
 
88 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 lish, "upon whether you will use the boat." It 
 was rather a bold stroke, but it told, and he was 
 rewarded. 
 
 " I would like very much to go out again some 
 day," she said. 
 
 Those little words and sentences, what danger 
 signals they ought to be to people about to fall in 
 love I Batiscombe knew it ; he knew well that 
 every such speech, in her native language and in a 
 half voice, was one step nearer to the inevitable 
 end. But he was fast getting to the point when, as 
 far as he himself was concerned, the die would be 
 cast. His manner changed perceptibly during the 
 day, as the influence gained strength. His voice 
 grew lower and he laughed less, while his eyes 
 shone curiously, even in the midday sun. 
 
 The boat ran into the cave, which was the largest 
 on the shore, and would admit the mast and the 
 long yards without difficulty. Within the light 
 was green, and the water now and again plashed on 
 the rocks. The men steadied the craft with their 
 oars and the party proceeded to lunch. Most of 
 " society " has a most excellent appetite, and when 
 one reflects how very hard society works to amuse 
 itself, it is not surprising that it should need gen 
 erous nourishment. The unlucky cook had done 
 his best, and the result was satisfactory. There 
 were all manner of things, and some bottles of 
 strong Falerno wine. Batiscombe drank water 
 and very little of it. 
 
 "Somebody has said," remarked Marcantonio 
 
TO LEEWARD. 89 
 
 with a laugh, "that one must distrust the man 
 who drinks water when other people drink wine. 
 We shall have to beware of you, Monsieur Batis- 
 combe." He had learned the name very well by 
 this time. 
 
 " Perhaps there is truth in it," said Batiscombe, 
 " but it is not my habit I can assure you. The 
 origin of- the saying lies in the good old custom of 
 doctoring other people s draughts. The man who 
 drank water at a feast two hundred years ago was 
 either afraid of being poisoned himself, or was 
 engaged in poisoning his neighbors." 
 
 " Oh, the dear, good old time ! " exclaimed Leo 
 nora, eating her salad daintily. 
 
 " Do you wish it were back again, marchesa?" 
 asked Batiscombe. " Are there many people you 
 would like to poison ? " 
 
 " Oh, not that exactly," and she laughed. " But 
 life must have been very exciting and interesting 
 then." 
 
 " Enfin" remarked Marcantonio, " I am very 
 well pleased with it as it is. There was no opera, 
 no election, no launching of war-ships ; and when 
 you went out you had to wear a patent safe on your 
 head, in case anybody wanted to break it for you. 
 And then, there was generally some one who did. 
 Yes, indeed, it must have been charming, alto 
 gether ravissant. Allez ! give me the nineteenth 
 century." 
 
 " I assure you, marchesa," said Batiscombe, " life 
 can be exceedingly exciting and interesting now." 
 
90 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " I dare say," retorted Leonora, " for people 
 who go round the world in boats in search of ad 
 ventures, and write books abusing their enemies. 
 But we what do we ever do that is interesting 
 or exciting? We stay at home and pour tea." 
 
 "And in those days," answered Batiscombe, 
 " the ladies stayed at home and knit stockings, or 
 if they were very clever they worked miles and 
 miles of embroidery and acres of tapestry. About 
 once a month they were allowed to look out of 
 the window and see their relations beating each 
 other s brains out with iron clubs, and running 
 each other through the body with pointed sticks. 
 As the marchese says, it was absolutely delightful, 
 that kind of life." 
 
 " You are dreadfully prejudiced," said Leonora. 
 " But I am sure it was very nice." 
 
 And so they talked, and the men smoked a little, 
 till they decided that they had had enough of it, 
 and the oars plashed in the water together, sending 
 the boat out again into the bright sun. In five 
 minutes they were at the landing belonging to the 
 Carantoni villa. There was a deep cleft in the 
 cliffs just there, and the descent wound curiously 
 in and out of the rock, so that in many places you 
 could only trace it from below by the windows 
 hewn in the solid stone to give light and air to the 
 passage. The rocks ran out a little at the base, 
 and there were steps carved for landing. There 
 are few places so strikingly odd as this landing to 
 the Carantoni villa. Leonora said it was "eerie." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 91 
 
 When it came to parting, the young couple were 
 profuse in their thanks to Mr. Batiscombe for the 
 enchanting trip. 
 
 " I hope," said Marcantonio, " that you will come 
 and dine with us very soon, and change your mind 
 about the water-drinking, and give us another op 
 portunity of thanking you." 
 
 " I have enjoyed it very, very much," said Leo 
 nora, giving Batiscombe her hand. Their eyes met, 
 and for the first time she noticed the curious light 
 in his glance. But he bowed very low and very 
 elaborately, so to say. 
 
 " You will keep your promise," he said, " and 
 use the boat again ? " 
 
 " Thanks so very much. But of course we will 
 have a boat of our own now, and so I would not 
 think of asking you." She smiled a little at him. 
 Somehow he understood perfectly that he would 
 nevertheless induce her to accept his offer. He 
 stood hat in hand on the rocks as they disappeared 
 into the dark stairway. Then he sprang into the 
 boat, and the men pulled lustily away. 
 
 He leaned back in the stern with his hand on the 
 tiller and his eyes half closed. In the bottom of 
 the boat were the lunch baskets, and one of Leono 
 ra s roses had fallen from the stem and lay wither 
 ing in the hot July sun. Batiscombe picked it up, 
 looked at it, pulled a leaf or two, and threw it over 
 board, with a half sneer of dissatisfaction. 
 
 "They have forgotten the baskets, though," he 
 thought to himself. " If they had asked me to go 
 
92 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 up with them, as they should have done, I would 
 have had them carried up. As it is I will I will 
 wait till they write for them. I could -hardly take 
 them myself." And he lighted a cigarette. 
 
 As Leonora mounted the stairway, leaning on 
 her husband s arm, she turned to get a glimpse of 
 the boat gliding away in the distance. She could 
 just see it through one of the windows in the rock. 
 
 " Why did you not ask him to come up ? " said 
 she. 
 
 " Why did you not ask him, mon ange ? " re 
 turned Marcantonio. 
 
 " I thought you might not like it," she answered. 
 
 " Comment done!- He is very amiable, I am 
 sure. But I thought you were tired and had had 
 enough of him, in short, that you did not want 
 him." 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Leonora. She felt a little 
 curious sense of pleasure, that was quite new to 
 her, at the idea that her husband could have seri 
 ously thought she did not want Mr. Batiscombe. 
 
 "Naturally," added Marcantonio, "we ought to 
 have asked him." 
 
 " I suppose so," said she, indifferently enough. 
 
 " I will call on him to-morrow, and we will have 
 him to dinner, if it is agreeable to you, ma chere" 
 
 44 Oh yes I do not mind at all," said Leonora. 
 She was thinking about something, and did not 
 speak again till they reached the house. 
 
 It was very frivolous, but she was really thinking 
 about the curious expression of Mr. Batiscombe s 
 
TO LEEWARD. 93 
 
 eyes. She did not remember to have ever seen 
 anything exactly like it. Besides, she had known 
 him, more or less, for some time, and had never no 
 ticed it before. Perhaps it was the reflection from 
 the water. But she dreamed that night that she 
 saw those eyes very close to her, and the expression 
 of them frightened her a little, but was not alto 
 gether disagreeable. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JULIUS BATISCOMBE was a restless man by day 
 and night, after the trip to Castellamare. Marc- 
 antonio called upon him, but he was out, and then 
 he received an invitation to dinner from Leonora, 
 with a postscript about the unlucky baskets. He 
 accepted the invitation. What else could he do ? 
 
 But when the day came he regretted it. He 
 wished he had refused and had gone away. Then 
 he made a fine resolution. 
 
 " I will not go to this dinner," he said to himself, 
 savagely, as he walked quickly up and down his 
 room. " I will not go near her again. It is not 
 right, and I won t do it. I will sail over to Na 
 ples at once, and send back a telegram of excuse, 
 saying that a matter of the most urgent importance 
 keeps me there. So it is I should think so a 
 matter of very urgent importance. Oh! Julius 
 Batiscombe, what an ass you are to be sure ! " 
 With that he crammed some things into a bag, sent 
 for his man, and descended in hot haste to the 
 shore. There was no time to be lost, for it was al 
 ready four o clock in the afternoon and the invita 
 tion was for eight. He could just reach Naples 
 and send his telegram in time to prevent the Caran- 
 toni from waiting for him. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 95 
 
 The lazy breeze was dying away, and he wished 
 he had had the sense to make up his mind sooner. 
 But his men rowed lustily, and kept time, so that 
 the boat spun along fairly enough. 
 
 " I shall do it," said Julius Batiscombe to him 
 self. He was happy enough in the sensation that 
 he was cheating his fate and was about to escape a 
 serious affection. Then he laughed at the comic 
 side of the case, and lit a cigar and blew great 
 clouds of smoke over his shoulder. But fate and 
 Batiscombe were old enemies, and fate generally 
 got the better of it. 
 
 It chanced that on this very day Leonora and 
 Marcantonio had determined to go out in the new 
 boat. For Marcantonio had wanted to give his 
 wife a surprise, and had got from Naples a beauti 
 ful clean-built launch. He had said nothing about 
 it, and had patiently borne her reproaches at his 
 indifference to sailing, until on the previous even 
 ing he had taken her down the descent to the rocks 
 and had shown her his purchase, which had just 
 arrived by the steamer. Of course she was en 
 chanted, and determined to make the most of it, 
 for she was really fond of the water. Accord 
 ingly, on this very day, she and her husband sal 
 lied forth with six men, for he had not dared to 
 give her a smaller crew than Mr. Batiscombe s. 
 She was in such a hurry to go that she said she 
 did not mind the sun in the least, oh dear, no ! 
 she rather liked it. And so it came to pass that a 
 few minutes after Julius had given his men the 
 
96 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 word to fall to their oars at the little beach of the 
 town of Sorrento, a long low craft, painted in dark 
 green and gold, and looking exceedingly trim and 
 " fit " with its long lateen yard and raking mast, 
 shot out from the cleft beneath Leonora s villa. 
 
 Batiscombe looked straight before him, steering 
 by the Naples shore, and intent on wasting neither 
 time nor distance. He might have been out half 
 an hour or more when a remark from one of his 
 crew made him look round, and he was aware of a 
 dark green boat two or three hundred yards astern, 
 but rapidly pulling up to him. He started, for 
 though he could not see the faces of the occupants, 
 he recognized a parasol that Leonora had taken to 
 Castellamare. 
 
 " It is the new boat of the Marchese Carantoni," 
 said the man who had first spoken to Batiscombe. 
 The man had seen it arrive by the steamer the 
 night previous, and had helped to put it into the 
 water to be rowed down to the villa. Batiscombe 
 gave one more look and groaned inwardly. He 
 would make a fight for it, though, he thought. He 
 encouraged his men not to allow themselves to be 
 overtaken by a parcel of Neapolitans, as he deri 
 sively called the crew of Carantoni s boat. His 
 own men were tough fellows from the north of 
 Italy, bearded, and broad, and bronzed ; but his 
 boat, built for rougher weather and rougher work 
 than pleasure-rowing in the bay of Naples, was 
 twice as heavy as the slight green craft astern. 
 His sturdy men set their teeth and tugged hard, 
 but the others gained on them. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 97 
 
 Leonora and Marcantonio had recognized the 
 cut of Batiscombe s boat and crew from a dis 
 tance ; and, in profound ignorance of his amiable 
 intentions of flight, they imagined nothing more 
 amusing than to race him. 
 
 " If we cannot beat him," said Leonora, breath 
 less with excitement, " I will never come out in 
 your boat again ! " She strained her eyes to make 
 out if they were gaming way. Marcantonio spoke 
 to the men : 
 
 " Corraggio, Corraggio ! 
 Maccaroni con formaggio ! " 
 
 The men repeated the rhyme to each other with 
 a grin, and bent hard to their work. They were 
 not Neapolitans as Batiscombe called them, but 
 strong-backed, slim fishermen from the southern 
 coast, as dark as Arabs and as merry as thieves, 
 enjoying a race of all things best in the world, and 
 well able to row it. Swiftly the dark green boat 
 crept up to her rival, and soon Batiscombe could 
 hear the remarks of the men. His own crew did 
 their best, but it was a hopeless case. 
 
 " Monsieur Batiscombe, Monsieur Batiscombe," 
 shouted Marcantonio, almost as much excited as 
 his wife, " we shall conquer you immediately ! " 
 
 Julius turned and waved his hat, and made a 
 gesture of submission. A few lengths more and 
 they were beside him. He raised his hand, and 
 his men hung on their oars. 
 
 " Kismet! it is my portion," he said to himself as 
 he gave up the fight. 
 
98 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " But where are you going in such a hurry, Mr. 
 Batiscombe ? " asked Leonora, who was delighted 
 at having won the race. "You see it is no use 
 running away ; we can catch you so easily." 
 
 " Yes," said Batiscombe, laughing recklessly at 
 the hidden truth of her words, " I see it is of no 
 use, but I tried hard. It was a good race." He 
 turned in his seat and leaned over, looking at his 
 friends. The boats drifted together, and the men 
 held them side by side, unshipping their oars. 
 Batiscombe admired the whole turnout, and compli 
 mented Leonora upon it. Marcantonio was pleased 
 with everything and everybody ; he was delighted 
 that his wife should have had the small satisfaction 
 of victory, and he was proud that his boat had ful 
 filled his expectations. So they floated along side 
 by side, saying the pleasantest manner of things 
 possible to each other. Time flew by, and presently 
 they turned homewards. 
 
 " I wonder how long it will be," thought Batis 
 combe as he held the tiller hard over and his boat 
 swung about, " before I tell her where I was going 
 in such a hurry ? " And he smiled a grim sort 
 of irony at himself, for he knew that he was lost. 
 
 "Eight o clock don t forget ! " cried Leonora. 
 She had a pleasant voice that carried far over the 
 water. Batiscombe waved his hat, and smiled 
 and bowed. They were soon separated, and their 
 courses became more and more divergent as they 
 neared the land. 
 
 Batiscombe swore a little over his dressing, quite 
 
TO LEEWARD. 99 
 
 quietly and to himself, but he bestowed much care 
 upon his appearance. He knew just how much 
 always depends on appearance at the outset, and 
 how little it is to be relied on at a later stage. So 
 he gave an unusual amount of thought to his tie, 
 and was extremely fastidious about the rose in his 
 coat. 
 
 As for Leonora, she was on the point of a change 
 of mood. She had been very gay and happy all 
 day long, and the adventure with the boat had still 
 further raised her spirits. But that was all the 
 more reason why they should sink again before 
 long, for her humors were mostly of short dura 
 tion, though of strong impulse. This evening she 
 felt as though there were something the matter, or 
 as though something were going to happen, and 
 her gayety seemed to be the least bit fictitious to 
 herself. She and her husband stood on the terrace 
 in the sunset, awaiting their guest. 
 
 " Ma chere" said Marcantonio, " I am in de 
 spair. I shall be obliged to go to Rome to-morrow 
 or the next day. My uncle, the cardinal, writes 
 me that it is very important." Leonora s face fell ; 
 she had a sharp little sense of pain. 
 
 " Oh, Marcantoine," she said, " do not go away 
 now ! " 
 
 " It is only for a day or two, mon ange" he 
 said, drawing her arm through his. 
 
 " Must you really go ? " she asked, not looking 
 at him. 
 
 " Helas, yes." 
 
100 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Then I will go with you," said she, in a deter 
 mined tone. 
 
 " Ah, I thank you for the wish, chrie" he an 
 swered. " But you will tire yourself, and be so 
 hot and uncomfortable. See, I will only be away 
 a day and a half." 
 
 " But I do not want to be alone here without 
 you," she pleaded. She could not for her life have 
 told why she was so distressed at the idea, but it 
 gave her pain, and she insisted. 
 
 "As you wish," said Marcantonio, kissing her 
 hand. " I will make every arrangement for your 
 comfort, and do what I can to make the journey 
 pleasant." He was a little surprised, but, man 
 like, he was flattered at his wife s show of affection. 
 There are moments in a woman s life when, whether 
 she loves her husband or not, she turns to him and 
 holds to him with an instinctive sense of reliance. 
 
 A moment later Julius Batiscombe was an 
 nounced, and the three went in to dinner. It was 
 a strange position, though it is by no means an un 
 common one. A man, his wife, and another man, 
 an outsider; the outsider loving the woman, the 
 husband supremely happy and unconscious, and the 
 woman feeling the evil influence, not altogether 
 opposing it, and yet clinging desperately to her 
 husband s love. Three lives, all trembling in the 
 balance of weal and woe. But no one would have 
 suspected it from their appearance, for they were 
 apparently the gayest and most thoughtless of mor 
 tals. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 101 
 
 The adventure in the afternoon, the expedition 
 to Castellamare, the baskets and even the cook, 
 then, the events of the past winter, their many mu 
 tual acquaintances, and the whole unfathomable 
 cyclopedia of society facts and fictions, every 
 thing was reviewed in turn, and talked of with witty 
 comments, good-natured or ill-natured as the case 
 might be. Batiscombe was full of strange stories, 
 generally about people they all knew, but he was 
 not a gossip by nature, and he avoided saying 
 disagreeable things. Leonora, on the other hand, 
 would be gay and brilliant for a few moments, and 
 then would let fall some bitter saying that sounded 
 oddly to Batiscombe, though it made her husband 
 laugh. 
 
 " You would have us believe you terribly dis 
 illusioned, marchesa," said Batiscombe, after one 
 of these sallies. Leonora laughed, and her eyes 
 flashed again as she looked at him across the table. 
 
 " You, who are so fond of Eastern magic," she 
 said, " should give back to this age all the illusions 
 we have lost." 
 
 " Were I to do so," answered Batiscombe, look 
 ing into her eyes as he spoke, " I fear that you, 
 who are so fond of Western philosophy, would tear 
 them all to pieces." 
 
 " My poor philosophy," exclaimed Leonora, " you 
 will not let it alone. You seem to think it is to 
 blame for everything, as if one could not try, ever 
 so humbly, to learn a little something for one s self, 
 without being always held up for it as an exception 
 
102 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 to the whole human race. It is as if I were to at 
 tribute everything you say and do to the fact of 
 your having written a book how many two? 
 three ? " She laughed gayly. " I do not know," 
 she continued, " and I will never read anything 
 more that you write, because you laugh at my phi 
 losophy." 
 
 " It is better to laugh at it than to cry at it," 
 said Marcantonio, without meaning anything. 
 
 "Why should I cry at it?" asked Leonora 
 quickly. Her husband did not know how honestly 
 she had shed tears and made herself miserable over 
 it aU. 
 
 " You laugh now," he answered, " but imagine a 
 little. All philosophers are old and hideous, and 
 wear " 
 
 " For goodness sake, marchese," broke in Batis- 
 combe, " do not paint the devil on the wall, as the 
 Germans say." 
 
 " The Germans need not paint the devil," re 
 torted Marcantonio, irrelevantly. " They need only 
 look into the glass." He hated the whole race. 
 
 " You might as well say that Italians need not 
 go to the theatre," put in Leonora, " because they 
 are all actors." Her husband laughed good-hu- 
 moredly. 
 
 " You might as well say," said Batiscombe, " that 
 Englishmen need not keep horses because they are 
 all donkeys. But please do not say it." 
 
 " No," said Leonora, " we will spare you. But 
 you might say anything in the world of that kind. 
 It has no bearing on my philosophy," 
 
TO LEEWARD. 103 
 
 " That is true," answered Marcantonio. " I said 
 
 . that philosophers were old and hideous, but not 
 
 that they were devils, actors, or donkeys. You 
 
 suggest the idea. I think they are probably all 
 
 three." 
 
 " Provided you do not think so after I have be 
 come a philosopher," said Leonora, " you may think 
 what you please at present, mon ami." 
 
 " I think that you are altogether the most charm 
 ing woman in the world," replied her husband, look 
 ing at her affectionately. 
 
 "Is it permitted to remark that the marchese is 
 not alone in that opinion ? " inquired Batiscombe, 
 politely. 
 
 "No," said Leonora, demurely, "it is not per 
 mitted. And observe that an English husband 
 would not say that kind of thing in public, mon 
 cher." 
 
 " Perhaps because they do not believe it in pri 
 vate," objected Marcantonio. 
 
 "More likely for the reason I suggested," ob 
 served Batiscombe, " that we are all donkeys." 
 
 " All ? " asked Leonora. " But some of you are 
 authors " 
 
 " It is the same thing," said Batiscombe. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! there are times " began Marc 
 antonio. 
 
 " When you believe it ? " inquired Batiscombe, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Ah, no! you are unkind; but times when I 
 would like to be an Englishman." 
 
104 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " I have heard of such people," said Batiscombe, 
 gravely, " but I have never met one. You interest 
 me, marchese." 
 
 "You must not be so terribly disloyal," said 
 Leonora. "You know I am English, too, at 
 least, I was," she added, looking at Marcantonio. 
 
 "Precisely," said he. "The wife takes the na 
 tionality of the husband." 
 
 " I am not disloyal," answered Batiscombe. " I 
 am very glad to be an Englishman, but I cannot 
 fancy any one else wishing to be one. I should 
 think every one would be perfectly contented with 
 his own country. I cannot imagine wanting to 
 change my nationality any more than my person." 
 
 "Evidently, you are well satisfied," said Leo 
 nora. 
 
 " Perfectly, thank you, for the present. When 
 I am tired of myself I will retire gracefully or 
 perhaps gracelessly ; but I will retire. I am sure 
 I should never find another personality half as 
 much in sympathy with my ideas." 
 
 As they followed Leonora from the dining-room 
 out upon the terrace, Batiscombe watched her in 
 tently. There was a strength and ease about her 
 carriage that pleased his strong love of life and 
 beauty. He noticed what he had hardly noticed 
 before, that her figure was a marvel of proportion, 
 no wasp-waisted impossibility of lacing and 
 high shoulders, but strong and lithe, and instinct 
 with elastic motion. He had seen her lately always 
 in some wrap, or lace, or mazy summer garment, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 105 
 
 whereas this evening she was clad in close silk of a 
 deep-red color, with the least possible trimming or 
 marring line. The masses of her hair, too, rich in 
 red lights and deep shadows, were coiled close to 
 her noble head, and her dazzling throat just showed 
 at the square cutting of her dress. 
 
 " People must be wonderfully mistaken," thought 
 Batiscombe. " She is certainly, undeniably a great 
 beauty, in her very peculiar way. Gad ! I should 
 think so indeed ! " which was the strongest expres 
 sion of affirmation in Julius Batiscombe s vocabu 
 lary. 
 
 It was no wonder she attracted him. For nearly 
 two months he had been wandering, chiefly in his 
 boat on the salt water, and in that time he had not 
 so much as spoken to a woman. His conversation 
 had been with himself during all that time ; and if 
 he had enjoyed intensely the freedom of heart and 
 thought in the intellectual point of view, his strong 
 nature, always drawn to women when not plunged 
 deep in work or adventure, could not withstand the 
 sudden magnetism now thrown upon ft. He knew 
 and felt the evil of it, and he struggled as best he 
 could, but each fresh meeting made the chances of 
 escape fewer and the danger more desperate. 
 
 " Marry," said his best friend to him, when, now 
 and then, in the course of years, they met. 
 
 " How can I marry ? " he would ask. " How 
 can I ever hope to love one woman again as a 
 woman deserves to be loved ? " 
 
 " Then go into a monastery and do no more mis 
 chief," returned the friend. She was a woman. 
 
106 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " I am no saint," Julius would say, " but I will 
 try to be." And ever he tried and failed again. 
 
 They sat upon the terrace in the cool of the 
 early night, with their coffee and their cigarettes. 
 There was a lull in their conversation, the result of 
 having talked so much at table. 
 
 " A propos" said Marcantonio, " of content 
 ment, we are very discontented people. We are 
 going to Koine to-morrow, or the next day." 
 
 Batiscombe was surprised. He paused with his 
 coffee cup in one hand and his cigarette in the 
 other, as though expecting more. 
 
 " Of course it is only for a day or two," con 
 tinued Marcantonio. " We shall return immedi 
 ately." 
 
 " Seriously, Marcantoine," said Leonora, " how 
 long shall we have to stay? " 
 
 " Oh not very long," he said. " I will get the 
 letter. Monsieur Batiscombe will pardon me?" 
 Batiscombe murmured something polite and Marc 
 antonio rose quickly and entered the house. 
 
 "Are you really going so soon?" Julius asked 
 in English, when they were alone, and Leonora 
 could see the light in his eyes as he spoke. She 
 looked away, over the starlit sea. 
 
 " I am not quite sure," she said. " I think I 
 ought to go." 
 
 " I hope you will not," said Batiscombe boldly,, 
 She turned and looked at him again, with a little 
 surprise in her face. Marcantonio came back, it 
 was only a step to his study. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 107 
 
 " Here it is," said Marcantoiiio, sitting down. 
 " He says he thinks that a day would do, if I could 
 be with him all the time. Voyez-vous, he is old 
 and wishes to put his affairs in order." 
 
 " I cannot see " began Leonora, but stopped. 
 
 " Enfin? said Marcantonio, "it might happen 
 to any one, I should think." 
 
 " Let us hope it may happen to all of us," re 
 marked Batiscombe, for the sake of saying some 
 thing. 
 
 When it came to parting, Batiscombe made some 
 polite remark about the pleasure he had enjoyed. 
 
 " When do you go ? " he asked, as he shook hands 
 with Marcantonio. 
 
 " I think we will go to-morrow night, nest-ce- 
 pas, Leonore ? " He turned to his wife, as though 
 inquiring. She looked up from where she sat in 
 her deep, cane arm-chair. 
 
 " To-morrow night ? Oh yes one day is like 
 another let us go then to-morrow night." She 
 spoke indifferently enough, as was natural. Batis 
 combe supposed she meant to go. He took his 
 leave with many wishes to his hosts for a pleasant 
 journey. 
 
 Marcantonio lighted a cigarette and stood look 
 ing out over the water, by his wife s side. She 
 was quite silent, and fanned herself indolently with 
 a little straw fan decked with ribbons. 
 
 " Will you really go to-morrow night ? " asked 
 Marcantonio at last. He had a way of dwelling 
 on things that wearied Leonora. What possible 
 
108 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 difference could it make whether they went to-mor 
 row, or the day after ? " Because," he continued, 
 " if you will be ready, I will make arrangements." 
 " What arrangements ? " asked Leonora lan 
 guidly. 
 
 " I will write to the cardinal to say I am com 
 ing, one must do that." 
 
 " You can telegraph." 
 
 16 What is the use, when there is time for writ 
 ing? Why should one waste a franc in a tele 
 gram ? " He had curious little economics of his 
 own. 
 
 " A franc ! " she explaimed with a little laugh. 
 
 "And besides," he continued, not heeding her 
 remark, " old gentlemen do not like to receive tele 
 grams. It gives on their nerves." 
 
 " Enfin" said she, weary of the question, " you 
 can write that you will go to-morrow nidit, if vou 
 like." 
 
 " And you will you go then ? " he asked. 
 
 " It depends," she answered. " I may be too 
 tired." 
 
 Marcantonio knew very well that his wife was 
 not easily fatigued ; but he said nothing, and by 
 his silence closed the discussion. She was very 
 changeable, he thought ; but then, he loved her very 
 much, and she had a right to be as changeable 
 as she pleased. It was very good of her to have 
 wanted to go at all, and he would not think of 
 pressing her to it. He was a very sensible and 
 unimaginative man, not at all given to thinking 
 
TO LEEWARD. 109 
 
 about things he could not see, or troubling himself 
 about them in the least. So he did not press Leo 
 nora now, and did not make himself unhappy be 
 cause she was a little changeable. The one thing 
 he really objected to was her pursuance of what he 
 considered fruitless objects of study ; she had not 
 opened a book of philosophy since their marriage, 
 and he was perfectly satisfied. Before he went to 
 bed he wrote a line to his uncle, Cardinal Caran- 
 toni, to say that he would arrive on the next day 
 but one. 
 
 Batiscombe strolled back to the town through 
 the narrow lanes, fenced in to right and left by 
 high walls. His thoughts were agreeable enough, 
 and he now and then hummed snatches of tunes 
 with evident satisfaction. What a magnificent 
 creature she was ! And clever too, at least she 
 looked intelligent, and said very cutting things, as 
 though she could say many more if she liked ; and 
 she knew about most things that were discussed, 
 and was altogether exactly what her husband called 
 her, the most charming woman in the world. Be 
 sides, he thought he could make a friend of her. 
 How foolish of him, he reflected, to suppose that 
 very afternoon that he must needs falls in love 
 with her! Where was the necessity ? He had evi 
 dently been mistaken, too, about her relations with 
 her husband. It was clear that they adored each 
 other, could not be separated for a moment, since 
 when he went to Kome on business she must needs 
 accompany him, in July, too ! Would she go ? 
 
110 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Probably. At all events, he would not call for a 
 week, when they would certainly have, come back. 
 This he thought as he walked home. 
 
 But when he sat in his room at the hotel he re 
 membered what he had thought as he followed her 
 out of the dining-room. He had not thought then 
 as he had an hour later. Tho magnetism of her 
 glorious vitality had been upon him, and he had 
 envied Marcantonio with all his heart, right sin 
 fully. 
 
 " Some people call women changeable," he re 
 flected as he blew out his candles ; " they are not 
 half so changeable as we are, and some day I will 
 write a book to prove it." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LEONORA would not go to Kome when the mo 
 ment came to decide. She was so sorry, she said, 
 but the weather had grown suddenly hotter and she 
 really did not feel as though it were possible. She 
 tried to make up for it to Marcantonio by being all 
 that day a very model of devotion and tenderness. 
 She affected a practical mood, and listened with 
 attention while he explained to her the reasons for 
 his going. She insisted on seeing herself that he 
 had a small package of sandwiches, and a bottle of 
 wine, and plenty of cigarettes to last him through 
 the night; and when he finally drove away, she 
 would have driven with him to Castellamare, save 
 that she must have come back over the lonely road 
 alone. To tell the truth, she was a little ashamed 
 of herself; she had been so anxious to accom 
 pany him, and now she feared he would be disap 
 pointed. 
 
 Marcantonio saw it all, and was grateful and 
 affectionate, though he begged her not to take so 
 much trouble. 
 
 " En verite, mon ange," he said more than once, 
 " I might be sailing for Peru, you give yourself so 
 much thought." 
 
 But she busied herself the same, going about with 
 
112 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 a queer little air of resignation that sat strangely 
 on her face. He took an affectionate leave of her. 
 
 "I will not receive any one, if any* one calls," 
 she said, as he was going. He looked at her in 
 some surprise. 
 
 "But why in the world?" he asked. "Who 
 should call particularly ? Not even Monsieur Batis- 
 combe, he thinks you will go with me." 
 
 Leonora felt the least faint blush mount to her 
 cheeks, but it was dark in the hall of the villa, 
 though it was only just dusk, and Marcantonio 
 could not see. 
 
 " Oh, not him," said Leonora. " Only I want 
 to be alone when you are not here." For a mo 
 ment again she wished she were going. 
 
 "Enfin, my dear," he answered; "do as you 
 prefer ; it is very amiable very gentil of you. 
 Adieu, cherief " and he got into the carriage and 
 rolled away. 
 
 But her words lay in his memory and would not 
 be forgotten. Why should she not want to see any 
 one ? Was there any one ? Why had ^he been 
 so very anxious to accompany him, and had begged 
 so hard that he would not leave her ? After all, 
 the only person she could be afraid of was Batis- 
 combe. He wondered for one moment whether 
 there had ever been anything between them ; he 
 could remember to have seen them together more 
 than once in the winter, at balls. But then, they 
 always met with such perfect frankness. He had 
 not watched them, to be sure, but he would have 
 
TO LEEWARD. 113 
 
 noticed anything out o the way, bah ! it was 
 ridiculous. Not that he wanted Batiscombe as an 
 intimate, for the man was certainly called danger 
 ous. He had known him for years, and had of 
 course heard some of the stories about him, but 
 then, there are stories about every one, and Batis 
 combe had evidently become very pose since he had 
 gotten to himself a reputation. Besides, to see him 
 a little, as they did in Sorrento, it would do no 
 harm ; it meant nothing, and he would think no 
 more about it. He was not going to begin life with 
 the ridiculous whims of a jealous husband, when 
 he had married such an angel as Lsonora not 
 he ! Besides, Batiscombe of all people ! If it 
 had been his sister Diana, it would have been dif 
 ferent. Everybody knew that poor Batiscombe 
 had loved her ten years ago, when he was as poor 
 as Job, and had nothing but a fair position in so 
 ciety. But Marcantonio had been away then on 
 his travels, being just nineteen, and having been 
 sent out into the world to learn French and spend 
 a little money on his own account. 
 
 Strange that he should almost have forgotten it ! 
 Not that it mattered in the least. The man had 
 loved his sister to distraction, but had soon recog 
 nized the impossibility of such a match, and had 
 gone away to make his fortune. He had come to 
 see Madame de Chaiieroi now and then of late ; 
 Marcantonio knew that, but it was perfectly nat 
 ural that they should be the best of friends after 
 so many years. How they had first met, or what 
 
 8 
 
114 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 had passed between them, Marcantonio did not 
 know, and never troubled himself to ask ; perhaps 
 he feared it would pain his sister to speak of it. 
 But the whole story invested Batisconibe with a 
 kind of air of safety as regarded Leonora, He 
 had certainly behaved well about Diana, and no 
 body denied it. Nevertheless, it was best that 
 he should not see Diana too often, especially if he 
 intended to live in Rome, now that he had made 
 his fortune. But Leonora he might call if he 
 pleased, and amuse her in the dull summer days. 
 Carantoni would not begin life by playing the jeal 
 ous husband. It was certainly odd, though, that 
 he should have thought so little about that old 
 story. The fact was, he had never seen so much 
 of Batisconibe in his life as during the last week 
 or ten days. 
 
 Meanwhile, he rolled along the road to Castella- 
 mare, and, after a great deal of shifting, found 
 himself in the night train from Naples for Eome. 
 He ate his sandwiches and thought affectionately 
 of his wife as he did so ; and then he lay down 
 and slept the sleep of the just until morning. 
 
 When he reached the Palazzo Carantoni, the first 
 piece of news he received was that Madame de 
 Charleroi was in the house, having arrived the pre 
 vious day alone, that is to say, with her courier 
 and her maid. The old servant volunteered the 
 information that the vicomtesse was going to stay 
 a week, or thereabouts, and had sent a note to the 
 house of his Eminence, Cardinal Carantoni, the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 115 
 
 night before. Marcantonio gave instructions that 
 she should be informed of his arrival, and that he 
 would come and see her later in the morning, and 
 he retired to dress and refresh himself. 
 
 He hated family councils, and he saw himself 
 condemned to one, for there was no doubt of the 
 cardinal s intention, since Madame de Charleroi 
 had come, and had communicated with him. The 
 cardinal was old, and felt the need of settling his 
 affairs and of -talking them over with his only near 
 relations, his nephew and his niece. For he was 
 rich, and had money to leave. 
 
 Marcantonio and his sister greeted each other 
 affectionately, for they were always glad to be to 
 gether, and their meeting seemed to have been un 
 expected. His Eminence had sent for each sep 
 arately, and they had arrived within twenty-four 
 hours of each other, Diana from Pegli and Marc 
 antonio from Sorrento. Of course, they talked of 
 trivial matters, for now that Diana had accepted 
 the marriage there was nothing more to be said 
 about it. At twelve o clock they drove to the car 
 dinal s house, through the hot, glaring streets of 
 Rome, fringed with the red and white awnings of 
 the shops. The carriage rolled under the dark 
 porch of the palace, and the pair mounted the cool 
 stairway and were soon ushered through a succes 
 sion of dusky halls and swinging green baize doors 
 to their uncle s study, a curious, old-fashioned 
 room in an inner angle of the building. The blinds 
 were drawn, and the occasional chirp of the lazy 
 
TO LEEWARD. 
 
 little birds came up from the acacia trees in the 
 courtyard. 
 
 The room was carpetless, with bright, smooth, 
 red tiles ; in the middle was a huge writing table 
 covered with papers and books ; on one end of it 
 stood a large black crucifix with a bronze Christ, 
 and there was an enormous inkstand of glass and 
 brown wood. Around the walls were mahogany 
 bookcases, ornamented with light brass-work in the 
 style of the first empire, and filled with books and 
 pamphlets. The room was cool and dark and hi-h 
 
 and as the brother and sister entered, their steps 
 icked sharply on the clean, hard tiles. His Emi 
 
 nence sat in an arm-chair at the writing table, clad 
 
 m a loose, purple gown, and wearing a minute scar- 
 
 let skull cap. 
 
 He looked, indeed, as though his life were nearly 
 spent ; for, though his dark eyes shone bright and 
 penetrating from under the heavy brows, his cheeks 
 were thin and sunken, the hue of wax, and his 
 white hands were transparent and discolored be 
 tween the knuckles. Marcantonio and Diana touched 
 their lips to the great sapphire on his finger, and 
 then the old man laid his hand on the head of 
 each They were his brother s children, and he 
 loved them dearly, after his crabbed old fashion ; 
 for all the Carantoni are people of heart and kind 
 
 nooo 
 
 ness. 
 
 "My dear children," he began, when they were 
 seated by his side on straight-backed chairs that 
 Marcantonio brought up to the table, my dear 
 
TO LEEWARD. 117 
 
 children, I am growing very old and infirm, and I 
 wanted to see you here together before I leave you 
 all." A kind smile played fitfully over the waxen 
 features, like the memory of life that haunts a 
 plaster mask. Diana laid her fingers gently on his 
 arm, and Marcantonio broke out into solicitous pro 
 testations. His uncle was not yet sixty, he had 
 many years of lif e ," this was a passing indispo 
 sition, a black humor, a melancholy. One should 
 never expect to live less than seventy years at the 
 very least, he said, and that would not be reached 
 for a long time. 
 
 " Ah ! no, dear uncle," he concluded, " you will 
 surely live to see my sons growing up to be men, 
 and to marry Diana s little girls ! " 
 
 The cardinal shook his head. That was not the 
 way of it, he said. He might die any day now, he 
 said, in his % meek voice ; and it really sounded as 
 if he might, so that Donna Diana felt her eyes 
 growing dim and her heart big. She took one of 
 the old man s thin hands in both of hers, and he 
 with the other pushed back the rich, heavy hair and 
 smoothed it tenderly. A marvellous picture in 
 sooth they made, the dying prelate in his purple 
 and scarlet, and the great unspeakable freshness 
 and life of the fair woman. Marcantonio passed 
 his hand over his eyes and sighed as he sat watch 
 ing them. 
 
 Then his Eminence explained to the two what 
 his chief plan was in calling them to him now. He 
 had made a deed, he said, which he wished them 
 
118 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 both to understand. There were certain estates 
 
 which he had inherited from his Bother, their 
 
 grandmother, as being the second son. These 
 he earnestly desired to see incorporated in the prop 
 erty of the Carantoni family. To that end he had 
 made an act of gift, transferring the lands to Marc- 
 antonio at once, on the condition that the cardinal 
 should continue to receive a certain income from 
 them during his life. This he insisted upon doing, 
 as he feared that after his death the lands would 
 be sold by the executors in order to divide the 
 proceeds between the two heirs. In order to make 
 the present arrangement a fair one, however, he 
 at the same time gave to his niece Diana de Char- 
 leroi a sum of money from his personal estate which 
 was equal to the value of the lands given to Marc- 
 antonio. Whatever they found after his death 
 could then be divided and distributed, the lands 
 would be safe in tne male line ; they might find 
 something left after all. 
 
 Diana protested; she was very glad that the 
 lands should be settled, but she did not wish to ac 
 cept a large sum of money in that way. In fact, 
 she begged her uncle to reconsider the matter. As 
 for Marcantonio, he looked grave and wished him 
 self well out of it. He was practically to be ad 
 ministrator of his uncle s property during the re 
 mainder of the latter s lifetime, and he did not like 
 it. However, as the arrangement was for the ulti 
 mate good of his children, and as he had not 
 Diana s excuse for refusing on the ground of not 
 
TO LEEWARD. 119 
 
 wishing to take a gift, since it hardly was one, 
 there was nothing for him to do but to accept 
 the situation with a good grace. 
 
 " You do not deserve anything at all, my boy," 
 said the cardinal, half kindly, half in earnest, " be 
 cause you married a heretic. But as I helped you 
 to obtain the permission, I must do something for 
 you." 
 
 " But I," said Diana, "I cannot take all this- 
 It is not fair to Marcantonio, for I ought to pay 
 you the income of it, just as he is to do." 
 
 " Nonsense, figlia mia" said the old man. " You 
 need money more than he does or ever will, with 
 that husband of yours, who is always going from 
 one court to another on his nonsensical diplomatic 
 errands. Ah ! my children, diplomacy is not what 
 it used to be ! Altri tempi alt-ri tempi ! " 
 
 The end of it was that the two young people 
 agreed to their uncle s provisions, and he insisted 
 on their hearing and understanding all the papers, 
 to which end he sent for his secretary, a wizened 
 little Roman with gray hair and bright eyes and a 
 fondness for snuff ; and the secretary read on for 
 two good hours. The old man from time to time 
 nodded his head to Marcantonio or to Diana, as 
 the one or the other was referred to in the doc 
 uments, and waved his pale thin hand in appre 
 ciation of the completeness and simplicity of his 
 arrangements. At last the various deeds were 
 signed, and a notary, whom the .secretary had pro 
 vided, was called in from the antechamber where 
 
120 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 he had waited, and attested the signatures and the 
 general legality of the proceedings. -The cardinal 
 was satisfied, and leaned back in his chair. He was 
 one of those old-fashioned noblemen who still be 
 lieve in the divine right of primogeniture and in 
 the respectability of land as a possession. With 
 the modern laws concerning the division of estates, 
 - the keen Napoleonic knives that cut the strings 
 of succession at every knot, these conservative 
 aristocrats have infinite trouble; but they gen 
 erally manage to evade the spirit of the law, and 
 to conform as little to the letter of it as they can. 
 
 " Cara mia, one must submit," said Marcantonio 
 to his sister, when they were alone together. " Old 
 men have strange fancies, and he has always been 
 good to us. What he said about my marriage was 
 quite true. If he had not helped me, I should 
 have made a fiasco of it, or done something 
 rash." 
 
 " I suppose so," said Diana, thoughtfully. " By 
 the bye, are you comfortable at Sorrento ? How is 
 Leonora ? " She was rather ashamed of not hav 
 ing asked the question before, but Marcantonio was 
 good-natured, and was glad that she had not said 
 anything hard. And, of course, the moment she 
 mentioned his wife, he was delighted at the chance 
 to speak of what was nearest to his heart. 
 
 " Leonora is well and more than well, Diana 
 mia," he answered. "Ah, she is an angel! She 
 has not read any philosophy since we married, 
 imagine ! And she was crazy to come with me to 
 
TO LEE WARD. 121 
 
 Eome in this heat ! because she did not want 
 to stay in Sorrento alone without me." 
 
 " Why did you not let her come, then ? " asked 
 Donna Diana. 
 
 " She was tired," he said, " and as I told her 
 how fatiguing it was, she made up her mind to 
 tay. I shall go back to-morrow, I suppose. I 
 wish I could go to-night." 
 
 " So soon ? " asked Diana. " But I have seen 
 nothing of you, dear boy ! " 
 
 "Why not come with me to Sorrento? Do 
 come, there is room for us all, and for all your 
 servants into the bargain, if you like to bring 
 them." Marcantonio was charmed with his idea ; 
 it seemed the most natural thing in the world. 
 Besides, he had longed for an opportunity of bring 
 ing Diana and, Leonora together. He was quite 
 sure they would become bosom friends. Diana 
 hung back, however, and was tess enthusiastic. 
 
 " I do not see how I could manage it," she said. 
 " I have so many things to do, and I must go back 
 to Pegli, before long." Marcantonio sat down be 
 side her and took her hand affectionately. 
 
 " Oara Diana," he said coaxingly, " will you not 
 come and make friends with Leonora? It would 
 be so kind of you, and she would feel it so much ! " 
 
 Madame de Charleroi hesitated ; not so much on 
 account of her reluctance to stay with Leonora 
 as because she knew that Julius Batiscombe was 
 somewhere in the neighborhood of Naples. She 
 avoided him always, though she was his best and 
 
122 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 most faithful friend ; for though she had loved him 
 once, there was not a trace of that left in her heart, 
 and yet she knew well enough that he loved her 
 still. Her high and noble nature could not under 
 stand so earthly a man as he ; she could not con 
 ceive how it was that through all his many affairs 
 he still looked on her as the one woman in the 
 world ; but nevertheless she knew that it was so, 
 and she therefore avoided him, not wishing to fan 
 a hopeless passion. He came to see her sometimes, 
 and she was very kind to him, giving him the best 
 of advice, but she never encouraged him to come. 
 So she was not anxious to meet him. But the 
 question of her relations with her brother in the 
 future seemed to make it now desirable that she 
 should go with him and " make friends " with his 
 wife, as he expressed it. 
 
 " Well," she said at last, " I will go with you, 
 and do what you wish." 
 
 Marcantonio was very grateful. He felt that his 
 young wife must have friends young wives have 
 so few and he could desire no better friend for 
 her than his sister, the model of all goodness, 
 gentleness, and honor. 
 
 " Dearest sister," he said, " you are so good ! 
 And if you have much to do here, I can put off 
 going for a day, you know. You can do your little 
 errands in a day, can you not ? " 
 
 " I might, perhaps," said she ; " but must you 
 not take some steps about all this land of yours 
 or of our uncle s ? Do you realize what a position 
 
TO LEEWARD. 123 
 
 you have assumed, my dear boy ? From this day 
 you are absolutely master of the estate, if you like, 
 but you are also absolutely responsible for the 
 payment of the income. You positively must see 
 the lawyers about it, and you may as well see them 
 at once." 
 
 " It is not the whole income of the place that he 
 takes," remarked Marcantonio. 
 
 " That makes no difference," said Diana. " If 
 you were to have it all, it would be the same. You 
 are bound to take care of it. Your own lawyer 
 knows nothing about this transaction. You may 
 not be in Rome again for three months. Make 
 some provision for your absence. Who is to col 
 lect your rents, in the first place ? " 
 
 " I suppose somebody would," said Marcantonio 
 laughing. " But you have a much better head for 
 business than I, Diana mia. Perhaps you are 
 right." 
 
 "You manage things very well, caro mio, so 
 long as they are under your hand. But you hate 
 to go and look after business when you want to be 
 doing something else." 
 
 " After all," he argued, " when a man is just 
 married " 
 
 " He ought to be specially careful of his affairs, 
 for his children s sake," interrupted Donna Diana 
 with remarkable good sense. She wanted a day or 
 two in Rome, and she thought he was really remiss 
 in his management. She had rather a contempt 
 for a man who cast everything to the winds in 
 
124 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 order to be one more day with his wife. She did 
 not believe that his wife would have done as much 
 for him. 
 
 The end of it was that he agreed to stay a little 
 longer, at least one day more than he had at first 
 proposed; and he wrote an affectionate letter to 
 Leonora, half loving, half playful, explaining his 
 position, and telling her of his sister s coming, that 
 she might be ready to receive her. He added that he 
 hoped to see them very affectionate and intimate, for 
 that Diana was the best friend his wife could have. 
 If Batiscombe had wanted to make a friendship 
 between two women he would not have gone about 
 it in that way. Marcantonio was very young and 
 inexperienced, though he was also very good and 
 honest. His sister saw both sides of his charac 
 ter and understood them. Leonora saw, but only 
 understood the honesty of him. His inexperience 
 she supposed to be a sort of paternal, philistine, 
 prosaic, humdrum capacity for harping on un 
 important things, and she already felt the most dis 
 tinct aversion for that phase of his nature. 
 
 JDiana and Marcantonio went down by the night 
 train, having stayed the better half of a week in 
 Rome. Marcantonio sent a telegram to Leonora 
 in the afternoon, to say that they would come. 
 They had a compartment to themselves, and as 
 they sat with the windows all open, rushing along 
 through the quiet night, they fell into conversation 
 about Sorrento. Madame de Charleroi had taken 
 off her hat, and the breeze fanned the smooth 
 
TO LEEWARD. 125 
 
 masses of her hair into rough geld under the light 
 of the lamp, like the ripple on the sea at sunset. 
 She was a little tired with the many doings that 
 had occupied her in Rome, and her face was pale as 
 she leaned back in the corner. Her brother looked 
 at her as he spoke. " Of course," he thought, 
 " there was never any one so beautiful as Diana." 
 What he said was different. 
 
 " You should see Leonora ; she is a perfect mir 
 acle, more beautiful every day. And though she 
 has been on the water several times, she is not the 
 least sunburnt." 
 
 "Have you sailed much?" inquired Diana. 
 
 " A good deal. I bought Leonora a very good 
 boat in Naples, and had it fitted. It is so pretty. 
 And before it came Monsieur Batiscombe took us 
 to Castellamare." 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Diana half interrogatively. 
 She was prepared for the news that he was at Sor 
 rento, for she had known that he was in the neigh- 1 
 borhood. 
 
 " Yes," answered Marcantonio. " He was very 
 amiable, and then we had him to dinner. You 
 know him, Diana ? " he asked, as one often asks 
 questions of which one knows the answer. He did 
 not remember having ever mentioned Batiscombe 
 to her, but his solitary journey to Rome a week be 
 fore had set him thinking, in a lazy fashion, and he 
 wondered whether his sister ever thought of the 
 man after all these years. 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Madame de Charleroi. " I 
 
126 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 have known Batiscombe a long time, long before 
 he was famous." 
 
 Yes," said her brother, " I remember to have 
 heard that he was once so bold as to want you to 
 marry him. Imagine to yourself a little! The 
 wife of an author." There was nothing ill-natured 
 in what Marcantonio said. In the prejudice of his 
 ancient name he was simply unable to imagine such 
 a match. Diana turned her gray eyes full upon 
 him. 
 
 " My dear boy, do not say such absurd things. 
 We are not in the age of Colonna and Orsini any 
 more. I came very near to marrying Julius Batis 
 combe, in spite of your fifty titles, my dear brother." 
 Diana was a loyal woman, from the outer surface 
 that the world saw, down to the very core and holy 
 of holies of her noble soul. She would not let her 
 brother believe that, if she had chosen it, she would 
 have feared to marry a poor literary hack. 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Diana, that you loved 
 him ? " asked Marcantonio in great surprise. 
 
 " Even you must not ask me questions like that," 
 said Diana, a little coldly. "But this I will tell 
 you, it was not for any consideration of birth, 
 nor out of any regard of our dear father s anger, 
 that I did not marry Batiscombe. Once I was very 
 near it. We are very good friends now." She 
 turned a little in her seat and drew the blue woollen 
 curtain across the window to shield her from the 
 draught. 
 
 " You do not mind meeting him ? " asked Marc- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 127 
 
 antonio, rather doubtfully. To tell the truth he 
 feared he had committed a mortal error, and was 
 taking his sister into the jaws of danger and 
 unhappiness. He had never suspected that she 
 had entertained any idea of marrying Batiscombe. 
 Julius was a very agreeable man, very amiable, 
 as Marcantonio would have said. What a fearful 
 thing if Diana were to take a fancy to him ! Loyal 
 as she was to Charleroi, she did not care a straw 
 for him, her brother knew it very well. Italian 
 brothers are very watchful and Argus-eyed about 
 their sisters. 
 
 " Why should I mind ? " asked Diana, looking 
 at him again. " We are very good friends. He 
 comes to see me in Rome, every now and then. I 
 do not object in the least, and he is really very 
 agreeable*" 
 
 " Worse and worse ! " thought Marcantonio. 
 " She wants to meet him and is glad of the chance. 
 But then, she is so good what harm can it do?" 
 Between his idea that he ought to keep them apart, 
 and his knowledge of his sister s noble and upright 
 character, Marcantonio was in a sad quandary. It 
 always took him some time to grasp new situations, 
 and the idea that Diana had ever loved Batis 
 combe was utterly new to him. True, she had not 
 said it ; she had only said she had been near to 
 marrying him. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHEN Leonora was alone, she resolved to have 
 a good fit of thinking. Accordingly, the next 
 morning after Marcantonio s departure she sat by 
 herself in a cool room, surrounded with books and 
 dainty writing materials, thinking. The little 
 white cat that her husband procured, because she 
 liked animals, climbed to the back of her chair 
 and made passes at her head with its small, soft 
 paws, seeming to delight in touching her. She put 
 up her hand and pulled the little creature down to 
 her lap. 
 
 " Pussy," said she, talking English to it, " were 
 you ever in love? " She kissed it softly and held 
 it up to her fair cheek. "I wonder what it is 
 like," she said to herself. "I wonder whether 
 being in love is always like this ! People who lovo 
 always say they would die for each other. I am 
 not sure whether I would die for Marcantonio. 
 He is very good. Yes of course one s hus 
 band ! Any woman would die for her husband. 
 And yet if the knife were very sharp and cold, 
 or the poison very dreadful to take, I am not 
 sure. Perhaps there would be some other way out 
 of it, and one would not have to die after all." 
 Poor Leonora, she made herself think she loved 
 
TO LEEWARD. 129 
 
 him, and then she would apply all kinds of tests to 
 her love which it would not bear, being but a very 
 thin and pitiful little ghost of a love. 
 
 " I really believe," she said at last, kissing the 
 cat and half closing her eyes, "that there is not 
 anything much in anything after all. Things are 
 not much more real than the shadows in the cave 
 that Plato talks about. Oh dear me ! And then 
 to have people think that one is clever! They 
 have such an absurd idea about it, Marcantonio, 
 I mean. Of course it is the nicest thing in the 
 world to be loved more than one deserves, but, 
 on the other hand, it is just as terrible a bore to 
 have other people forever thinking you really 
 worth more than you are. And then, to have him 
 think that my little bit of knowledge is dangerous ! 
 As if so very little could help or hurt any one ! I 
 must know a great deal more before it will do me 
 any good. I think I will read something hard to 
 day, how pleasant it is to be alone ! " 
 
 The last reflection came quite naturally, and she 
 did not even pause and think about it, the sudden 
 interest she anticipated in reading having chased 
 away the dutifully affectionate ideas she made it 
 her business to build up concerning her husband. 
 With characteristic quickness of determination she 
 rose, got herself a volume of Hegel s " ^Esthetics," 
 and buried her whole mind in the question of sub 
 jective and objective art. 
 
 To a woman or a man either who has not 
 what is called an interest in life, all manner of 
 
130 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 things take temporarily the place which should be 
 occupied by the leading, absorbing thought. The 
 things that are but relaxations, amusements, or 
 even unimportant bits of usefulness to the thor 
 oughly busy woman, to a woman like Leonora be 
 come in turn objects of intense study and care, only 
 to be cast aside and forgotten when the next day 
 brings in a new era of speculation, weariness, or 
 excitement. It is good to read many kinds of 
 books, it is good to do many pleasant and agree 
 able things, but it is emphatically not good to think 
 many kinds of thoughts. If a woman must change 
 her opinions, it is well that the change should be 
 gradual and the result of careful study and exam 
 ination, instead of taking place according to the 
 weather, the cut of a gown, or the conversation of 
 a stray caller. Men change their minds as com 
 pletely as women, but not so often, and above all 
 not so quickly. To be unchangeable is the quality 
 of the idiot ; to change too easily belongs to chil 
 dren and lunatics ; and the happy faculty of a sen 
 sible judgment permitting a change for the better 
 and forbidding a change for the worse is the high 
 privilege of the comparatively small class of human 
 ity who are neither fools nor madmen. 
 
 With Leonora to live was to change, and to 
 change often. Brimming over and exulting in 
 strength of physical life, neither her mind nor her 
 nerves could keep pace with her vitality, and the 
 result was the inevitable one. After great excite 
 ment there was morbid reaction, and in the state 
 
TO LEEWARD. 131 
 
 of rest there was a restless, insatiable craving for 
 motion. A strong man, ruthlessly ruling her by 
 sheer superiority of massive power, would have 
 brought out all that was best in her, and would 
 have driven her to her very best weapons for de 
 fence. But her husband was quite another sort of 
 person. His love for her was by far the best thing 
 about him ; save for that, he was not an interest 
 ing man. He was young and very tactless, though 
 full of good impulses and gentle courtesy to her 
 and to every one. But he wearied her with useless 
 details, and made her doubt whether his affection 
 ate manner meant love or mere good breeding. 
 He had an entire incapacity for making any one 
 believe that he was capable of great things. His 
 sister knew how real was his goodness of heart 
 and how generous he could be, and she knew also 
 how much he loved his wife. But she had no 
 power to put into him the passionate, burning ro 
 mance which was precisely what Leonora most 
 longed for ; and Diana did not believe that such a 
 woman as Leonora would long be satisfied with 
 such a husband as Marcantonio. 
 
 Meanwhile the day wore on, and she read seri 
 ously, and had her midday breakfast in solitude 
 and tried to read again. But by and by she nod 
 ded over her book and fell asleep in the humming 
 heat of the summer s afternoon. As she slept she 
 dreamed of a strong, black-browed man who kneeled 
 there beside her in her own house, and who pres 
 ently took her in his arms and bore her fast down 
 
132 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 the dark stairs and passages through the rocks to 
 the sea, where a boat lay ; and as he parried her 
 his -eyes gleamed like burning stars, and she felt 
 that her own grew big and bright. And suddenly 
 he would have leapt into the boat with her, but he 
 stumbled and fell, and she heard the deep roar of 
 the waters in her ears as they sank together. 
 
 She woke with a start. The white cat had 
 climbed up and lay on her shoulder, purring with 
 all its might. That was evidently where the sound 
 of the sea came from. She laughed, a little startled 
 at the dream and amused at its cause. It had been 
 so strange so so wicked. She was shocked. 
 How could her thoughts, of themselves unaided, 
 have gone to such a subject ! Besides, it was not 
 the first time. She had dreamed of Julius Batis- 
 combe before, and always of that strange look in 
 his eyes, gleaming wildly with something she could 
 not understand. 
 
 "It is dreadful! " she exclaimed, rising and go 
 ing to the window. She had slept long, for the 
 sun was low, and when she looked at her watch it 
 was six o clock. She reflected that she had not 
 been out all day, and that she wanted a walk. She 
 wrapped something thin and dark over her white 
 summer dress and left the house. The white kit 
 ten followed her to the door, mewing sorrowfully, 
 and wistfully waving its little tail. 
 
 She walked slowly down the road musing on the 
 odd thing she had dreamed, and seeking in her 
 mind for the reason and cause of it, finding fault 
 
TO LEEWARD. 133 
 
 with herself for being able to dream such things. 
 It is one thing to be able to call up images of ideal 
 men, and to tell the truth she strove even against 
 that ; but it is quite another matter to find one 
 particular man so much in your thoughts that you 
 dream of his running away with you. 
 
 She looked up, and a little church was before 
 her, the door being open. She hesitated a moment ; 
 she had come out to walk, but it would be so pleas 
 ant to kneel in the cool, quiet place, in the half 
 lights and deep shadows ; to think, and think, and 
 to pray sweet wordless heart-prayers, half mystic, 
 half religious ; to pour out the confessions of her 
 soul s suffering, and to find, even for a brief space, 
 that trust in something unseen, which her troubled 
 spirit could not give to earthly wisdom or earthly 
 love. She raised the curtain and enteredo 
 
 It was a simple little church, with a floor of 
 green and white tiles, whereon stood rows of green 
 benches and a few straw chairs. The light was 
 high, and the sun did not penetrate into the build 
 ing. Everything was very clean and cool. Over 
 the altar was -a great picture, neither bad nor good, 
 of a monk saint, dark in color and inoffensive in 
 composition ; there were two or three small chapels 
 at the sides, and the plain white arch of the roof was 
 supported by two rows of square masonry pillars. 
 
 When Leonora entered she saw that she was 
 alone, and the anticipated pleasure of religious ex 
 altation was heightened by the sensation of solitude. 
 She stood one moment, and then, being sure that 
 
134 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 no one saw her, she touched her fingers to the holy 
 water in the basin by the door and made the sign 
 of the cross, bending her knee slightly towards the 
 altar. Had there been any one in the church she 
 would perhaps not have done so ; but being alone 
 she loved to experience the forms of a religion in 
 which she did not seriously believe, but in which 
 she trusted far more than she knew. She went 
 forward, took a straw chair, turned it round and 
 kneeled on the tiles, burying her face in her hands. 
 At first, as she knelt there, she trembled with a 
 strange emotion that she loved, a sort of wave of 
 contrition, of faith, of penitence, and of uncertainty, 
 half painful and yet wholly delicious, that seemed 
 to her the sweetest and most salutary sensation in 
 the world. It was just painful enough to make the 
 pleasure of it keener and rarer. She could not 
 have described it, but she loved it and sought it, 
 when she was in the humor. Gradually her troubles, 
 real and fancied, would answer to her command, 
 and array themselves in rank and file for her in 
 spection ; the domestic difficulties, small and snap 
 pish little knots of mosquito-like annoyance, biting 
 tiny bites to right and left, and with little stings 
 stinging their way to notice in the foreground ; then 
 the troubles of the heart, the temptations of a wild, 
 unspoken and ideal love, streaming by her in the 
 sweep of tempest and storm, stretching out sweet 
 faces and fierce hands to take her with them, and 
 to bear her away from hope of salvation or thought 
 of heaven to the strange unknown space beyond ; 
 
TO LEEWARD. 135 
 
 then regain the shapeless and awful host of her fan 
 cied philosophies, now towering in fearful strength 
 and menace to the sky, and rending and tearing 
 each other to empty nothing and howling hollow- 
 ness, now falling down to earth in miserable shapes 
 and slinking insignificantly away ; but last and 
 worst of all, there was a deep dark shadow, tho trou 
 ble of her heart, the certainty that she had made the 
 great mistake and done the irretrievable sin against 
 truth, that she had married a man she could never 
 love, but whom God forbid the thought ! whom 
 she might hate for the very lack he had of any 
 thing that could deserve hating. And then all the 
 pleasure of her exultation was gone ; and the dull, 
 uncertain pain, that would not take shape because 
 it had no remedy, filled all her soul and mind and 
 body; she had never felt it as she felt it to-day, but 
 she knew that each time she came to the church to 
 let her heart talk to her in the silence, this same 
 pain had come, sooner or later, and that each time 
 it was stronger and more real. She bent low under 
 its weight, and the tears gathered and fell upon her 
 hands and on the rough straw chair. 
 
 Julius Batiscombe had passed the day after the 
 dinner in his boat, sailing far out to sea in the 
 early morning, among the crested waves and the 
 dancing sunbeams, smelling the salt smell gladly, 
 and enjoying the sharp, cool spray that flew up over 
 the bows. And at noon, when the west wind sprang 
 up, he went about and ran homewards over the 
 
136 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 rolling water. All that day he was thinking of 
 Leonora, but he was persuading himsolf that he 
 could and would make her his friend, and that the 
 sudden attraction he had felt for her was nothing 
 but a little natural sympathy of minds striving to 
 assert itself. 
 
 He found these thoughts so agreeable and edify 
 ing that he determined to repeat the experience on 
 the following day, and test their reality by their 
 durability. But somehow the hours seemed longer, 
 and before the wind turned, as it does every day in 
 summer on the southern coast, he put the helm 
 down, furled sail, and bade his men pull home. He 
 was discontented, and, having no one but himself 
 to consult, he thought he would try something else. 
 Once in his room at the hotel he tried to sleep, but 
 he could not ; he tried to read, but everything dis 
 gusted him ; he tried to write, and wrote nonsense. 
 At six o clock he went out for a walk. It was not 
 unnatural, perhaps, that he should take the road 
 toward Leonora s villa,, between the high walls of 
 the narrow lanes, for it was still hot, and the dust 
 lay thick in the road. Besides, he knew that Leo 
 nora was away, and that consequently there would 
 not be the temptation to call upon her. For in 
 spite of his visions of friendship, he felt an instinc 
 tive conviction that he ought not to see her. Con 
 sequently, as he strolled along the road, smoking 
 a cigarette and studying the extremely varied 
 types of the Sorrento beggar, he was conscious of a 
 comforting assurance that he was not in mischief. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 137 
 
 At the end of half an hour he was passing the 
 gate of the Carantoni villa. He stopped a moment 
 to look at the little vision of flowers and orange- 
 trees that gleamed so pleasantly through the iron 
 rails, in contrast to the dead monotony of stone 
 walls in the lane. A servant was coming toward 
 the gate, and seeing Batiscombe standing there, 
 opened it wide and took off his hat. Batiscombe 
 carelessly asked if the Signora Marchesa was at 
 home, expecting to be told that she was gone to 
 Rome. 
 
 " No, signore," returned the man ; " the Signora 
 Marchesa is this minute gone out, it may be a quar 
 ter of an hour. Your excellency " everybody is 
 an excellency in the south " will probably find 
 her in the little church along the road, where she 
 often goes." The man bowed, and Batiscombe 
 turned on his heel, not wishing to talk with him. 
 But he turned toward the church. 
 
 He walked very slowly, as though in hopes that 
 Leonora would meet him as she came home ; and 
 when he came to the door he stopped, as she had 
 done, hesitated, and went in. He trod softly, as 
 Marcantonio had more than once observed, and he 
 did not disturb the silence of the place. He stood 
 still, holding his breath, and knowing that he ought 
 not to stay, but unable for his very life to move. 
 His overhanging brow bent as he watched her, and 
 a curious look crossed his bronzed face, as though 
 
 5 
 
 he were pained, but felt both sympathy and pity 
 for the kneeling woman. The dead silence, the 
 
138 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 cold light from above, the half-prostrate figure of 
 Leonora clad in white with the dark lace thing 
 just falling from her splendid hair, it all seemed 
 like a strange scene in a play, and Julius looked for 
 the sake of looking, while his heart felt something 
 deeper than the artistic impression. 
 
 Leonora was bending low upon the seat of the 
 straw chair, the bitter tears trickling down through 
 her white fingers, and her whole life within her 
 convulsed in the consciousness of sorrow It had 
 so long been vague this sad knowledge of an evil 
 ever present, and yet ever eluding her attempts to 
 see it and understand it. But now it had come 
 upon her suddenly. After two months of wedded 
 life she knew that she had made a mistake beyond 
 all repairing. She had tried hard to love Marcan- 
 tonio, she had tried hard to believe that she loved 
 him, but the deception could not last in her, and yet 
 it seemed death to lose it. Sometimes she could 
 think almost indifferently of her marriage, talkino* 
 to herself, and asking questions of which she know 
 the answer, but to which she hoped to find another. 
 Did she love him ? she would ask at such moments ; 
 and she would answer that she thought so, well 
 knowing that whatever real love might be, it was 
 not what she felt for him. But to-day it seemed 
 as though the veil were torn and she saw the dread 
 ful truth. He had left her for a day or two, and 
 she had said it was so pleasant to be alone. That 
 was not love ah, no ! And that dreadful dream, 
 too, that haunted her still ; it kept returning, with 
 
TO LEEWARD. 139 
 
 its sinful face, the face of Julius Batiscombe. The 
 whole unfaithfulness of herself to herself rushed 
 upon her overwhelmingly, relentlessly, till she 
 could not bear it, but bowed herself and sobbed 
 aloud before the altar. 
 
 There was a slight noise behind her, and with an 
 effort she controlled herself, rose till she kneeled 
 upright and merely bent her head upon her hands, 
 drawing the back of the chair towards her in the 
 act. She had been disturbed, and the sense of an 
 noyance overmastered the expression of her trouble 
 for a moment. Gradually the consciousness of a 
 presence took possession of her, and she knew that 
 some. one was watching her ; she grew uneasy, tried 
 to repeat a prayer mechanically for the sake of 
 thinking of something definite, failed, smoothed 
 her hair half surreptitiously with one hand, and 
 finally rose from her knees. As she turned to leave 
 the church she met Julius Batiscombe s eyes, and 
 she started perceptibly. It was so precisely the ex 
 pression she had seen in her dream, little more than 
 an hour before, that she was fairly frightened, and 
 would have turned and fled had there been any 
 other way out. But when she looked again she 
 saw something that reassured her. There was that 
 which attracted, as well as that which frightened 
 her. She had the length of the church to walk, 
 and she made up her mind that she would not show 
 that she was surprised, and would behave as though 
 nothing had happened. For she was a strong wo 
 man in such ways, and could rely upon herself if 
 
140 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 not taken too much off her guard. Meanwhile 
 Batiscombe looked on the ground ; for he was often 
 conscious of the too great boldness of his sight, 
 and knew that it must be disagreeable to her. So 
 he moved a step or two, hat in hand, waiting for 
 Leonora to pass him, and prepared to follow if she 
 showed any sign of wishing it. He feared, how 
 ever, that he had offended her by his inopportune 
 appearance, and he was prepared for a repulse. 
 Nevertheless, after the first start was over, she 
 came boldly towards him, smiling rather sadly and 
 looking wonderfully beautiful; for the tears only 
 made her eyes softer and deeper, leaving a gentle 
 shadow in them, just as the sea is bluer and pleas- 
 anter in its blueness beneath the shade of an over 
 hanging cliff. She smiled, and passing out half 
 looked at him again as he lifted the green curtain 
 for her. He smiled again, gravely, and followed 
 her. When they were on the steps, he bowed low 
 again. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Batiscombe ? " she said, 
 quite naturally, holding out her hand to him. But 
 in the open air, his hand touching hers, she could 
 not help blushing a little when she thought of that 
 dream an hour ago. 
 
 " You did not go to Rome, after all ? " he said, 
 as they began to walk along the lane. 
 
 " No," she answered, " it was too hot. Do you 
 often go to the little church, Mr. Batiscombe ? It 
 is so nice and quiet there, is it not ? " She was 
 determined to put a bold face on the matter. Be- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 141 
 
 sides, he perhaps had not heard those sobs, he 
 had only seen her kneeling, perhaps, and had not 
 understood that she was crying. But Julius had 
 seen all and heard all, and was pondering deep in 
 his heart the causes which could make her unhappy, 
 seeing she was young and, in his opinion, beautiful, 
 
 married, as society said, to the man she loved, 
 and not lacking the goods of this world, while pray 
 ing ardently for those of the next. 
 
 " 1 have sometimes looked in," answered Batis- 
 combe. " It was a chance that took me there to 
 day." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Yes " he glanced down sidelong at her face 
 
 " that is to say not altogether." 
 
 She was silent, walking serenely by his side. 
 
 " No, not altogether," he continued, determining 
 suddenly on his course. " The fact is, I was walk 
 ing by your place, and a servant who was just com 
 ing out told me you were in the church, and then I 
 went in. I suppose I ought not to have done it," 
 he added with a little laugh ; " I am very sorry I 
 disturbed you. Pray forgive me." 
 
 " Not at all, churches are free for every one. 
 But why do you laugh ? " 
 
 64 At my own stupidity," he answered. " I might 
 have known that when you go to church at odd 
 times you go to be alone, and not to have wander 
 ing callers sent there after you." 
 
 "What makes you think that?" she asked, curi 
 ous to know how much he had noticed. She argued 
 
142 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 that if he had heard her crying he would think the 
 question natural, whereas, if he had jaot, he would 
 not suspect anything from it. 
 
 " Because you acted as though you thought you 
 were alone," he said seriously. 
 
 "I did think so," she said, blushing faintly. 
 " Do you know ? I was quite startled when I saw 
 you there." 
 
 " I saw you were," he answered, still very gravely, 
 " and I am very sorry." 
 
 " Do you remember what I said to you at Cas- 
 tellamare, Mr. Batiscombe ? " 
 
 " Yes ; you said that life was not all roses, and 
 you said it in earnest." 
 
 " Yes," said Leonora. " You see I did. I am 
 not always in earnest." 
 
 "Is it rude to ask how one distinguishes between 
 your excellency in earnest and your excellency in 
 fun ? " inquired Batiscombe, glad enough to turn 
 the conversation to a jest, for he judged Leonora to 
 be rather imprudent. Indeed, he wondered how 
 she could have said what she had, unless it were 
 from a wish to face out the situation. 
 
 "You ought to be able to see," she answered, 
 laughing lightly, " but when you cannot, perhaps I 
 will tell you." 
 
 " Pray do," said he. "I am very stupid about 
 such things, but then, I am always in earnest, 
 even when I want to be funny. Perhaps you might 
 think me most diverting when I am most in ear 
 nest." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 143 
 
 " No," said Leonora, " I should not think that. 
 I should think you might be very unpleasant when 
 you are in earnest at least, from the things you 
 write." 
 
 " That is a doubtful compliment," remarked Ju 
 lius, smiling. 
 
 "Is it? I cannot imagine anything more de 
 lightful than having the power to be as unpleasant 
 as you want to be." 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you, marchesa ? 
 I should be most happy, I am sure, short of 
 poisoning your enemies, as you suggested the other 
 day." 
 
 "You ought not to draw the line," she said with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " Oh, very well. I will do the poisoning too, if 
 you wish it." 
 
 " Of course. What is the use of having friends 
 if you cannot rely on them to do anything you 
 want?" 
 
 " If I could be one of your friends, marchesa," 
 he said gravely, " I am sure I would not draw 
 any line, as you call it." 
 
 " With what seriousness you say that ! " she 
 exclaimed, very much amused. She was nervous 
 from the knowledge that he had found her out 
 in the church, and she laughed at anything rather 
 recklessly. But Batiscombe had turned grave 
 again. 
 
 " Would you rather that one should ask such a 
 privilege in jest ?" he asked. 
 
144 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " No indeed," said she, a little frightened at the 
 point to which she had brought him. 
 
 " Then I ask it very much in earnest," he an 
 swered. 
 
 " To be my friend ? " she asked, looking straight 
 before her. 
 
 " Yes, to be your friend," said he, watching her 
 closely. 
 
 " Really ? In earnest ? " 
 
 " Really in earnest," he answered. She stopped 
 suddenly in the road. 
 
 " I accept," she said, frankly holding out her 
 hand. 
 
 " I am very proud," he said quietly. He took 
 off his hat and touched his lips to her fingers. Then 
 they walked on without a word for some minutes. 
 
 " What a strange thing life is 1 " exclaimed Leo 
 nora, at last. 
 
 " Yes, it is very strange," he answered. " Here 
 are we two, on the smallest provocation, swearing 
 eternal friendship on the high road, as though we 
 were going to storm a citadel, or head an Arctic 
 expedition. But I am really very glad, and very 
 grateful." Somehow the reflection did not sound 
 light or flippant; and to tell the truth, Leonora 
 was thinking precisely the same thing, wondering 
 inwardly how she could possibly have gone to such 
 a length with a mere acquaintance. But the land 
 of friendship was an untried territory for Leonora, 
 and she seemed to find in the idea a sudden rest 
 from a sense of danger. A friend could never be 
 
TO LEEWARD. 145 
 
 a lover, she knew that ! This was the meaning 
 of the dream. But she answered quietly enough. 
 
 " If things are real at all," she said, " they are 
 as real at one time as at another." 
 
 " Yes," answered Batiscombe. " Malakoff or 
 Sorrento, it is all the same." 
 10 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " You will come in ? " said Leonora when they 
 reached the gate. 
 
 " Thanks ; I would like to very much," answered 
 Batiscombe, and he followed her through the gate 
 into the garden. They passed into the house, and 
 Leonora received from the servant a telegram which 
 had come when she was out. It was the one Marc- 
 antonio had dispatched when he had decided to 
 stay a few days in Rome and to bring his sister 
 to Sorrento. 
 
 Leonora opened it quickly and glanced over the 
 message. It was very evident from her expression 
 that she was annoyed and somewhat surprised. 
 Batiscombe looked away. 
 
 " It is too bad ! " she exclaimed ; her companion 
 examined the handle of his stick, as though there 
 were something wrong with it. He was not curi 
 ous, and he had very good manners. Leonora 
 folded the despatch and put it away. 
 
 " Let us go out again," she said, " it is so close 
 indoors." Batiscombe followed her in silence, obe 
 diently. They sat down among the orange-trees 
 on an old stone bench. The air was still and very 
 warm, and the lizards were taking their last peep 
 at the sun wherever they could, climbing up the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 147 
 
 trunks of the trees and the wall of the house to 
 catch a glimpse of him before he set. 
 
 " My husband telegraphs that he will be away 
 some time," said Leonora after a minute. "He has 
 business that keeps him, and his sister is in Rome." 
 
 " You must be very lonely here," remarked 
 Batiscombe in answer. 
 
 " Do you know Madame de Charleroi ? " asked 
 Leonora, taking no notice of the observation. 
 
 " Yes," said Batiscombe, " I know her. Some 
 body told me she was in Pegli." 
 
 " So she was. But she had to come to Rome 
 on business, and now my husband is going to bring 
 her here." 
 
 "Indeed?" exclaimed Batiscombe. "To pass 
 the summer ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; only for a week, I suppose. Do you 
 know ? I am rather glad ; I hardly know her at 
 all, and she seems so hard to know." 
 
 " Hard to know ? " repeated Julius. " Perhaps 
 she is. It is always hard to know very charming 
 women." 
 
 " Is it ? " asked Leonora, smiling at the frank 
 ness of the remark ; it seemed to her that he had 
 found it easy enough to swear friendship with her 
 half an hour ago. "Is it ? is she such a very 
 charming woman ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," he answered. 
 
 " Yes to which question ? " 
 
 " Both," said Julius. " Madame de Charleroi is 
 charming, and it is very hard to know women of 
 
148 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 her sort well. Think how long it is since I first 
 met you, marchesa, and we are just beginning to 
 know each other." 
 
 " Do you think we are ? " asked Leonora. She 
 was full of questions. 
 
 " I think so yes. At least, I hope so," he 
 said with a pleasant smile. 
 
 " If you were writing a book about us, Mr. Batis- 
 combe, would you say that we were beginning to 
 know each other ? no one would believe that we 
 stopped in the road and shook hands and swore to 
 be friends. It would be very amusing, would it 
 not ? I don t know why we did it ; I wish you 
 would explain." She laughed a little, and stuck 
 the point of her parasol into the earth. Batiscombe 
 laughed too. 
 
 " When people have known each other in soci 
 ety for a long time," he said, " and then begin to 
 be friends, there is always some ice to break, and 
 it always seems odd for a little while after it is 
 broken." 
 
 " I suppose that is the reason that such things 
 always seem improbable in books, until you know 
 about them yourself." 
 
 " Amusing books, and interesting ones, are made 
 up of improbabilities," answered Julius. "And 
 the people who write them are even more improb 
 able. It is always improbable that a man who has 
 lived a great deal should have the talent, or the 
 patience if you like, to make stories out of his own 
 experience, or that a man who has not seen a 
 
TO LEEWARD. 149 
 
 great deal of the world should be able to evolve a 
 good novel out of his inner consciousness. The 
 probabilities for most men are that they will eat 
 and drink and wear out their clothes and be buried. 
 All those things are a great bore to do, a greater 
 bore to describe, and an intolerable bore to read 
 about. The most amusing books are either true 
 stories of a very exceptional kind, or else they are 
 rank, glaring, stupendous improbabilities, invented 
 to illustrate a great theory, or a great play of pas 
 sions, like Bulwer s Coming Race , or Goethe s 
 Faust. I am sure I am boring you dreadfully." 
 
 " Oh no ! " cried Leonora, who was interested 
 and taken out of herself by his talk. " But I think 
 I prefer the exceptional true stories, as you call 
 them, like Shakespeare, the historical part, I 
 mean." 
 
 " The worst of it is," said Batiscombe, " that the 
 true stories are generally the ones that no one be 
 lieves. Critics always say that such things are a 
 tissue of utter impossibilities." 
 
 " Oh, the critics," exclaimed Leonora ; " they 
 must be the most horrid people. I wonder you au 
 thors let them live ! " 
 
 "Thanks," said Batiscombe, laughing, "I was 
 a critic myself before I was an author, and I do 
 not think I was a very horrid person." 
 
 " That is different," said Leonora. " Of course 
 a man may do ever so many things before he finds 
 his real vocation." 
 
 " Authors owe a great deal to critics," continued 
 
150 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Julius. " More men have come to grief at their 
 hands by over-praise than by too much discourage 
 ment. A very little praise is often enough to ruin 
 a man, and a man who has much talent will always 
 survive a great deal of abuse and disappointment. 
 If any one asked my advice about adopting litera 
 ture as a career, I would certainly tell him to have 
 nothing to do with it ; I should be quite sure that 
 if he were born to it nothing would keep him from 
 it for long." 
 
 " That is the way with other things," said Leo 
 nora, looking rather wistfully away at the setting 
 sun, just below the green leaves of the orange 
 grove. " It is the way with everything, good and 
 bad. Some people are born to be saints, and some 
 people are quite sure to turn out the most dreadful 
 sinners, whatever they do." 
 
 " What a depressing theory ! " exclaimed Batis- 
 combe, who had much more cause to think so than 
 Leonora. 
 
 " Depressing is no name for it," she answered. 
 " One makes such mistakes in life, and then there 
 is no way out of it but to make others." 
 
 " And the worst of it is, that one knows one is 
 making them, and cannot help it." 
 
 " Yes," said she, " one always knows, if one 
 only knew." Then she laughed suddenly. " What 
 a ridiculous speech ! " 
 
 " No," said Batiscombe, " I understand exactly 
 what you mean. Just when one is doing the wrong 
 thing, there is always a little instinct against it. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 151 
 
 But it is often so very little, that one does not quite 
 know it from ever so many other instincts. And 
 then, before one is quite sure that one knows what 
 is right, before one s mind has time to think it 
 over logically, one has done the wrong thing. At 
 least, it seems afterwards as if that were what hap 
 pened ; but I suppose it is because we are weak." 
 
 Leonora looked at Julius, who seemed deep in 
 his thoughts. He had exactly put her idea into 
 words, but she could not tell whether he believed 
 what he said, or was merely amusing himself with 
 his faculty for explanation. He interested her ex 
 tremely. It was just this kind of introspection 
 that most delighted her, this cutting up and skin 
 ning of conscience and soul. Nevertheless she did 
 not think that Batiscombe was the man to analyze his 
 own actions. It was more likely, she thought, that 
 he was very clever, and could talk to please his 
 listener. But he interested her greatly, and she 
 was curious to know how he had got his knowledge 
 of human nature. 
 
 " You must have had a wonderful life," she said, 
 presently, saying aloud what she was thinking, 
 rather than hoping to draw him on to talk about 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh no very commonplace, I assure you," 
 said he, with a laugh that sounded natural enough. 
 " Only, you see, I have had to make capital of 
 what I know. But it spoils one s own enjoyment 
 to analyze anything, and I shall have to give it up, 
 or resign myself to a miserable existence." 
 
152 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " I wonder whether you are right," said Leonora, 
 reflectively. 
 
 " Of course I am," he answered gayly. " The 
 man who carves the pheasant does not enjoy it, 
 but the man who eats it does." 
 
 "Then let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we 
 die. Is that the end of your experience ? " asked 
 Leonora, gloomily. 
 
 " Oh well if you put it so. Only if you 
 do not eat and drink too much, you may possibly 
 not die until the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Or you may spend your life in cooking the din 
 ner, and die before it is served ? " suggested Leo 
 nora. 
 
 " Or anything what carnal similes ! " laughed 
 Batiscombe. " But they are very apt for any one 
 who cares for eating. If that is really an impor 
 tant enjoyment, it may as well stand as the type." 
 
 " Exactly if I am sure you do not think it 
 is, nor that any material satisfaction can possibly 
 stand as a type, nor that we should enjoy to-day 
 without thought of to-morrow, nor a great many 
 other things that you have said." She watched 
 him as she spoke, and he liked to feel her eyes on 
 him. 
 
 " No," he answered, " you are quite right. I do 
 not think those things at all. But I am sure I gen 
 erally do them," he added, smiling. 
 
 " But what do you think really ? Is there 
 anything really high and noble in the world ? It 
 all seems so little and so hollow, sometimes." She 
 
TO LEEWARD. 153 
 
 sighed, thinking how, formerly, she had said such 
 things speculatively, and for the sake of raising an 
 argument with Mademoiselle Le Creux, and Made 
 moiselle Le Vide. Batiscombe turned on the stone 
 seat, so that he faced her. 
 
 " Of course there are high and noble things in 
 the world," he answered. "It is when you look 
 into the small workings of the mind and soul, as 
 you have been making me do, that you lose sight 
 of the great ones. Material nature is most inter 
 esting under a microscope, and generally most beau 
 tiful in great masses at a distance. But if you 
 walk close to the grandest cliff in nature, and flat 
 ten your face against it, and hold your eye half an 
 inch from the rock, the grandeur and the beauty 
 are all gone, and without a microscope wherewith 
 to examine your particular point, you will find the 
 close inspection tiresome after a time. There is 
 no microscope for the soul, any more than for the 
 heart, or the mind. You gain nothing by looking 
 too closely at it. It is ten to one that you hit upon 
 a diseased spot for your examination. It may 
 amuse you for a time to study other people s souls, 
 because you can hardty get so near to them as to 
 lose all impression of the whole, as you can with 
 yourself. What does it matter what you know 
 about your soul, so long as you do what is right ? " 
 
 " That sounds true," said Leonora, " but I sup 
 pose there is something wrong about it." 
 
 " All good similes sound true," said Batiscombe, 
 laughing. " That is the reason why popular orators 
 
154 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 and preachers are so fond of them. The real use 
 of a simile is for an explanation ; the moment you 
 make an argument upon it, you are revelling in 
 words without logic, calling illustrations facts and 
 generally making game of your audience." 
 
 " What a discouraging person you are," said 
 Leonora. " You make one almost believe a thing, 
 and then you turn round and tell one there is noth 
 ing to believe after all." 
 
 " Not so bad as that," said Batiscombe, leaning 
 back and clasping his brown hands over his knee. 
 " I have not said there was nothing to believe in. 
 Only take care you do not believe in anything be 
 cause it bears a tempting resemblance to something 
 you like." 
 
 u That is ingenious, but I wish you would be 
 positive about something, I wish you would tell 
 me, for instance, what you yourself believe in." 
 Her eyes turned towards him in the twilight. For 
 the sun had gone down, and the orange - trees 
 brought the shadows early where the two were sit 
 ting. 
 
 " What I believe in ? " he repeated. " I sup 
 pose that, apart from religious matters, I believe 
 most in sympathy and antipathy." 
 
 " That is not exactly a course of action or a rule 
 of life," remarked Leonora, smiling and looking 
 away. 
 
 "No. But in nine cases out of ten they are 
 what determine both. At all events I believe in 
 them. They always carry the day over logic, phi- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 155 
 
 losophy, and all manner of calculation and fore 
 thought. You may determine that it is your duty 
 to like a person, you may induce yourself to think 
 that you do, and you may make every one believe 
 you do ; but if you really do not there is an end 
 of it. And the reverse is just as true." 
 
 " I should think every one knew that," said Leo 
 nora in an indifferent way. But she was wonder 
 ing why he had said it, whether he had any suspi 
 cion of her own state of mind. " It is very safe to 
 say you believe in things of that sort everybody 
 does. You are a very indefinite person, Mr. Batis- 
 combe." 
 
 " What is the use of defining everything ? Lots 
 of people have bee"n burned alive, and have had 
 their heads cut off for defining things they knew 
 nothing about. Of course they were quite sure 
 they knew better ; but then, is it worth while to 
 die for your personal opinion of an abstract ques 
 tion ? " 
 
 " It is very fine and noble, though," said Leo 
 nora. 
 
 " There is a tradition that it is fine and noble to 
 die for anything. It sounds well. Every one 
 admires it. But reflect that the common murderer 
 4 dies for his individual views of the social state. 
 The woman who maintained that scissors were bet 
 ter than a knife for cutting an apple suffered her 
 husband to drown her rather than give up the point, 
 and as she sank her fingers still opened and closed, 
 to imitate the instrument she preferred. She died 
 
156 . TO LEEWARD. 
 
 for her opinion, just as much as Savonarola or 
 Giordano Bruno, whom my countrymen are so fond 
 of raving about." 
 
 " You know that is not what I mean," said 
 Leonora. " I mean it is noble to die for what is 
 right." 
 
 " The question is, what is right ? There are 
 cases when it is eminently heroic to sacrifice one s 
 life." 
 
 " For instance ? " 
 
 "For instance, to die for the liberty of one s 
 own country, for the defence and safety of one s 
 king, who represents the embodiment of the social 
 principle, or for the honor of an innocent wo 
 man." 
 
 " But about liberty and one s king, and that sort 
 of thing," said Leonora, " where can you draw the 
 line? There is no successful treason, you know, 
 because when it succeeds it is called by other 
 names. There must be a standard of absolute 
 good or something." 
 
 " I should think you must be a very unhappy 
 person, marchesa, if you are always trying to draw 
 a line and to define absolute good. What is the 
 use ? Every one knows that it cannot be done." 
 
 Leonora was silent. It had interested her to 
 hear the brilliant, successful man, apparently so 
 happy and contented with his lot, talk seriously 
 about the things she was always puzzling over. 
 But what did it come to? What was the use? 
 Those were his last words. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 157 
 
 The warm gloom of the night settled softly round 
 them, laden with the sweetness of the oranges and 
 the aromatic scent of the carnations. Batiscombe 
 could just see Leonora by his side, her head bent 
 forward as she rested her chin upon her hand. 
 The indescribable atmosphere and faint perfume 
 that surrounds women of high beauty and degree 
 intoxicated him. She was so English in her beauty 
 and so Russian in her delicate exuberance of vital 
 ity ; above all, she was so intensely feminine, that 
 Batiscombe felt his senses giving way to the mag 
 netic influence. He leaned forward in the dark 
 till he was nearer to her, looking at the faint out 
 line of her face. Leonora sighed, and the gentle 
 sound seemed like the softened echo of past weep 
 ing. 
 
 "Marchesa," said Julius in a low voice, "can 
 I really be your friend? Will you let me Jielp 
 to make your life happier, if I can ? " 
 
 Leonora felt the blood rise blushing to her face 
 in the dark, and her heart trembled in its beat 
 ing. A friend! Oh, if she really could find a 
 strong, true friend to help her ! 
 
 44 How can you? " she asked faintly. 
 
 " I do not know," he answered. " Let me try. 
 I will try very hard. I am sure I can succeed." 
 
 She let him take her hand for one moment. It 
 was a consent, not spoken, but given and under 
 stood. Leonora rose to her feet, and they walked 
 silently toward the house. 
 
 " When may I come ? " he asked, as he bade her 
 
158 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 good night. lie spoke quite naturally, as though 
 it were already a matter of course that he should 
 see her every day. She hesitated a moment, stand 
 ing in the doorway with the warm light of the 
 lamp upon her. 
 
 " Come at eleven," she said at last, and with a 
 pleasant smile she left him and went in. 
 
 The aspect of life seemed changed for her when 
 he was gone. That afternoon she had suffered in 
 tensely. Now there was a strange, calm sense in 
 her heart that soothed all her thoughts, and made 
 the lonely evening sweet and restful. She asked 
 no questions, she made no self-examination, she 
 desired of herself no reasons for her conduct. It 
 was enough that the storm had passed and that the 
 calm was come, she knew not how. A man had 
 spoken to her as no man ever spoke to her before, 
 and the earnestness of his words still rang in her 
 ear. He was loyal, strong, and true. He would be 
 her friend, he had asked it, she had granted it. 
 
 She dined alone and read a little afterwards, 
 closing her eyes now and again to enjoy the peace 
 that had descended upon her. For the first time 
 in many months she was happy, supremely, quietly 
 happy, and she asked no questions. 
 
 As for Batiscombe, he wandered homewards 
 through the dark lanes, not heeding or caring 
 where he went. He was wholly absorbed in recall 
 ing the events of the afternoon, revelling in the 
 memory of Leonora s face and look and words. He, 
 too, was wholly disinclined to reflect on the possi- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 159 
 
 ble consequences of his action ; he took it as a mat 
 ter of course that he would keep his word and be 
 indeed a friend to her ; at all events he thought 
 neither of the future nor the past, but only ever 
 and ever of herself, clinging tenderly to the images 
 that he called up, and asking nothing better than 
 to call them up again, dreaming and waking. He 
 might be in love, or he might not, the question 
 no longer entered his head. He was fascinated, 
 charmed, and beside himself with enjoyment of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 It was the state he had dreaded a day or two 
 ago. To avoid it he had tried to escape, by a 
 stratagem, beyond the possibility of seeing Leonora 
 again. He had cursed his folly in going to see her. 
 He had promised himself that he would not go 
 again ; he had reviewed his past troubles, and had 
 remembered how plausibly they had begun. And 
 at last he had fallen into the ancient trap, the snare 
 of fair friendship set out to catch men and women 
 and to destroy them. But the mouth of the pit 
 was garnished with roses and lilies, sweet and inno 
 cent enough; 
 
 At eleven o clock of the next day Julius was 
 again with Leonora, and on the day following and 
 the day after that. They walked together, read 
 together, sailed together, and lunched together. A 
 few stray callers came in now and then, but as 
 they never came twice, not one of them thought it 
 at all worthy of remark that Mr. Batiscombe should 
 happen to be calling at the same time. 
 
160 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Leonora found an extraordinary pleasure in his 
 conversation. He had a fund of varied study and 
 experience from which to draw, that amused her 
 and made her think in new grooves ; and when he 
 talked about her ideas and interests he always suc 
 ceeded in showing them to her in a new light. His 
 comments were by turns light and sarcastic, and 
 then again very serious ; and his general readiness 
 to make things seem amusing made his graver say 
 ings doubly strong by contrast. He had a bold 
 way of asserting that accumulated knowledge was 
 of very little importance as compared with action, 
 that would have sounded foolish enough from an 
 ignorant man ; but Julius was far from ignorant. 
 He had studied a great many questions, and he 
 possessed the faculty of speaking sensibly in a gen 
 eral way about subjects of which he did not profess 
 to know anything. Most of all she found in him a 
 ready sympathy and a love of human nature and of 
 life for life s sake, that were utterly different from 
 the artificial views she had cultivated. She found 
 in him the strong love of enjoyment and the ac 
 tivity of mind and body, that best harmonized with 
 her own real character ; and in their long days to 
 gether the hollowness and emptiness of life never 
 once recalled themselves to her memory, except as 
 things for her to wonder at and for Batiscombe to 
 turn into jest and laugh to scorn. 
 
 The whole situation was utterly new and unex 
 pected to her. After the first few days at Sorrento 
 with her husband she had made up her mind that 
 
TO LEEWARD. 161 
 
 the beauties of nature were very tedious, and that 
 she would be glad to go back to Rome and begin 
 the duties of society, anything, rather than go on 
 from day to day longing for a sensation, and find 
 ing only a great deal of weariness. But now, in 
 the discovery of a new friend, a man of talent and 
 tact, who made all gloomy musings seem ridiculous 
 by the side of his sanguine activity, the place was 
 transformed into a paradise for her. Not a day 
 but brought some new thought, some witty saying, 
 some bit of novelty with it, so that she found her 
 self happy when she was alone in going over what 
 they had said and done together. 
 
 As for Marcantonio, she would be very glad 
 when he came back. It seemed to her that he 
 would be much more amusing now, and that she 
 could say things to rouse him and make him talk. 
 She wrote affectionate notes every day, telling him 
 how beautiful everything was, and how he would 
 enjoy it, now that the first difficulties of settling 
 were over. She even said she had sent for the 
 cook, and had ascertained that he was very well, 
 having had no return of the fever ; she thought it 
 would please her husband to know that she was 
 taking care of the household and looking after the 
 people. 
 
 In the mean while Batiscombe fell in love, stu 
 diously consoling his conscience with the reflection 
 that he was doing a good deed, and was acting the 
 part of a friend in making the time pass pleasantly 
 for Leonora in her solitude. But his conscience 
 11 
 
162 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 did not trouble him greatly, though it would be 
 sure to, by and by. At present everything was 
 swamped in a sea of glorious enjoyment, and he 
 was no less really happy than Leonora. Day after 
 day began and ended alike, but yet ever different. 
 They never referred to the singularity of the ar 
 rangement by which Julius came every day in the 
 morning and stayed till dark. There seemed no 
 reason why they should not leave well alone, and 
 enjoy each other s society to the very utmost. And 
 they did, most fully, each wholly engrossed in the 
 other. 
 
 At the end of a week Marcantonio telegraphed 
 that he and his sister would leave Rome by the 
 night train and arrive in the morning. Leonora 
 in the innocence of her heart was glad, anticipating 
 all manner of new pleasure in her husband s society, 
 the result of her own cure from morbid ennui, 
 But Batiscombe felt his heart sink within him. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE sun beat down fiercely as Marcantonio and 
 Madame de Charleroi drove up to the house at 
 half -past ten o clock. They had travelled all night, 
 but the beautiful Diana was not the less fair for 
 being a little tired, and as she descended from the 
 carriage and went up the short steps to the door, 
 Leonora could not help admiring the perfect 
 smoothness and completeness of her appearance. 
 Donna Diana did things in a stately fashion, and it 
 would have been a hard journey indeed that could 
 ruffle her lace or disturb the smooth coiling of her 
 hair. Leonora herself was apt to arrive a little 
 dusty from a night in a train, and not altogether 
 serene, and she knew it ; so that the absolutely 
 finished completeness of Madame de Charleroi 
 struck her as enviable and much to be admired. 
 
 The two women kissed each other affectionately 
 on either cheek, and then Marcantonio came run 
 ning up and bent over his wife s hand, and, when 
 Donna Diana was not looking, he just touched his 
 lips to Leonora s cheek in a rather guilty fashion. 
 Presently Leonora led Diana away to show her the 
 rooms destined for her, and to fuss a little over all 
 the arrangements, as women love to do when 
 another woman is come to stay with them. Marc- 
 
164 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 antonio was busy for a few minutes, asking ques 
 tions of the coachman and the men-servants con 
 cerning the health of every individual in the 
 establishment, and then he also retired to his room, 
 and the perspiring grooms and servants raged fu 
 riously together with the luggage and bundles for 
 a while ; and then the front door was closed again, 
 and all was cool and quiet. 
 
 Leonora left her husband and her sister-in-law 
 to their toilet, and came down stairs through the 
 darkened halls to the drawing-room. She was won 
 dering whether Batiscombe would appear at his 
 usual hour. Strange to say they had not spoken 
 of it on the previous evening, probably because 
 they feared that the mention of the subject would 
 lead to some discussion about the singular intimacy 
 into which they had fallen, and which neither wished 
 to endanger. It would be just like Batiscombe to 
 come, she thought ; it would be just like him to 
 show himself at once as her friend, and to establish 
 the custom of coming every day. 
 
 She was not mistaken ; at eleven o clock the bell 
 rang, and he was shown in. 
 
 " I was quite sure you would come," she said, 
 holding out her hand. 
 
 " Of course," said he. " I hope they have ar 
 rived safely ? " 
 
 " Quite, thanks. They are making themselves 
 beautiful at this moment, though I think they must 
 have done it on the way, they arrived looking as 
 fresh as possible, all smiles and lavender and sun- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 165 
 
 shine. I am so glad they are come, you cannot 
 think ! " 
 
 "Yes, I should think you must be," assented 
 Julius with less enthusiasm. 
 
 At that moment Marcantonio was shaving him 
 self in the cool seclusion of his dressing-room. He 
 was going over in his mind the past and the future, 
 reflecting upon the absurd things he had said to 
 Diana about Batiscombe in the train, and wonder 
 ing what he could do to make her stay pleasant. 
 Batiscombe must certainly be asked to the house, 
 he thought, if only to show his sister that he, Marc 
 antonio, had no objection to her meeting the man. 
 It had been so thoroughly absurd to take up her 
 speech about the possibility of her having married 
 him, and to build on it the supposition that she had 
 ever loved him. Bah! the fancy of a girl for the 
 romantic ! Batiscombe was now a man perfectly 
 p OS $ decidedly so. Besides, Marcantonio began 
 to dread very much the eternal trio of his wife, his 
 sister, and himself, from morning till night. If 
 only he had thought in time to ask some other man, 
 it would have been such a charming square party. 
 His wife was always more brilliant and good-tem 
 pered when there were outsiders present, prob 
 ably a peculiarity of all women, he thought, ex 
 cepting Diana. Supposing that Leonora took it 
 into her head to be dull or bored while Diana was 
 there, how dreadful it would be ! It was clearly 
 necessary that Diana should have a favorable idea 
 of the Carantoni menage ; that had been the whole 
 
166 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 object in bringing her down. And if Leonora did 
 not seem in good spirits, Diana would be sure to 
 think he was not making his wife happy. The 
 idea grew in his mind ; he was terribly afraid of 
 what his sister might think, seeing how she had 
 opposed the match from the first. Eeally it was 
 absolutely necessary to ask some one to the house 
 while she stayed. But whom could he ask at such 
 short notice ? There was nobody but Batiscombe 
 within reach. 
 
 Marcantonio had finished shaving one side of 
 
 o 
 
 his face, and took a fresh razor for the other. 
 There was a pause in his thoughts while he tested 
 the edge and applied more soap to his cheek. As 
 he went to work again the original train of ideas 
 continued. 
 
 JEJbbenef Batiscombe. Why not? He was a 
 very amiable man, and Leonora liked him. She 
 would certainly not object. As for Diana, it would 
 be probable that he would keep away from her 
 most of the time. He would scarcely press his 
 company on her. Monsieur Batiscombe had tact; 
 although he was a crazy foreigner who went round 
 the world in boats and wrote books. Bah ! it was 
 so convenient ! Just the very person he knew 
 everything, had seen most things, and could talk 
 like a mill-wheel. All those ridiculous prejudices 
 about Diana were absurd, and were an insult to 
 her. Batiscombe should be asked to stay a week. 
 
 Having successfully finished his shaving opera 
 tions, Marcantonio sat down to write a note to 
 
TO LEEWARD. 167 
 
 Julius while the thing was in his mind. Other 
 wise, he reflected, he might forget to do it, and 
 Batiscombe could not be obtained until to-morrow. 
 He wrote an invitation and signed it. Then he 
 reflected that it would be as well to speak to Leo 
 nora before sending it. She did not know any 
 thing about that old story that happened when she 
 was a little girl, and perhaps not even in Rome. 
 It was a mere formality, but it would be more 
 courteous to ask her, before sending the invitation. 
 He would not ask Diana, however. She had her 
 self said, the night before, that she had no objec 
 tion to meeting the man. Very well, she should 
 meet him very soon. He hurriedly finished dress 
 ing and went down-stairs to find Leonora. Enter 
 ing the drawing-room he found her talking quietly 
 with the very man he was thinking about. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! what a chance ! " he exclaimed, 
 cordially shaking Julius by the hand. " Imagine 
 to yourself that I was in train of writing to you a 
 note, when you were in the house yourself ! " 
 
 "Keally?" ejaculated Batiscombe, in some as 
 tonishment. " How can I serve you since I am 
 here in the flesh ? " 
 
 " Mais, by remaining ! " answered Marcantonio 
 cheerfully. " I was in the act of writing a very 
 pressing invitation to you to stay a week with us, 
 and thus to make up the most agreeable partie 
 carree in the world. Madame unites herself with 
 me in the request, I am sure," added Carantoni, 
 turning to his wife, who looked rather pale. 
 
168 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 "Mais certainement we shall be charmed," 
 said Leonora, utterly astonished and confused by 
 the suddenness of the situation. She had herself 
 thought how delightful such an arrangement would 
 be more than once. But coining so suddenly, 
 from her husband, without her suggestion, it fright 
 ened her and did not seem quite natural. Her 
 voice did not sound very cordial as she spoke, but 
 it was sufficient, and her husband, being full of his 
 idea, noticed nothing. 
 
 " You are very kind. It. will really give me very 
 great pleasure," said Julius, controlling his voice 
 wonderfully. For he, too, was taken off his guard. 
 Marcantonio was delighted. It was such a wonder 
 ful piece of luck, he said, that Monsieur Batiscombe 
 should have called at that hour. 
 
 " But come with me, if madame permits," said 
 he, " and I will show you your room. You can 
 send for your things in the afternoon." Leonora 
 was only too glad to be left alone for a moment, 
 and the two men went away, Marcantonio rubbing 
 his hands at the success of his arrangements for a 
 pleasant week. With Batiscombe in the house the 
 time could not fail to pass pleasantly, he thought. 
 
 There are some men who seem to be pursued 
 by an evil destiny that continually forces them to 
 do the wrong thing out of pure goodness of heart. 
 From an innocent desire to make his household 
 pleasant for his sister, and to amuse the wife of his 
 heart, he had asked the man of all others whom the 
 one desired to avoid, and the other ought to have 
 
TO LEEWARD. 169 
 
 been kept from, simply because he wanted some 
 body and the man happened to be on the spot. 
 And the whole thing had originated in a laudable 
 desire to see pleasant relations established between 
 his wife and his sister, the two persons in the whole 
 world whom he most loved. Poor Marcantonio ! 
 he was under an unlucky star. 
 
 Presently Batiscombe returned alone to the draw 
 ing-room, his host remaining to give some orders 
 about the lunch. He looked curiously at Leonora 
 as he sat down opposite to her. 
 
 " This is very charming," he said, smiling. " It 
 is so kind of you." 
 
 "I had nothing to do with it," said Leonora, 
 avoiding his glance. " But of course I am very 
 glad. I was dreadfully afraid of being left alone 
 with my sister-in-law, and of course you will help 
 me to make it pleasant for her. Really, it is just 
 like my husband, he is so good." 
 
 " It would have been very miserable to have our 
 good time cut short," said Julius reflectively, " and 
 I suppose they would have thought it odd if I went 
 on calling every day at the same hour." Leonora 
 blushed very slightly. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I suppose so. People have 
 such ideas about the appearances. You know I 
 should not mind in the least if it were only my 
 husband ; you might stay from morning till night, 
 and we should all enjoy it. But I am so afraid of 
 Madame de Charleroi, she is so tremendously 
 correct, you know." 
 
170 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 From which piece of conversation it will be seen 
 that Julius and Leonora had grown intimate of late, 
 and regarded things from a practical point of view. 
 
 All this time Madame de Charleroi was in igno 
 rance of the amiable arrangement concluded by her 
 brother, and was looking forward with almost as 
 much dislike as he had done to the family trio in 
 which she was to play a part during the week. 
 
 She understood Leonora to a certain extent. 
 She had at least a very strong presentiment that 
 there would be trouble between her brother and his 
 wife ; not an open disagreement or anything dra 
 matic, but the kind of small worry and discord that 
 begins slowly and surely, and finally embitters the 
 whole lives of people who are not suited to each 
 other. She had agreed to corne down to Sorrento 
 in order to " make friends " with Leonora, as her 
 brother had expressed it, and in her wisdom and 
 knowledge of the world she knew very well what a 
 difficult task she had undertaken, and how small 
 was her chance of success. She foresaw that she 
 must be continually left alone with Leonora, for 
 she understood her brother well enough to suppose 
 he would adopt that method of fostering the friend 
 ship he desired. Poor dear Marcantonio had so 
 very little tact ! Consequently Diana wished very 
 much that some other person had been asked to 
 stay at the same time. Meanwhile she lay down 
 for an hour upon a sofa in her sitting-room, and 
 thought the matter over. 
 
 Marcantonio, however, bethought him that in 
 
TO LEEWARD. 171 
 
 spite of Diana s expressed willingness to meet Bat- 
 iscombe, it might surprise her to find herself sud 
 denly living under the same roof with. him. He 
 therefore determined to inform her of the fact be 
 fore they all met at the midday breakfast. He 
 supposed she was busy with her toilet, and so he 
 would not go himself ; he would send his wife. 
 That was a good idea it would be at once a 
 chance of throwing the two together. To this end 
 he returned to the drawing-room, where Leonora 
 and Batiscombe were still talking, and with an 
 apology to the latter, he drew his wife aside for a 
 moment. 
 
 "I think, mon ange" he whispered, " that it 
 would be better to tell Diana that monsieur is here 
 for a week. She is dressing at this moment. 
 Would you be so amiable as to go to her and say 
 in the course of the conversation that I have in 
 vited Monsieur Batiscombe ? It would be very 
 gentil of you, ma chere." 
 
 Leonora was not in the humor to refuse her hus 
 band anything. Everything was bright and happy 
 to her, now that she saw a means of defence pro 
 vided for her against the stately Diana, whom she 
 feared. She had recovered from her astonishment 
 at the sudden invitation to Julius, and she saw in 
 it a kind intention on her husband s part, for which 
 she was grateful. 
 
 " Of course, mon ami" she answered, " I will do 
 everything you like. Only amuse Monsieur Batis 
 combe for a moment, and I will run to Diana, and 
 tell her what you wish." 
 
172 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " A thousand thanks, mon ange chSrie ! " ex 
 claimed Marcantonio, and he turned to the task 
 of amusing Mr. Batiscombe, more delighted than 
 ever. 
 
 Leonora knocked rather timidly at the door of 
 Diana s sitting-room. 
 
 " It is I," she said, through the door ; " may I 
 come in ? " 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad to see you ! " exclaimed 
 Diana, rising swiftly from her couch, with a bright 
 smile. She took Leonora s hand and led her to a 
 chair, and arranged the curtains a little, so as to 
 make more light, and then sat down by her side. 
 
 " You must be dreadfully tired," said Leonora, 
 " and I ought not to disturb you. I just wanted to 
 see if you had everything you wanted." 
 
 " But everything everything, I assure you," 
 answered Diana. " I am so very comfortable, and 
 the view over the sea is exquisite, really de toute 
 beautS." 
 
 They made a wonderful contrast, as they sat 
 side by side. Donna Diana s perfect features were 
 more mature than Leonora s, her bearing was more 
 noble, and her look more quiet and self-possessed. 
 She wore a loose peignoir of white, with lace and 
 white silk ribbons, such as none but perfect 
 blondes can wear. But nothing could dim the 
 dazzling whiteness of her skin, or detract from her 
 marvellous beauty. She was noble, calm, and 
 statue-like, and it was only now and then that a 
 glance from her deep gray eyes betrayed the warm 
 
TO LEEWARD. 173 
 
 and sympathizing heart within. A grand, regal 
 woman, fit to wear a crown or to have been the 
 priestess of an ancient people. She had it all from 
 her mother, who had been like her, though in a 
 smaller mould, and had died, still young and beau 
 tiful, when Diana and her brother were little chil 
 dren. It was impossible to imagine her for a 
 moment deprived of her perfect grace, and ease, 
 and quiet. 
 
 Leonora was altogether more earthly. She 
 moved well, but often impetuously. Her extraor 
 dinary vitality, when not reduced by reaction to a 
 state of unnatural apathy, was forever seeking an 
 outlet. She loved the light and the stir of society 
 life all the while that she amused herself with re 
 flecting on its emptiness. She was instinct with 
 strength, and motion, and elasticity. Her skin 
 was always fresh, whether in heat or cold, but from 
 the enthusiasm with which she did things, she 
 sometimes lost the smoothness and "correctness" 
 as she would have called it of her appearance. 
 And yet even at such times she had a strange charm 
 and fascination of her own. As she often said, she 
 was far less beautiful than Diana, but much more 
 alive, though with a life that might perhaps be 
 less strong and enduring than Diana s. Diana was 
 a queen Leonora a brilliant and irresponsible 
 princess. 
 
 They talked a little together, and Leonora found 
 it easy to lead the conversation to the plans she 
 was making for the amusement of her sister-in-law. 
 
174 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " By the bye," said she, " I ought to tell you. 
 Mr. Julius Batiscombe is staying here this week. 
 I suppose you know him ? " 
 
 Leonora had no idea of anything having existed 
 in former times in the way of sentiment between 
 Diana and Julius. She was sent to convey a piece 
 of information, and she did it as well as she could, 
 not even looking at Diana as she spoke. Had she 
 suspected anything she would have watched her, 
 and she would have seen the least possible trem 
 bling of the eyelids, and the lightest imaginable 
 shade of annoyance on her guest s fair face. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said calmly, " I know him. I 
 have known him a long time. So he is staying 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Yes. He is so very agreeable, and Marcan- 
 tonio wished it. He has been in Sorrento some 
 time, and he took us to Castellamare to see that 
 ironclad launched. He is so very clever." 
 
 " Because he took you in his boat ? " laughed 
 Diana. " Yes, my dear, a man is clever indeed 
 who can get such charming company." 
 
 Leonora was pleased with the little speech, it - 
 sounded kindly, and as Diana spoke she laid her 
 hand softly on Leonora s. 
 
 " How cold your hands are," said Diana. And 
 indeed they were chilled through, though it was a 
 very hot day in July. " Cold hands, warm heart, 
 you know, as the proverb says." 
 
 Leonora blushed a little. It seemed so odd to 
 be talking about Julius Batiscombe to a stranger 
 
TO LEEWARD. 175 
 
 that it had frightened her a little, and she was 
 conscious that her heart beat faster. Nevertheless 
 she wondered vaguely why she ?elt the blood rise 
 to her cheek. He was only her friend, and the 
 remark about the heart could have nothing to do 
 with him. 
 
 But Diana supposed she changed color because 
 she thought of Marcantonio. It was natural for a 
 young bride to blush at the mention of her heart, 
 of course, and altogether charming. She patted 
 the cold little hand sympathetically and talked of 
 something else. It is so easy to misunderstand a 
 blush. But Leonora felt as though she were being 
 patronized, which is the thing people of her stamp 
 most bitterly resent of all others ; and accordingly 
 there sprang up in her breast a little breeze of op 
 position, which might by and by blow a gale. 
 
 When the party met in the drawing-room before 
 the midday breakfast, everything seemed arranged 
 for the best, and Marcantonio rubbed his hands 
 with delight, and made numerous hospitable ges 
 tures as he walked round the three lambs of his 
 fold. Batiscombe rose and bowed low to Madame 
 de Charleroi. She nodded pleasantly as to an old 
 acquaintance, and gave him her hand. He turned 
 a little pale under the sunburnt bronze of his face. 
 
 " I am glad to see you," said she. " I thought 
 you had probably been shipwrecked in that boat of 
 yours. It was in all the cJironiques in the papers, 
 you know." 
 
 " The sea would not be so ill-bred as to swallow 
 
176 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 me up before I had had the honor of making my 
 homage to you, vicomtesse," said Batiscombe with 
 a bow and a smile. It is so easy to say pretty 
 things in French, and as every one does it no one 
 ever knows the genuine from the spurious. Diana 
 was well used to Batiseombe s ways, and she 
 laughed a little. But somehow Leonora did not 
 like the speech. The English part of her revolted 
 against a generality of gallant language, though 
 her Russian blood made it quite possible for her to 
 accept such things when addressed to herself. 
 
 Breakfast was announced. 
 
 " JUbn Dieu" exclaimed Marcantonio, smiling 
 at everybody, " it is the most charming partie 
 carree imaginable. But there arises a terrible 
 question of precedence. I must evidently give my 
 arm to my wife or to my sister. It is very grave. 
 Mesdames, I pray you, select." 
 
 " Of course," said Leonora, " Diana is the guest. 
 It is to her that you must give your arm ; and 
 Monsieur Batiscombe must console himself as he 
 can." Everybody smiled politely, as people do 
 over the inanities of a very cheerful and empress 6 
 host. 
 
 " Thank you," said Batiscombe in English, as he 
 and Leonora followed the other couple into the 
 breakfast-room at a little distance. 
 
 It became the duty of Batiscombe and the two 
 ladies to make Marcantonio believe that they were 
 all enjoying themselves and each other immensely ; 
 their duty it was the sacred and unavoidable 
 
TO LEEWARD. 177 
 
 duty of society towards its entertainers. Batis- 
 combe found the situation very unpleasant. Diana 
 wished the week well over, and bore her part with 
 the unfaltering serenity and cheerfulness that well- 
 bred sovereigns exhibit when they are obliged to 
 do some of the thousand disagreeable things that 
 make up most of their lives. Leonora was begin 
 ning to be quite sure she could never like Diana. 
 How could she like a woman who assumed airs of 
 superiority ? Diana was not in the least like the 
 young ladies whom she knew in Rome, and whom, 
 she promised herself, she would rule with a rod of 
 iron now that she was married. And Marcantonio 
 smiled and said all the pleasantest things he could 
 imagine; and they were many, for pleasantness 
 was his strong point. Batiscombe seconded him 
 to the best of his ability, and every now and then 
 reflected far an instant on the extraordinary posi 
 tion in which he found himself. 
 
 Indeed, he had cause to wonder at the strange 
 ness of fate. There he sat, eating his breakfast 
 between the woman who had dominated him all 
 his life, and the woman who fascinated him in the 
 present, with ample opportunity to compare them 
 with each other, and a determination not to do it. 
 It seemed as though Diana s coming had roused in 
 him a feeling of contrariety, as it had in Leonora, 
 though for quite different reasons. Diana knew 
 well enough, he thought, that she ruled him and 
 could bring him to her feet in a moment. Why, 
 then, if she did not want him herself, did she come 
 
 12 
 
178 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 and disturb his peace and happiness? She need 
 not have prevented him from enjoying* the society 
 of a charming woman, but she undoubtedly would. 
 He knew well enough that her presence would be 
 a check on the daily and hourly intercourse with 
 Leonora which he just now most desired. She 
 would not believe in the friendship which had 
 seemed so real to Leonora and so possible to him 
 self. She would watch him with those gray eyes 
 of hers that knew him so well, and when she had 
 an opportunity, she would give him a wholesome 
 lecture on the error of his ways. He knew Diana 
 well, and she knew him better. 
 
 He was forced to confess that she was more 
 beautiful, more stately, and more perfect now, at 
 eight and twenty, than she had been ten years ago 
 at eighteen ; that, if she lifted her finger to him 
 now, he would be more entirely her .servant and 
 slave than ever before ; and that in the bottom of 
 his heart he wished she would do so as he wished 
 no other thing in the world. At the same time he 
 knew perfectly well that she would not, and he 
 thought it was not fair of her to disturb an in 
 nocent friendship which had, by force of circum 
 stances, assumed a peculiar aspect. She excited in 
 him all the obstinacy which attends weakness 
 and Julius was a weak man where women were con 
 cerned. And whether he would or not, he made 
 up his mind not to relinquish his daily enjoyment 
 of talking to Leonora for all the Dianas in the 
 world, if it was only to please his own vanity. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 179 
 
 The repast was somehow or other a success as 
 far as Marcantonio was concerned. He felt that 
 everything was proceeding as it should, that all his 
 provisions had turned out well, and that he was 
 a happy husband and a happy brother. He was in 
 complete ignorance of Julius Batiscombe s daily 
 visits to his wife during his absence. She had 
 meant to tell him, honestly, how pleasant it had all 
 been, and how much she had enjoyed it ; but, some 
 how, the invitation to Batiscoinbe to stay in the 
 house had made her put it off. Marcantonio was 
 soodd about some things, he was sure to want so 
 many explanations ; she could tell him just as well 
 after Diana and Batiscombe were* gone ; and then, 
 of course, it would not matter so much. She knew 
 that Julius would never refer to all those days un 
 less she herself did. If only that terrible Diana 
 did not see or find out ! How dreadful it would 
 be to have her say anything to Marcantonio ! 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE is a glass house. The more 
 people there are staying in it, the more fragile 
 and delicate are the walls, and the more probability 
 there is that some one will be inspired by the Evil 
 One to throw stones. Sometimes it happens that 
 two or three of a party fight a pitched battle, 
 and then some lucky lovers who have nothing to 
 do with the hostilities are forgotten and overlooked 
 in the din of war. But if there is one thing in 
 the world more certain to get out than murder 
 it is love, righteous or unrighteous. Lovers who 
 desire secrecy should never go to country-houses 
 together. 
 
 It seems to them as though each and every mem 
 ber of the household had especially adopted a set 
 of vile and pernicious habits ; a determination to 
 be where they ought not, at all sorts of unexpected 
 hours ; to come skulking round corners under the 
 empty pretext of seeking shade, and to be found 
 lurking in wooded dells on pretence of studying 
 natural history. There is the matutinal fiend, 
 who shaves at the window in the gray dawn and 
 sees people who have got up for an early walk ; 
 and, verily, they feel like worms when they glance 
 up and see his beak and talons at the casement. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 181 
 
 There is also the demon that walketh in darkness, 
 smoking a midnight cigar on the lawn before going 
 to bed. There is the midday dragon, green-eyed 
 and loathly to behold, who steals out in old gloves 
 and a parasol immediately after lunch, because she 
 has left her glasses on the mossy seat under the 
 trees, just out of sight of the house, and must 
 needs find them. There is the vile and sickening 
 bookworm, with his bland smile and unhealthy com 
 plexion, who dives into the library in the middle of 
 the summer s afternoon, and ruthlessly opens the 
 blinds to find the eighteenth vohfme of " Jinxius 
 de Naturd Inanitatis, Folio, G fitting en, A. D. 1 ; " 
 and who wrinkles disagreeably all over when he 
 observes the couple in the corner, staring like 
 blushing owls in the sudden glare. 
 
 And, besides all these, there are the low earth- 
 spirits, a swarm of maids, butlers, grooms, stable- 
 boys, and nurses, who are supposed to dwell 
 somewhere, underground, and are everlastingly ap 
 pearing, like phantoms, noiseless and awful, with 
 ears like vast trumpets of endless capacity and 
 magnifying power. 
 
 A country-house is a terrible test of all the great 
 virtues of mankind and a fearful reflector of all 
 the vices. It is well to begin life in the country 
 with an adequate certainty that, whatever you do, 
 you will be found out, and that you will often be 
 found out when you have done nothing. And a 
 villa hired in the orange gardens of Sorrento, over 
 hanging the murmuring sea and sweet with the 
 
182 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 breath of the rich south, is not different in this 
 respect from a Yorkshire manor-house, a chateau 
 in the south of France, or a " romantic retreat " 
 on the Hudson River. 
 
 For two or three days after the events just chron 
 icled, Leonora and Batiscombe managed success 
 fully to spend several hours out of the twenty-four 
 in each other s society. Marcantonio was busy 
 during a great part of the time with correspon 
 dence concerning the politics of his party, and once 
 he went over to Naples to see an eminent person 
 on business. The four inmates of the house met at 
 meals, and in the late afternoon, when they gen 
 erally went out in the boat. Donna Diana oc 
 casionally sat with Leonora for an hour, and they 
 talked to each other studiously, Leonora trying her 
 best to make the time pleasant for Diana, and 
 Diana doing what she could to cultivate her ac 
 quaintance with Leonora. At the end of two days 
 it was perfectly clear that the two women would 
 never be intimate. But they both concealed the 
 fact from Marcantonio ; and he rubbed his hands, 
 and wrote his letters, and bought cartloads of 
 things for his wife, in the comforting assurance 
 that she was very happy and inclined to follow his 
 wishes in regard to his sister. 
 
 But Diana was not given to looking after Leo 
 nora when she was out of her sight, and she spent a 
 great part of the day in writing letters, in reading, 
 and now and then in calling on a few acquaintances 
 who lived along the shore in the villas towards 
 
TO LEEWARD. 183 
 
 Castellamare. She was glad that Batiscombe kept 
 out of her way, but she did not exactly understand 
 why he did so. He was generally extremely anx 
 ious to see as much as possible of her when he was 
 in her neighborhood. Could it be that he did not 
 
 O 
 
 love her any longer ? that after all these years he 
 had at last put her out of his mind ? Perhaps so. 
 She was glad if it were so, most truly. She had 
 many times prayed with her whole soul that he 
 might forget her. It might be that the prayer was 
 answered. At all events, he kept out of her way, 
 and she did not regret it, or ever give him a sign to 
 come to her. She supposed that he spent his hours 
 with Leonora or Marcantonio or both, and there 
 was no reason why he should not be intimate in the 
 house, so far as she herself was concerned. 
 
 One day it chanced that the wind was in the 
 south, blowing a hot blast and making everything 
 very hazy and sultry that was out of its reach, and 
 covering everything it touched with a disagreeable 
 mixture of dust and clamminess. Every one who 
 has lived in Italy knows what the scirocco is like, 
 and the dismal stickiness, to coin the word, which 
 it brings. It seems as though the universe were 
 under a press and some one were screwing it down. 
 
 It was three o clock in the afternoon, and 
 Madame de Charleroi was sitting in her small 
 boudoir, trying to write a letter to her husband. 
 Unlike most Italians, she had not the habit of 
 sleeping in the day, and used the time when other 
 people were taking a nap during the great heat to 
 
184 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 keep up an extensive correspondence. She was a 
 woman who had made this one interest for herself, 
 and thoroughly enjoyed being in constant communi 
 cation with a dozen intelligent people in all parts 
 of the world. 
 
 It was excessively hot. Even she, who was 
 southern born and did not mind it, felt her brain 
 grow dizzy and her fingers tired and clammy. Leo 
 nora s white kitten had strayed into the room after 
 lunch, and was walking about near the door, 
 squeaking now and then as though it did not like 
 the quarters and wanted to get out. For the mere 
 sake of changing her position, Diana laid down 
 her pen and rose to open the door. As she did so 
 the cat jumped nimbly through, and a little breath 
 of cooler air blew in from the passage. Diana 
 stood one moment as though enjoying it, and then 
 went out. She took a parasol in the hall, and 
 walked slowly down the garden. The sky was 
 overcast with a dull leaden gray, and the south 
 wind blew under the trees, bad enough in itself, 
 but infinitely better than the close heat indoors. 
 There was no one to be seen, and Diana paced 
 slowly along the gravel path. At the end of it 
 were the steps that led through the rocks to the 
 sea. 
 
 She had gone down and come up again more 
 than once with the rest of the party in the evening, 
 when they had been out in the boat, and she had 
 thought each time that it would be pleasant to 
 come and sit in some of the cool archways and look 
 
TO LEEWARD. 185 
 
 out over the sea in the heat of the day. She felt 
 sure, too, of being alone there ; it was not a likely 
 place for any one to frequent at three o clock in 
 the afternoon. Diana closed her parasol, and, just 
 lifting the skirt of her white dress off the ground, 
 began to descend the broad stone steps, hewn out 
 of the solid rock, a steep vaulted tunnel in the in 
 side of the cliff. Here and there a great arched 
 window looked out, in which were cut broad seats 
 for people to rest upon. 
 
 She had passed through the darkest part of the 
 descent, carefully picking her way, when she sud 
 denly found herself opposite to one of these win 
 dows. She was startled to see two people sitting 
 there, for she had been certain that she would be 
 alone. They were Leonora and Batiscombe, sit 
 ting side by side on the seat under the arched 
 opening. Hearing her tread they both looked 
 round, and Julius seemed to pick up something 
 from the floor that had probably fallen while they 
 were talking. Then he remained standing, and 
 Diana, seeing she was discovered, advanced boldly 
 toward the pair. There was nothing so extraor 
 dinary in the situation after all, only she had al 
 ways supposed that Leonora slept in the afternoon 
 while Batiscombe and Marcantonio smoked and 
 talked politics up-stairs. They had certainly been 
 sitting very near together, she thought, but the sud 
 den glare of the light and the distance that sep 
 arated her from them had prevented her from no 
 ticing their faces. As she came near, Leonora rose 
 
186 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 also and spoke first. She held her back to the 
 light, for she was blushing deeply ; but Batiscombe, 
 who never blushed and rarely turned pale, stood 
 calmly pulling his moustache, as though it were 
 all the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 " I had always meant to tell you how delightful 
 it is here," said Leonora. " I am so glad you have 
 found it out for yourself." 
 
 "En effet" answered Madame de Charleroi 
 calmly smiling, "it is ideal." She came under the 
 arch and looked out, enjoying the sight of the sea 
 after the dark passages. 
 
 " And then," said Leonora, " it is strictly true 
 that one is ; not at home when one is here, if 
 people call, it is very convenient. Nobody can 
 find one." 
 
 "Excepting Madame de Charleroi," said Batis 
 combe, who was very angry at the interruption of 
 his tete-d-tete. But he said it so pleasantly and 
 with such an air of paying a compliment, that 
 Diana could not be offended ; she only smiled a 
 little bitterly in her lofty way, remembering other 
 times when he would have given his right hand 
 for a meeting of any kind with her. 
 
 In that moment a suspicion crossed Diana s 
 mind. She understood the meaning of his re 
 mark perfectly, in spite of the bow and tho smile, 
 knowing, as she did, every intonation of his voice 
 and every expression of his face. She knew 
 that he was angry at the interruption, and she 
 argued that Julius preferred being with Leonora 
 
TO LEEWARD. 187 
 
 to being with herself. That was clearly the reason 
 why he kept out of her way, he spent his time 
 with Leonora. If Leonora attracted him, he was 
 certainly at liberty to talk to her if he pleased ; 
 but Diana thought it must be a strong attraction 
 indeed that kept him away from herself. It was 
 long since he had missed an opportunity of spend 
 ing an hour with his old love. 
 
 Diana sat down beside Leonora, and Batis- 
 combe leaned against the rock and looked out over 
 the sea, the angry fire dancing in his blue eyes, but 
 his face as calm as ever. Diana began to talk to 
 Leonora. 
 
 " You are very fortunate in getting such a place," 
 she said. " It is by far the most beautiful on the 
 whole shore." 
 
 " I wish it belonged to us," said Leonora. " I 
 am sure I could come here every year and never 
 grow tired of it." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Diana, " do you like it so 
 very much then ? " 
 
 "J en raffole ! " answered Leonora enthusiasti 
 cally, " I am crazy about it. And then, it is al 
 ways so charming to have absolutely the best. As 
 you say, there is nothing like this place on the 
 whole bay. I would like always to have the best." 
 
 " Mais, madame," remarked Batiscombe, " it 
 appears to me that you always do. You have the 
 talent of supremacy." 
 
 " What an idea ! The talent of supremacy ! " 
 
 " But that is precisely it," continued Julius. 
 
188 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " It is a talent. Some people are born with it, 
 generally women." 
 
 " That is Monsieur Batiseombe s favorite theory," 
 remarked Madame de Charleroi, just glancing at 
 him, " but he does not believe it the least in the 
 world." 
 
 "Is it true ? " asked Leonora, innocently, look 
 ing up with an expression that did not escape 
 Diana. It was a sort of frightened look, as though 
 it really mattered to her what Batiscombe thought 
 about women in general. 
 
 " It pleases madame to be witty," answered 
 Julius, glancing in his turn at Diana. " I have 
 not many theories, but I believe in them as a 
 man who is about to be guillotined believes in 
 death." 
 
 " One cannot say more than that," laughed Le 
 onora. " But how about the supremacy of men ? 
 There have been more men in the world who have 
 ruled it than there have ever been women." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! Men give themselves much more 
 trouble," he replied. " Women, having the divine 
 right given to them straight from Heaven, exercise 
 it without difficulty. A word, a cup of tea, a 
 glance, and the supremacy of a woman is estab 
 lished. What could a man do with a cup of tea ? 
 Or, if he looked at people by the hour together, 
 could he rule them with a glance ? When a woman 
 has the gift she finds little difficulty in using it, 
 whereas the more of it a man has, the more trouble 
 it is to him. Men are so betes I " And with this 
 
TO LEEWARD. 189 
 
 sweeping condemnation of his own sex, Julius lit 
 a cigarette, having obtained permission of the two 
 ladies. 
 
 " You ought not to have many friends, with such 
 ideas about men," said Leonora. 
 
 " En effet" said Diana, " he has none." 
 
 " Not among men, at all events," said Julius. 
 " I do not remember ever having any. I do not 
 sleep any the worse on that account, I assure you. 
 It is much more agreeable to have a number of 
 pleasant acquaintances, who expect nothing from 
 you and from whom you expect nothing. Friend 
 ship implies mutual obligations ; I detest that." 
 
 Leonora laughed a little. He had such a vicious 
 way of saying such things, as though, he thoroughly 
 meant them. But then he was courteous and gentle 
 to every one, though she suspected he might be 
 different if he were angry. Diana knew very well 
 that what he said was true, and that he had led an 
 isolated life among other men, fighting his way 
 through with his own hand and owing no man any 
 thing. She herself had for years been his best 
 friend and his only confidant, though he saw her 
 rarely enough. And now she felt as though even 
 that one bond of his were to be broken, and 
 whether she would or not, the thought gave her 
 pain, and she wished it could be otherwise. 
 
 " It is always far more amusing to detest things," 
 said Leonora, " unless you happen to want them." 
 She was forgetting some of her indifferentism. 
 
 " It is certainly more blessed to abuse than to 
 
190 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 be abused," returned Julius, " and, if one has the 
 choice, it is as well to be the hammer and not the 
 anvil. I am an excessively good-natured person, 
 and if I had friends, they would make an anvil of 
 me and beat my brains out, and then I should 
 starve." 
 
 " Good-natured people are always made to suf 
 fer," said Leonora thoughtfully. " I am not in the 
 least good-natured." 
 
 " I remember," said Diana, " that Mr. Batis- 
 combe used to say good-nature was a mixture of 
 laziness and vulgarity." 
 
 "Yes," answered Julius. "You have a good 
 memory, madame. Good-nature is a compound of 
 the laziness that cannot say no, and of the vul 
 garity which desires to please every one indiscrimi 
 nately. I suppose I possess both those faults very 
 finely developed." 
 
 " Fortunately," remarked Leonora, " goodness 
 and good-nature are not the same." 
 
 " Fortunately for you, marchesa, unfortunately 
 for me," said Julius. 
 
 " It is too complicated please explain," she 
 answered. 
 
 " As you are so fortunate as to possess goodness 
 without good-nature," said he, " you should be glad 
 that the two are not one and the same, since 
 good-nature is not a desirable quality. I am good- 
 natured, but not good I wish I were ! " 
 
 " Ah, I see ! " exclaimed Diana. " It was a 
 compliment." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 191 
 
 " Of course," said Julius. 
 
 " Of course ; but your compliments are often 
 complicated, as the marchesa says." Diana smiled 
 as she spoke. Batiscombe knew that she was re 
 paying him for the remark he had made when she 
 had unexpectedly appeared twenty minutes earlier. 
 
 " I can only repeat," he retorted, " that Madame 
 de Charleroi has a good memory." Leonora was 
 puzzled. She saw well enough that Diana and 
 Julius were, or had been, much more intimate than 
 she had supposed. They understood each other 
 at a glance, by a word, and they seemed on the 
 verge of quarrelling politely over nothing. She 
 devoutly wished that Diana would go away, instead 
 of spoiling her afternoon. But Diana leaned back 
 against the rock and crossed her feet and pre 
 pared to be comfortable. She was evidently not 
 going. Batiscombe stood motionless with the easy 
 stolidity of a very strong man who does not wish 
 to move, and Leonora could see his bold profile 
 against the gray haze of the sky. There was a 
 short silence after his last remark, during which 
 Leonora felt uneasy : something was in the atmos 
 phere that made her anxious, and she did not like 
 the way Diana looked at Batiscombe, with an air 
 of absolute superiority, as though she could do any 
 thing she pleased with him. 
 
 " How dreadfully solemn we are," said Leonora, 
 rather awkwardly. Julius turned quickly with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Let us be gay," he said. " I hate solemnity, 
 
192 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 unless there is enough of it to make me laugh. I 
 remember being at a ball once that produced that 
 effect." 
 
 "Allans! " said Diana, "give us some of your 
 reminiscences, Monsieur Batiscombe. They ought 
 to be interesting," 
 
 o 
 
 Not so much as you think,* vicomtesse. But 
 the ball was very funny. It was in Guatemala, 
 three years ago. Lwas invited to a huge thing by 
 the president an entirely new president, too, who 
 had just cut the throats of the old president and of 
 all his relations. I believe there was some sort of 
 revolution at the time, and when it was over the 
 victorious individual gave a ball. The refresh- 
 ments were simple brandy for the men and 
 rosolio for the ladies ; there was no compromise in 
 the shape of a biscuit or a glass of water." 
 
 Leonora laughed, being willing to laugh at any 
 thing so as to encourage Julius to talk. 
 
 " En verite, that was very amusing," remarked 
 Diana coldly. Batiscombe took no notice. 
 
 " The women sat round the room in a double 
 row," he continued, " like a court ball, excepting 
 that they all smoked large cigars, and industriously 
 passed the liqueur. The men stood behind and 
 gave their undivided attention to the brandy. Not 
 a soul spoke, and they all scowled fiercely at the 
 brandy, the rosolio, and each other. A ghastly 
 and tuneless quartette of instruments doled out a 
 melancholy dirge, slower than anything you ever 
 heard at a funeral ; and now and then some enter- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 193 
 
 prising and funereal man led out a less enterprising 
 but equally melancholy female in a strange step, 
 like the tormented ghost of a waltz in chains. It 
 was so hideous that I went out and laughed till I 
 almost had a fit. I have never thought anything 
 seemed very solemn since then it destroyed the 
 proportion in my brain. A pauper s burial on a 
 rainy day in London is a wildly gay entertainment 
 compared with that ball." 
 
 Leonora laughed, and even Diana smiled ; where 
 upon Julius was satisfied, and relapsed into silence. 
 But Leonora wanted conversation. 
 
 " What in the world took you to Guatemala, Mr. 
 Batiscombe ? " she asked. 
 
 " That is a question which I cannot answer, 
 marchesa," he replied. " I believe I went there 
 for some reason or other chiefly because I could 
 go for nothing, and wanted to see something new." 
 
 " Can you always go to Guatemala for nothing ? " 
 asked Leonora. " It must be very amusing." 
 
 " A steamer company offered me a free passage 
 to any port in their service," said Batiscombe ; 
 " and as the next ship went to Guatemala, I sailed 
 with her. It happened to be first on the list." 
 
 " What a queer idea ! " exclaimed Leonora. 
 
 " You are too modest, Mr. Batiscombe," said 
 Diana. " You ought to tell the whole story it is 
 very interesting." Her voice was less cold than 
 when she spoke last. 
 
 " Oh, do tell the story ! " cried Leonora. " I 
 adore autobiographies ! " 
 
 13 
 
194 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " said Julius, " there is very little 
 to tell. I did a service to a ship belonging to the 
 company, and in acknowledgment they presented 
 me with a piece of plate and the free passage in 
 question. Voild tout ! madame is too good when 
 she says it was interesting." 
 
 " If Monsieur Batiscombe wiU not be so obliging 
 as to relate the experience, I will," said Diana. 
 u He will correct me if I make a mistake." 
 
 Batiscombe looked annoyed. He was not fond 
 of telling his own adventures, and he hated to hear 
 them told by other people. He could not imagine 
 why Diana wanted to hear the story. He was 
 irritated already, and her conduct seemed more 
 and more inexplicable. Leonora looked at him ex 
 pectantly. 
 
 Who can understand a woman ? It may be that 
 Diana, who was really fond of him in a strange 
 fashion, was sorry for the position she had taken 
 that afternoon, and was willing to atone by giving 
 him the credit before Leonora of some fine action 
 he had done. 
 
 " It was three years ago or more, in the winter," 
 began Diana. " Monsieur Batiscombe was travel 
 ling in a ship on the coast of America. There were 
 a hundred passengers on board, or more, and a crew 
 of thirty-five. Is that exact ? " 
 
 Julius bent his head and turned away. 
 
 " Eh bien, there was a great storm such as 
 there are in the ocean. It is horrible, you may 
 imagine. The ship was driven on the rocks, a 
 
TO LEEWARD. 195 
 
 long distance from the shore. A reef, you call it, 
 n est-ce-pasf " 
 
 "Yes," said Batiscombe. " Fifty or sixty yards 
 from the shore." 
 
 " Good. What do they do ? Six brave sailors 
 volunteer to throw themselves in the sea in a cha- 
 loupe a miserable boat " 
 
 "And monsieur was one of the volunteers" 
 exclaimed Leonora, enthusiastically. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear friend. The boat over 
 turns ; the sailors are immediately drowned; every 
 one is in consternation. Then Monsieur Batis 
 combe arrives ; he says he will save everybody ; 
 he ties a thin line a mere ficelle to his waist ; 
 he throws himself to the sea. The passengers 
 scream as they cling to the ropes and the side, while 
 the vessel is beaten horribly on the reef. He 
 struggles in the waves, swimming ; he is thrown 
 down again and again in the breakers ; he rises and 
 rushes on to the shore. Then he pulls the string, 
 and after the string a rope. A sailor ventures 
 down and he also reaches the land. They fasten 
 the rope, and every one is saved passengers, crew, 
 captain, tout le monde. Ah, Batiscombe, why are 
 you not always doing such things, you, who can 
 do them so well ? " 
 
 Madame de Charleroi s gray eyes were wide and 
 bright, and a very faint color rose to her cheeks as 
 she told the story. The calm, regal woman took 
 a genuine delight in great actions, and as she turned 
 to Julius at the end there was a ring of real sym- 
 
196 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 pathy and friendship and regret in- her voice that it 
 gave Leonora a strange sensation to hear. 
 
 " It was magnificently brave ! " exclaimed Leo 
 nora in English, and she looked at Julius as though 
 she admired him with all her heart and soul. She 
 had always had a feeling that he had probably 
 made himself remarkable in such ways, but he 
 always had told her that his life had been unevent 
 ful. To think that this calm, smooth, well-dressed, 
 fine gentleman should have saved a whole shipload 
 of lives by sheer strength and courage! Ah, he 
 was a man, indeed ! 
 
 But Batiscombe never moved. He stood looking 
 seaward, his eyelids half closed, and a thoughtful 
 look on his brown face. Indeed, he was thinking 
 deeply, but not of the old story Diana had been 
 telling as much as of herself. The strange appeal 
 in her last words had touched the good chord in 
 his wayward heart, and he was thinking how fair 
 his life might have been with her, and how dark 
 it had been without her. And the old true love 
 rose up for one moment, hiding Leonora and the 
 rest, and all the intervening years, and sending hot 
 words to his ready lips. He turned in the act to 
 speak, forgetting where he was, then checked 
 himself. Both Leonora and Diana had seen that 
 he was going to say something, for they were watch 
 ing him. He hesitated. 
 
 "I ought to thank you, madame," he said to 
 Diana, " for gilding my adventure so richly. But 
 as for the thing itself, and the doing of such things, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 197 
 
 the opportunity seldom offers, and the faculty for 
 doing them is the result of an excellent digestion 
 and quiet nerves. Meanwhile it is grown cooler, 
 and the boats are below. Shall we go down, and 
 sail a little before dinner ? " 
 
 The two ladies consented readily enough, and 
 they all descended to the shore and got into one of 
 the boats and pushed away. 
 
 "I shall have quite a new sensation in future 
 when I sail with you, Mr. Batiscombe," said Leo 
 nora. " It would be impossible to be drowned with 
 you on board." 
 
 But Diana was pale again, and settled herself 
 among the cushions in silence. 
 
 Far up above, Marcantonio was interviewing the 
 coachman on the terrace. He looked down and 
 saw the boat shoot out with the three members of 
 his household. He rubbed his hands smoothly to 
 gether. 
 
 " Ha," he said to himself, " it is superb ! What 
 good friends they are all growing to be ! En verite, 
 Batiscombe is a most amiable man, full of tact." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LATE that evening Julius was sitting in a corner 
 of the broad terrace over the sea. The clouds had 
 cleared away before the light easterly breeze that 
 springs up at night, and the stars shone brightly. 
 Down in the west the young moon had set, and the 
 air was fresh and cool after the long, hot day. 
 Julius had drawn an arm-chair away from the house 
 and was smoking solemnly, in enjoyment of the 
 night. He found that he had much to think of. 
 The rest of the household had gone to bed, or at 
 all events had retired to their rooms. 
 
 It had been a day of emotions with him, and 
 that was unusual, to begin with. His feeling for 
 Leonora was growing to great proportions. Ho 
 knew that very well ; and in spite of the momen 
 tary burst of passion, which, if he had been alone 
 with Madame de Charleroi, would have found ex 
 pression in words that he would have regretted and 
 that she would have resented, he now felt that he 
 was irritated against her and could not forgive 
 the inopportune interruption of his tete-d-tete with 
 Leonora. All his opposition was roused ; and as 
 if in despite of his old love he dwelt on the thoughts 
 of the present, and delighted in recalling the de 
 tails of the fair marchesa s conversation, the quickly 
 
TO LEEWARD. 199 
 
 changing expression of her face$ the tones of her 
 voice, the grace of her movements. She was so 
 strong and living that he felt his whole being per 
 meated with the atmosphere and essence of her 
 life. 
 
 As he leaned back in his chair, he experienced 
 a sensation by no means new to him, of intense de 
 light in existence, and he breathed in the soft fresh 
 air, and tasted that it was the breath of love. 
 
 A small, short step sounded on the tiles of the 
 terrace, coming toward his corner. He looked 
 round quickly, and was aware of the tall and grace 
 ful figure of Diana de Charleroi, muffled in some 
 thing dark, but unmistakable in its outline and 
 stately presence. In a moment she was beside him ; 
 he rose and threw away his cigarette, somewhat 
 astonished. 
 
 " Get another chair," said she, in a low voice. 
 " It is pleasant here." 
 
 He obeyed quickly and noiselessly, as he did 
 everything. She had taken his chair, and he sat 
 down beside her, waiting for her to speak. 
 
 " I thought I should find you here, Julius," she 
 said, calling him by his Christian name without 
 the smallest hesitation. " I wanted to speak to 
 you alone." 
 
 " You have the faculty of finding me," said Ju 
 lius with a short, low laugh. 
 
 "Since when is it so disagreeable to you?" 
 asked Diana. 
 
 Julius was silent, for there was nothing he could 
 
200 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 say. He wished he had said nothing at first, it 
 would have been much better. Diana continued : 
 
 "You and I know each other well enough to 
 talk freely," she said. " We need not beat about 
 the bush and say pretty things to each other, and 
 I forgive you for being rude, because I know you 
 very well, and am willing to sacrifice something. 
 But I will not forgive you again if you are rude in 
 public. There are certain things one does not per 
 mit one s self, when one is a gentleman." 
 
 " You are very good, Diana," said Batiscombe, 
 humbly. " I am very sorry. I lost my temper." 
 
 "Naturally," she answered coolly. "You al 
 ways lose your temper, you always did, and 
 yet you fancy continually that you hide it. Passe ! 
 I have forgiven you for this time, because I am the 
 best friend you have." 
 
 " The only one," said Julius. 
 
 " Perhaps. You are well hated, I can tell you. 
 Then treat me as a friend in future, if you please, 
 and not as an inquisitive acquaintance who makes 
 a point of annoying you for her own ends." She 
 spoke calmly, in a quiet, determined voice, without 
 the slightest hesitation or affectation. Julius bent 
 his head. 
 
 " I always mean to," he said. 
 
 " Now listen to me," she continued. " I came 
 upon you this afternoon by pure accident. I do 
 not owe you any apology for that, and you know 
 very well that I am the last person in the world to 
 do things in that way, by stealth. That is the rea- 
 
. TO LEEWARD. 201 
 
 son I come to you here, at night, to tell you iny 
 mind frankly." 
 
 " Yes," said Batiscombe, in a muffled voice, " I 
 know." 
 
 " I came upon you by accident," said she, " and 
 I made a discovery. You pass your afternoons in 
 the society of my sister-in-law, and you lose your 
 temper with me when I find you together, 
 though you always wish me to understand that 
 you prefer my society to that of any woman in 
 the world." 
 
 " Ah how you express it ! " exclaimed Julius. 
 
 " I express it as plainly as I can. I cannot help 
 it if you do not like it. It is all true. And the 
 inference is perfectly clear. Do you see ? " 
 
 " No," said Batiscombe. 
 
 " You do not ? Very well, I will draw it for 
 you." She leaned back in the chair and looked at 
 him ; her eyes were accustomed by this time to the 
 gloom, and she could see him quite clearly in the 
 starlight. He moved uneasily, and then fixed his 
 eyes on hers. But she was not afraid of them as 
 Leonora was, though he was near to her. 
 
 " Pray go on, ? he said. 
 
 " The inference is this. You are making love to 
 Leonora Carantoni." 
 
 " You shall not say that," said Batiscombe, be 
 tween his teeth, still looking fiercely at her. 
 
 " You might forbid a man to say it," answered 
 Diana, in low, calm tones. " And for anything 
 I care you may forbid any other woman in the 
 
202 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 world to say it. But you cannot forbid me. I 
 have the right." 
 
 "In that case," said Julius, rising, and strug 
 gling to speak quietly, " there is nothing I can do 
 but to leave you, since I will certainly not listen." 
 
 But Diana rose also, and laid her white hand on 
 his arm, as though she could have bowed the strong 
 man to the earth if she chose. She seemed taller 
 than he in the power and determination of her 
 gesture. 
 
 " Sit down instantly," she said, under her breath. 
 
 Julius obeyed silently and sullenly. Then Diana 
 resumed her seat. 
 
 " I have the right, Julius," she continued, " not 
 because you pretend to have loved me for ten years, 
 nor because I once thought I might accept your 
 love, nor yet because I am sometimes weak 
 enough to like you still, in a sisterly way. But I 
 have the right because you are making love to my 
 brother s wife, because she is young and innocent, 
 and because there is not another human being in 
 the world to stand by her, or to give her any pro 
 tection in her danger." 
 
 " If you think that, why do you not tell your 
 brother so ? " 
 
 " Do you call yourself intelligent ? Do you call 
 yourself a gentleman ? " exclaimed Diana in bitter 
 scorn. " Would you have me destroy the peace of 
 my brother and of his wife, because you are doing 
 a bad action, that has not yet borne fruit ? Do 
 you think I am afraid of you ? Of you ? " She 
 repeated the word almost between her teeth. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 203 
 
 " No," said Batiscombe, under his breath, " I do 
 not. But I would like to ask you a question." 
 
 " I will answer," said Diana. 
 
 " Why did you tell that absurd story about me 
 this afternoon ? Did you not see it was just the 
 very worst thing you could possibly do, from your 
 own point ? That nothing rouses a woman s inter 
 est like such tales ? " 
 
 " I promised to answer your question," said 
 Diana, coldly, " and I will. I told the story 
 thoughtlessly, because I am a woman, and admire 
 such things quite independently of the person who 
 has done them. Do not flatter yourself that a 
 woman like Leonora Carantoni will fall in love 
 with you because you are brave. But I dare say I 
 did wrong, and I am sorry for it. You have quali 
 ties that any one may admire, but you have quali 
 ties that I despise." 
 
 " I despise them myself, sometimes," said Julius, 
 almost to himself. 
 
 " Despise them always, at least, and be con 
 sistent," answered Diana. " But you will not. 
 You like them, those bad qualities, and when you 
 like them, they make a miserable wretch of you, as 
 they do now. You know well enough, however 
 cleverly you may deceive yourself, that you ought 
 not to be here. You stay, you are a coward, 
 besides being a great many worse things which I 
 leave you to understand." 
 
 Batiscombe s eyes flashed angrily in the star 
 light. 
 
204 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " You are cruel, Diana, and unkind," he said. 
 
 Diana was silent a moment, and she drew her 
 dark lace shawl about her, as though she were cold. 
 When she spoke, her voice was infinitely soft and 
 gentle. 
 
 " Do not say that, Julius. Do not say I am ever 
 cruel to you, for to you, of all people in the 
 world, I would be most kind." 
 
 Julius bent down and pressed his hands to his 
 temples, and sighed heavily. 
 
 *"Oh, Diana," he groaned, "I know it, I know 
 it." 
 
 " Then I will not say any more. Do this thing 
 because it is right, not because I ask you to. 
 Have I ever reproached you before, when you have 
 come to me of your own accord and told me your 
 troubles ? What right have I to reproach you ? " 
 
 Julius was silent. He knew in his heart that 
 she had the right, because he still loved her best. 
 He sat immovable, his head buried in his hands. 
 Diana rose and stood beside him ; she lightly laid 
 her hand upon his shoulder, allowing it to linger 
 kindly for a moment, and then she turned and 
 moved away. 
 
 The spell was broken, and Batiscombe rose 
 swiftly and followed her. There was a light in the 
 drawing-room that opened upon the terrace, which 
 Batiscombe had not noticed before. As they en 
 tered they found Marcantonio with a candle, over 
 turning books and papers as if in search of some 
 thing. He looked up with a curious expression of 
 
TO LEEWARD. 205 
 
 surprise in his face, holding the candle before 
 him. 
 
 "Ah!" he cried, " bon soir, my friends. You 
 have been taking a little air, ri* est-ce-pas ? I im 
 agined that you were all asleep." 
 
 Madame de Charleroi smiled serenely at her 
 brother. She knew it was an accident, and that 
 he had a habit of forgetting things and coming to 
 look for them. She said it had been hot all day, 
 and she and Monsieur Batiscombe had been enjoy 
 ing the coolness of the terrace. Julius bowed 
 blandly and said good-night. But he suspected 
 Marcantonio of having come to watch his sister. 
 They passed on, and Marcantonio stood for a mo 
 ment looking after them as they went out into the 
 hall, where lights were still burning. He shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 "Eh!" he exclaimed aloud to himself, in Ital 
 ian, " I do not understand anything about it ma 
 proprio niente." And he continued his search for 
 the missing letter, pondering deeply. 
 
 Batiscombe spent a sleepless night, which was 
 very unusual with him. The interview with Diana 
 had made a deep impression on him at the time. 
 He knew that whenever she was at hand to exert 
 her influence he would succumb to it. But as the 
 night wore on, the strength of the impression di 
 minished, and the old feeling of obstinate defiance 
 gradually returned. At all events, he thought, he 
 would show her that her suspicions were empty, 
 and that nothing no harm, at least would 
 
206 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 come of Ms intimacy with Leonora. He would also 
 be sure that if Diana interrupted another tete-a-tete 
 it could hardly be by accident. Such accidents did 
 not occur every day. In the early dawn he rose 
 and went down in his slippers to the sea, and bathed 
 in the cool salt water, and smoked a cigarette on 
 the rocks, and another in the archway where the 
 scene of the previous afternoon had occurred. Then 
 he went up to the house and walked round it, and 
 surveyed the various angles, and terraces, and bal 
 conies, and eccentricities of patchwork architecture 
 that made up the dwelling. Suddenly he stopped 
 as though an idea had stnick him. 
 
 Houses in the south have often as manv- as five 
 or six broad terraces, of various sizes and at vari 
 ous elevations, built from time to time to suit the 
 taste and convenience of the owners. The strono- 
 
 o 
 
 brown vines grow up leafless from the ground till 
 they reach the trellis, and then spread out into lux 
 uriant foliage and a multiplicity of rich fruit-bear 
 ing branches, making a thick shade, into which 
 even the noonday sun finds it hard to penetrate. 
 Julius had just observed that there was a large ter 
 race of this kind which he had not yet noticed, hav 
 ing been but a very few days at liberty to wander 
 alone about the place. It was as high as the first 
 floor, and on the side toward Castellamare, facing 
 the sea. He had been in Marcantonio s room, and 
 knew that it did not open upon this terrace, and 
 Leonora s apartment was on the other side of the 
 house. Obviously this balcony belonged to Ma- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 9Q7 
 
 dame de Charleroi s rooms, or was attached to some 
 vacant part of the building. It struck him that if 
 it were vacant, it would be a very agreeable spot in 
 which to pass the afternoon. He thought he would 
 mention it to Leonora that morning, and find out 
 if it were available, since their retreat in the rocks 
 had been invaded. It had the advantage of being 
 large, so that people seated upon it could not be 
 seen from below, and the thick vines would prevent 
 their being seen from above. 
 
 He spoke to the marchesa about it as soon as 
 they were alone for a moment after breakfast. She 
 went quietly and surveyed the place, ascertained 
 that it corresponded with a set of rooms that were 
 not in use, the house being very large and irregular, 
 and agreed that she would spend the afternoon 
 there with Julius, since the sun would then be on 
 the other side. There were long window-doors 
 opening to the ground, of wjiich the blinds were 
 fastened, and only the middle one was left open to 
 give access to the terrace. It was delightful, be 
 cause it was in the house, so to say, and open to 
 every one, and yet no one knew of it. Why should 
 they not sit there ? It was much better than going 
 and hiding in the rocks with an air of secrecy, in 
 order to be annoyed by that terrible Diana ! Much 
 better! Though, after all, they need not have 
 troubled themselves, for Diana went out at three 
 o clock in the carriage to pay a visit. 
 
 Accordingly, Leonora and Julius passed a very 
 pleasant afternoon together, and when it was late 
 
208 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 they found Marcantonio, and made him go out in 
 the boat for an hour or two, and everything was 
 very agreeable. Marcantonio was greatly relieved 
 at finding that his sister was away from Batis- 
 combe, and he talked his best, and really made 
 Leonora take an interest in his conversation. She 
 could always find him better company when she 
 had been with Julius for some time and had said 
 all the things she wanted to say, and which Marc 
 antonio would not have understood. 
 
 The next day Marcantonio was obliged to go to 
 Naples on very urgent business. An ex-royalty 
 who sympathized with Carantoni s party, and was 
 now in exile, had come to Naples for a day or 
 two incognito quite as though he had never been 
 a royalty at all, and Marcantonio felt it his duty 
 to go and salute the august personage according 
 to ancient custom. He therefore left the house at 
 an early hour, to return at dusk. He thought his 
 sister and his wife could chaperone each other for 
 a day without danger. But he said to himself that 
 if he had found Diana alone with Batiscombe again 
 he would not have gone. 
 
 The morning parsed away as usual. Batiscombe, 
 relying on the afternoon for his hours with Leo 
 nora, only stayed down-stairs till she was joined 
 by Diana, and then retired to his room, where he 
 wrote or read in solitude, as the fancy took him. 
 The three breakfasted together at one o clock ; then 
 Madame de Charleroi retired to her rooms, and in 
 the course of a quarter of an hour Leonora and 
 
TO LEEWARD. 209 
 
 Julius were installed for the afternoon in their 
 newly-found situation on the disused terrace. 
 
 Diana s boudoir was a corner room in the front 
 of the house, facing the sea, and opening, by one 
 window, on a narrow stone balcony running the 
 whole length of the building ; the other window 
 was on the right side, and if she could ha^e undone 
 the blinds she would have seen that it opened upon 
 the large terrace already mentioned. But the 
 aforesaid blinds had resisted her efforts, and, as 
 she supposed that they were closed for some pur 
 pose, she said nothing about it, merely opening the 
 glass to admit the air. Leonora, who did not 
 know the house thoroughly, and had a habit of leav 
 ing everything to the servants, was not aware of 
 this, and did not realize the exact position of 
 Diana s sitting-room. Batiscombe, of course, had 
 taken her assurance that this side of the house was 
 uninhabited. Accordingly, it came to pass that 
 when he and Leonora installed themselves, they 
 took up their position immediately outside Diana s 
 window, under the shadow of the wall. 
 
 Madame tie Charleroi, on this particular day, 
 did not go into her boudoir at once, but spent some 
 time in her bedroom. When she was ready to 
 begin writing, she passed through the door and sat 
 at her desk. She at once heard the sound of voices 
 outside, but she did not listen, nor stop to think 
 who the talkers might be. 
 
 Presently, however, the continued sound annoyed 
 her, forced its way through the blinds, and pre- 
 14 
 
210 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 vented her from writing. They were speaking Eng 
 lish. She understood the language/ being a cul 
 tivated woman of the world, and the wife of a 
 diplomatist, though she avoided speaking it. 
 
 The strong, earnest voice of Julius Batiscombe, 
 the pleading, protesting, yet yielding tones of 
 Leonora^always dominated by the passionate elo 
 quence of the man, and ever answering more 
 weakly, all this she heard, and she sat stony and 
 wild-eyed with horror, realizing in a moment the 
 whole hideous proportions of the phrases. 
 
 Diana de Charleroi was the noblest and most 
 honorable of women. Under other circumstances, 
 if the voices had been those of strangers or in 
 different people, she would not have hesitated an 
 instant, but would have given some unmistakable 
 sign of her presence. But this thing was too near 
 her, it was a too horrible realization of what she 
 had dimly foreseen as possible, when she had spoken 
 such strong words two nights before. 
 
 It was too utterly and unspeakably awful. Her 
 brother s wife, not three months married, and 
 Julius Batiscombe, the man who had for ten years 
 loved herself, or had made her believe it, 
 whom she herself had once loved, and had never 
 forgotten ! 
 
 But Diana was no weak woman, to give way to 
 trouble or danger in the face of it. For a few 
 minutes she bowed her head in her hands, trem 
 bling from head to foot, and no longer hearing the 
 quickly spoken words outside. Then she rose to 
 
TO LEEWARD. 211 
 
 her feet, and made one step toward the closed 
 blinds. 
 
 No, she would not put them to open shame. Yet 
 something must be done at once. With one turn 
 of her strong white fingers she overturned the 
 heavy olive-wood writing table upon the smooth tile 
 floor with a crash that sounded through the house. 
 In the silence that followed, she heard a moving of 
 chairs outside, and the quick tread of departing 
 feet. Then she went swiftly to her room, heedless 
 of the streaming ink upon the floor, that stained 
 her long white gown, and trampling the litter of 
 pens and paper under foot. She threw herself 
 upon her bed and lay quite still, white as death, 
 and staring at the ceiling. 
 
 All ! the disgrace to her brother s name, to 
 her own, came suddenly upon her, like a night 
 mare, a thing that no waking could cast off. All ! 
 the utter baseness and unfaithfulness of her old 
 lover was before her, making her scorn and loathe 
 herself for ever having loved such a man, even in 
 the foolish haste of a romantic girlhood. Her eyes 
 strained wildly, striving to shed tears, and could 
 not, and the whole possible pain of human agony, 
 passing the very pains of hell, got hold upon her 
 soul. 
 
 That night, at dinner, Leonora looked desper 
 ately ill. Her face was white, save for a small red 
 flush upon each cheek, and her eyes had a strange, 
 furtive look about them, avoiding all meeting with 
 the look of the other three persons at table. She 
 
TO LEEWARD. 
 
 said she had been in the sun, had got a bad head- 
 ache,^and would go to bed immediately. She had 
 only insisted on being at dinner in order to greet 
 her husband on his return from Naples, but when 
 he touched her she shrank away, and said she was 
 nervous. 
 
 Batiscombe was pale, too, beneath his tan, and 
 though he looked every one in the face, his eyes 
 were disagreeable to see, having an angry glare in 
 them, like those of a wild beast at bay. He spoke 
 little and drank more wine than usual, after the 
 manner of Englishmen when they are unhappy. 
 
 Diana was magnificent. Being often pale in the 
 summer, no one saw any especial change in her 
 appearance, and she threw herself nobly into the 
 breach, asking all manner of questions of her 
 brother concerning his trip, and showing a reason 
 able amount of sympathy for Leonora. The conse 
 quence was that Marcantonio was nearly satisfied, 
 in spite of the strong impression he at first received 
 that something unpleasant had occurred in his ab 
 sence. But when he had an idea he dwelt upon it, 
 and he promised himself that he would ask many 
 questions of his sister when Leonora had p-one to 
 bed. 
 
 ^ He accompanied his wife to her apartment when 
 dinner was over, with a solicitude which was per 
 fectly genuine, but which made her tremble at 
 every turn. His careful anxiety lest she should 
 over-tire herself upon the stairs, lest there should 
 be a draught in her room, or, in short, lest any- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 213 
 
 thing should be omitted which could conduce to 
 her immediate recovery from the exposure to the 
 sun so dangerous in the south, he kept repeating 
 made her almost certain that she was already 
 suspected, and that so much kindness was only pre 
 paratory to some dreadful outbreak of reproach. 
 
 While Marcantonio was gone, Diana led Batis- 
 combe out through the drawing-room to the terrace. 
 Neither spoke till they had reached the end away 
 from the house, where they had sat together two 
 nights before. 
 
 " Julius Batiscombe," said Diana, her voice trem 
 bling with strongly - mastered anger, "you will 
 leave this house immediately." 
 
 " Why, if you please ? " he asked, defiantly. 
 
 " You know very well why," she answered, turn 
 ing full upon him. " Do not ask questions, but 
 
 & 
 go." 
 
 " I will do nothing of the kind," said he, folding 
 his arms and facing her. " You have no earthly 
 reason to give, save your own caprice." 
 
 " I heard your conversation this afternoon out 
 side my window. It was I who made the noise you 
 heard, to warn you to be silent." She made the 
 statement deliberately, choking down her anger, 
 and looking him in the eyes. 
 
 " I heard 110 noise I was not outside your 
 window," answered Julius, telling the boldest lie of 
 his life, and, to say the truth, one of very few, for 
 he never lied to save himself, with all his faults. 
 "I was not outside your window," he repeated, 
 
214 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " and I am glad I was not. For, by your own 
 account, you heard the conversation "first, and gave 
 your signal afterwards." 
 
 "Very well," said she. " I will not shame you 
 by repeating the words I involuntarily heard before 
 I frightened you away. But you will leave this 
 house to-morrow all the same. You will also con 
 sider yourself in future as having no title to cross 
 my threshold, or to bow to me in the street. 7 She 
 turned swiftly, in utter scorn and disdain. Batis 
 combe followed her to the door and into the draw 
 ing-room, where Marcantonio met them, precisely 
 as he had done before. It was too much for his 
 newly -roused suspicions. Something had gone 
 wrong, he ^was sure, and why should his sister 
 and Batiscombe be everlastingly alone together on 
 that terrace at night ? 
 
 " Ah ! " he exclaimed, a little sarcastically, " you 
 have again been taking a little air ? Eh Uen, oui I 
 the evenings are very agreeable. If you will, we 
 can sit outside, and monsieur and I will smoke a 
 cigarette." 
 
 It was dreary enough, sitting together for an 
 hour and more in the dark. Madame de Charleroi 
 would not speak to Batiscombe, and he confined 
 himself to asking questions of Marcantonio and to 
 general remarks. Marcantonio saw this, and de 
 cided that she was playing indifference in public, 
 because she saw enough of Batiscombe in private. 
 The latter did not force the position, but as soon as 
 Donna Diana moved to go in, he bade them both 
 
TO LEEWARD. 215 
 
 good-night, and went to his room and to his reflec 
 tions. 
 
 There was a long silence after he was gone. 
 Both the brother and sister wanted to be sure that 
 he was out of hearing. Diana spoke first, very 
 gently and kindly. 
 
 " Marcantonio," she said, "I have something 
 very important to say to you." 
 
 She threw a light paper shade over the bright 
 lamp, and sat herself down beside him 011 the sofa. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DURING the four hours that elapsed between 
 Madame de Charleroi s involuntary cjiscovery in the 
 afternoon and the dinner hour, she had found time 
 to collect her thoughts and to form a plan of action. 
 It was absolutely necessary to do something at 
 once, and, if possible, to understand afterwards how 
 Leonora could have allowed herself in so short a 
 time to fall a victim to the eloquence and per 
 sonal charms of Julius Batiscombe. She wondered 
 vaguely how it were all possible, but in the mean 
 time she knew that the mischief existed, and that 
 she must do her utmost to avert its growth and 
 frightful consequences, since she alone could be of 
 use. 
 
 Pier first impulse had been to go to the window 
 and disclose herself, whereby she thought she could 
 have put Batiscombe to flight instantly. He could 
 hardly have stayed in the house with her after such 
 a scene as would have followed. But a proud in 
 stinct forbade her ; she would not have it appear 
 that she could possibly stand to Julius in the posi 
 tion of Leonora s rival. Nor could she have found 
 it in her heart to inflict on her sister-in-law the in 
 delible disgrace of an exposure. All this passed 
 through her mind in a moment, and checked her 
 
TO LEEWARD. 217 
 
 first step towards the window. She frightened the 
 lovers away by upsetting her table, instead of com 
 ing upon them herself, and she knew an hour later 
 that she had thereby lost the power of managing 
 them by anything she could say to Batiscombe. 
 She would not she could not go to Leonora 
 and force a confession. Besides, what good would 
 be gained ? Leonora was a person to be protected, 
 not attacked. As for Julius, she knew perfectly 
 well, when she led him out to the terrace while 
 Marcantonio was up-stairs, that he would deny 
 everything. He could do nothing else, and he did 
 it boldly, though it was of no use. But Diana 
 thought it possible that he would leave the house 
 without a struggle, and abandon the position for a 
 time. 
 
 If Julius had been a less passionate man, and a 
 more accomplished villain, if he had loved Leonora 
 less ardently and more designingly, or if he had 
 been less furiously angry against Diana, he would 
 have acted differently. He would have lied just as 
 he had done, but blandly and with a great show of 
 astonishment ; he would have made a low bow, an 
 swering Diana that he was at all times ready to 
 obey her, and he would have left the house in the 
 morning, with an elaborate excuse to his hosts. 
 But Batiscombe was quite another sort of person. 
 One of the calmest and most diplomatic of men 
 under ordinary circumstances, his passion when 
 roused was wholly uncontrollable. He was madly 
 in love, and madly angry, and he would have cheer- 
 
218 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 fully fought the whole world single-handed for the 
 sake of his love, or of his anger, separately, let 
 alone in the present case, when both were roused to 
 the fiercest pitch. 
 
 Diana knew him well, and, after the few words 
 she had exchanged with him on the terrace, she 
 knew what to expect. And she had foreseen the 
 possibility of his refusal to leave the villa, and was 
 prepared ^for it. The only question of difficulty 
 was to direct Marcantonio s whole anger against 
 Batiscombe, and to shield Leonora as far as pos 
 sible ; but Marcantonio must be told of the dan 
 ger, since Diana alone was unable to avert it. 
 
 She sat beside him on the deep sofa in the draw 
 ing-room, and she laid her hand affectionately on 
 his, as though to give him some strength to bear 
 what was in store. 
 
 " It is very important," she said, " and you must 
 be very patient. You must give me your word that 
 you will do nothing violent for at least a day, for 
 you will be very angry." She knew that, with all 
 his good nature, she could rely on his courage. He 
 was not easily frightened, after all. He looked 
 earnestly at her, and his face was drawn into a look 
 of determination that sat oddly on his delicate and 
 rather weak features. 
 
 " Speak, Diana mia" he said simply. " I will 
 do what I can for you." He supposed, of course, 
 that something had occurred between herself and 
 Batiscombe. 
 
 " It is not I," she said, " it is you who are con 
 cerned." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 219 
 
 " I ? " repeated her brother, in some astonish 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes. You are the person who must act in the 
 matter. You must write a little note to Batis- 
 combe, and tell him that your wife s sudden ill 
 ness " 
 
 " What ? But it is only a little sun a mere 
 headache," interrupted Marcantonio. 
 
 t4 *No matter ; that your wife s sudden illness 
 is so severe that you must beg him to postpone the 
 remainder of his visit to some future time." 
 
 Marcantonio looked more and more astonished. 
 
 " But I only asked him for a week. He will go 
 of his own accord to-morrow or the day after. I 
 am sorry, Diana mia, but you said you did not 
 mind meeting him." He spoke seriously, with a 
 puzzled expression on his face. 
 
 " It makes no difference," said Diana. " He 
 must go to-morrow morning. He has not behaved 
 honorably to you since he has been in the house." 
 
 Her brother looked suddenly very grave, and 
 his voice dropped as he spoke. 
 
 " Has he insulted you, Diana ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," said she, in low tones, " he has insulted 
 me. But he has done worse, he has insulted your 
 wife in my hearing." 
 
 Marcantonio turned suddenly on the sofa, and 
 grasped his sister s arm like a vise. His face 
 turned a ghastly color, and his voice trembled vio 
 lently. 
 
 " Diana are you telling me the truth ? " 
 
220 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Her gray eyes turned honestly and bravely to 
 him. 
 
 " You and I never learned to tell lies, Marcan- 
 tonio. It is true." 
 
 She knew well enough that he would never sus 
 pect his wife, or ask a question that could lead to 
 such a conclusion. When she said that Batiscombe 
 had insulted Leonora, she spoke the absolute truth. 
 What greater insult can man offer an honest wo 
 man than by wittingly forcing upon her an unlawful 
 love? 
 
 Marcantonio looked at her one moment, and 
 then sprang to his feet. At that instant he would 
 have killed Julius Batiscombe with his hands, as 
 perhaps Diana herself could have done. She 
 seized his hand as he stood, and drew him toward 
 her. 
 
 " No," she said, understanding his thought, " re 
 member your promise. You must do nothing now 
 except write the note." 
 
 But Carantoni was in no condition to write 
 notes. He broke away, and walked wildly up and 
 down the room, wringing his hands together, and 
 muttering furious ejaculations. He was too angry, 
 too much surprised, too much horrified at his own 
 stupidity throughout the affair to be able to think 
 clearly. Diana sat motionless on the sofa, as angry, 
 perhaps, as he, in her own way, but full of pity 
 and sympathy for him, and trying to devise some 
 means of helping him. She leaned forward, rest 
 ing her chin on her hand, and her eyes followed 
 
TO LEEWARD. 221 
 
 him anxiously in his quick, irregular walk. And 
 as she looked he seemed gradually to fall under 
 her influence, and went and sat in a deep chair 
 away from her, and buried his face. 
 
 Then Diana rose, and went to the table in the 
 corner and arranged the light, and wrote, herself, 
 the note to Batiscombe, leaving a blank at the foot 
 for a signature. She looked round, and saw her 
 brother watching her. 
 
 " Come, dear boy," she said kindly, " I have 
 written the note for you ; sign it, and I will see 
 that he gets it in the morning." 
 
 Marcantonio rose and came to her with uncertain 
 steps. He put his hand on her shoulder a moment. 
 Then he fell on his knees beside her, and pressed 
 her close to him, silently. Presently he rose, she 
 put the pen between his fingers, still trembling with 
 his anger, and he signed the note as best he could. 
 She put it into an envelope, sealed it, and directed 
 it to Julius Batiscombe. 
 
 " He will be out of the house before we are up," 
 she said in a tone of certainty. " Go to bed, dear 
 boy, and never let him trouble your peace again." 
 
 " But I will trouble his peace," answered Marc 
 antonio, bending his smooth brows. 
 
 "We will see about that afterwards," said Diana. 
 " If you think best to fight him, I will not oppose 
 you ; but we will talk about it. We cannot talk 
 now. Good-night my dear, dear brother." 
 
 She kissed him on the forehead and held both 
 his hands for a moment, and then led him away. 
 
222 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 He obeyed mechanically, and they parted for the 
 uight. 
 
 Diana often wished her brother were a stronger 
 man in the ordinary things of life, but she knew 
 that he was honest, and no coward in danger, and 
 that he always spoke the truth and kept his word. 
 It was his fault that he always imagined every one 
 to be as honest as himself until the contrary was 
 proved, after which he never trusted the man 
 again. 
 
 Diana went slowly to her room and locked the 
 door behind her. With a candle in her hand she 
 entered the boudoir and looked round upon the 
 scene of the catastrophe. The glass of the long 
 window was still open, and the refractory blinds 
 still closed, the bolts rusted in, beyond her strength 
 to draw them. The servants had raised the desk 
 upright and washed away the ink from the tiles ; 
 there was no trace of disorder visible. She could 
 hardly realize that in this neat room, that very 
 day, only a few hours ago, she had passed through 
 one of the most terrible experiences of her life. 
 
 She sat down in the chair before the desk and 
 bent her queenly head. She had done her best for 
 the right through that day, but it had all gone by 
 so very quickly that she doubted whether she had 
 done wisely. It seemed as though the burden of 
 it all rested upon her of the right and of the 
 wrong ; and the burden was very heavy. May God 
 in his mercy give strength and courage to all brave 
 women doing the right ! 
 
TO LEEWARD. 223 
 
 I think that ordinary women have more moral 
 vanity than ordinary men ; but that very good men 
 have more of it than very good women. A good 
 man always seems to have a conviction of good 
 ness, to be quite sure when he has done right, and 
 to enjoy the sense of having done it. A woman s 
 sympathies are wider and reach further than a 
 man s. When she has done her best, there always 
 is something more that she would do if she could, 
 and until that is done also she can never feel the 
 comfortable delight in godliness experienced by 
 man, the grosser creature, who hedges his possi 
 bilities more closely, and gets rid of his superfluous 
 aspirations by the logical demonstration of the un 
 attainable. But the sphere of ordinary women is 
 narrower, and their sympathies are dispersed in a 
 greater multiplicity and divergence of small chan 
 nels, so that a little goodness, a little easy charity 
 with a pretty name, is a luscious titbit to the 
 tongue that speaketh vanity. 
 
 It was a dreary night to every one of the four, 
 
 least of all perhaps to Julius Batiscombe, whose 
 fierce temper was thoroughly roused and would not 
 be calmed again for days, giving him a kind of 
 wicked satisfaction while it lasted. He spent most 
 of the night at his window, smoking and going 
 over the scenes of the day, and the scenes of the 
 future. His mind ran in the direction of fighting, 
 
 to fight any one or anything would be a rare 
 satisfaction ; and ever as he fancied some struggle 
 possible the hot blood rushed to his temples and 
 
224 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 longed for action, so that lie bit his cigar through 
 and through, and clasped his hands together till 
 the veins stood out like ropes. He slept a little at 
 last, and dreamed savage dreams of hand-to-hand 
 combat, and woke with the roar of cannon in his 
 ears. For he was a man of exaggerated fancies 
 when his brain worked unconsciously, like many 
 men who have ended in celebrity or in insane asy 
 lums. 
 
 The roar of the guns was only a servant knock 
 ing at his door, with hot water and a note. He 
 saw Diana s handwriting, and suspected a new 
 move, so that he was not altogether astonished by 
 the contents. He understood that she had made 
 Marcantonio sign her writing by what means 
 he could not tell in order to force the position. 
 There was evidently nothing to be done but to go. 
 He would not have left the villa for anything Di 
 ana could have said, in his present humor, but it 
 was impossible to bid defiance to the master of the 
 house. Besides, he supposed that since Carantoni 
 had invited him to leave, Diana had said some 
 thing which would lead to a challenge from her 
 brother, which could naturally not take place under 
 his own roof. 
 
 He read the note through twice, and he went 
 through his toilet with his usual care, looking an 
 grily at himself in the glass as he shaved, but grad 
 ually composing his features to an appearance of 
 calmness. Then he put his things together, rang 
 the bell, told the servant he was going to Sorrento 
 
TO LEEWARD. 225 
 
 on business, and gave him a very handsome fee, re 
 questing him to bring the things in the course of 
 the day, in a cab, to the hotel. As Batiscombe 
 was always very liberal, the servant smiled, promised 
 to obey, and retired ; after which Julius took his 
 hat and stick, and strolled out of the house toward 
 the town. 
 
 Donna Diana and Marcantonio met in the morn 
 ing. They saluted each other with the quiet, mourn 
 ful understanding of people who have a common 
 trouble, which they know must be spoken of, though 
 they desire to put off the evil moment. They were 
 both pale, and Diana s eyes were shaded by great 
 dark rings that spoke of a sleepless night. 
 
 " Have you seen Leonora ? How is she ? " was 
 her first question. 
 
 " Dio miof She is very poorly. Poverina! 
 It has made a terrible impression on her. Of 
 course I did not speak of the subject." 
 
 " Of course." Diana sighed and looked drearily 
 at the window, as though she wished she were out 
 side, away, and beyond this trouble. She could not 
 know what Leonora would say or do if Marcantonio 
 ever broached the subject. " I do not think," said 
 she, " that it will ever be necessary to say anything 
 about it. She will understand that you sent him 
 out of the house, she will never see him again." 
 
 " Is he gone ? " asked Marcantonio. 
 
 Yes early this morning. I sent to find out." 
 
 "Then there need be no time lost," said her 
 brother. " I have just written a note to Monsieur de 
 
 15 
 
226 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Tierce, at Castellamare. It is much better to have a 
 Frenchman in dealing with foreigners. He will be 
 here by one o clock, and will arrange everything." 
 
 Diana had expected that Marcantonio would s^end 
 for a friend to arrange matters with Batiscombe. 
 She did not look surprised. 
 
 " Have you sent the man yet? " she asked. 
 " He is getting a horse, I suppose. I have not 
 heard him go." 
 
 "Tell him to wait five minutes. This is a serious 
 affair, and we had better act deliberately." 
 
 Diana intended to prevent the duel if possible. 
 Marcantonio was willing to humor her, and went 
 out to stop the man. When he came back, she 
 made him sit down beside her. 
 
 She explained to him the situation very clearly. 
 Batiscombe had insulted Leonora, had done him a 
 mortal offence. But Batiscombe was not the im 
 portant person in the case. Leonora was the im 
 portant person. If matters had been different, if, 
 for instance, a man had run away with another 
 man s wife, then, of course, they must necessarily 
 fight, and the woman made no difference, since 
 her reputation would be already destroyed. But it 
 would be a terrible injury to a young wife to have 
 her husband fighting a duel about her before they 
 had been married three months. People always 
 say there is not much smoke without a little fire ; 
 society, being generally averse to standing up to be 
 shot at, says that a man in Marcantonio s position 
 would not go out unless he had very serious cause. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 227 
 
 Of course it would say in this case that the cause 
 lay with Leonora, that she should never have al 
 lowed a man enough intimacy to give him a chance 
 of insulting her, and so forth, and so on. 
 
 Diana would not use the argument of the Church s 
 prohibition of duelling. She knew that Leonora s 
 welfare was the chiefest thing present in her broth 
 er s mind, and that if she could show him that, for 
 Leonora s sake, he ought to leave Batiscombe alone, 
 he would assuredly conquer his anger and his pride. 
 He had no sanguine and combative instincts, like 
 Julius ; he did not like fighting for the enjoyment 
 of it, and if he could be shown that his anger was 
 unwise, he would ultimately get the better of it, 
 now that the first sharp moment of wrath was over. 
 To preserve Leonora s spotless fame was a much 
 more important thing than to punish an insolent 
 foreigner for vainly attempting to damage it, and 
 thereby calling the attention of the world to the 
 fact that her reputation was capable of damage. 
 
 It was a hard fight, and Diana s patience never 
 wearied through the hours they talked together. 
 More than once she thought it was lost, and that 
 Marcantonio would order the note to be despatched. 
 Nothing but the real affection and trust that ex 
 isted between her and her brother made it possible 
 for her to succeed. But at last he was convinced, 
 and silently went out and got the note he had writ 
 ten to Monsieur de Tierce, and tore it up before his 
 sister. The die was cast, and he did not mention 
 the subject again, but went to see his wife. At 
 
228 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 her door he was told by her maid that Leonora was 
 asleep, which was not true. But he asked no ques 
 tions, and retired to his own room to solace him 
 self as he might. He was too deeply distressed to 
 wonder why Diana did not go to Leonora and sit 
 with her. 
 
 Leonora had hardly spoken to any one since she 
 had parted with Batiscombe on the previous even 
 ing before dinner. At table, as has been seen, she 
 said little, and no one had seen her since except her 
 husband, who had gone to her in the morning. 
 After his visit she rang for her maid and told her 
 to see that no one disturbed her, as she was going 
 to sleep again and would ring when she wanted 
 anything. 
 
 At the moment when her husband was told she 
 was not visible, she was sitting in her dressing-room, 
 just behind the closed blinds of the window, listen 
 ing to the monotonous dry hum of the locusts in 
 the garden, and wondering whether anything would 
 ever happen again in the world. She was utterly 
 dishevelled, her rich hair falling to her shoulders 
 and halfway to the ground in wildest disorder; 
 the gay colored ribbons of her peignoir all un 
 tied and ruffled, her bare feet half thrust into 
 her gold-embroidered slippers; her hands lying idly 
 in her lap, as though there were nothing more for 
 them to do. A strange, wild figure, sitting there 
 surrounded by all the gorgeous little properties and 
 knickknacks of a great lady s toilet. 
 
 Batiscombe was gone I. Her husband had told 
 
TO LEEWARD. 229 
 
 her that he had been requested to postpone the re 
 mainder of his visit indefinitely. Of course he had 
 gone, then. Marcantonio had supposed she would 
 understand and be well satisfied. But she had only 
 turned and hidden her face in the pillow, as was 
 perhaps natural to a very young woman when her 
 husband mentioned anything that gave her a sense 
 of shame. She must have been very much hurt by 
 the insult, whatever it was, and she could not bear 
 to hear it mentioned. Marcantonio had not told 
 his sister of this, thinking it would be indelicate, 
 and was nobody s business but his own and his 
 wife s. 
 
 Batiscombe was gone when would she see him 
 again? Plow could he reach her, or she him? 
 What would life be like without him ? And then 
 the dazed, disappointed, terrified look came again 
 to her face, and she stared at nothing, vacantly, 
 and like a woman beside herself. 
 
 And oh, that other thought! How much did 
 Marcantonio know ? It was Diana, of course, who 
 made that frightful noise ; she could hear the crash 
 still sounding in her ears. She had remembered 
 too late that one corner room, cut off from all the 
 others opening on the terrace, and communicating 
 from within with Diana s bedroom oh, the folly 
 of it! If only Diana were to come to her she 
 could kill her, she thought ! She was not so tall, 
 perhaps, but she was much stronger she was sure 
 she could kill her ! But how much did Marcantonio 
 know? Diana was so truthful, she must have told him 
 
230 TO LEEWARD, 
 
 all. Those hateful people who always speak tho 
 
 truth ! Ah, if only Batiscombe could come back or 
 
 see her one moment before he went. But he was 
 gone already. If he could have seen her this morn 
 ing, she might have arranged it was impossible 
 yesterday afternoon, he was so wild, so furiously, 
 gloriously angry. It did her good to think of his 
 blazing eyes, and strong, set teeth just showing be 
 tween his parted lips. He was such a man among 
 men ! Never again never never, perhaps ! She 
 would be shut up made a prisoner Heaven 
 only knew what was in store for her! Dreary, 
 hopeless, no light, no life no anything. 
 
 Hollow? She laughed dismally to herself. Yes, 
 life was hollow indeed, now empty of all joy, or 
 peace, or rest, forever and ever. Pray? How 
 could she pray ? Prayer was an innocent amuse 
 ment for desosuvrees young women, with imaginary 
 sins and plenty of time. But now bah ! noth 
 ing was further from her thoughts. What could 
 Heaven do for her ? Heaven would certainly not 
 
 give her Batiscombe again. It would be wrong 
 
 ha ! ha ! of course it was wrong ; but what was 
 life without him? What had all her life been 
 as compared with the happiness of the last fort 
 night, culminating in the happiness of yesterday ? 
 It might be wrong, but it was life ; and all before 
 had been mere existence a miserable, vegetable, 
 hopeless existence. 
 
 The day dragged on ; she took no thought of the 
 hours, or that she had taken neither food nor drink 
 
TO LEE WARD. 231 
 
 since the night before. And always the maid out 
 side the door said she was asleep. 
 
 At five o clock she could bear it no longer, but 
 rang the bell and said she would dress, as she felt 
 much better. The maid told her that one of the 
 men had returned from Sorrento and wished to see 
 her excellency, as he had executed a commission 
 for her. 
 
 Leonora stared a moment, guessed there was 
 something behind the message, and ordered the 
 man to go into her sitting-room, whither she pres 
 ently went, wrapped in a voluminous dressing- 
 gown, that completely hid her disarranged peignoir. 
 The man handed her a small parcel and waited. 
 She turned her back, and, opening it, found a lit 
 tle olive-wood box, and inside that there was a small 
 note with no address or name on it. She hastily 
 closed the box again, and, turning carelessly, so 
 that the man could see her, she examined it by the 
 window, as though criticising the workmanship. 
 She nodded to the man to go, but he stood looking 
 at her with a queer expression that frightened her. 
 She understood that he had examined the parcel on 
 the way, probably ; at all events, that he must be 
 bribed. She quickly opened a drawer of her sec 
 retary, found a purse, and gave the fellow a gold 
 piece. He grinned, bowed his thanks, and retired. 
 He was the man who had taken Batiscombe s things 
 to town that afternoon. 
 
 Leonora had no experience. In novels, people 
 always bribed the servants ; it was most likely the 
 
232 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 proper thing the safe thing to do. The man 
 would not have gone away unless she had given 
 him something, she thought. 
 
 The note was brief to terseness. It conveyed in 
 the fewest possible words the information that the 
 writer name not mentioned intended to spend 
 the day, in future, in a small boat with green oars 
 underlined with a very black stroke in the 
 vicinity of a certain landing known to both the 
 writer and the receiver of the note name of lat 
 ter also not mentioned. And the writer added, 
 laconically, " No fee to bearer." 
 
 She ought to have read the note through before 
 paying the man. But what could she have done ? 
 He had stood staring at her, until he was paid. 
 
 Her heart gave a great leap. It was so like him, 
 so daring, to send her word at once. At least she 
 would feel, now, that he was always there, waiting 
 for her ready to help her at a moment s notice. 
 If only she could be with him on the soft, blue 
 water, out in the sun ! She could fight now 
 she could face them all for he was out there ; 
 at least, he would be there to-morrow. She went 
 back to her bedroom, and gave herself up to her 
 maid, and had strong tea and bread-and-butter 
 brought to her, while she dressed; and an hour 
 later she sallied out, with all her usual elasticity of 
 step and motion, and all the marvellous freshness 
 of face that distinguished her from other women. 
 She found her husband and Diana together on the 
 terrace. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 233 
 
 Marcantonio s face softened and flushed with 
 pleasure as he saw how well and beautiful she 
 looked. She, at least, he thought, had not suffered 
 long by all this trouble. It was so brave of her to 
 forget it, now that the man was gone ; he was so 
 glad to think that he could have borne the brunt 
 of it, and had saved her the pain of any discussion. 
 But he said little, just kissing her hand, and affec 
 tionately leading her to a comfortable chair. 
 
 Diana, who had really carried the heat of the 
 battle alone, and bore the burden of the secret, was 
 very quiet. She saw a little look of hardness in 
 Leonora s face that she had seen long before, but 
 rarely. She said kindly that she was very glad to 
 see her up again, and hoped she was entirely re 
 covered. Marcantonio, said Diana, had been very 
 anxious. 
 
 For an instant the two women faced each other, 
 and Leonora thought she was beginning to under 
 stand her sister-in-law. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FROM morning till night, under the broiling sun 
 of August, a wretched-looking boat plied slowly 
 along the rocks in the neighborhood of the Car- 
 antoni landing. It was a miserable old tub, big 
 enough to hold three or four people at the most, 
 and the solitary individual to whom it seemed to 
 belong propelled it slowly about with a pair of old 
 green oars. Now and then he would paddle under 
 the shadow of the cliffs and put down a line, ang 
 ling for a stray mackerel or mullet, and sometimes 
 catching even one of those sharp-mined red fellows 
 that the Neapolitan fishermen called " cardinals." 
 He did not seem to care much whether he caught 
 anything or not, but he apparently loved that par 
 ticular part of the coast, for he was never seen any 
 where else. A big, shabby man, in rough clothes, 
 and a half-grown, blue-black beard, with bright 
 
 blue eyes, Julius Batiscombe as a fisherman, 
 
 brown as a berry, and growing rough-fisted from 
 constant handling of oars and lines and nets. 
 
 No one took any notice of him as he pottered 
 about in his tub. The watermen, who passed and 
 repassed, knew him as the crazy Englishman who 
 found it amusing to bake himself all day in the 
 sun for the sake of catching some wretched fish 
 
TO LEEWARD. 235 
 
 that he could buy in the market for half the 
 trouble. What did they care ? They never fished 
 there themselves, because there were no fish, a 
 very good and simple reason, and if a foolish 
 foreigner chose to register an old boat at the little 
 fishing harbor close by, and pay ten francs for the 
 privilege, it was not their business. Neapolitans 
 and their congeners do not care much for anything 
 foreigners do, unless it happens to bring them 
 money. 
 
 And in the evening when it was dark, Julius 
 paddled away to Sorrento, and, meeting his own 
 boat on the way, pulled off his rough clothes, 
 jumped into the water for a swim, and dressed him 
 self like a Christian before going ashore. Save 
 that he was growing a beard, and was almost black 
 with the sun, he was as much Julius Batiscombe as 
 ever when he was on land. He had no acquaint 
 ances in the hotel, and no one cared or asked what 
 he did with himself all day long. 
 
 It was said amongst the fishermen that he had 
 been seen once or twice rowing a foreign lady about, 
 and they laughed at the idea of a " signore " earn 
 ing a franc by ferrying a passenger, just like one 
 of themselves for, of course he was paid for it ; 
 it amused him, because he was crazy, poveretto ! 
 And sometimes he was heard singing outlandish 
 songs to himself in the heat of the day as he pad 
 dled about under the cliffs. 
 
 The days had sped quickly since Batiscombe had 
 left the Carantoni villa, and it was now the first 
 
236 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 week in August. Madame de Charleroi had stayed 
 nearly a week longer than she had intended, but at 
 last had gone back to Pegli, to Marcantonio s great 
 regret, and to Leonora s unspeakable relief. So 
 long as Diana was in the house Leonora had been 
 obliged to steal, few anci far between, the occasions 
 when she could safely go down to the rocks and 
 signal to the shabby man with the green oars to 
 come and take her off. Many and long and hot 
 were the days when he rowed his poor crazy craft 
 along from dawn to dark, without catching a sight 
 of the strong lithe figure that he loved. But come 
 when she would, at morning, noon, or night, he was 
 always there, ready to take her and to slip off at a 
 quick stroke to one of the many green caves that 
 line the shore ; and there, for an hour or two, or as 
 long as she might safely stay, they sat and spent 
 happy moments together, the happier for being 
 few, forbidden, and somewhat dangerous. 
 
 As for the danger, though, there was not much 
 of it. It would have been hard, indeed, to recog 
 nize in the ill-clad boatman, with his stubbly beard, 
 and seedy cap of brown knitted wool, the fine 
 gentleman whom people stopped to look at in the 
 street. Leonora, if any one had met her on the 
 landing, would have said she had taken the first 
 passing fisherman to row her about among the 
 caves, and no one would have suspected anything ; 
 and she used to laugh as she watched the progress 
 of his beard, knowing that each day made the dis 
 guise more complete. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 287 
 
 Her own boat had given her some anxiety at 
 first, but she had made Marcantonio lend the whole 
 equipage to a friend further down the bay, telling 
 him it was too hot to be on the water at present. 
 And when Diana was at last gone, she had most of 
 the day to herself ; for Marcantonio was always 
 busy with letters, or trying horses, or going to 
 Naples. He always found his wife so extremely 
 charming when he had been away all day, or shut 
 up in his rooms, and so preternaturally contradic 
 tory and capricious when he was with her for long 
 together, that he concluded she preferred a certain 
 amount of solitude, and humored her accordingly. 
 Never hearing of Batiscombe, he supposed he had 
 left the neighborhood for parts unknown, and 
 though he regretted not having had an opportunity 
 of shooting him, he knew in his heart that Diana s 
 advice had been good, and that it was best so. 
 Now and then, when he thought of Julius too long, 
 he would grow angry and pace quickly up and 
 down his room ; but on the whole life was easy and 
 pleasant enough, and his beloved Leonora was the 
 most charming of women, not half so capricious as 
 some of the wives of his friends. 
 
 How long this state of things might have con 
 tinued it is impossible to say, if a disturbing ele 
 ment had not been introduced. But the disturbing 
 element is seldom far to seek in such cases, and in 
 due time it came. There was a man in the service 
 of the Marchesa Carantoni, the same whom Bat 
 iscombe had employed to take his things to Sor- 
 
238 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 rento, and then to convey the note to Leonora, 
 and the man s name was Temistocle, as arrant a 
 knave as ever opened palm for bribe. Carantoni 
 had taken him in Rome when he married, because 
 he needed another man, and the fellow s face was 
 familiar to him. He had seen him in good houses, 
 and had noticed his extraordinary adroitness in 
 waiting. The man s character was not altogether 
 satisfactory. He had received no recommendation 
 from his last place, but Marcantonio took him .on 
 trial and brought him to Sorrento. 
 
 Temistocle had exceedingly sharp eyes, and 
 Temistocle had an exceedingly smooth tongue ; he 
 was understood among the servants to have made 
 economies, and his tastes were somewhat luxurious. 
 He found Sorrento hot and dull, and he cast about 
 for something refreshing and amusing. 
 
 To take sea-baths had always been his chiefest 
 ambition. It sounded well to be able to say he 
 had taken a course of sea-bathing. But the thing 
 was by no means easy at Sorrento. He could not 
 bathe from his master s landing, and it was a long 
 distance to go round by the lanes to reach another 
 descent. At last, however, he discovered that he 
 could climb over the little point of rocks at the 
 foot of the Carantoni villa, and reach a small cove, 
 where, in complete seclusion, he might enjoy him 
 self as he pleased. Accordingly, when he had fin 
 ished serving the midday breakfast he used to 
 make a practice of going down to bathe. In his 
 little cove he hid his clothes carefully among the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 239 
 
 rocks and crept into the water under the deep 
 shadow of the overhanging cliff. He could not 
 swim a stroke, but he could sit just so that the 
 water came up to his chin, and his round black 
 bullet head lay on the surface like a floating foot 
 ball, scarcely visible to any one passing by outside 
 in the sun. From this position it amused Temis- 
 tocle to watch the boats and the fishermen for an 
 hour or two, enjoying the idea that they never 
 dreamed of his presence. 
 
 It chanced often, as he sat in the water, that 
 Julius, in his outlandish costume, paddled his old 
 boat past Temistocle s retreat ; and the sharp eyes 
 of the Roman servant were not long in discovering 
 that the fisherman was no fisherman at all. It was 
 the easier to recognize Batiscombe, as the man saw 
 him when his beard was only a few days old. 
 From that day Temistocle watched his opportunity 
 to descend when the boat with the green oars had 
 just passed, and would be out of the way for some 
 time. 
 
 There was never the smallest doubt in his mind 
 of Batiscombe s intention in thus disguising him 
 self. The incident of the parcel, which he had 
 carefully opened and examined, Batiscombe s sud 
 den departure, and Leonora s simultaneous indis 
 position, all combined in his mind into one harmo 
 nious whole, from which he proposed to himself to 
 extract at least a reasonable amount of money. 
 
 One day he was rewarded for his pains. The 
 boat passed very near to the mouth of his water- 
 
240 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 den, skirting the rocks at a great pace. He just 
 saw that Leonora was seated in the stern, and he 
 incontinently ducked his black head, and kept un 
 der water till he thought he must have drowned. 
 When at last he was obliged from sheer suffocation 
 to bring his mouth to the air, they were gone, and 
 Temistocle sprang out of the water like some dark 
 evil genius of a low order, waiting for Mr. Darwin 
 to evolve him into the advanced condition of com 
 plete devildom. He was not long in dressing, and 
 in a few minutes he had got back to tho landing, 
 clambering quickly over the rocks, and hurting 
 himself, in his haste, at every step. 
 
 After that, he became more irregular in his 
 habits, lurking in secret places till he saw Leonora 
 going toward the descent at the end of the garden, 
 and presently following her at a safe distance. He 
 ascertained, as he had expected, that Batiscombe 
 spent his whole time within hail of the landing, in 
 the boat with the green oars, and that Leonora 
 went down and signalled to him, whenever she had 
 a chance. Temistocle was so delighted with the 
 skill of the arrangement that for a long time he 
 could not prevail upon himself to interrupt it, even 
 for the sake of the bribe that must inevitably fol 
 low. But, one day, he needed money, and he did 
 not want to encroach upon his purse of savings, for 
 he was a miserly wretch as well as a knave. He 
 had seen something pretty in the way of a gorgeous 
 silk cap, that a stray pedlar had brought among 
 other things, and he thought he would enjoy bar- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 241 
 
 gaining for it the next time the pedlar came with 
 his wares. He knew that he would probably bar 
 gain for an hour and then not buy it after all, 
 but nevertheless he might be weak, and then he 
 would like to feel that he had got the thing out of 
 his betters by his own skill, instead of squandering 
 money from his hoard. He seldom indulged in 
 the luxury of buying what he fancied, but when he 
 did he generally made some one else pay for it. 
 There was a certain refinement of miserliness about 
 him. 
 
 At first he imagined that it would be best to drop 
 some hint to his mistress, just enough to frighten 
 her into paying for his silence. But his calmer re 
 flection told him that he would be thereby killing 
 the goose that laid the golden eggs. Batiscombe s 
 ingenuity would make some change in the arrange 
 ments and he would have to begin all over again. 
 Evidently the best thing was to make his master 
 pay, and let the lovers go quietly on their course, 
 so that he could at any time produce evidence of 
 his veracity. He watched his opportunity. Marc- 
 antonio often inquired whether the signora were 
 in the house, or were gone out. If she was out 
 he supposed she had gone into the garden or to 
 pay visits ; he never disturbed her arrangements, 
 knowing how much she enjoyed being perfectly 
 free, and feeling sure she would not get into mis 
 chief. She made a point of calling on everybody, 
 telling him afterwards where she had been, and the 
 
 two or three hours she spent with Julius escaped 
 16 
 
242 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 notice in her clever account of the spending of the 
 day. Now and then she would say slie had been 
 down to the rocks, in case her husband should ever 
 take it into his head to go and find her there, and 
 she was quite sure that by this time Julius was 
 changed beyond recognition. 
 
 Temistocle had not long to wait. One day in 
 August, Marcantonio chanced to inquire of him 
 where the marchesa might be. Temistocle was 
 prepared ; with the utmost gravity and respect he 
 dealt his blow, speaking as though he was saying 
 the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 "I suppose," he said, "that her excellency is 
 gone out in tlie boat with the Signor Batiscombe ; " 
 he pronounced all the letters of the name, as though 
 it had been Italian ; but it was unmistakable. 
 Marcantonio turned upon him in amazement. 
 
 " Animal ! " he exclaimed, " are you drunk? " 
 
 "I, eccellenza? " cried Temistocle in hurt tones. 
 " I drunk ? Heaven forbid." 
 
 "Then you are crazy," remarked Marcantonio, 
 more and more astonished. "The Signor Batis 
 combe is no longer here." 
 
 "Pardon me, eccellenza," retorted the servant 
 respectfully. " I imagined that your excellency 
 knew. The Signor Batiscombe comes every da} 7 , 
 and takes the Signora Marchesa out in a boat. He 
 is become a very strange signer, for he dresses like 
 a fisherman, and has let his beard grow as long as 
 this cosi," the man explained, holding his hand 
 a few inches from his face. " Mi maraviglio, io I " 
 he exclaimed, casting his eyes to the ground. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 243 
 
 Marcantonio was speechless with amazement and 
 horror, and turned his back on the servant. A 
 man less thoroughly a gentleman in every sense 
 would have fallen upon .Temistocle and beaten him, 
 then and there. By a great effort, Marcantonio 
 collected himsolf, and turned again. 
 
 " You have not to make any remarks upon the 
 appearance of the Signor Batiscombe," he said 
 briefly. " Basta ! " Temistocle had nothing left 
 but to bow and leave the room. He did not under 
 stand his master in the least ; he was just like a 
 foreigner, he thought. 
 
 But Marcantonio dropped into an arm-chair, the 
 moment he was alone, as though all the strength 
 and life were suddenly gone from him. He could 
 not in the least realize the extent of the revelation 
 contained in Temistocle s words. He did not know 
 what to do, in the least, and for the moment it did 
 not even strike him that there was anything to be 
 done. In the course of half an hour, he grew 
 calmer and began to review the situation. 
 
 He remembered distinctly every word of Diana s 
 concerning the trouble when Batiscombe was in the 
 house. Diana had said very distinctly that Julius 
 had insulted Leonora and Diana always spoke 
 the truth. Marcantonio had not asked her what 
 the insult had been. He could not bring himself 
 to do it, and he did not want to know anything 
 more. He would have cheerfully fought with Bat 
 iscombe on the strength of his sister s assertion, 
 but she had persuaded him not to, and now he was 
 sorry for it. 
 
244 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 The servant had spoken with an air of convic 
 tion, as though he thought it quite natural, and 
 only wondered at Batiscombe s strange appearance. 
 There could not be any doubt about it, at all. 
 
 A new sensation took possession of Marcantonio 
 an utterly new passion, which he did not recog 
 nize in the least as part of himself. He was jeal 
 ous. He did not, he would not, understand the 
 truth, but he would prevent his wife from ever see 
 ing Julius Batiscombe again, and then he would go 
 in search of him and wreak his vengeance without 
 stint. At the same time he hoped he might avoid 
 a scene with Leonora. He was brave enough to 
 fight the man, but lie shrank from telling his wife 
 what he knew. It seemed so brutal and uncourte- 
 ous, and altogether contrary to his principles. 
 
 But, after all, he ought to ascertain whether Te 
 rn istocle were right whether / Julius really dis 
 guised himself. He would go and see. 
 
 No, he could not do that ! He could not play 
 the spy upon his wife it was low, ignoble, un 
 worthy. He would find some other way. His 
 brain swam and it seemed too much for him. He 
 grasped the arm of the chair and rose to his feet in 
 pure desperation, feeling that he must get out of 
 the way into his own rooms for a while, lest any 
 one should see him in his present state. 
 
 In the hall Marcantonio paused a moment, hold 
 ing his hand to his head, as though it hurt him, 
 and as he waited the door opened, and Leonora 
 faced him, beaming with light, and life, and hap- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 245 
 
 piness. Marcantonio looked at her one instant, 
 and tried to speak ; he would have said something 
 courteous, from force of habit. But the words 
 choked him, and losing all control of himself he 
 turned and fled up the stairs, leaving his wife 
 staring in blank amazement. 
 
 Poor fellow ! she thought, he had probably got a 
 touch of the sun. She hastened to her room and 
 sent to inquire if the signore were ill, and if she 
 might come to him. They brought back word that 
 he was dressing, and that nothing was the matter. 
 Then Leonora felt a cold chill descend to her heart, 
 the dreadful presentiment of a real terror, not far 
 distant. But when she met her husband in the 
 evening at dinner, she did not dare to refer to his 
 strange behavior in the hall. 
 
 During dinner he talked much as usual, except 
 that he did not laugh at all, and seemed very grave. 
 There was a preternatural calm about him that 
 increased Leonora s fears. She knew him so little 
 that she could not be sure what he would do, 
 whether anything had really occurred, or whether 
 he was subject to fits of insanity. He had looked 
 like a madman in the afternoon. 
 
 When they were alone, he offered her his arm, 
 and led her out into the air, and they sat down 
 side by side in deep chairs. Marcantonio leisurely 
 lighted a cigarette, and puffed a few minutes in 
 silence. 
 
 "Leonora," he said at last, "I have, heard a 
 curious thing, and I must tell you immediately." 
 
246 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 His voice was even and cold ; his. whole manner 
 was different from anything she remembered in her 
 experience of him; he was more imposing, alto 
 gether more of a man and stronger. Leonora 
 trembled violently, knowing instinctively that he 
 had discovered .something. She did not speak, bnt 
 let him continue. 
 
 " I chanced to inquire if you were at home this 
 afternoon, and the man said he supposed you were 
 gone out in the boat with Mr. Batiscombe, as you 
 did every day. Is it true ? The man who told me 
 said it as though it were quite natural, as though 
 every one in the house knew it except myself." 
 
 Leonora was dumb for a moment. The whole 
 thing was so suddenly thrown on her that she was 
 taken off her guard, besides being thoroughly fright 
 ened at her husband s terrible calmness, so unlike 
 himself under ordinary circumstances. She lay back 
 in her low chair and tried to collect her thoughts. 
 
 "The man had also observed," continued Marc- 
 antonio, turning his keen dark eyes upon her, 
 " that Monsieur Batiscombe had a beard, and was 
 dressed like a fisherman. En effet, it was ex 
 tremely curious." 
 
 Marcantonio and his sister always spoke the 
 truth. Batiscombe never lied in his life to save 
 himself, but could do it boldly when it was abso 
 lutely necessary to save some one else. He had 
 no principle about it, except that cowards told lies, 
 and men- did not, that was the way he put it. 
 He was not afraid of anything himself, but for a 
 
TO LEEWARD. 247 
 
 woman he would perjure himself by all the oaths 
 in Christendom. It was his idea of chivalry to 
 women, and could not altogether be blamed. But 
 Leonora by a long apprenticeship to a very worldly 
 mother, and owing to the singular confusion of her 
 ideas, had acquired a moral obliquity, which she 
 defended to herself on the ground that the ultimate 
 results she obtained were intended to be good. The 
 telling of untruths, she argued, was in itself neither 
 good nor bad ; it was the consequences that must 
 be considered. But as the consequences of lies are 
 not easily cast up into totals of good and bad from 
 the starting point, it sometimes occurred that she 
 got herself into trouble. However, she was not 
 hampered by prejudice, and she was a very clever 
 woman, much cleverer than the great majority, and 
 she was just now in a very hard position. In a 
 few minutes she had made up her mind, and she 
 answered Marcantonio fluently enough. 
 
 " Why," said she calmly, " should I not go out 
 with Mr. Batiscombe when I please ? If he chooses 
 to dress like a fisherman, I suppose he has the 
 right." 
 
 Marcantonio was rather taken aback at her sud 
 den confession. He had expected a denial ; but 
 there she sat as calmly as possible, telling him to 
 his face that it was all true. However, he was not 
 likely to lose his nerve again now that he was face 
 to face with the difficulty. 
 
 " It appears to me, Leonora," he said, " that 
 when I have turned a man out of my house for in 
 sulting you, it is sufficient reason " 
 
248 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " For insulting me ? " exclaimed Leonora in well- 
 feigned astonishment. " Mr. Batiscombe never in 
 sulted me ! You must be dreaming." She laughed 
 a small dry laugh. But Marcantonio was not so 
 easily put off. 
 
 " My sister," said he, " told me that Batiscombe 
 insulted you in her hearing. I have always known 
 my sister to speak the truth. Perhaps you will 
 explain." 
 
 " What explanation do you want ? You sent 
 Mr. Batiscombe out of the house on the pretence 
 that I was ill. Of course Diana made you do it, 
 I do not know how, nor what she said. You must 
 talk it over with her. She was probably sick of 
 him, and wanted him out of the way." Leonora 
 spoke scornfully, and almost brutally, and Marcan 
 tonio s blood began to grow hot. 
 
 " That is absurd," he said instantly. " Perhaps 
 Monsieur Batiscombe would not object to being 
 confronted with me for five minutes ? " 
 
 " I am sure he would not object," said Leonora, 
 without hesitation. She was quite certain of her 
 lover s courage, at all events. She knew he would 
 face anybody. 
 
 "Meanwhile," said Marcantonio, "you will 
 oblige me by giving up your harmless habit of go 
 ing out with him every day. I would have sup 
 posed that you would at least have had the pride 
 to deny it, after what occurred when he was here." 
 Marcantonio was angry, but he reasoned rightly. 
 
 " You would have preferred that I should lie to 
 
TO LEEWARD. 249 
 
 you, mon cher ? " said his wife disdainfully, in the 
 full virtue of having told half the truth the first 
 half. 
 
 "I would not permit myself to apply such a 
 word to anything you say," answered Marcantonio, 
 with cold courtesy. " But I would have you ob 
 serve that you are mistaken with regard to my sis 
 ter, and that if she told me she heard the man in 
 sult you, he did. Perhaps you did not understand 
 what he said. It is the same. You will not meet 
 him again at the rocks nor anywhere else." 
 
 " Pourquoi done ? Why shall I not meet him ? " 
 she inquired, raising her eyebrows in disdain. 
 
 "Because I forbid you." He spoke shortly, as 
 if that ended the matter. 
 
 Leonora shrugged her shoulders a little, with an 
 expression of pity, and shifted her position, so as 
 to face him. 
 
 " You forbid me, do you ? " she asked, lowering 
 her voice. 
 
 " Jbfais oui! I forbid you to see him any 
 where." 
 
 " Do you know what you are saying? " she asked, 
 and there was a tone of menace in her words. 
 
 " Oh, perfectly," answered her husband calmly ; 
 "and I will also take care that you obey me bien 
 entendu!" 
 
 " Then it is war ? " asked Leonora, as though 
 she hoped it might be, and to the knife. 
 
 " If you disobey, it is war," said Marcantonio, 
 " but you will not." 
 
250 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 "Because I will prevent you. It is useless to 
 prolong this discussion." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, I ask nothing better than to finish 
 it as soon as possible," said Leonora. 
 
 " In that case, good-night," replied Marcantonio, 
 rising. 
 
 " Good-night," answered Leonora, still seated. 
 "I am not sleepy yet. You are not afraid that 
 Monsieur Batiscombe will be announced after you 
 are gone to bed ? " She spoke scornfully, as though 
 trying to drive a wound with every word. She 
 thought she knew her husband, and she felt tri 
 umphant. 
 
 Marcantonio did not answer, but bowed to the 
 ground and departed. In a few hours his whole 
 character had developed, and he was a very differ 
 ent man from the Marcantonio of that morning. 
 lie had passed through a few hours of a desperate 
 crisis, and had come out of it with an immovable 
 determination to clear up the whole affair, and to 
 force his wife to break off her intimacy with Batis 
 combe. Even now he could believe no evil, only 
 the foolish infatuation of a young woman for a man 
 who had the romantic faculty strongly developed. 
 It would cost an effort to break it off, and Leo 
 nora would be very much annoyed, of course, 
 but it must be done. And so Marcantonio had 
 gone about it in the boldest and simplest way, by 
 attacking her directly. He congratulated himself, 
 for at one stroke he had ascertained the truth of 
 
TO LEEWARD. 251 
 
 the servant s statement, and had gone through the 
 much dreaded scene with his wife. Henceforth 
 she knew what to expect ; he had declared himself 
 as a jealous husband, and had said he would be 
 obeyed. He went to bed in the consciousness that 
 he had done the best thing possible under the cir 
 cumstances, and promising himself an early expla 
 nation with Batiscombe. 
 
 But for all the success of this first move, he was 
 wretchedly unhappy. He still loved Leonora, as 
 he would always love her, whatever she did, with 
 all his might and main, though he saw well enough 
 that she did not love him. But he was furiously 
 jealous, and he swore by all the saints in the calen 
 dar that she should never love any one else. His 
 jealousy had made a man of him. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IT was clear that after what had passed between 
 Leonora and her husband, the relations must assume 
 the aspect diplomatically described as " strained," 
 to say the least of it. The two met many times in 
 the course of the day, and never referred to the 
 subject of their difference ; but Leonora was well 
 aware that she was watched. If ever she sallied 
 out into the garden, hoping to escape observation, 
 her husband was at hand, offering to accompany 
 her. She once even went so far as to go down some 
 distance with him towards the rocks, she could not 
 tell why, perhaps because it would have been a 
 comfort to her to catch a glimpse of Julius in the 
 boat. But he was probably lurking behind the 
 rocks, just out of sight, and she could not see him. 
 She knew that he still kept his watch during half 
 the day, not having yet invented a better plan, 
 for she was in correspondence with him, and in 
 the meanwhile, until new arrangements could be 
 made, there was a bare chance that she might 
 escape for a moment in the morning and be able to 
 see him. Her husband never left her side in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 Temistocle, the knave, had failed in his attempt 
 to gain Marcantonio s favor, as has been seen, but 
 
TO LEEWARD. 253 
 
 he now reaped a golden harvest from the lovers, 
 who paid him handsomely for carrying letters, with 
 a reckless feeling that if he betrayed them the 
 deluge might come, but that without him they 
 were utterly cut off from each other. He had at 
 first carefully opened one or two letters and skil 
 fully closed them again, but had desisted on find 
 ing that they were written in English, a language 
 he unfortunately did not understand. It was now 
 his business to encourage the correspondence to the 
 best of his ability, in order that whenever it should 
 be convenient to spring the mine, he might have 
 some letter passing through his hands, which he 
 could show to Marcantonio. He made a bargain 
 with an old man who had a little donkey cart, to 
 hang about the lane leading to the villa in the 
 afternoon hours, when Temistocle, being free from 
 the cares of the pantry, found it convenient to play 
 postman. As the distance was considerable, and 
 as Batiscombe always gave him a gold piece for a 
 letter, and Leonora another, he thought he could 
 afford himself ten sous a day for the hire of his 
 primitive cab, without any reckless extravagance. 
 
 The first letter he had carried was to Batiscombe. 
 Leonora informed him briefly of the scene with her 
 husband, and begged that he would wait as usual 
 for a few days, or until something better could be 
 devised. But he waited in vain. Then he wrote 
 and proposed that she should drive somewhere and 
 meet him. But she answered that her husband 
 always drove with her when she went out. He 
 
254 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 proposed to get into the garden at night, to scale 
 her window, anything. But Marcantonio had 
 bought a brace of abominable English terriers 
 which howled as though they had swallowed a ban 
 shee. Marcantonio also kept pistols, and slept with 
 his windows open. 
 
 Meanwhile Marcantonio would have given any 
 thing to catch Batiscombe and call upon him for 
 an explanation, but he was afraid to leave his 
 wife for an hour, lest she should have an opportu 
 nity of going down to the sea. He could never be 
 quite certain whether Batiscombe was there or not, 
 for the latter had grown cautious and lay very 
 quietly in his boat just out of sight, knowing that 
 Leonora would call if she wanted him, according to 
 the agreement, and he only came in the morning 
 now and waited till twelve o clock, in order to be 
 at home to receive her letters in the afternoon. 
 Yet Marcantonio would not employ a spy to watch 
 whether Batiscombe were on the water. He could 
 not do that it was too utterly mean and bour 
 geois. 
 
 Leonora grew pale and thin. She was as thor 
 oughly in love with Julius as a woman of strong 
 temper and impulse can be with the first man she 
 has ever cared for. She dreamed of him, thought 
 of him, longed for him, during every hour of the 
 day and night. He was to her the realization of 
 the strongest fancy of her life, the passionate, ruth 
 less, all-daring lover ; and the consciousness of ut 
 ter wrong that underlay her feelings only lent the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 255 
 
 strength of moral desperation to her passion. Hav 
 ing lost all right to other things, she had that left, 
 and only that, on which to rely for all the happi 
 ness tlie world owed her. She would go to the end 
 of it, and enjoy it all, now that she had found it ; 
 and then then she would die, she said to herself, 
 and no one should suffer by her fault. But she 
 was long past the elementary stage, when love can 
 be put upon a block and modelled and shaped with 
 tools, or pulled to pieces, at will, being as yet but 
 a fragile clay sketch and very yielding. The clay 
 had been done into marble, and the marble set up 
 in the inmost sanctuary of the temple, and if the 
 idol were broken the pieces could not be joined, 
 and the temple would be empty and bare forever. 
 It had come about very quickly but what of 
 that? Who shall say that passion born in a mo 
 ment, ready armed, is not so strong and enduring 
 as that which is evolved like man from a pitiful 
 thing with a tail a mere flirtation, to the sem 
 blance of humanity, to the godlike presence of true 
 love? 
 
 Or who will tell us that love is less a real thing, 
 because it is evil instead of being good? Bah! 
 Devils are quite as real as angels, as I have no 
 doubt many of us will find in due time. Do not 
 underrate the strength of a thing because it is bad, 
 nor doubt its reality because you do not like its 
 looks. 
 
 Leonora was in love with all her might, and it 
 makes no difference in the effect upon the individ- 
 
256 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 ual whether love is lawful or not, so long as it is 
 thwarted and opposed at every turn. Her charac 
 ter, from being vague and indistinct, reaching out 
 after many things, and never wholly grasping any, 
 had suddenly become definite and full of a mature 
 purpose the purpose to love Julius recklessly, 
 without consideration or question. The one real 
 thing which remained possible for her had come, 
 dominating and crushing down the army of her 
 most favorite unrealities. The man she loved stood 
 out from the chaotic darkness of the past and from 
 the dreary shadows of the present as a glorious 
 figure of light, magnificent in all that could be 
 noblest ; and she gave to him her soul, her life, and 
 her strength, without hesitation and without fear. 
 She had no remorse, no pity for her husband, no 
 present consciousness of sin, for she was too near 
 the wrong, and too new to it, not to enjoy it. 
 
 The traditional hardened sinner, the very mon 
 strosity and arch - deformity of complicated vice, 
 held up by preachers as a bugbear and a moral 
 scarecrow to the young, the creature without heart, 
 conscience, or capacity of good, does not enjoy his 
 wickedness in the least. It has lost its novelty for 
 him and its sharp, peppery savor. The people who 
 really enjoy it are young ; they are those who have 
 tasted little of life, and have yet all the sensibility 
 and refinement of palate that can distinguish be 
 tween one sauce and another between green, red, 
 and black pepper. They have dreamed of the pep 
 per, have never been allowed to have it, and have 
 
TO LEEWARD. 257 
 
 been fed on a kind of moral pap that disagreed 
 with them from childhood. Suddenly the spice is 
 within their reach, and they make to themselves a 
 glorious feast of hot things, vaguely hoping that 
 they will recover from the indigestion before they 
 are found out. And sometimes they do, though the 
 recovery is very painful and sometimes they do 
 not. 
 
 Leonora had subsisted on what she could get 
 in the way of enjoyment, but her capacity far ex 
 ceeded the supply that presented itself. She was 
 not one of those people who can live for days in 
 happiness from one sight of something beautiful, 
 from a glimpse at a great picture, or from the mem 
 ory of one strain of music. She liked all that was 
 artistic, and especially that which was admirable 
 for novelty, fineness of execution, or boldness of 
 conception. She was not impressed with the beauty 
 of small and unpretending things, the art that 
 amused her was necessarily of the most brilliant 
 kind. The people she liked were the stirring, ac 
 tive, original people who either make history or 
 make public fools of themselves, or both. The phi 
 losophies she had dabbled in were such as could 
 produce in her a sensation of odd possibility rather 
 than such as could satisfy a logical intellect, and 
 they resolved themselves into a vast sea of aspira 
 tions, emotions, and potential passions, in which 
 she loved to disport herself, diving and splashing 
 and floating, like a magnificent sea-nymph in full 
 est enjoyment of her wild vitality, sitting, an 
 
 17 
 
258 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 hour after, on some lonely rock, and wringing her 
 white hands to heaven in despair, because, being 
 but half divine, she was less goddess-like than the 
 great goddesses of Olympus. 
 
 She could not help it if she grew pale and thin, 
 
 she was so wretched without him ; and, without 
 his letters and the sense that he was not so very 
 far from her after all, she would have gone mad. 
 She would sit for hours in her room staring at 
 nothing ; or she would go through elaborate pro 
 cesses of toilet before the glass, looking at herself 
 
 and wondering if he would find her changed, 
 
 perhaps that very day some chance would offer, she 
 might see him. Everything was possible. That 
 was the color he liked best, and that bit of jewelry, 
 
 put it on, in case he should come. And again, 
 she would change it all, because she would not wear 
 for her husband the things she wore for her sweet 
 lover ; and then she would change once more, per 
 haps, and put back the colors and the ornaments he 
 loved, so that she might the better think of him 
 while she was with Marcantonio ; she had a thou 
 sand idle thoughts and fancies which she strove 
 hard to train into the semblance of a little happi 
 ness, the hollo west image of a little joy. 
 
 The days came and went miserably for nearly a 
 fortnight. In all that time Marcantonio watched 
 her closely, never relaxing in his vigilance. She 
 might have escaped, perhaps, but she would have 
 been missed in half an hour, and she had not the 
 courage to do anything so desperate, the time 
 
TO LEEWARD. 259 
 
 must come, she thought, when things would change. 
 But meanwhile she grew haggard and worn. 
 
 Marcantonio had abandoned the idea of sending 
 for a friend to deal with Batisconibe. What he 
 had to say could, he thought, best be said directly, 
 and there would then be no difficulty in establish 
 ing a pretext for fighting. But first of all he must 
 keep his wife out of danger. Feeling that he held 
 her entirely at his mercy, he was willing to take 
 some time for deliberation. She could not see 
 Julius, and it would be the best possible test to as 
 certain how she bore the trial. Marcantonio had 
 grown hard and calculating in his jealousy, but 
 he ground his teeth as he watched her and saw 
 that she was falling ill, and it was not so much 
 for sympathy with her, as for anger that she should 
 so love another. At last he determined upon a 
 new course. 
 
 " Leonora," he said briefly, one day, " we will 
 leave this place immediately, since it does not suit 
 you. Will you be so amiable as to give orders to 
 have your things packed ?" 
 
 Leonora started a little, and looked at him. It 
 was not often she cared to look at him now. 
 
 " Why do you want to go ? " she asked at last. 
 
 " Because, as I said, this place does not suit yon. 
 You are ill miserable. Ma foi ! do you think 
 I will allow you to stay in a place where you are 
 always pale and eat nothing ? " 
 
 " I am not ill," said she, " and I have a very 
 good appetite. I do not want to go away. Be- 
 
260 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 sides, you have taken the villa for tKe whole sum 
 mer. It would be such a useless waste of money 
 to move again." 
 
 " Ah ! you become economical. It is very well ; 
 but economy does not enter into this case at all. 
 We will go to Cadenabbia, or to any place in the 
 lakes, where it is far cooler." 
 
 "I clo not mind the heat," said Leonora, " as 
 you know. Why not say at once that you are 
 tired of Sorrento, and want to go away to please 
 yourself? It would be much simpler and more 
 honest." 
 
 " Pardon me, ma chere, I am perfectly well here. 
 I could spend the rest of my life at Sorrento. But 
 you are not well whatever the cause may be 
 and there is a possibility that you may be better 
 elsewhere. Done " 
 
 " Oh, of course," interrupted Leonora, " if you 
 have made up your mind I must submit. If you 
 think you can make me more miserable anywhere 
 else than you can here, I must let you try. I 
 hardly think you can. You might be satisfied. 
 Nevertheless, let us go." 
 
 " I do not wish to make you miserable, you know 
 perfectly. I wish to make you happy and free." 
 
 " Free ? " repeated Leonora. " En verite, you 
 have a singular fashion of making me free, to 
 watch me day and night, as though I intended to 
 run away with your silver. Free, indeed ! Free 
 from what ? " She laughed, scornfully enough, in 
 his face. It was the first time they had approached 
 
TO LEEWARD. 261 
 
 any subject of this kind since the memorable night 
 after Marcantonio s discovery. But since he had 
 made up his mind to take her away he was willing 
 to undergo another scene if it were absolutely nec 
 essary. 
 
 " To make you free from the society of Monsieur 
 Batiscombe," answered Marcantonio boldly. " You 
 will never be well until you are absolutely out of 
 his reach, and if I must go to the end of the world 
 I will accomplish that." 
 
 "You need not insult me in words," said Leo 
 nora, disdainfully. u You have done it quite 
 enough already by your deeds." 
 
 Marcantonio was silent for a moment. The 
 speech hurt him, for he knew how he believed in 
 her innocence, and how it was his jealousy that 
 now prompted most of his actions. His voice 
 changed a little as he answered, and he was more 
 like his old self than he had been for days. 
 
 " Leonora," he said, " I would not insult you for 
 anything. But, would you rather I were not a lit 
 tle jealous, since I really love you ? " Perhaps he 
 spoke foolishly perhaps he hoped to soften her 
 heart : at all events he spoke seriously enough, and 
 laid his hand on hers. But she did not like his 
 touch and drew her fingers away. 
 
 " A little jealous ! " she cried. " So little that 
 I am kept like a prisoner and watched like a polit 
 ical suspect ! Be jealous yes since you say 
 you love me ; but behave like a sensible creature. 
 Moreover, you might make sure that you had some 
 
262 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 cause for jealousy before coupling the* name of the 
 first man you chance to dislike with mine. Is not 
 that an insult? " 
 
 " Certainly it is and if I did that you would 
 be quite right," said he ; " but things are a little 
 different. You do not understand Batiscombe I 
 do. You have taken a fancy for him so did I. 
 But you push your fancy too far. I now under 
 stand him, and I do not think him a proper friend 
 for you. You make difficulties, you insist upon see 
 ing him. I forbid you, and prevent you. You 
 turn pale and ill, and I am angry that you should 
 be so foolish. Mon Dieu ! I am angry voild" 
 
 " One must certainly allow," said Leonora, with 
 a sneer, " that you have a singularly delicate way of 
 stating your own case." It was the best thing she 
 could find to say, though she knew the sarcasm was 
 not merited, and that it was quite true. He wished 
 once for all to put the matter clearly before her, 
 and he did it honestly and delicately, since he de 
 scribed her passion as a " fancy," her strategy and 
 secret meetings as "insisting upon seeing" Mr. 
 Batiscombe. It would be impossible to state such 
 a case more delicately if it was to be stated at all. 
 A cleverer man, or a less jealous man than Marc- 
 antoiiio might have gone about it less directly ; 
 and that is all that can be said. But he was a half- 
 formed character, as yet, with some good possibili 
 ties and hardly any bad ones. He was naturally 
 good, but good as yet without much experience, and 
 his teaching in the troubles of life had come upon 
 
TO LEEWARD. 263 
 
 him very suddenly. It had never struck him that 
 it could be difficult to manage a woman, and he did 
 not like the idea now that it was thrust upon him. 
 The woman he had made his wife would, he had 
 supposed, be like his sister, of the kind that manage 
 themselves, and do it well; and if he had antici 
 pated exercising any influence over Leonora, it was 
 influence of a very different sort from that which 
 he was now driven to exert. He had made up his 
 mind, however, that she must obey him now, or 
 that he would perish in the struggle, and a cer 
 tain family obstinacy of purpose, inherited from his 
 father and all his race, suddenly made its appear- 
 ance and changed him from an easy-going, pleas 
 ant-spoken young fellow into a very determined 
 man, as far as his wife was concerned. 
 
 He had said she should go at once, and go she 
 should, without any delay whatsoever. Instead of 
 answering her sarcastic remark about his ^indeli 
 cacy, he went obstinately back to his proposition. 
 
 "Let us not talk any more about it," he said, to 
 cut the difficulty short. " You will doubtless be so 
 amiable as to give the necessary orders about your 
 
 things? " 
 
 Leonora shrugged her shoulders very slightly, as 
 much as it is wellbred for a great lady to do, and 
 as much as would horrify a very strict mamma. 
 
 "If you wish it," she said, " I must." 
 
 " Then we will start in two days, if it is agree 
 able to you." 
 
 " It is not agreeable to me," said Leonora, wearied 
 
264 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 to death by his civility, " but we will start when 
 you please, in two days if you say it." 
 
 She was casting about in her mind for some des 
 perate means of seeing Julius and assuring herself 
 that he would follow her. Of course he would do 
 that, but she could not go without seeing him once 
 more in Sorrento; there was so much to be said 
 that she could not write, so very much ! 
 
 The conversation with Marcantonio had taken 
 place little more than an hour before dinner. As 
 he left the room Leonora glanced at the clock. 
 There was time yet, if she could only get some 
 conveyance. She might see Julius and be back 
 before dinner. She could make some excuse for 
 not dressing if her husband noticed it, which 
 was unlikely. He had gone to his room, contrary 
 to his custom, for he generally did not leave her 
 until she went to dress. His windows were towards 
 the sea, and she could slip out through the garden. 
 It had rained a little, but that was no matter. 
 There would be the less dust. 
 
 A garden hat she sometimes wore hung in the 
 hall, among her husband s hats and whips and 
 sticks ; she snatched it quickly and went out, walk 
 ing leisurely for a few yards, till she was hidden 
 by the orange-trees. Then she gathered up her 
 skirt a little and ran like a deer over the moist 
 path, through the gate that stood ajar, and down 
 the narrow lane between the high damp walls to 
 wards Sorrento, never looking behind her nor 
 pausing to take breath, for she feared that if she 
 
TO LEEWARD. 265 
 
 stopped to breathe she would stop to think, and 
 would not do what she most wished to. 
 
 There are always little open carriages hanging 
 about the lanes during the height of the season, in 
 hopes of picking up stray fares, and before she had 
 gone two hundred yards she overtook one of these, 
 moving lazily along. The man was all grins and 
 alacrity at the mere sight of her and pulled up, ges 
 ticulating wildly and leaning backward over his box 
 to arrange the cushions with one hand while he held 
 the reins with the other. The whole conveyance is 
 so small that the driver can touch every part of the 
 inside with his hands from his seat. She sprang 
 in and told the man the name of Batiscombe s 
 hotel, promising him anything if he would drive 
 fast. In six or seven minutes he put down at the 
 door, and she told him to wait. She would have 
 dismissed him at once and taken another to return, 
 but she found herself without money. She could 
 borrow something from Batiscombe. 
 
 He had chanced to tell her the number of his 
 rooms one day, when she was asking about the ho 
 tel, and now she luckily remembered it. Stopping 
 the first servant she met, she bade him show her 
 the way. One of Batiscombe s sailors, resplendent 
 in dark-blue flannel and a scarlet silk handkerchief, 
 was seated on a bench outside the door. He was a 
 quick fellow, and Julius employed him as his body 
 servant. Sailors, he said, were always cleaner than 
 servants, and much neater. 
 
 The man sprang to his feet, saw the anxious ex- 
 
266 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 pression in Leonora s face and the general appear 
 ance of haste about her, and guessing he could not 
 do wrong, opened the door and almost pushed her 
 in, closing it behind her and confronting the aston 
 ished hotel servant with a perfectly grave face. 
 
 Sailors have good memories, especially for people 
 who own boats, and the man remembered Leonora 
 perfectly well, having helped to row her to Castel- 
 lamare, and having raced her crew on the occasion 
 when Batiscombe attempted a precipitous flight. 
 In his opinion the Marchesa Carantoni would not 
 wish to be seen waiting outside his master s door, 
 whatever might be the errand that brought her in 
 such hot hurry. The hotel servant grumbled some 
 thing about the franc he had expected for bringing 
 the lady up, and the stalwart seaman laughed at him 
 so that he cursed the whole race of sea-folk, and 
 went away in anger of the serio-comic, hotel kind. 
 
 Leonora found herself in Batiscombe s sitting- 
 room. For Batiscombe was a luxurious man, ex 
 cepting when he was roughing it in earnest, and he 
 had made up his mind of late years that a human 
 being could not exist in less than two rooms, if he 
 lived in rooms at all. 
 
 Leonora had not thought at all, from the mo 
 ment when she had taken her resolution in her own 
 drawing-room until she found herself standing 
 before Julius Batiscombe in the hotel. At such 
 times, women act first and think afterwards, lest 
 perchance the thinking should interfere with the 
 doing. But now that the thing was done, she real- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 267 
 
 izecl at once the whole importance of the step, and 
 at the same time she understood with what ease it 
 had been accomplished. She saw how, with one 
 bound, she was out of her prison, and with the man 
 she loved, and though she was frightened at the 
 magnitude of the deed, she knew that with him she 
 would find strength and comfort and happiness. 
 What did it matter about the past? 
 
 She had not seen Julius for a fortnight, and 
 though in that time she knew that her love had in 
 creased tenfold, yet the outline of him had lost dis 
 tinctness, and she found him more than ever the 
 man she had dreamed of, and discovered, and loved. 
 He was one of those men whose magnificent vital 
 ity casts a sort of magnetic influence on their sur 
 roundings, just as Leonora herself sometimes did. 
 When Batiscombe was away, his faults might be 
 detected and criticised, his selfishness, his com- 
 bativeness, his vanities. But when he was talking 
 to people, and chose to be agreeable, it was hard 
 not to fall under the spell. He was so eminently a 
 man of action as well as of thought, that even those 
 who disliked him most were obliged to confess that 
 he had certain large qualities, comforting them 
 selves by describing them as " dangerous," as per 
 haps they were, to himself and others. 
 
 And now Leonora looked upon him and knew 
 how wholly and truly she loved him, and how ready 
 she was to sacrifice anything and anybody to her 
 love, even to herself and her own reputation and 
 honor. With heroic people that consideration of 
 
268 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 self might first be thrown to the wincls ; but Leo 
 nora was not heroic. She was very passionate and 
 sometimes very foolish, but with all her " higher 
 standard " she believed in the social regulations 
 and distinctions of life. It was the English part 
 of her nature, fighting for a show of Philistinism 
 amidst so much that was the very reverse. It was 
 a strong passion indeed that could make her throw 
 it all away, or even think such a step possible. 
 
 It was not that she had yielded weakly to a first 
 impression of weariness after her marriage, and 
 had at once begun to amuse herself with the first 
 man who crossed her path. Weariness alone, the 
 mere commonplace sensation of being bored, could 
 never have led her to such a length. A great va 
 riety of circumstances had combined to bring about 
 her destruction. The wild and exalted ideas of 
 her girlhood, gilding Marcantonio with just enough 
 romance to make him barely come within the line of 
 her " standard," but nerved and encouraged by the 
 faculty she possessed for deceiving herself, had 
 led her into a rash marriage ; in which she had been 
 helped and applauded by all those sensible people 
 who think that when money and position are com 
 bined on both sides, marriage must necessarily be 
 a good thing. Then followed the bitter disappoint 
 ment and collapse of all her theories and hopes, 
 leaving a desperate void and a certainty of misery, 
 which gathered strength even from the command of 
 language she had acquired in the study of the im 
 aginary nothingness of everything. All the terms 
 
TO LEEWARD. 269 
 
 she had learned, wherewith to express that the 
 world was a wretched sham, she applied to her own 
 case with a savage readiness, when she found her 
 self disappointed. And then, at the very moment 
 when there seemed nothing before her but a dreary 
 waste of years, chained to a man whose whole life 
 was made up of details, and mild though sincere 
 affection, an individual had appeared who realized 
 the dream she had lost, a man full of strength 
 and courage and intellect, and possessing to the full 
 that weakness which to women seems the noblest 
 quality of all, and the strongest, the capacity for 
 being madly and recklessly in love. 
 
 And it is indeed a noble quality so long as it is 
 locked close within the treasury of the soul, and so 
 long as one good woman, and one only, holds the 
 key. But of all the unutterable baseness in this 
 world, there is none more despicable than that of 
 the man who can make one woman after another 
 believe that he loves her to distraction, as he never 
 loved any one else, even though he may each 
 time believe it himself and swear to himself beneath 
 the maudlin moon, with an ever fresh stock of con 
 temptible sentimentality, that he has reached his 
 last and greatest passion, the very last; well 
 knowing, the while, that if the furies spare him to 
 an unhonored old age, it is out of sheer contempt 
 for the blear-eyed Adonis, shambling weak-kneed 
 to his grave with a rose in his button-hole and a 
 ghastly leer at the last woman he meets before 
 death overtakes him. 
 
270 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Leonora was a woman who was probably in 
 capable of a second passion, and the wholeness of 
 the first might lend it some dignity, some simple 
 loftiness of disregard for lesser things, making it 
 seem nobler for being a single sin, sinned bravely 
 for true love s sake. When there is any excuse 
 for love it is an easy task to make it look far bet 
 ter than it is. There were such things in the world 
 long before Launcelot loved Guinevere, or Heloise 
 was laid in the grave with Abelard ; and the world 
 may see such things again. But the world has no 
 lack of men like Julius Batiscombe, men in no way 
 worthy of the women who love them, nor ever able 
 to be worthy. 
 
 Leonora had chosen, and she would not have 
 given him up for all the joys of paradise, any more 
 than she would have believed a word against his 
 faithfulness and loyalty to herself. He had sworn 
 how could he deceive her ? 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WHEN Leonora met her husband at dinner an 
 hour later, her face was set like a mask, for her 
 mind was made up, and every moment hardened 
 her stony determination. 
 
 Julius had said to her " come," and she would 
 go to the very end of the world if need be. He 
 had stated the case with a show of fairness. She 
 must fully understand the step, he said, and that 
 there was no return possible from such an exile 
 as they undertook together. She must abandon 
 everything, and not only her husband, but her 
 mother, her father, her position before the world, 
 her svhole gorgeous, luxurious, aristocratic exist 
 ence. She must rely on his arm alone to support 
 her, and on his love to be her only comfort and 
 compensation. They must live an isolated life, 
 whether wandering, or resting in some quiet place 
 where society never came. She must also take the 
 chance of his being killed by Marcantonio, who 
 would certainly make an effort to destroy him, and 
 the chance was not small, considering the provoca 
 tion. If it happened that he fell, she would cer 
 tainly be left alone in the world. This was proba 
 bly the strongest argument with her against flight, 
 but it had not weight enough to hold her back, for 
 
272 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 she had the pride of a woman who had found a 
 man ready to fight for her, in these latter days 
 when fighting is so terribly out of fashion; and 
 she felt in her heart that she would always be able 
 to prevent an encounter, and so it did not matter 
 so much, after all. 
 
 The resolution she had made had killed any 
 doubt that might still have remained as to the ulti 
 mate result of her love for Julius. Henceforth it 
 was her duty to kill doubts in order to be happy ; 
 and, to say truth, there were few left, for her love 
 was very sincere and real. But if any should arise 
 she meant to smother them instantly. Perhaps 
 she had had some similar intention when she mar 
 ried Marcantonio, for her nature was so enthusias 
 tic and sanguine that when once she had decided 
 on a course she would prove to herself it was right 
 in defiance of anything except, of course, some 
 thing she liked better. And now she remembered 
 every word her lover had spoken in that brief 
 stolen interview, and she felt no fear. But her 
 face was set, and she looked defiantly at her hus 
 band. A few hours more, she thought, and she 
 would be free from him, from the world, from 
 everything forever. 
 
 They would have gone at once, that very minute, 
 but Batiscombe pointed out that the time was ill 
 chosen. She had been seen to come to the hotel, 
 the servant who had shown her up-stairs had 
 noticed her, perhaps recognized her; in half an 
 hour after the dinner hour she would be missed at 
 
TO LEEWARD. 273 
 
 the villa, and they would surely be overtaken on 
 land, especially as there was no train at that time. 
 Julius said his boat was moored at the foot of the 
 cliff below the hotel, but it would be impossible to 
 reach it without being observed by many people, 
 some of whom might recognize her. There was 
 also no wind, the sea was oily with a deadly calm, 
 and the full moon, just rising, would make pursuit 
 easy, for though his boat could beat anything on 
 the coast under canvas, she was over heavy in the 
 water for his six men to row at any speed. 
 
 But at midnight, when the easterly breeze was 
 blowing from the land, he would be down at the 
 landing of her villa, ready. Marcantonio was al 
 ways asleep at that hour, for he rose betimes in 
 the morning and went to bed early. The dogs ? 
 Julius had thought of that, and sending his sailor 
 servant to the kitchen of the hotel, he obtained in 
 a few minutes a couple of solid lumps of meat, 
 which he caused to be wrapped in paper and then 
 tied up in a silk handkerchief for her to carry. 
 She might find it hard, he said, to get anything of 
 the kind in her own house. She was fond of ani 
 mals, and was sure she could manage to quiet the 
 terriers in a moment if she had something to give 
 them. Besides, they knew her, and would only 
 bark a very little at first. The moon was full, to 
 be sure, but that could not be helped. Once on 
 the water, nothing short of steam could catch them, 
 and that was not available at such short notice. 
 She should not hamper her flight with unnecessary 
 
 18 
 
274 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 things, he said, for if any one were roused she 
 would have to run for her life as far as the begin 
 ning of the descent where he would be in waiting 
 for her. These and a hundred other little direc 
 tion^ he had given her, with the quiet forethought 
 for details that was part of his remarkable intel- 
 lect. He had told her in five minutes what to 
 wear, what she might take, what she should eat in 
 order to bear the fatigue in a word, nothing had 
 escaped him. 
 
 And now she sat opposite her husband at their 
 small dinner-table, looking hard and determined, 
 but listening with more than usual complacency to 
 his talk, and striving to eat something, as Julius 
 had instructed her. She made such a good pre 
 tence that Marcantonio noticed it approvingly. 
 
 " I am glad to see, mon ange" he said, " that 
 you are finding again your appetite. It is most 
 encouraging." 
 
 It was just like his want of tact, thought Leo 
 nora. It was just like him to suppose that she 
 would eat the more because he wanted her to do 
 so, and watched her ! Dieu ! what a nuisance to 
 be always watched. It would soon be over now, 
 however, and she could afford to be indifferent. 
 
 " En effet" said she, " I am hungry I do not 
 know why." 
 
 " Does any one know why they are hungry ? " 
 said Marcantonio, with a little laugh. " It happens 
 to me to take much exercise. I rise with the sun, 
 I walk, I ride, I despatch my correspondence, I 
 
TO LEEWARD. 275 
 
 work like a dog et puis, at breakfast I eat noth 
 ing. No appetite. Good ! Another day, I lie in 
 bed till ten o clock, rise with a cigarette, read a 
 novel, and voyez done, how droll I eat, per 
 haps, for four people. But I have often observed 
 that, if I eat a mayonnaise at dinner, I have no 
 appetite the next day at breakfast. It is pourtant 
 extremely singular, for the cook makes the mayon 
 naise of great delicacy." 
 
 What could it possibly matter whether Marcan- 
 tonio were hungry or not, or what he ate for din 
 ner ? But Leonora was glad to have him say any 
 thing, so that she might be spared the effort of 
 talking. 
 
 " It is true," she said, absently, " his mayonnaise 
 is not bad." She hoped he would go 011 ; it was 
 an easy, neutral subject of many ingredients, 
 concerning each of which it would be possible to 
 differ and to raise a fresh discussion. 
 
 " A propos" said Marcantonio, " the gardener s 
 boy cut his finger very badly this afternoon " 
 
 " A propos of mayonnaise ? " Leonora could 
 not help asking the question. His conversation 
 was so absurd. 
 
 " Ma foi ! mayonnaise vegetables gardens 
 gardeners and the gardener s boy all that 
 holds together. As I was saying, he cut his fin 
 ger, and I sent your maid to get something to bind 
 it with." 
 
 " I hope she did not take one of my lace hand 
 kerchiefs," remarked Leonora. " It would be just 
 like her." 
 
276 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 l It was not lace, I am sure," said Marcantonio, 
 with an air of conviction, as he helped himself to 
 the salad which Temistocle handed him. " But it 
 looked very new. I hope she made no mistake." 
 
 The comic side of the situation suddenly forced 
 itself on Leonora, as it often will happen with peo 
 ple on the eve of great danger. A lackey in Paris 
 once danced a jig on the scaffold before he was 
 broken on the wheel. Leonora laughed aloud. 
 
 "Would it amuse you, for instance," inquired 
 Marcantonio with a puzzled look, " to have a good 
 handkerchief destroyed to tie up the boy s finger ? " 
 It seemed so funny to Leonora to think that on 
 the morrow her entire stock of handkerchiefs would 
 be at the disposal of all the gardeners in Sorrento 
 if they chanced to cut their fingers. 
 
 " No not that," she said. " It is so odd that 
 you should take so much trouble about it or care." 
 " Poor people," said Marcantonio, " one must do 
 what one can for them." 
 
 And so their last conversation tottered to its end 
 in a round of domestic triviality, so that Leonora 
 wondered how she could have borne it so long. 
 But, in truth, Marcantonio was so much afraid of 
 rousing her opposition that evening, after the scene 
 that had taken place, that he purposely avoided 
 every intelligent subject, and did violence to his 
 own preference for the sake of keeping the peace. 
 He liked to talk politics, he liked to talk of Eome, 
 of society, of a hundred things, but of late he had 
 found it very hard to talk peaceably about any 
 thing. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 277 
 
 After dinner Marcantonio smoked, and Leonora 
 sat beside him, with a little worsted work that she 
 did with a huge ivory needle. Her heart beat fast 
 as the hour approached when she must part from 
 her husband. She glanced at him from time to 
 time, sitting there so unsuspecting of any surprise, 
 with his cigarette and his " Fanfulla," the witty 
 Roman paper that amused him so much. His deli 
 cate, dark features, a little weak perhaps, looked 
 handsome enough in the lamplight, and Leonora 
 thought for a moment that she had never seen him 
 look so well. She was already so far from him in 
 her thoughts that she regarded him as from a dis 
 tance, with a certain abstracted consideration of 
 his merits that was new to her. Poor Marcan 
 tonio ! A certain curiosity, that would have been 
 pity if she had allowed it, came ovgr her. She 
 wondered how he would look when she was gone. 
 Ten o clock two hours to midnight, and he never 
 saw her before nine in the morning now. Nine 
 and two were eleven. In eleven hours he would 
 know unless something happened. Would he 
 rage and storm, like a wild beast ? Or would he 
 break down and shed tears ? Neither, she thought. 
 He did not love her he was only jealous. 
 Heavens! thought she, if Julius had been in his 
 position, and he in Julius s, could things have ever 
 got to this pass without some fearful outbreak? 
 Ah no ! Julius was so hot-tempered and strong. 
 Her thoughts went away with her, and she heaved 
 a quick short breath, suddenly interrupted in the 
 
278 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 recollection of where she was. Marcantonio looked 
 round. 
 
 " What is it, ma chere ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing I was going to sneeze," said Leo 
 nora with a ready excuse. 
 
 " There is too much air," said he, rising and go 
 ing toward the window. He looked out for a mo 
 ment. The first breath of the easterly wind was 
 coming over the mountains and just stirring a rip 
 ple on the moonlit bay. It had rained early in the 
 afternoon, and they had sat indoors on account of 
 the dampness. Marcantonio sniffed the breeze, said 
 it was damp, and closed the window. 
 
 "It must be late," said he. "En verite, it is 
 twenty minutes to eleven ! I would not have 
 thought it." 
 
 Leonora ^heart beat fast. 
 
 " I suppose it is time to go to bed," she said, 
 with enough indifference to escape notice. Marc 
 antonio had not enjoyed the evening much, and 
 was sleepy. Leonora moved slowly about the room, 
 touching a book here and a photograph there as 
 though to make the room comfortable for the night. 
 Some women always do it. Her blood was throb 
 bing wildly the last strong effort of conscience 
 was upon her. A great pity sprang up in her a 
 terrible regret a horror of great evil. Her reso 
 lutions, her love, her determination to fly, her bet 
 ter self, all struggled and reeled furiously together. 
 She felt an irresistible impulse to throw herself 
 at her husband s feet, to confess everything, to 
 
TO LEEWARD. 279 
 
 implore his protection, and forgiveness, and help. 
 She turned towards him suddenly. He was in the 
 act of ringing the bell. 
 
 The sharp tinkle of the thing, sounding from far 
 away through the open doors of the house, checked 
 her when she was on the very point of speaking. 
 Almost instantly, the quick tread of the servant 
 was heard. He came, and the supreme moment 
 was over. The reality of her situation returned, 
 and with it the hardness it needed. The man had 
 the candles ready in his hands, and stood waiting 
 to accompany Leonora to her door. 
 
 " Good-night, Marcantoine," said she, holding 
 out her hand. It was cold and clammy with in 
 tense excitement, and her face was pale to the lips. 
 
 " Bonne nuit, mon ange cherie," said he, touch 
 ing his lips to her fingers, and she passed from him. 
 Just beyond the door she turned and looked back, 
 with a touch of sadness. 
 
 " Good-night," she said once more, faintly for 
 the last, the very last time. 
 
 When Marcantonio was alone, he took his news 
 papers, and one or two letters that had come by the 
 late post, he looked carefully round the room, to 
 see that he had forgotten nothing, as he had a bad 
 habit of doing, and he marched gloomily off to his 
 room, which was beyond Leonora s, and separated 
 from hers by her sitting-room. Her dressing-room 
 was on the other side of her bedroom, and had a 
 separate door, opening upon the head of the stairs. 
 
 As soon as Leonora had dismissed her maid for 
 
280 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 the night, she began to make her preparations. 
 She had a large silk bag, of many colors, made like 
 an old fashioned purse, with heavy silver rings. 
 She used it for carrying her work, her books, or 
 anything she needed when she went into the garden 
 to spend the morning. It seemed the best thing to 
 take with her now, for it would hold a good deal 
 and was convenient. She filled it with handker 
 chiefs, bottles of eau-de-cologne, and hairpins, and 
 she put in a tiny looking-glass in a silver case, that 
 she had used all her life. It was of no use to think 
 of taking anything else, she thought, since she must 
 carry it all in her hand. Then she went over her 
 jewels and took her own, carefully setting aside all 
 that her husband had given her. She tied them 
 up in a handkerchief with two hard knots, the 
 best she knew how to make, and she put them 
 into the bag with the rest of the things. Then she 
 found her purse, and put into it all the money she 
 had, for it was her own, and she thought she might 
 as well have it, and there was her cheque-book 
 in the drawer of the writing-table. Of course she 
 could draw her own money just as well when 
 she did not finish the sentence to herself. 
 
 Presently she went into the sitting-room, and 
 listened at the small side door that opened into 
 Marcantonio s bedroom. She had taken an hour 
 over her preparations ; it was half past eleven, and 
 he was asleep, she heard his regular breathing 
 distinctly. The full moon shone outside upon the 
 gravel walks, and the orange-trees, and the soft 
 
TO LEEWARD. 281 
 
 wind was blowing steadily through the open win 
 dows. She paused one moment before she went 
 back, and she looked out at the scene, so sweet and 
 peaceful in the ivory moonlight. Far off in the 
 town the clocks struck the half hour. Julius must 
 be already on the water, perhaps near the landing. 
 She hastened to her room, treading on tiptoe ; her 
 maid had left her in her loose white peignoir ; 
 she must dress again, and dress quickly, or she 
 would be late. 
 
 It did not take long, though she put the can 
 dle before her glass, and dallied a little with a rib 
 bon and a pin. The dress was soft and dark, 
 fitting close to her figure. In reality she had se 
 lected it because it had a pocket, that would be 
 such a convenient thing on a journey. A hat 
 yes, she must have a hat, for of course they would 
 land somewhere, though a veil would be more con 
 venient in the wind. 
 
 There was a great vase of carnations, gathered 
 that day, that stood on a little table by the window. 
 At the last minute, Leonora stopped and took one. 
 She went back to the glass with the candle in her 
 hand, and pinned the flower in her dress, eying the 
 effect critically. They were the flowers he loved 
 best, it was an afterthought, arid would please 
 him. She was ready, the bag hung over her arm, 
 the package of meat for the dogs in one hand, and 
 a candle in the other. She blew out the remaining 
 lights as the clocks struck midnight, put the one 
 she carried upon a chair by the door, while she 
 
282 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 softly turned the latch, looked out cautiously, and 
 left the room. 
 
 Once out of the passage and on the stairs, she 
 had no fear of being heard, and she descended rap 
 idly. One moment more and she was in the open 
 air. The front door closed behind her. Some 
 thing touched her feet, and, looking down, she saw 
 that the white kitten had followed her out ; she had 
 not noticed it, poor thing, and she could not risk 
 opening the door again to put it back. 
 
 She glanced out into the moonlight from beneath 
 the porch, and she was frightened. It was only a 
 step a minute s run, if she ran fast, to the be 
 ginning of the passage but she hesitated and 
 hung back. Oh, if the last step were not so hard ! 
 If Julius had only met her at the door instead of 
 being down there but he was even now at the 
 head of the steps. She realized his presence, and 
 the garden was no longer a solitude she was not 
 alone any more. The kitten mewed discontentedly. 
 She bethought herself of the dogs, picked up the 
 little beast, and moved quickly down the walk, 
 running faster as she neared the end. 
 
 Her running on the path roused the terriers, which 
 were prowling about among the shrubbery in the 
 warm night, and they sprang upon her not ten 
 yards from the mouth of the descent, barking furi 
 ously and snapping at her dress. She dropped the 
 parcel of meat instantly, but they did not see it at 
 once, and pursued her. In one moment more she 
 was lifted from the ground and held firmly in the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 283 
 
 mighty grasp of the strong man who stood ready, 
 and had run forward to meet her when the dogs 
 sprang out. But, in the quick act, the kitten fell 
 to the ground almost between the enraged terriers. 
 
 It was over in a minute. One frantic, piteous 
 death-scream and the poor little white cat lay dead 
 on the gravel path, and the terriers sniffed her little 
 body disdainfully, as though congratulating each 
 other 011 their brave deed. 
 
 " Oh, Julius, they have killed my kitten! " cried 
 Leonora in real distress. They were already under 
 the archway, and Batiscombe was urging her to de 
 scend, but she clung to him, and stared back into 
 the moonlight at the dogs and her dead pet. 
 
 Julius himself was enraged at the thing it was 
 so wantonly cruel. 
 
 "Run on," said he, in a whisper; " I will settle 
 them." He had reflected quickly that they had 
 only barked for a moment, and that any one who 
 heard them would have heard the cat also and 
 would have taken no notice of the noise. 
 
 At that very moment Marcantonio turned on his 
 pillow, and, half waking, swore to himself, as he 
 had done every night of his life for weeks, that he 
 would send the dogs away in the morning. But all 
 was still, and he fell asleep again instantly. 
 
 Julius went back upon the path, and the terriers 
 growled, still scenting their vanquished prey. But 
 he moved quickly and softly, speaking gently to 
 them in a low voice, and holding out his hand to 
 them. He had a sort of influence over animals, 
 
284 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 and they let him come close, pricking their ears 
 and sniffing about his legs. Suddenly, as they 
 smelled at his boots, he caught them by their necks 
 in an iron grip, one in each hand, and held them 
 up at arm s length, struggling frantically, but ut 
 terly incapable of making a sound. 
 
 " You killed her cat, did you, you brutes ? " he 
 muttered, savagely. " I will kill you." 
 
 He broke their necks, one after the other, and 
 threw their quivering bodies far out under the 
 orange-trees. 
 
 Leonora had watched him from the archway. 
 She shuddered. 
 
 " They will not bark any more," said Julius, as 
 he came to her. 
 
 " What strong hands you have ! " she said. 
 
 A window opened, up in the house, a hundred 
 yards away. Batiscombe s quick ear caught the 
 sound. 
 
 " Come, sweetheart," he whispered ; " some one 
 is stirring." His arm was round her as he guided 
 her down the first steps, tenderly and strongly. 
 She stumbled a little. 
 
 " Oh^ Julius, I am so frightened ! " she said pit- 
 eously. 
 
 He stopped and took her off the ground as 
 though she had been a child, and bore her swiftly 
 and surely through the dark way. She could see 
 his fiery blue eyes in the gloom, and in the flashes 
 of white light as they passed the windows and 
 arches where the moon streamed in, and as she 
 
TO LEEWARD. 285 
 
 looked she could feel her own grow big and dark ; 
 and she was frightened and very happy. But she 
 thought of that strange thing she had dreamed 
 this very flight of hers exactly as it was to happen, 
 so that she hid her face against his coat and clung 
 to him nervously. 
 
 "Put me down," she cried earnestly, as they 
 emerged upon the flat rock of the landing, " put 
 me down, Julius, I dreamed you fell here." 
 
 He obeyed her, and set her on her feet, still sup 
 porting her with his arm about her waist. One 
 passionate kiss only one and then they came 
 out from the shadow of the high cliff, and saw the 
 boat riding lightly in the moonlight, two sailors 
 holding her off the rocks, and the rest busy on 
 board with the sails. The water plashed musically 
 in the little hollows, and from near by there came 
 a deep, mysterious murmur out of the many dark 
 caves that lined the shore. 
 
 Leonora stepped lightly in, and Julius arranged 
 the cushions about her carefully. Neither of them 
 spoke. With a few strong strokes of the oars the 
 boat shot out into the breeze from the lee of the 
 gorge. The jib was already set, and foresail and 
 mainsail went up in a moment, wing and wing, the 
 tapering, lateen-yards pointing to right and left, 
 like the horns of a great, soft, white moth ; the 
 water rippled at the stern, and curled up and 
 lapped the rudder as the sails filled, and ever 
 swiftly and more swiftly the craft rushed down the 
 bay in the glorious moonlight, before the steady 
 east wind. 
 
286 TO LEEWARD. . 
 
 Julius held the tiller with one hand, and the 
 other lovingly supported Leonora s head against 
 his breast, as she lay along the cushions in the 
 stern. 
 
 " Darling," he said presently, " what was the 
 dream about my falling at the landing ? You never 
 told me." 
 
 She did not answer, but lay quite still. 
 
 " Dear one," he murmured, bending down, " are 
 you so tired? Leonora sweetheart speak to 
 me!" 
 
 But the strain had been too strong, and Leonora 
 lay in his arms, whiter than death under the white 
 moon, unconscious of Julius or of the sea. Julius 
 saw that she had fainted. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AT half past eight the next morning Temistocle 
 found Leonora s maid at the door of her mistress s 
 room with an expression of blank astonishment on 
 her face that made him laugh. He often laughed, 
 quietly, without the least noise. 
 
 " You look exactly like a lay figure in a milli 
 ner s shop," he remarked. " Except, indeed, that 
 you look much more stupid." 
 
 The maid glared at him. 
 
 " The signora "- - she began, and then trembled 
 and looked round timidly. 
 
 " What about her ? " inquired Temistocle, prick 
 ing up his ears. 
 
 The maid let her voice drop to a low whisper. 
 
 " She is not there," said she. 
 
 " Ellene" said Temistocle with a grin, "what 
 has happened to you? She is probably gone out 
 gone to church. A good place for heretics, too." 
 
 " Macche" whispered the woman, " she has not 
 slept in her bed, and everything is upside down in 
 the room." 
 
 " May the devil carry you off I " said Temisto 
 cle, suddenly changing his voice, and whispering 
 hoarsely. "Let me see let me pass." He put 
 down the can of hot water he was taking to his 
 
288 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 master, and pushed past the maid, into Leonora s 
 bedroom. 
 
 " Bada" said the woman, going after him cau 
 tiously, "take care! The signore might come in 
 and find you." 
 
 " What harm is there ? " asked the servant. And 
 then he made a careful survey of the premises, 
 locking all the doors except the one by which they 
 had entered. 
 
 " It is true, what you said," he remarked, push 
 ing the maid out of the room. " An apoplexy on 
 these foreigners who go away without telling one. 
 Fuori ! Go along with you, my child. Ci penso 
 io I will look after all this." And he locked 
 the door behind him, put the key in his pocket, and 
 took up his -water-can. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " asked the maid. Temis- 
 tocle had seen a chance, and took it. 
 
 " Look here," said he, rubbing the thumb and 
 forefinger of his hand together before the girl s eyes, 
 which means " money " in gesture language, 
 " look here. The signore accompanied the signora 
 to the early train from Castellamare this morning 
 at half past four. They had a hired carriage. She 
 went away and forgot her jewels on the table. She 
 is gone to Eome on business, they were talking 
 about it last night. Do you understand ? " 
 
 "No," answered the woman looking puzzled, 
 " you said she had gone out " 
 
 " I said so to you," he answered with a sly grin, 
 "but I will not say so to any one else, nor you 
 
TO LEEWARD. 289 
 
 either. Kemember that she went to Kome this 
 morning. It will be worth your while to remem 
 ber that." 
 
 The woman smiled a cunning smile. She had 
 hated her mistress, and would have liked to make 
 a scandal before all the other servants, but Temis- 
 tocle s advice would be more profitable. So they 
 arranged the matter between them and parted. 
 
 Marcantonio was seated at his writing-table 
 when Temistocle entered. He always got up very 
 early, and did a great many things before he 
 dressed. 
 
 Temistocle busied himself a moment about the 
 room, and when he was ready to go he came to 
 the table and laid the key he had taken from Leo 
 nora s door at his master s elbow. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Marcantonio, looking up. 
 
 " It is the key of the Signora Marchesa s bed 
 room, eccellenza," answered Temistocle, edging away 
 toward the door. " Her excellency must have gone 
 away very early, and she left her room open and 
 all her jewelry strewed about. So I locked the 
 doors and brought you the key." 
 
 He was very near the door and could escape in 
 a moment. 
 
 But Marcantonio did not move ; his jaw dropped, 
 and his color changed to a yellow waxen hue, that 
 terrified the servant. But he did not move. Temis 
 tocle continued. 
 
 "I told the servants not to be astonished, as you 
 had accompanied the Signora Marchesa to the early 
 19 
 
290 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 train for Eome before daybreak," he said, putting 
 his hand on the latch. 
 
 Marcantonio made as though he would rise. 
 Temistocle slipped nimbly through the door and 
 closed it behind him, running away as though the 
 police were after him. But he knew that when 
 Carantoni had recovered, he would be amply re 
 warded for his wisdom. It often chances that vil 
 lains play a good and sensible part in life, for it is 
 often quite as profitable as villainy, and is always 
 safer. 
 
 Marcantonio struggled to rise, and at last got 
 upon his feet, staggering like a man stunned by 
 a physical blow. The door to Leonora s sitting- 
 room was open, but, beyond, the one to her bed 
 room was locked. He had to go round by the 
 passage, feeling his way as though he were blind. 
 At last he found the lock, the key turned, and 
 he entered. 
 
 It was just as she had left it. The white pei 
 gnoir she had taken off when she dressed for her 
 flight lay in a heap upon the floor where she had 
 thrown it in her haste. The half-burned candles 
 stood dismally on the dressing-table. The drawer 
 from which she had taken the handkerchiefs was 
 half open. The windows were thrown back, and 
 the blinds had not been closed, so that the strong 
 glare of the morning poured rudely in on the con 
 fusion, and the flies buzzed about the scented soap 
 and the bottles of lavender and the pot of carna 
 tions in the corner. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 291 
 
 Marcantonio dragged himself from one part of 
 the room to another till he stumbled against the 
 table on which Leonora had left her scattered jew 
 elry, all the things he had given her. He stood 
 staring down at the glittering gold and precious 
 stones, unconsciously realizing that they were all 
 his presents that she had left behind her. There 
 was a strange old Maltese cross of diamonds and 
 sapphires among them, mounted in silver. It had 
 belonged to his mother, and he had given it to 
 Leonora with other things when he married her. 
 His eyes fastened upon it, and his hand crept 
 across the table and took it. 
 
 He raised it to his white lips and kissed it once 
 twice ; he would have kissed it again, but the 
 bow of his strength was bent too far and snapped 
 asunder. With a short, fierce cry he threw up his 
 hands, and fell prostrate on the smooth tiled floor, 
 as a dead man might have fallen. 
 
 He lay entirely unconscious for hours, so that 
 when he at last came to himself and struggled to 
 move till he could sit up and stare about him, the 
 midday sun was pouring in, and the flies angrily 
 tormented his ghastly face, as though in derision 
 of anything so miserable. For some minutes he 
 sat upon the floor, dazed and stupid with the op 
 pression of returning grief, as well as stunned from 
 the physical pain resulting from his fall. He was 
 not hurt seriously, but he was bruised and weak. 
 At last he got to his feet, steadying himself by the 
 table. He would not see what was about him any 
 
292 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 more, for he knew it all, and the full consciousness 
 of his misfortune was on him. Pie regained his own 
 room, carefully locking Leonora s door behind him, 
 and taking with him his mother s diamond cross. 
 
 But the mere sense of grief could not long hold 
 the mastery with a man like Marcantonio. He had 
 loved his wife too well not to resent the injury and 
 scorn, as well as weep over it. As he pondered, 
 lying in his bed, there arose in his breast a desper 
 ate and concentrated anger against the man who 
 had deprived him of what he best loved in the 
 world, the anger of a mind that has never reasoned 
 much about anything, and will carry unreason to 
 any length when it comes. He must find his 
 enemy ; that was the principal thought in his mind. 
 That he would kill him when he found him was a 
 proposition that seemed a matter of course. 
 
 But, in order to find him, it was necessary to 
 move, to search, and turn everything over. He 
 turned on his pillow, feeling the first restless stir 
 rings of the demon that would by and by give him 
 no peace by day or night till the man was found 
 and the blow struck. He turned over and rang a 
 bell by his bedside. 
 
 " Give me some coffee, and order the carriage," 
 he said to the servant. 
 
 The first thing when, at the end of an hour, he 
 found himself in the town was to inquire for Batis- 
 combe. It seemed as though fate favored Caran- 
 toni at the outset, for he found his name at once 
 on the register of the hotel, and found also the man 
 
TO LEEWARD. 293 
 
 who had waited on Julius. This servant had been 
 told that a lady had come in great haste soon after 
 seven on the previous evening, and had stayed more 
 than half an hour. As soon as she was gone, Mr. 
 Batiscombe had sent for his bill and had ordered 
 his boat to be ready at eleven, the servant had 
 heard the order. The man guessed there was some 
 thing wrong from Marcantonio s face, but Batis- 
 combe s sudden departure had excited no remark. 
 He had arrived late at night in his boat, as many 
 people had done, and as the moon was full it was 
 natural enough that he should sail away as he had 
 come. People arrive continually at Sorrento in 
 yachts, and no one takes any notice of them. 
 
 His luggage ? Yes, he had taken most of his 
 things with him, except one large box, which he 
 had ordered to be sent to Turin. It had gone to 
 Castellamare at once. Mr. Batiscombe had been in 
 the hotel before. He was a very good signore. 
 
 At this hint Marcantonio gave the man a heavy 
 fee. Did he happen to know the address on the 
 box? There was no address, except his name. 
 The box was to be left in deposito at Turin until 
 called for. It was to go by express train, and Mr. 
 Batiscombe had left money to pay for its carriage 
 in advance. Mr. Batiscombe paid his bills by 
 cheques on a banker in Borne. Marcantonio might 
 have the name if he pleased. Before leaving he 
 had paid his bill and given a cheque for five or six 
 hundred francs more. The proprietor knew him 
 very well, and was always glad to oblige him, so 
 
294 TO LEEWARD. % 
 
 he had procured a little cash. Before going he 
 had sent for a silk merchant there are hundreds 
 in Sorrento and had bought a quantity of things 
 of him. lie had left the hotel at eleven by the steps 
 to the sea, and the servant had seen him into his 
 boat, for which parting civility, Batiscombe had 
 given him ten francs. The man had watched the 
 boat for a few minutes. They did not hoist sail, 
 but rowed away towards Castellamare. 
 
 That was all, absolutely all, that the man could 
 tell Marcaiitonio. But it was sufficient for the 
 present. It was clear that Julius had taken Le 
 onora from the landing of the villa. She must 
 have slipped out soon after midnight. The bark 
 ing of the dogs suddenly came back to Marcanto- 
 nio s memory, and the scream of the poor cat. He 
 sprang into his carriage, and drove furiously home 
 ward. 
 
 " Where are the dogs?" he asked, as soon as he 
 alighted. 
 
 The groom did not like to answer. He thought 
 Marcaiitonio would be angry and visit their death 
 on him. But, as his master insisted, he went away 
 without saying a word, and brought a large basket. 
 In it lay the two dead terriers and the dead kitten, 
 all three side by side. 
 
 " The dogs killed the cat," said the man, apolo 
 getically. "There are the marks of their teeth, 
 eccellenza." 
 
 " But the clogs ? How were they killed ? " asked 
 Marcantonio savagely. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 295 
 
 " Eccellenza, their necks are broken. I cannot 
 understand how it could have been done. We 
 found them all dead near the calata, the descent, 
 the cat on the path, and the dogs under the trees a 
 few paces away." 
 
 Carantoni took up one of the terriers in his 
 hands, and looked at it. 
 
 " So you killed my dogs, did you, you brute ? " 
 he muttered. " I will kill you." He unconsciously 
 used Batiscombe s own words. His face was yel 
 low, and his eyes bloodshot. He dropped the dead 
 beast into the basket. 
 
 " Bury them," he said aloud, and turned on his 
 heel, going into the house. 
 
 He had accomplished a great deal in a few 
 hours. He had ascertained that they had fled by 
 sea ; that Julius had a bank account in Rome with 
 a banker whose address he had got ; that Julius 
 had sent his box to Turin, where he would most 
 likely be ultimately heard of. More than that he 
 could not know for the present. It was four o clock 
 in the afternoon. He could still catch the train to 
 Rome. He could do nothing more in Sorrento, and 
 he could no more remain inactive for one moment 
 than he could give up the whole pursuit. While 
 his things were being hastily packed he thought of 
 Diana. It was the first time, since the morning, 
 that he had realized that he was not absolutely 
 alone in the world. He sat down and wrote a tel 
 egram, intending to send it from the station. It 
 was brief and to the point. 
 
296 TO LEEWARD. . 
 
 " She has left me. Can you meet me anywhere ? 
 Answer to Rome." 
 
 There are doubtless people in the world who take 
 a morbid and unwholesome delight in the contem 
 plation of sorrow. They can amuse themselves for 
 many hours in studying the effect of grief upon 
 their friends, and they can even find a curious 
 diversion in their own troubles, so long as they can 
 keep them far enough away to secure their bodily 
 comfort. There is a selfishness which is merely in 
 difference to others, and there is a selfishness which 
 feeds on its own soul, as the traditional bear licks 
 his paws for nourishment. Soul for breakfast, soul 
 for dinner, and soul for supper, above all, soul 
 for five o clock tea. It is very indigestible. The 
 moral body languishes on the diet, and becomes 
 thin and emaciated and surly as a superannuated 
 wolf in winter. Such people can sit for hours I 
 have seen them poring over an imaginary grief, 
 which could be got out of the way in a moment by 
 a single blow. But it fascinates them, and they 
 cannot take their eyes off it. They would not 
 lose their troubles they would not spill a single 
 drop of the bitterness they have cunningly con 
 cocted for themselves for all the world. They 
 are people who have got hold of ^the wrong end of 
 life and like it. They have heard a great deal 
 about another set of people who " enjoy greatly 
 and suffer greatly," that is the stock phrase, - 
 and they would be delighted to be like them, but 
 their limp vitality is capable of nothing of the 
 
TO LEE WARD. 297 
 
 sort. They have neither the strength to sin, the 
 honesty to be good, nor the common sense to be 
 happy. And so they feebly paddle in their shal 
 low puddles of woe, neither dry nor wet, and very 
 muddy, when they might just as well sit on the 
 clean, hard ground and enjoy the cleanliness and 
 solidity of it, if they can enjoy nothing else. But 
 they will not. They will lie in the mud, and kick 
 and scream and swear that they are shipwrecked, 
 when they are a hundred miles from the sea, and 
 would take to their heels on the first sight of it. 
 
 One of the favorite hobbies of these individuals 
 is a mysterious thing they call a " sweet sadness." 
 Their ideas about sorrow are not even artistic. 
 They might at least understand that even the in- 
 tensest grief, apart from its causes, has no grandeur. 
 A sad face is not of itself a beautiful object, though 
 in the minds of persons of much experience and 
 heart it may raise certain sympathies which belong 
 to the highest part of man s nature, so that there is 
 a distant reflection of a sentiment which is in itself 
 good, though painful. The contemplation of sor 
 row is not elevating unless ifc breeds a strong, desire 
 to alleviate it ; nor is the study of vice and crime 
 in the least edifying unless it exhibits the nobility 
 and power of purity in a highly practical light. No 
 vicious criminal was ever reformed by realistic pic 
 tures of wickedness, any more than he can be im 
 proved by daily association with other vicious crim 
 inals. And a very little realism will throw a 
 great ideal into the shade, as far as most people are 
 concerned. 
 
298 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Marcantonio may therefore be allowed to go to 
 Rome without being watched on the journey. His 
 bitter suffering had settled about him and taken a 
 shape and a complexion of its own, thinking its own 
 thoughts and acting its own acts, without reference 
 to the real Marcantonio, the easy, cheerful, happy 
 man of a few short weeks ago. It was no change 
 of character now, but rather the entire disappear 
 ance of the character beneath the flood of strong 
 passions that had come from without, sweeping away 
 the landmarks and beacons of all moral responsibil 
 ity. One idea had taken possession of him, and 
 destroyed his consciousness of good and evil, and 
 his comprehension of the common things of life ; 
 his body and intelligence had become the mere tools 
 of this idea, and would strain their strength to carry 
 it out until one or the other gave way. Man is said 
 to be a free agent, and as long as he remembers 
 the fact, he is ; but when he forgets it, the freedom 
 is gone. 
 
 That morning, when the blow first struck him, he 
 had still some vague thought that there was a course 
 to follow which should be right as well as brave and 
 honorable ; it was the fast vanishing outline of his 
 former self, used always to the ways of honor ; it 
 was vague and uncertain, and he had no time or in 
 clination to think about it, but it was present. The 
 day wore on, bringing a fuller realization of his des 
 perate case, and the possibility of good in so much 
 evil disappeared. When he was at last in the ex 
 press train on his way to Rome he was only con- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 299 
 
 scions of one tiling the determination to find 
 Julius Batiscombe, and to kill him ruthlessly, be 
 the consequences what they might. 
 
 Rome looked much as usual when he at last came 
 out of the great ugly station upon the Piazza del 
 Termini. It was morning, and not yet eight o clock, 
 but the pitiless August sun drove its fire through 
 everything through flesh and bone and marrow 
 of living things, through the glaring stones and 
 dusty trees, and even the great jet of water looked 
 like bright melting metal that would burn if it 
 touched one. 
 
 But Marcantonio Carantoni was past feeling heat 
 or cold or bodily hurt. He did not even remember 
 that he had a servant with him, and he mechanically 
 hailed a cab and was driven to his own house. They 
 put a telegram into his hand ; it was from Diana, 
 in answer to his of the day before. It was briefer 
 than his and breathed authority. 
 
 " Have left Pegli. Wait for me in Rome." 
 
 That was all. He read it stupidly over two or 
 three times. He would not have telegraphed to her 
 if he had waited till to-day. Some instinct told 
 him she would prevent and hinder his vengeance. 
 Yesterday he wanted help ; to-day he wanted noth 
 ing but freedom from restraint and an opportu 
 nity of meeting Julius Batiscombe. She would 
 not aid him in that, he was sure. 
 
 But she could not arrive to-day, it was a long 
 journey from Pegli to Rome; he did not know 
 exactly how long it took, his memory would not 
 
300 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 serve him with any details. He would have time 
 in Rome to do the things he meant to do, and he 
 would go to Turin that very night and watch that 
 box of Batiscombe s. He would send for it, of 
 course, wherever he was, and the box would betray 
 him at last, if all other means failed. But mean 
 while there were the police there were detectives 
 to be had, and plenty of them ; money would do 
 much, and his high position would do more. He 
 would set a whole pack of sharp-scented human 
 hounds at Batiscombe s heels they would find 
 him, and bring word, never fear. He laughed a 
 low, concentrated laugh at the idea of employing 
 the law to hunt his prey, in order that he might bid 
 the law defiance and destroy his man alone. 
 
 He threw down the telegram and went to his 
 room, followed closely by his servant, who had 
 arrived in mad haste in a second cab, and believed 
 his master was going to be insane unless he had 
 a stroke of apoplexy, which seemed not unlikely. 
 The man was a skilled valet, and Marcantonio suf 
 fered himself to be dressed and combed and 
 smoothed, in perfect silence ; and when it was over 
 he ate something that they brought him, without 
 the slightest idea of what he was doing. He knew 
 it was yet early, and that his business could not be 
 done until the officials he needed were in their 
 offices. 
 
 No sooner had the clock struck ten, however,, 
 than he took his hat and left the house. He found 
 a cab, and had himself driven from one office to 
 
TO LEEWARD. 301 
 
 another all through the heat of the day, seeing con 
 fidential detectives and stating his business with a 
 strange lucidity, never telling any single agent that 
 he was employing another, but giving to each one a 
 sum of money to begin his search and to each the 
 same precise statement of all that he knew. The 
 consequence was that before the sun was low he 
 had despatched half a dozen of the best men that 
 could be found, and had got rid of about fifty thou 
 sand francs. Each one separately might have to 
 go to the end of the world to America perhaps, 
 but most probably to England before he could 
 give the required information. It was necessary 
 that his men should be perfectly free to move in 
 any direction. He himself would go to Turin, and 
 there receive their telegrams, himself watching that 
 box of Batiscombe s, which he. was sure must some 
 day be claimed by its owner. 
 
 He was perfectly calm and self-possessed through 
 out all these arrangements. Only the strange 
 ghastly color that had overspread his face seemed 
 to settle and become permanent, and his eyes were 
 bloodshot and yellow, while his hand trembled 
 violently when he held a pen or lit a match for his 
 cigarette. But he felt no bodily ill, nor any ca 
 pacity for fatigue. He had not closed his eyes for 
 thirty-six hours, and had eaten little enough, but 
 there was not an ache or a sensation of pain in him, 
 and he dreaded to pause or sit down, hating the 
 idea of rest. 
 
 When he had done all that he could think of as 
 
302 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 being at all useful in his plan, he went home and 
 told his servant to prepare for the journey to Turin 
 that night. The train left at half past ten there 
 were some hours yet to wait. He moved restlessly 
 about the house, and ordered all the windows to be 
 opened. 
 
 The great rooms were in their summer dress. 
 The furniture, the huge pier glasses, and the chan 
 deliers were all clothed in brown linen. The 
 carpets had all been taken up, and the floors 
 some of marble, some of red brick, and some of 
 tiles were bare and smooth. There was the cool 
 ness and absence of all color that seems to belong 
 to great palaces when the owners are out of town, 
 and the cold monotony of everything soothed him 
 a little. After wandering aimlessly for half an 
 hour, he settled into a regular walk, up and down 
 the great ball-room, with its clear-story windows 
 and vaulted ceiling. Up and down, up and down, 
 with an even, untiring tread he paced, his eyes bent 
 always on the floor and his hands behind him. 
 His walk was like clockwork, absolutely even and 
 unchanging with its rhythmic echo and unvarying- 
 accuracy. 
 
 The broad daylight softened into shadow, and 
 the shadow deepened into gloom, but still he kept 
 on his beat as though counting his steps and meas 
 uring the time. There was a certain relief in it ; 
 not from his mastering thought, that held him in a 
 vise and never relaxed for a second, but from his 
 terrible restlessness. It was an outlet to his over 
 wrought activity, and he did it monotonously, with 
 
TO LEEWARD. 303 
 
 out any consideration, because there was nothing 
 else to do, and it would have driven him mad to sit 
 still for five minutes. 
 
 As the night came on, strange faces seemed to 
 look upon him from the gathering darkness. The 
 thick, warm air took shape and substance, and he 
 could distinguish forms moving quickly before him 
 that he could not overtake. But there was no sen 
 sation of horror or fear with the sight he gazed 
 curiously at the fleeting shadows and looked into 
 their faces as they came close to him and retreated, 
 but he could not recognize them, and did not ask 
 himself whence they came nor whither they were 
 going, nor why he saw them. It seemed very nat 
 ural somehow. 
 
 But at last, as he turned there was one comma- 
 
 O 
 
 toward him that had more substance than the rest, 
 so that they all vanished but that one. It was a 
 woman, and she seemed moving towards him ; but 
 it was almost quite dark. He came nearer ; his 
 waking senses caught the sound of her footstep ; 
 she was no shadow it was his wife coming- back 
 
 O 
 
 to him it had all been a fearful dream, and she 
 was there again. He sprang forward with a quick 
 cry. 
 
 " Leonora ! Oh, thank God ! " and he fell for 
 ward into her arms. 
 
 " No, dearest brother it is not Leonora 
 would God it were ! " 
 
 Diana had come already he could not tell how 
 and they stood together in the dark, empty ball 
 room, clasped in each other s arms. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THERE are some people who seem put into the 
 world by Providence to stand in the breach, to lead 
 the forlornest of hopes, to take up the troubles of 
 the world and bear them bravely, neither groaning 
 under the weight nor making a reckless jest of the 
 burden. They are the heroes and the heroines who 
 stand alone in the danger that others fear, and 
 boldly do the good that comes in their way, and 
 leave the evil behind. They are not always those 
 of whom every one speaks well, for most people are 
 very far from being loyal to those who have saved 
 them ; they like to think, and to demonstrate to 
 others, that they could have saved themselves quite 
 as well, if not better, and they hate to measure the 
 gulf that divides them from the greatness of their 
 masters. Better to assume at once that they are 
 on the right side of the gulf and the heroes on the 
 wrong, so that it may make no difference to their 
 vanity. 
 
 Diana de Charleroi was of the stuff that makes 
 heroes, saints, or martyrs, as the times will allow. 
 She had made mistakes in her life, but they had 
 been mistakes of judgment, of too much enthusiasm 
 for what she admired in the days before she knew 
 what to admire ; they had never been errors of fear 
 
TO LEEWARD. 305 
 
 or weakness. It could hardly be said that her mar 
 riage was a mistake, for if she had not loved Char- 
 leroi as she had loved Batiscombe, she yet honored 
 him, and was all that a Christian wife can be to 
 her husband, which is saying in a few words what 
 is best and noblest to be said of any woman. 
 
 When she received her brother s message vaguely 
 asking if she could meet him anywhere, and con 
 veying the terrible news of Leonora s flight, she 
 did not hesitate a moment, but went straight to her 
 husband. She told him briefly the fact, trusting 
 to him to say nothing until all chance of hiding 
 the scandal should be passed; and she said she 
 must go to her brother at once. Charleroi was an 
 honest gentleman, besides being extremely clever, 
 and he was very fond of her. He saw the position 
 at once ; he understood that a man like Marc- 
 antonio would very likely go out of his mind under 
 such a trial, and that Diana alone could save him. 
 He bestirred himself, and in an hour he was seated 
 by her side in a carriage which would catch the 
 express at Genoa. He was a man for quick emer 
 gencies, of complete savoir faire and entire self- 
 possession, and if his intellect had been more 
 profound and less brilliant he might have turned 
 out a great general instead of a tolerably good di 
 plomatist. He insisted on accompanying Diana to 
 Genoa, where they caught the train, as he had ex 
 pected, and he would have gone with her to Rome 
 if she would have allowed him. But she sent him 
 back to take care of the children, who could not be 
 
 20 
 
306 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 left alone, even under the charge of a whole battalion 
 of nurses and governesses, and he stood bareheaded 
 011 the platform of the gloomy station at Genoa as 
 she moved away in her through-carriage out into 
 the early morning light. She kissed her hand to 
 him affectionately, and was heartily grateful for 
 his quickness and skill as well as for his devotion. 
 His last words were a friendly message to Marc- 
 antonio to the effect that, in case of a " meeting," 
 he might rely on him to come at a moment s notice 
 from any part of Europe. 
 
 She arrived in Rome at dark, got into a cab with 
 her maid and luggage, and reached the Carantoni 
 palace while Marcantonio was still pacing the ball 
 room, just in time to prevent his leaving for Turin. 
 She had found ample time to think over the situa 
 tion during the journey, and she was prepared for 
 difficulties. Her brother would hardly be in his 
 right mind, she thought, and would certainly be on 
 the verge of doing something desperate, which she 
 must prevent. 
 
 As was usual with her in sudden emergencies, sho 
 had been wonderfully quiet. She was shocked and 
 horrified at the news, but neither the shock nor the 
 horror were uppermost in her mind. What she 
 most felt was an unutterable and loving pity for 
 her brother ; and as she sat in the express train 
 and looked out of the window at the interminable 
 miles of vineyard and cornland, the kind, womanly 
 tears gathered and fell softly. She could not help 
 it, and she would not. Poor fellow! he deserved 
 
TO LEEWARD. 307 
 
 all her heart, and her soul s sympathy, and the tears 
 thereof. 
 
 Marcantonio was in no state to reason or to be 
 reasoned with. He had had a strange illusion for 
 a moment, when he thought his wife had returned 
 to him, but he at once realized his folly and under 
 stood that Diana had come to meet him had 
 come, doubtless, to prevent him from accomplish 
 ing his vengeance. He had been so sure that she 
 would not arrive until the next morning that he 
 had anticipated no interruption in his plans, and 
 he was angry with her for being in his way. She 
 would watch him day and night, and hinder all his 
 movements. So long as she was with him it would 
 be impossible to do anything. He answered her 
 very coldly. 
 
 44 You have come already ? I did not expect you 
 so soon." They moved towards the door, groping 
 in the deep gloom, and presently reached a room 
 where there were lights. Then Diana saw her 
 brother s face and understood that he was mad or 
 desperately ill, or both. The ghastly color, the 
 bloodshot eyes, the trembling hand, she saw it all. 
 She had not known what change his trouble would 
 make in him^ but she knew it would be great. But 
 she was startled now that she was face to face with 
 him. It seemed too terribly real. She could not 
 help it, she bent her beautiful fair head on his 
 sjioulder and threw her arms about him and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 But Marcantonio only understood that she was 
 
308 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 there to keep him from his ends, from the one 
 thing in the world that he wanted to do, and meant 
 to do, and surely would accomplish. As she leaned 
 on him and shed those bitter tears for him, he stood 
 passive and dry-eyed, staring vacantly above her at 
 the wall, and his hands hung by his side, not offer 
 ing to support her or to comfort her. He only 
 wished she were gone again and had never come to 
 trouble him. 
 
 It was only for a moment. Such outbursts of 
 feeling were rare with Diana ; people said she was 
 a piece of ice, heartless, and without sympathy for 
 any human being. They judged her by her face 
 and by the supreme dignity of her manner, not 
 knowing of the things she had done in her life 
 that were neither heartless nor cold. But no\y she 
 recovered herself quickly and dried her eyes, and 
 made Marcantonio sit down. She looked at him 
 intently as though trying to understand him. He 
 had never met her so coldly before in his life ; 
 there must be a reason for it, he was evidently 
 beside himself with suffering, but his temporary 
 madness would hardly take the form of a sudden 
 dislike for herself unless there were some cause. 
 
 " You did not expect me so soon," she said, 
 speaking very gently. " It was a mere chance that 
 I managed it." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Marcantonio in a mo 
 notonous voice that had no life in it, and seemed 
 not his own. " If you had waited a little while I 
 could have saved you the journey." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 309 
 
 " The journey is nothing," said she. " I am not 
 tired at all, and I would come across the world to 
 be with you." 
 
 " Yes," said Marcantonio, " I know you would. 
 It would have been better if we had met further 
 on." 
 
 " Further on ? " she repeated, hoping he would 
 give her some clue to his intentions. The old 
 habit of confidence was too strong for him ; he 
 wished her away, but he could not help speaking 
 and telling her something. He had never con 
 cealed anything from her. 
 
 "In Turin," he answered briefly. 
 
 "Ah, is he there ? " asked Diana in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " He sent his box there, he will go and 
 get it." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " And then," said Marcantonio, the sullen fire 
 burning in his reddened eyes, " we shall meet." 
 
 Diana was silent for a moment, determining what 
 to do. All this she had expected, but she had not 
 thought to find her brother so changed. 
 
 " Tell me, Marcantonio mio" she said earnestly, 
 " did you think I would prevent your meeting 
 him ? " He hesitated. She took his hand and 
 looked into his face as though urging him to an 
 swer. 
 
 " Yes," he said hoarsely. 
 
 Diana understood. This was the reason of his 
 evident annoyance at her coming. He thought 
 
310 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 she meant to prevent him from fighting Batis- 
 combe. 
 
 " You know better than that," she said gravely. 
 Marcantonio turned upon her quickly with an an 
 gry look. 
 
 " You prevented me before," he said. " If I 
 had shot him then, this trouble would not have 
 come. You know it, why do you look at me 
 like that ? " 
 
 " If you had shot him before," said she, " this 
 would not have happened. But if he had shot 
 you, that was possible, was it not ? you gained 
 nothing. If neither of you had killed the other, 
 there would have been a useless scandal. The case 
 is different." 
 
 If she had found her brother overcome with his 
 sorrow and abandoned to the suffering it brought, 
 sensitive and shrinking from all allusion to his 
 shame, she would have acted very differently. But 
 she found him possessed of but one idea, how to 
 kill Julius Batiscombe ; he was hard as the nether 
 millstone and unyielding ; he seemed to have for 
 gotten the wife he had loved so well, in the longing 
 to destroy the man who had stolen her away. She 
 felt no hesitation in speaking plainly of the matter 
 in hand, since his feelings needed no sparing. But 
 her sympathy was so large and honest that she did 
 not feel hurt herself because he was cold to her; 
 she understood that he was scarcely in his right 
 mind, and she could make all allowance for him. 
 Few men could have done as much. Few men 
 
TO LEEWARD. 311 
 
 can ever really conquer their vanity much less 
 forget it. 
 
 Marcantonio did not answer at once. But her 
 influence on him, as she sat there, was soothing, 
 and he was gradually yielding under it not in 
 the least abandoning his one idea, but feeling that 
 she might not hinder its execution after all. 
 
 "Do you mean to say," he asked suddenly, " that 
 you will not try to prevent my meeting with him? " 
 He turned and looked into her eyes, that met his 
 honestly and fearlessly. 
 
 " Assuredly I will not prevent you," said she. 
 
 "Really and truly?" 
 
 " So truly that if I thought you had meant to 
 leave him alone, I would have tried to make you 
 fight him." She spoke proudly, in the pride of a 
 brave race. 
 
 Marcantonio laughed scornfully, in a way that 
 was bad to hear. The idea had never struck him 
 that he could possibly have not wanted to fight. 
 But in a moment he was grave again. 
 
 " What a woman you are, Diana ! " he exclaimed. 
 It sounded more like himself than anything he had 
 said yet, and Diana was encouraged. But she said 
 nothing. 
 
 In her simple code, fighting was a necessary thing 
 in the world. She had been brought up among peo 
 ple who fought duels under provocation, and it never 
 entered her head that under certain circumstances 
 there was anything else to be done. Women often 
 scream with terror at the mention of such a thing, 
 
312 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 but very few of them will have anything to do with 
 men who will not fight when they are insulted. In 
 preventing a challenge after the affair at Sorrento 
 she had done violence to her feelings for the sake 
 of Leonora s reputation. In the present instance 
 that was no longer at stake. It was perfectly clear 
 that her brother must have satisfaction from his 
 enemy, as soon as might be. There was no concili 
 ation possible. In her view it was honor or infamy 
 for Marcantonio forever no less. She had heard 
 of cases where the husband had simply ignored the 
 whole matter, had laughed cynically and had said 
 he would not risk his life for a woman who did not 
 care enough for him to stay with him. But the 
 woman was his wife, after all, whether she loved 
 him or not, and Diana heartily despised a man who 
 could act in that way. 
 
 Duelling may be a conventional thing, but so is 
 the " honor " of society at large. It is a patchwork 
 affair altogether, and some of the pieces are clean 
 and some are exceedingly dirty ; nevertheless it is 
 hung bravely up for a curtain, and it covers a great 
 many more sins than charity ever did. Everybody 
 knows the sins are there, and everybody wants to 
 have them hidden, bringing his or her little patch 
 to make the curtain broader. Some help to enlarge 
 it and keep it whole because they do not want to 
 see what is behind, and think that no one else 
 should, hoping that the day may come when there 
 will be nothing to conceal ; meanwhile they bring 
 great broad pieces of clean stuff that go a long 
 
TO LEEWARD. 313 
 
 way. Others come, who have more or less property 
 concealed behind the curtain, which they would not 
 have any one see for the world, and the dirty little 
 rags they bring are sewn in, side by side with the 
 spotless cloth ; and so everything helps, and from 
 a distance the curtain looks well enough. Only, if 
 any one wants to see what it covers, it is the sim 
 plest thing in the world to go round to one side and 
 lift it for it is not so very broad after all. 
 
 In some countries people find it a great nuisance 
 to keep the curtain in order, and they agree to dis 
 pense with it altogether, promising each other not 
 to look that way. And then, the moment any one 
 thinks he is not observed he steals a glance at the 
 forbidden sight. But if two happen to look at the 
 same time, and catch each other at it, they call each 
 other liars and blackguards for the edification of 
 the rest. It is a very good arrangement, and costs 
 no trouble when you are used to it. 
 
 As for fighting and not fighting, in countries 
 where it is the custom, there are always some indi 
 viduals who refuse on moral grounds. They say it 
 is not right, and they will not do it. The " right " 
 they do in refusing to meet people they have in 
 jured is frequently remarkable in their lives for its 
 solitary singularity rather than for its importance. 
 
 Donna Diana had never hesitated, therefore, in 
 her view of Marcantonio s situation, and when he 
 put the question to her she answered it boldly and 
 naturally. But, somehow, he had not understood 
 his sister before, though he had yielded to her, and 
 
314 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 he was astonished at her readiness to agree with 
 him. He looked at her with a sort of admiration^ 
 and his feeling towards her changed. 
 
 " Then you will help me to find him ? " he asked. 
 
 " I will stay with you until you do," she an 
 swered. 
 
 " It is the same thing," said he. " Will you 
 come to Turin with me at once ? " 
 
 " I will not leave you," she said. " "We can go 
 to Turin to-morrow, if you like." 
 
 "No to-night," he said, quickly. The idea of 
 wasting twelve hours seemed intolerable. 
 
 But Diana had made up her mind that he must 
 rest awhile before doing anything more. She 
 shuddered when she looked at his face and saw the 
 dreadful changes wrought in six and thirty hours. 
 
 " If we start now," she said, " we shall arrive 
 in the evening. You could do nothing at night. 
 Rest until the morning, and then we will go. You 
 will need all the strength you have." 
 
 " I cannot rest," he said gloomily. 
 
 " You must try," answered Diana. " I will read 
 to you till you are asleep." 
 
 He rose and began to pace the room. The doubt 
 that she intended to keep him back sprang up 
 again in his unsettled mind. He stopped before her. 
 
 " No," he said, " I will go to-night, and you need 
 not come if you are too tired. You want to pre 
 vent me from going at all I see it in your face." 
 
 Diana looked up into his face as she sat. No 
 one but a madman could have doubted the faith of 
 
TO LEEWARD. 315 
 
 those gray eyes of hers, and as Mareantonio gazed 
 on them the old influence of the stronger character 
 began to act. He turned away impatiently. 
 
 " You always make me do what you like," he 
 said, and began to walk again. 
 
 Diana forced herself to laugh a little. 
 
 " Do not be so foolish, clear boy," she said. " I 
 want you to sleep to-night, and to-morrow we will 
 go to the world s end together. You will lose 
 twelve hours somewhere, because there are certain 
 things that cannot be done at night. Better make 
 use of them now, and sleep, before you are alto 
 gether exhausted. I promise to go with you to 
 morrow. Do you mean to have an illness, or to go 
 out of your mind? You will accomplish one or 
 the other in this way, and there will be an end of 
 the whole matter." 
 
 " Ebbene" said Mareantonio, unable to resist 
 her will, " since you promise it to me I will do as 
 you please. But to-morrow morning I will start, 
 whatever happens." 
 
 "Very well," said Diana. "And now, dear 
 brother, will you kindly give me some dinner ? I 
 have scarcely had anything to-day." 
 
 " Dio mio ! " cried Mareantonio, " what a brute 
 I am ! " It was like him, she thought, to be angry 
 at himself for having forgotten to be hospitable. 
 The words assured her, for they sounded natural. 
 There had been moments during the conversation 
 when she had thought he was insane. Perhaps it 
 was more his looks than his words, however. At 
 
316 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 all events, as he rang the bell and ordered what 
 was necessary, she felt as though he were already 
 better. 
 
 One of her reasons for wishing him to stay a 
 night in Rome was that he might immediately have 
 a chance of growing calmer. Nothing distances 
 grief like sleep. Until the first impression had 
 become less vivid in his mind, she could not ask 
 him questions about the circumstances of the flight. 
 She guessed that, although he was willing, and 
 even anxious, to talk of his future meeting with 
 Batiscombe, it would be quite another thing to 
 make him speak of the past fact. And yet she 
 knew nothing of the details not even exactly the 
 time when it all happened. She half fancied that 
 they must have got away by the sea, because it 
 would have been so simple ; but she had no idea of 
 how much Marcantonio knew, nor whether the 
 matter had yet in any way become public property. 
 It was necessary, she judged, that she should know 
 something, at least, of the circumstances. No one 
 but Marcantonio could tell her, and before he 
 could be brought to speak he must be saved from 
 the danger of a physical illness which seemed to 
 threaten him. 
 
 Before long dinner was ready. It was ten o clock, 
 and the meal had been prepared for Marcantonio 
 at eight ; but he had behaved so strangely that no 
 one liked to go near him, and the servants supposed 
 that if he wanted anything he would ring the bell. 
 
 The two sat down opposite each other. Diana 
 
TO LEEWARD. 317 
 
 was tired and hungry ; she had taken off her bon 
 net on arriving, and had gone straight to Marcan- 
 tonio, and now she would not leave him until she 
 had seen him safe in his room for the night. But 
 in spite of the long journey, the fatigue, and the 
 great anxiety, she was the same, as queenly and 
 unruffled as ever, as smoothly and perfectly dressed, 
 as quiet and stately in her ways. No wonder she 
 was the envy of half the women in Europe. The 
 half who did not envy her were those who had never 
 seen her. 
 
 She watched Marcantonio as she sat opposite to 
 him. It surprised her to see that he ate well, 
 more than usual, in fact, and she attributed it to 
 a sudden improvement which had perhaps been 
 brought about by her arrival. She had expected 
 that he would refuse to eat anything, and would 
 support his strength on strong coffee and tobacco. 
 She thought that at all events he would not be ill, 
 but, again, as she looked at his face its death 
 like yellowness frightened her, and the injected 
 veins of his eyeballs made his eyes look absolutely 
 red. 
 
 They hardly spoke during -the meal, for the ser 
 vants came and went often, and they could not speak 
 any language together that would not be understood. 
 Talking French before servants is a snare, they al 
 ways understand ; or else, like the solitary stu 
 dent who understood Hegel, and who only misun 
 derstood him, after all, they make a point of 
 interpreting their master s sayings crookedly. 
 
318 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 After a time they were left alone, and they pre 
 pared to part for the night. Diana laid her hand 
 affectionately on her brother s forehead, as though 
 to feel whether it were hot. He looked so ill that 
 it hurt her to see him. 
 
 " You are worn out, dear boy," said she. " Go 
 to bed and sleep." 
 
 " I will try," he said, rather submissively than 
 otherwise. " But we will go to-morrow, of course," 
 he added quickly, turning to her with a half-star 
 tled look. 
 
 " Of course," said she, reassuring him. 
 "Because," he said, "I told the detectives to tel 
 egraph to me there, and I gave them my address 
 at the hotel." 
 
 " Detectives ? " repeated Diana, starting a little 
 and looking surprised. " What do you want them 
 for ? " 
 
 "Jftavolof" ejaculated Marcantonio savagely, 
 " to find him, to be sure." 
 
 " Batiscombe is not the man to run away, or to 
 need much finding," said Diana, gravely, with an 
 air of conviction. She did not like the idea. 
 
 " When men mean to be found they leave an 
 address," said her brother, between his teeth. 
 
 There was truth in what he said. Batiscombe 
 ought to have let Marcantonio know his where 
 abouts, it was the least a brave man could do, and 
 Batiscombe was undeniably brave. Diana felt a 
 sharp sense of pain ; the idea that her brother was 
 hunting down with detectives, like a common male- 
 
TO LEEWARD, 319 
 
 factor, the man who had once loved her so well ; 
 the idea that she was helping to find him in order 
 that Marcantonio might kill him if he could, it was 
 frightful to her. She was bitterly atoning for one 
 innocent girlish fancy of long ago. 
 
 "Marcantonio," she said, almost entreatingly, 
 " do not do it. Give up the police. I am sure he 
 will meet you without that " 
 
 " Ah yes ! " he interrupted, " you know him. 
 Of course you will not help me ! I forgot that you 
 were come to shield him, you I know you will 
 not help me ! " He spoke fiercely and brutally, as 
 he had never spoken to her before. 
 
 But mad or not mad, Diana would not submit to 
 such words from any one. She turned white to the 
 lips, and faced him in the light of the two great 
 lamps that burned on the table. The whole power 
 and splendid force of her nature gleamed in her 
 eyes, and thrilled in the low, distinct tones of her 
 voice. 
 
 " What you say is utterly base, and ignoble, and 
 untrue," she said slowly. 
 
 He hung his head, for he knew he was wrong. 
 He did not know what he said ; indeed he had 
 hardly known what he was doing all that day. 
 
 "I am sorry, Diana," he said, at last, quite 
 humbly. " I am not myself to-day." 
 
 Her anger melted away instantly. Himself ! 
 No indeed, poor fellow, he was not himself, and 
 perhaps never would be his old self again. He 
 was so utterly wretched as he stood there before 
 
320 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 her with his head bent and his hands clasped to 
 gether, so forlorn and forsaken and pitiful the mo 
 ment the sustaining force of his anger left him, 
 that no human creature could have seen him with 
 out giving him all sympathy and comfort. Diana 
 went close to him and put her arms about him, and 
 kissed him, and her tears wet his cheek. He suf 
 fered her to lead him quietly away to his rooms, 
 and she left him in the care of his faithful old 
 servant. 
 
 " The signore is ill," she said. " Some one must 
 watch in the outer room all night, in case he wants 
 anything. 
 
 Diana herself was exhausted, in spite of her 
 strength and extraordinary nerve. There were 
 times when she broke down, as she had done at 
 Sorrento when she heard Julius and Leonora out 
 side her window, but it was always after the strug 
 gle was over, when she was alone. Moreover she 
 had had the advantage of years of a perfectly se 
 rene life, during which no serious trouble had come 
 near her, and her strength had increased with her 
 maturity. It all stood her in good stead now, and 
 helped her to bear all she had to suffer. She went 
 to bed and slept a dreamless sleep that completely 
 restored her. It is the privilege of very calm and 
 evenly balanced natures to take rest when it can 
 be had, and to bear wakefulness and fatigue bet 
 ter in the long run than extremely active and phys 
 ically energetic people. 
 
 As for Marcantonio, he tossed upon his bed and 
 
TO LEEWARD. 321 
 
 dreamed broken dreams that woke him again and 
 again with a sudden start ; he dreamed he had 
 found his man, and the excitement of the moment 
 waked him. Then he dreamed he was quarrelling 
 with his sister, and was suddenly wide awake at the 
 sound of her reproachful voice. He was talking 
 to Leonora, pleading with her, and using all his 
 eloquence to win her back, and she laughed scorn 
 fully at him and that waked him too. 
 
 But at last he slept soundly for an hour or two, 
 just before daybreak, and awoke feeling tired, but 
 more restful. The dawn came stealing through 
 the windows, and he got up and moved about a 
 little, with a sensation of enjoyment in the cool, 
 fresh air. 
 
 He looked into the glass, and started at his own 
 face that he saw reflected there. It seemed like a 
 hideous mask of himself, all drawn and distorted 
 and pale. But had he looked at himself on the 
 previous day he would have seen an improvement 
 now. He was deadly pale, but no longer yellow, 
 and his eyes had lost the redness that had fright 
 ened his sister. He looked ill, but not crazy, and 
 he felt that he could trust himself to-day not to say 
 the things he had said yesterday. 
 
 He would go to Turin of course that was set 
 tled unless Diana was too tired ; but he would 
 not have admitted such a condition when he went 
 to bed the night before. 
 
 He rang the bell and ordered his things to be 
 got ready. The old servant, who had slept on a 
 
 21 
 
322 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 sofa outside, looked haggard and unshaved, and 
 stared suspiciously as he heard the order. But he 
 did not dare to make any remarks, as he would 
 have done if his master had been well. Marcan- 
 tonio had been ill once before, when he was a boy 
 of fifteen, and had on that occasion, when he was 
 delirious, shown a remarkable tendency to throw 
 everything within reach at the people about him 
 when he did not instantly get what he wanted. 
 The old man remembered the fact, and was silently 
 obedient, for the Signer Marchese looked as though 
 he were ill again. The mildest people are often 
 the most furious in the delirium of a fever. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AFTER all, Julius was not quite certain whether 
 Leonora had fainted, or was asleep. She had been 
 comfortably settled in the boat at the first, and a 
 quarter of an hour had passed in hoisting and trim 
 ming the sails, and bringing the craft before the 
 wind. She might have fallen asleep from sheer fa 
 tigue and weariness, Julius could not tell. He 
 bent far down over the stern, and fetched up a few 
 drops of water from the sea with one hand, while the 
 other supported Leonora s drooping head, the til 
 ler could take care of itself for a moment, and 
 he sprinkled her face softly and watched her ; again 
 and she opened her eyes as from a pleasant 
 dream, and looking up to his she smiled, and closed 
 them again. He bent down and spoke almost in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " Darling, are you quite comfortable ? " She 
 moved her head in assent, the quiet smile still play 
 ing on her lips. Then she lay quite still for a 
 while, and listened to the rush of the water, and 
 the occasional dull, wooden sound as the rudder 
 moved a little on its hinges. The boat rolled softly 
 from side to side, in a long, easy motion and glided 
 swiftly down the bay. 
 
 Presently Leonora moved, sat up, and looked 
 
324 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 about her, at the sea, and the land, and the fiery- 
 crested mountain. 
 
 " Where are we going, Julius ? " she asked, with 
 a smile at the question. 
 
 " I am sure I don t know," said he, laughing. 
 " There are lots of places we can go to. Ischia, 
 Capri, Naples if you like. Select, dearest, there 
 is a good boat between us and the water, and we 
 have the world before us." 
 
 " But we must go somewhere where we can get 
 some breakfast," said she gravely. " And where I 
 can buy things," she added laughing again. " Do 
 you know that this is all I have got in the world to 
 wear ? " 
 
 " That is serious indeed," said Julius. " There 
 are provisions and things to drink in the boat, but 
 there is no millinery. We had better go to Naples." 
 
 " I think I could manage for one day," said Leo 
 nora, doubtfully. " I have brought heaps of hand 
 kerchiefs, and hairpins, and cologne water, they 
 are all in the bag." 
 
 " Handkerchiefs and hairpins ! " repeated Julius, 
 and laughed at the idea. A woman leaves her hus 
 band, who worships her, scatters trouble and tears 
 and madness broadcast, and she thinks of handker 
 chiefs and hairpins, and remembers where she has 
 put them. 
 
 " Yes," said Leonora, " they will be very useful. 
 We could go to Ischia first, and to Naples to-mor 
 row night, or rather to-night, I should say. That 
 is, if you think " 
 
TO LEEWARD. 325 
 
 "What, dear?" asked Julius. 
 
 " If you think it is quite far enough." 
 
 " We cannot go very far. It is six or seven 
 hours from here to Ischia, if the wind holds. We 
 should be there between six and seven o clock." 
 
 " I think that would be best," said Leonora in 
 a tone of decision. She was silent for a moment. 
 Presently she looked up into Batiscombe s face, 
 and her own was white and beautiful in the moon 
 light. " I wonder," she said, " whether any one 
 heard that noise the dogs made ? Oh, the poor, 
 poor kitten, it makes me quite cry to think of 
 her!" 
 
 Yes, my lady Leonora, cry for the cat by all 
 means, it was very pathetic in its last moments. 
 But on no account shed a tear for your husband, 
 or for anything he may suffer, the moonlight is 
 far too, too, delightfully, exquisitely pretty to think 
 of such unpleasant subjects. 
 
 " Poor thing ! " said Julius sympathetically. 
 " But its ghost will not haunt the gardens, for it 
 was amply avenged." 
 
 " Yes indeed ! " said Leonora. " Oh, Julius, you 
 are so strong, I like you." 
 
 Precisely, madam ; your husband never strangled 
 any terriers for you. It was a great mistake on 
 his part. He did not know how much you liked it. 
 
 " Thanks," said Julius, " you are awfully good 
 to like me." He laughed, but his hand caressed 
 her hair tenderly, and Leonora was happy. 
 
 " It was just like us," said she, " to stop there 
 
326 TO LEEWARD, * 
 
 at the top of the steps where we might have been 
 
 seen in a moment but I am glad. I hated those 
 
 dogs." 
 
 " It was just as well," said he. " They would 
 
 very likely have made more noise, and followed 
 
 us." 
 
 " Oh yes and just fancy the wrath whec they 
 
 are found to-morrow morning. But they might have 
 
 bitten you dreadfully I was terribly frightened." 
 " I fancy there will be more wrath about you, 
 
 my dear, than about the dogs," said Julius, rather 
 
 gravely. 
 
 " About me ? Oh I hardly know perhaps. 
 
 I do not think any one will mind very much." 
 
 "What does it matter who minds, as you call 
 it ? " said Julius, pushing her thick hair from her 
 forehead tenderly, and looking at her with loving 
 eyes. "What does it matter to us now? What 
 can anything ever matter again? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, nothing, dear," she answered 
 softly, and her head drooped happily upon his 
 shoulder. They were as though alone in the boat, 
 for the broad sail was stretched right across to 
 catch the wind, and hid the men, who sat together 
 forward, chattering in a low voice in the incompre 
 hensible dialect know as the lingua franca, the 
 free tongue in which all Mediterranean sailors un 
 derstand one another, from Gibraltar to Constan 
 tinople, and from Smyrna to Marseilles. They did 
 not care a rush what their master did, nor where 
 he went ; they had some confidence in his knowl- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 327 
 
 edge of the sea and of the coast, and they had en 
 tire confidence in themselves, whatever wind might 
 blow. It was nothing to them, who came from the 
 north coast, whether their broad-shouldered " si*- 
 
 O 
 
 nore " took a " bella signora " from Naples or 
 Sorrento for a midnight sail in his boat. He paid 
 well, to every man his wages, and he often gave 
 them a few francs to drink his health. They had 
 never had so good a " padrone " before, and they 
 asked no questions, wisely distinguishing the side 
 of the bread upon which a bountiful providence 
 had spread the most butter for their benefit. They 
 also said that nothing ever mattered much so long 
 as they got their pay. 
 
 Leonora had found at last the desire of her 
 heart, the reckless, stormy passion, careless of 
 everything but itself and its object, of which she 
 had so often dreamed. She had found the man for 
 her to love, and she did love him to distraction. As 
 for the rest of the world, she was more persuaded 
 than ever that there was nothing very much in 
 anything after all. What she had was wholly 
 sufficient in the present, the future was a future 
 full of joy and love, and divested of everything that 
 could possibly be wearisome, and the past was cut 
 off, murdered, dead and buried out of sight. 
 
 But though she had killed it and thrown it away, 
 as Julius had done with the dogs, it had a ghost 
 and a living memory that would haunt her for 
 many days and weeks, and months and years. A 
 life is not a dream to be forgotten, nor an old gar- 
 
328 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 ment to be thrown aside at will. Life is an ever 
 present thing, and all our past is as much a part 
 and parcel of to-day as the marks we bear in our 
 bodies are portions of ourselves, no matter how we 
 came by them, nor when. 
 
 Out of nothing, nothing can come. Out of confu 
 sion and vanity and pure selfishness, out of confused 
 and incoherent fragments of half -expressed wisdom, 
 out of the very vanity of vanities, which is the van 
 ity of wise words wrought into foolish phrases; 
 out of the shell of an imaginary self wrought fine 
 and gilded to please the worst part of the real self, 
 out of all these things, I say, what can come that 
 is good ? or can anything come of them which is 
 truly evil, seeing that, one with another, they are 
 all but so many empty nothings, melted together 
 and lost in .the great void that receives the failures 
 of the soul- world ? 
 
 If anything results from such a life, it must be 
 the realization of nothing, which is the extinction 
 and annihilation of that which is, and woe be to 
 the destroyer. We may destroy all hold and an 
 chorage of mind and soul, we may reason our 
 selves into a disbelief in reality, in matter, in daily 
 life, in good and evil. But always when we think 
 that everything is done, and that our fabric of phi 
 losophy is faultless, there arises the strong tide of 
 human passion and creeps across the sands to our 
 tower. At first we may watch the waves from a 
 long way off, and laugh to see them break and 
 overwhelm the very foolish people who have no 
 
TO LEEWARD. 329 
 
 tower on the shore and must swim for their lives 
 or perish. But the tide rolls on toward us, and 
 runs cruelly up, crashing and thundering in its ris 
 ing might, till it rends and tears our flimsy castle 
 out of the sands beneath our very feet, and we fall 
 headlong into the rushing waters. And then we 
 too must struggle like the rest, if we can ; and if 
 we cannot, we must sink to the bottom, while those 
 who learned when the tide was low and the water 
 smooth, and have tried their strength in many a 
 brave buffet with the waves, swim strongly over 
 our drowned bodies. 
 
 It is easy to moralize, it is hard to live. That is 
 the reason that great moralists are generally either 
 old men who have done with living and would like 
 to teach other people, or else young men and young 
 women who have not enough vitality to animate 
 the most lymphatic oyster, but who manage to float 
 about by their own inflation. These latter never 
 save any one from drowning, and the former save 
 very few. The people who can help others are the 
 strong ones who can catch them just below the 
 shoulder, by the arm, and support them and push 
 them to land, themselves doing all the work. That 
 is a watery simile, but most similes are but water, 
 and can be poured into a tea-cup or into a bucket 
 they will take the shape of either. 
 
 The night wore on, the full moon sinking slowly 
 to the west, so that after a time she was hidden 
 from the lovers by the sails, and there was a broad 
 shadow behind them. Still the breeze blew fresh 
 
330 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 from the land and carried them straight towards 
 Ischia, and the boat rocked smoothly over the roll 
 ing water. Leonora rested on the thick cushions, 
 and her head lay nestled in Batiscorabe s arm while 
 he held the tiller carelessly with his other hand, 
 steering by the wind, in the certainty of making 
 the right course. He did not speak, for he wanted 
 her to rest, and so it came about that before long 
 she fell peacefully asleep, and Julius drew a light 
 shawl tenderly about her, and kissed her ruddy 
 hair, and looked out over the moonlit water, calmly 
 as though he were sailing for his pleasure. 
 
 He was thinking what strange things happened 
 in his life, and wondering within himself whether 
 he could ever grow old and be like other people. 
 But he could never be like other people now, for 
 he must live a life apart from the world, and create 
 an existence of a new kind, utterly free from the 
 ties and bonds and weariness of society. It would 
 also be without the amusements, the gayety, the 
 glitter, and the flattery of society. Batiscombe 
 liked all that, too; but he thought he could do 
 without it very well. Just now the fascination of 
 the hour was upon him. The sweet sea-breeze, the 
 moonlight on the water, the swirl of the boat s 
 wake and, above all, the beautiful woman by his 
 side sleeping so gently and nestled so lovingly close 
 to him, it was all perfect. 
 
 But with a curious duality that belonged to him, 
 he enjoyed the moment and thought intensely of 
 the future at the same time ; not with any fear or 
 
TO LEEWARD. 331 
 
 regret or even with the anticipation of remorse for 
 what he had done, but with a far-seeing love of 
 combination, striving to know exactly what would 
 happen and to provide for it. 
 
 He went over in his mind the many places to 
 which he might take Leonora, and tried to select 
 the most beautiful and the most retired some 
 ideal spot, not yet invaded by society. Society, in 
 the long run, gets the best of everything ; artists 
 and poets and adventurous tourists may seek out 
 an inaccessible region and keep it to themselves 
 for a while, revelling in the solitude and driving 
 off intruders by discouraging civilization and af 
 fecting a barbaric display of shirt-sleeves, paint, and 
 beards. But if the place really amounts to any 
 thing, so to say if it is really beautiful, really 
 healthy or really convenient for flirting in the open 
 air, there will surely come at last a stray princess 
 of eccentric disposition and fond of a little discom 
 fort. She will say it is simply too delightful, and 
 so very natural, you know ; and in the course of a 
 summer or two the society battalion will encamp 
 there, the houses will be painted red and green in 
 stripes, and there will be a band and a casino, and 
 a royal personage. 
 
 It is very hard to find the kind of place Julius 
 wanted, and he thought for a long time before he 
 hit upon it. But at last he had a happy idea and 
 was pleased with himself for having it, as he al 
 ways was. Very cautiously he got a cigarette out 
 of his pocket and lit it with one hand, steadying 
 
332 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 the helm with his elbow. He did it so smoothly 
 and quietly that Leonora did not wake, and he 
 puffed in silent enjoyment of the tobacco, taking 
 care that the smoke should not blow into her face. 
 
 It was very like Julius Batiscombe to risk waking 
 her in order that he might smoke, for he was a 
 selfish man and knew it, and delighted in it. But 
 it came upon him in gusts, and was not always a 
 part of him ; only, when it did come, it covered 
 completely the better features of his nature. In 
 carrying away Leonora, he had done one of the 
 most absolutely selfish actions of his life, and for 
 the time being there was nothing he would not do 
 so long as he could keep her with him and make 
 her sure that he loved her. He knew well enough 
 that she loved him. He did not want to know any 
 thing about his own motives. He was in love 
 that was motive enough for anything. 
 
 As a matter of fact, deep down in his soul there 
 were other incentives at play ; but he would not 
 acknowledge that to himself. It was true that since 
 he had loved Diana he had never loved another 
 woman as he loved Leonora. There was a charm 
 about her that he could not explain, that overcame 
 him and filled his whole life. His lingering feeling 
 for Diana was always real when no other passion 
 was in the way, and it had never happened before 
 that any one of his affairs had crossed her path. 
 But now it had chanced at last, and the strong po 
 sition she had taken against him from the first had 
 roused a bitter opposition in him. It secretly de- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 333 
 
 lighted him to think of her anger, and sorrow, and 
 mortification at the success of his enterprise. But, 
 nevertheless, he loved Leonora with all the strength 
 of pass-ion that remained to him, and that was say 
 ing much. 
 
 Again, he had the vanity, in some directions, of 
 half a dozen ordinary men. It is often a peculiar 
 ity that goes with unusual physical courage and 
 strength, which he possessed in an eminent degree. 
 But it did not go into his work, for he was an ar 
 tist at heart, besides being a man of the world, and 
 was never long satisfied with anything he wrote. 
 It was the kind of vanity that hankers after the 
 admiration of women, and would not take the ad 
 miration of men at a gift, an intensely virile 
 characteristic of immense power. He would like 
 to rule men, to lead them to do great things or to 
 crush them under his heel, according to his mood ; 
 and he sometimes ground his teeth because he 
 could do neither. But he did not want their ad 
 miration, much less their sympathy. They might 
 flatter him, or abuse him he was utterly indiffer 
 ent. But he would sacrifice a great deal for the 
 approbation of a woman, and he often got it ; for 
 women, generally speaking, like best the men who 
 hang upon their words and will do anything under 
 heaven for a smile and a word of praise as is 
 natural. 
 
 Consequently, Leonora s evident interest in him 
 self had pleased Julius from the very first, and 
 he had often done things for the sake of hearing her 
 
334 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 say something flattering, which had meant more 
 than he had realized. There was no doubt what 
 ever that his vanity had played an important part 
 in bringing him into his present position. Nor was 
 he a very exceptional man in this respect, save in 
 the degree of his qualities. Hundreds of men fall 
 in love every day with women who flatter them, 
 and the passion is not less strong because it is of a 
 low order. 
 
 It was over now, however, and the plunge was 
 taken. The falling in love was accomplished, and 
 the being in love had begun. Henceforth the two 
 main considerations in his mind were to make life 
 convenient and easy for Leonora, in order that she 
 might not cease to love him out of discontent, and 
 then to get over his inevitable meeting with Marc- 
 antonio as soon as possible and as well as possible. 
 He easily saw that these two things were insepara 
 ble. If all question of future complication were not 
 removed at once by a decisive meeting with Car- 
 antoni, Leonora would live in a state of fear and 
 trembling for months to come. In order to meet 
 him it was necessary to have some place of abode 
 for the time, where Leonora might be happy of 
 course she would not know of the encounter until 
 it was over and at the same time the spot must 
 be so chosen as to be tolerably accessible. He had 
 intended to go to France when it was over, and had 
 therefore sent his box to Turin, meaning to take it 
 as soon as he felt free to move ; Turin suggested 
 Piedmont, and Piedmont suggested a place where 
 
TO LEEWARD. 335 
 
 lie had once spent a month in the summer, 
 scenery, trout-fishing, considerable comfort, and 
 not a soul there excepting some of the local society 
 of Turin, who found it convenient and cheap. He 
 at once determined to go there, and to send Marc- 
 antonio information of the fact, in order that he 
 might find him as soon as he pleased. 
 
 He no more expected, or wished, to avoid a duel 
 than Marcantonio himself. The one virtue which 
 never deserted him was his courage. He would let 
 his adversary have a shot at him if he liked, but 
 he himself would fire in the air, of course. How 
 could he be base enough to kill a man he had in 
 jured ? But he was base enough to wantonly de 
 stroy the happiness of that man, all the same. It 
 may be a very fine thing to stand up and let a man 
 shoot at you without attempting to return the shot ; 
 but it is by no means fine to do the things that 
 Julius Batiscombe had done to lead to such a re 
 sult. He did not think much about it, to tell the 
 truth, for he accepted the fact as the consequence 
 of his action, and occupied himself in providing for 
 it without any judgment of himself, for good or 
 evil. He had once said to Leonora that the enjoy 
 ment belonged to the man who ate, and not to the 
 man who carved, and she had guessed rightly that 
 however well he might analyze the lives of others, 
 he never analyzed his own. He had got the for 
 bidden fruit and he was glad of it, and meant to 
 keep it all for himself, inwardly rejoicing at the 
 anger of those who would have prevented him, if 
 
336 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 they could. And with all this, the fruit gave him 
 an intense delight, independently of the triumph of 
 having obtained it. He was not a man who tired 
 of anything that he liked so long as the thing itself 
 did not change and remained as sweet as ever. 
 
 There he sat at the helm all through the hours 
 from midnight to dawn, and Leonora slept peace 
 fully in the cool sea air, at rest after all her excite 
 ment and fatigue. Gradually the moonlight seemed 
 to lose distinctness, while gaining more strength 
 and permeating the shadows of the boat which had 
 before been dark and well defined. The breeze 
 blew cooler and fresher than ever, bearing a faint 
 chill in its breath, and the water, from being like 
 black velvet strewn with diamonds, turned grad 
 ually gray and misty, so that the waves could all 
 be seen with their small crests and sharp rough 
 edges. In front the rocky height of Ischia seemed 
 to tower to the sky, and soon it caught the first soft 
 tinge of the dawn. Quickly the rosy light crept 
 downwards, falling gently from tree to tree and 
 from rock to rock, till it reached the water, and the 
 sea rippled and laughed in the sweetness of the 
 summer morning. 
 
 Leonora moved in her sleep, and Julius, who was 
 watching her, saw her lips tremble a little as though 
 she were talking in her dreams. Then she started 
 slightly, put out her hand, and opened her eyes. 
 The blood mounted to her cheeks as she met her 
 lover s glance, and he looked from the color on the 
 water to the color on her face, and he saw that the 
 
TO LEEWARD. 337 
 
 blush of the woman was fairer than the blush of 
 the summer sea. She sat up and turned from him 
 a moment, and her hands were busy with her hair. 
 
 " Have you slept well, my dear one ? " asked Ju 
 lius affectionately; "I am afraid you were terribly 
 uncomfortable." 
 
 " Oh, so well," said she, still looking away and 
 deftly putting a hairpin in its place. "But I 
 dreamed just as I woke up." 
 
 " What did you dream, sweetheart ? " asked Ju 
 lius, stretching his stiffened limbs. He had scarcely 
 moved for four hours ; he could have borne it for 
 four hours longer if he had not wanted anything, 
 but he had risked waking her in order to get 
 a cigarette. 
 
 " I dreamed about you," said she. " You be 
 have so badly, I am not sure I shall forgive you, - 
 ever." She gave him a hesitating look as she bent 
 her head to arrange her hair. 
 
 " Tell me, darling," said he, laughing. 
 
 " It is nothing to laugh at," she answered. " And 
 besides, I don t know whether I ought to tell 
 you." She stopped and watched him with a little 
 shy laugh. 
 
 " Please do." 
 
 " Well, of course this is in the strictest confi 
 dence, you will never tell any one. Do give me 
 the bag, dear. I want the cologne water." 
 
 " And the hairpins and the handkerchiefs," added 
 Julius laughing, as he stooped to get the bag out 
 of the stern sheets. " Please tell me the dream." 
 22 
 
338 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Leonora took a handkerchief and wet it from the 
 bottle of cologne water. Then she began to dab it 
 on her face. 
 
 " I dreamed that you " dab " picked me up 
 in your arms and " dab, dab " carried rne down 
 the stairs," dab, dab, dab, " and just as you 
 were putting me into the " dab " into the 
 boat, you dropped me into the sea." A furious 
 succession of dabs, then more cologne water and 
 another handkerchief. 
 
 " But you said something about that last night. 
 You made me put you down on the rocks, because 
 you said you had dreamed I dropped you. Was 
 that another dream ? " 
 
 Julius was watching her operations with a half- 
 amused interest. 
 
 "Yes," said she, drying her face, "I dreamed it 
 all over again, just now." 
 
 " But when did you dream it first, dear ? Yes 
 terday ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! Ever so long ago, ages ago." She 
 looked down at the flower she had put in her dress 
 at the last minute. It was still fresh, and she 
 arranged it a little. 
 
 " Before you knew me ? " asked Julius. 
 " Oh yes, that is before " she blushed 
 again. 
 
 " When was it ? " he asked, amused and de 
 lighted. She was beautiful in her freshness ; she 
 might have come up, a living Aphrodite, from the 
 foam of the bay to sit beside him in his boat. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 339 
 
 " It was before that evening-," she said at last, 
 " when you met me in the church. How long ago 
 is that?" 
 
 "About ten years, I should think," said Julius 
 gravely. It seemed an endless time. 
 
 " Is it not strange ? and then, that I should 
 dream it all again it is so funny. Why should 
 you have dropped me ? It would have been so 
 easy to carry me into the boat, and yet you seemed 
 to stumble on purpose, and we both fell in and were 
 drowned. Is it not very odd ? " 
 
 She seemed to have settled herself now, for the 
 remainder of the journey ; the sun had risen quickly 
 over the land while they were talking, and she put 
 up a parasol that lay on the opposite seat. She 
 did it unconsciously, not realizing that she had not 
 brought one with her, but when she held it up, she 
 looked at the handle and saw that it was not one of 
 her own. Then she remembered. 
 
 " Did you get it for me ? " she asked, smiling. 
 
 " Yes," said Julius ; " I knew you would want it, 
 so I sent out for it last night." 
 
 "Appoggiate!" shouted one of the men from 
 behind the sail. 
 
 Julius put the helm up accordingly, and, as the 
 boat went off a little, a big fishing smack ran across 
 her bows. 
 
 A dozen rough fellows were lounging about in 
 their woollen caps and dirty shirts. They laughed 
 gayly at the crazy foreigners as they went by, and 
 some of them waved their caps. 
 
340 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Buon viaggio, eccellenza ! " they shouted. Ju 
 lius waved his hand in answer to the greeting. 
 Leonora was pleased. 
 
 " At all events," said she, " some one has wished 
 us a pleasant journey. It was sweet of you to get 
 the parasol, dear." 
 
 So they chattered together awhile, and presently 
 the boat went round the point of the island to the 
 north side, and they took in the sails, and the six 
 men pulled her lustily along under the shore, until 
 they reached the little harbor of Casamicciola. 
 
 " We can stay here and rest all day," said Ju 
 lius, as they entered the hotel on the hill, half an 
 hour later. " We shall not be disturbed, and this 
 afternoon we will sail over to Naples, and you can 
 do your shopping when it is cool." 
 
 At half past eight they sat down to a breakfast 
 of figs and bread-and-butter and coffee. At the 
 same moment over there in Sorrento, Temistocle 
 laid the key of Leonora s room on Marcantonio s 
 writing-table, and edged away to make sure of an 
 easy escape through the door. 
 
 " How perfectly lovely ! " exclaimed Leonora, 
 stopping in the consumption of a very ripe black 
 fig, to look out at the sea and the exquisite islands 
 that lie like jewels between Ischia and the main 
 land. 
 
 A waiter had brought a shabby book of ruled 
 paper, with a pen and some ink. He asked if his 
 excellency would be good enough to write his 
 name. Julius took the pen and wrote something, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 341 
 
 glancing up with a smile at Leonora, who finished 
 her fig in silence. 
 
 " Let me see," said she, when he had done. He 
 handed her the book, while the servant waited re 
 spectfully. 
 
 Julius had written simply, " Mr. and Mrs. Bat- 
 iscombe, England" 
 
 " Give me the pen," said Leonora. " Oh, dip it 
 in the ink, please thanks ! " She wrote some 
 thing and gave him back the book. Underneath 
 his writing she had put in another name. 
 
 "I wanted to write it," said she with a little 
 laugh. Julius looked, and laughed too. 
 
 " LEONORA BATISCOMBE," that was all. 
 
 But as she wrote it, Marcantonio, over there in 
 Sorrento, fell upon the hard tiles with his mother s 
 diamond cross in his hand. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 LEONOKA did all her errands or as many as 
 she said could be done in so short a time. There 
 were a great many things, she explained, which she 
 could have made when they were settled, but which 
 would be in the way at present. Julius bought 
 her a box, and wrote a label for it, and pasted it 
 on the cover. She began to find out that, besides 
 his other qualities, he was a very practical man, 
 and understood travelling better than any courier 
 she had ever had. 
 
 They had spent a few hours in Ischia as they 
 had intended, and had then come over to Naples in 
 a small steamer that plied daily between the island 
 and the city. Julius paid something to have his 
 boat towed across, and when he was in Naples he 
 paid the men a month s wages in advance, and told 
 them to go back to Genoa and wait for him there. 
 They might steal the boat or they might not, 
 he did not care. The thing had to be sent some 
 where, and if it ever reached Genoa so much the 
 better. 
 
 He drove with Leonora up and down the Toledo 
 for hours, stopping at all manner of shops, and 
 buying all manner of things. Now and then he 
 would succeed in paying for something, but she 
 
TO LEEWARD. 343 
 
 generally insisted on using her own money. It 
 was fortunate that she had taken it, she thought, as 
 it would have been so awkward to let him pay for 
 everything. He remonstrated. 
 
 " All that I have is yours, darling," he said. 
 " You must not begin with such ideas." 
 
 " I do not mean to be a burden to you, Julius," 
 answered Leonora. " I am sure I must be much 
 richer than you. Nobody ever made himself rich 
 by writing books." She laughed, and he laughed 
 with her. It was so very amusing to talk to each 
 other about what they possessed. 
 
 " Ideas about being rich are comparative," said 
 Julius. " If I sent Worth two or three hundred 
 pounds for a dress every other week, I should cer 
 tainly not be very well off. But " 
 
 " Oh, Julius what an idea ! There is no one 
 so cheap as Worth in the long run." 
 
 " I was going to say something very pretty," re 
 marked Julius. 
 
 " Oh, I would not have interrupted you if I had 
 known. What was it?" 
 
 " I was going to say that I must be richer than 
 you since I have got you, and you have only got 
 me." 
 
 " You always say things like that," said Leonora 
 laughing lightly. " Be sure that you always do 
 I like them very much." 
 
 " Ah," said Julius, gravely, " I will sit up all 
 night and make them for you." 
 
 " They ought to be spontaneous," said Leonora. 
 
344 TO LEEWARD.* 
 
 " Everything that is pretty in the world is spon 
 taneous to you, my dear. But I have to work hard 
 to make pretty things, because I am only a man." 
 
 " That is really not bad," said she, laughing 
 again. She wondered vaguely whether he would 
 always be the same. Her husband used to talk 
 much like that at first. But he grew so dull, and 
 when he said things he never looked as if he quite 
 meant them. Julius said sometimes a few words 
 just what any one might have said ; but there was 
 a tone in his voice, and his eyes were so fiery. She 
 loved the fire ; it used to frighten her at first. 
 
 " We cannot stay here," said Julius, when they 
 sat over their dinner at the hotel on the Chiaja. 
 " It is altogether too ridiculously hot ; it is a per 
 fect caricature of a summer, with all its worst 
 points exaggerated." 
 
 " Yes ; but where shall we go ? " asked Leonora. 
 
 " I had thought of a charming place," said 
 Julius. " It is away in the Piedmontese Alps 
 all mountains and chestnut woods and waterfalls. 
 An old convent built over a torrent. Only the 
 people from Turin go there." 
 
 " That sounds cool," said Leonora, fanning her 
 self, though whatever she might suffer from the 
 heat she never looked hot. " Let us go. When 
 were you there ? " 
 
 " Years and years ago," said Julius. " I used to 
 catch trout with caddis-worms, and write articles 
 about Italian politics. You may imagine how much 
 I knew of what was going on, shut up in an old 
 
TO LEEWARD. 345 
 
 convent in the mountains. But it made no dif 
 ference. Writing about Italian politics is very 
 like fishing with worms." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " You sit on a bank with a red, white, and green 
 float to your line. You have not the least idea 
 what is going on under the water. Now and then 
 the float dips a little, and then you write that the 
 national sentiment of honor is disturbed. That is 
 a bite. By and by the float disappears and your 
 line is pulled tight, and you think you have got a 
 fine fish. Then you write that a revolution is im 
 minent, and you haul up the line cautiously, and 
 find a wretched little roach or a stickleback has 
 swallowed your hook. The red, white, and green 
 float waves over your head like a flag while you get 
 the hook out and bait it again. You make another 
 cast, and you write home that order has been re 
 stored. On the other side of the bank sits another 
 fellow, Tvith a float painted red, white, and blue. 
 He is the French correspondent. Sometimes you 
 get his fish, and sometimes he gets yours. It is 
 very lively." 
 
 " You used to say that a simile was an explana 
 tion and not an argument," said Leonora, rather 
 amused at his description. She always remem 
 bered what he said, and enjoyed quoting him against 
 himself. 
 
 " So it is. What I told you was an illustration 
 of a correspondent s life, not an argument against 
 the existence of very fine fish in the stream." 
 
346 TO LEEWARD: 
 
 " You are too quick," said Leonora, laughing. 
 " One has to be quick in order not to appear too 
 awfully slow in comparison with you, dear," an 
 swered Julius at once. 
 
 " Again, there is no stopping you ! " It 
 amused her to talk to him, he was so ready; and 
 always with something well turned, that pleased 
 her. There was something, too, that was refresh 
 ing in hearing the small talk of a celebrity, often 
 a little doubtful in grammar, and interspersed nort 
 and then with a little generous exaggeration that 
 she liked. She had read his books, and knew 
 what he could do with the language when he 
 pleased. And most of all she liked to speak and 
 to be spoken to in English, it seemed so much 
 more natural. 
 
 It was no trouble to Julius to talk to her. With 
 some people he was as silent as the grave, which 
 produced the impression that he was very profound. 
 With others he was ready for a laugh and a jest 
 at any moment, and they thought him brilliant ; but 
 there were very few with whom he talked serious 
 ly. Leonora saw all his phases in turn, for she felt 
 that if she did not know his character, she was in 
 sympathy with his mind and understood him. 
 
 But Julius was anxious to reach the spot he had 
 chosen, in order to let Carantoni know of his where 
 abouts. He suggested to Leonora that if it was 
 quite convenient to her they might go the next 
 day, when she had had a good night s rest. She 
 assented readily enough. To tell the truth, with 
 
TO LEEWARD. 347 
 
 all her gayety and enjoyment of the novel situation, 
 she disliked Naples, and she hated to feel that in 
 the morning; she would look out of her window 
 
 O 
 
 across the bay and see Sorrento, and think of her 
 husband as being there. She did not know that 
 when she laid her head on her pillow that night 
 Marcantonio would be in the station in Naples, 
 on his way to Home, and not half a mile away 
 from her. 
 
 "Are you ever seasick? " asked Julius suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, Julius ! You know I am not," she said re 
 proachfully. He laughed. 
 
 " No ? I mean in a steamer. Boats are quite 
 different." 
 
 " I don t know," said Leonora. " I have often 
 crossed the Channel, and I was never ill at all." 
 
 " Oh, then of course it s all right ! " he said. 
 " You would not mind in the least. We had better 
 go to Genoa in the steamer ; it is very decent and 
 much cooler than all those miles of rail and dust." 
 
 "Oh yes, far pleasanter," said Leonora. 
 
 And so they made their arrangements, and the 
 next day the day when Marcantonio was engag 
 ing the detectives in Rome they went on board 
 the "Florio" steamer and left Naples, and Sor 
 rento, and Ischia, and all the countless reminis 
 cences that attached to the glorious bay, and were 
 carried up the coast. . 
 
 " The dear place," said Leonora, looking astern 
 as she sat in her arm-chair under the awning on 
 deck, " I shall always love it." 
 
348 TO LEEWARD. * 
 
 " But you are glad to leave it, darling, are you 
 not?" said Batiscombe, who stood beside her, and 
 was looking more at her than at the coast, though 
 he held a glass in his hand. It was a curious re 
 mark to make, one might have thought, and yet it 
 was natural enough, and did not jar on Leonora s 
 thoughts. She was not sensitive in that way in the 
 least. She did not mind his referring to the past 
 in any way he chose. 
 
 "Glad? Of course I am glad," she answered, 
 looking up into his face. " How could I not be 
 glad ? " She seemed almost vexed at the simplic 
 ity of the question. 
 
 "^Then I am happy," said Julius, sitting down 
 beside her. And he spoke the truth ; for the time 
 he was utterly and supremely happy. He felt in 
 deed the grave and serious mood, which the bravest 
 man must feel when he knows that in a very few 
 days his life will be at stake. But his vanity told 
 him he was going to fight for her, and that gave 
 him a happiness apart ; so he concealed the serious 
 tendency of his thoughts, talking easily and gayly. 
 It was his vanity that helped him most, telling him 
 it was for her ; and, as always in his life, the pros 
 pect of a woman s praise was a supreme incentive. 
 He did not reflect that he was not to fight for Leo 
 nora s honor, but for the greatest dishonor the 
 world held for her. 
 
 The broad sun poured down on the water, but 
 the west wind fanned their faces and the awning 
 kept the heat from them. Leonora lay back with 
 
TO LEEWARD. 349 
 
 half-closed eyes, now and then carefully opening 
 and shutting a fan she held. She was wonderful 
 to look at, her marvellous skin, and the masses of 
 her red hair the true red of the Venetian women 
 contrasting strongly with her soft dark dress, 
 and a Sorrento handkerchief of crimson silk, just 
 knotted about her dazzling throat. She was a mar 
 vellous specimen of vital nature, of pure living 
 litheness and elasticity, gloriously human and alive. 
 And the man beside her was almost as singular in 
 a different way : he was so quiet, and moved so 
 easily, and his bright blue eyes were so fiery and 
 clear, his skin so bronzed and even in color ; there 
 was strength about him too ; and the passengers 
 as they came and went would steal a glance at the 
 couple, and make remarks, quite audible to Julius 
 and Leonora, about the beauty of those Inglesi. 
 
 " Which do you like best, dear," asked Julius 
 presently, " the day or the night ?" 
 
 "Oh that night was so beautiful," said Leo 
 nora ; "I love the moon, and the freshness, and 
 the. white sails, and all." 
 
 " Does all include anything especial ? " asked 
 Julius smiling. 
 
 " What do you think ? " asked she, instead of 
 answering. Her red lips remained just parted with 
 a loving smile. 
 
 " I don t think," said Julius. " I leave the 
 thinking to you, my dear. You can do it much 
 better. But I like the sunlight, the broad, good 
 sunlight, far more than the moon. It is so hot and 
 splendid." 
 
350 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Yes 5 I suppose it is like you to prefer it. All 
 men like the sun and I suppose all women like 
 the moon. At least I do. But you must always 
 like what I like now, you know." 
 
 " Including myself, I suppose ? " 
 ^ " Bah, my dear," laughed Leonora, " you will 
 find that very easy! " 
 
 How very unhappy she must have been, thought 
 Julius. She had not a regret in the world, it 
 seemed ; and the only fear she had shown had been 
 when she stumbled on the descent, so that he took 
 her up and carried her. 
 
 " Tell me," said he, " what did you do in all 
 those dreadful days when we could not meet ? " 
 
 ^ " I did nothing but write letters to you very 
 nice letters too. You have never shown yourself 
 properly grateful." 
 
 " No," said Julius, " I have not had time." 
 ^ " What do you mean ? " asked Leonora with a 
 little frown. 
 
 "Why it must take a long time to show you 
 how grateful I am. A long time," he added, his 
 voice sinking to a deeper tone, that Leonora loved 
 to hear. " It will take my whole lifetime, dar 
 ling." 
 
 " Thanks, dear one," said she quietly, laying her 
 hand on his. She did not mind the passengers, 
 why should she ? She would never mind the world 
 again, as long as she lived, for the world would 
 never care what she did any more. 
 
 Her experience of the world or of what she 
 
TO LEEWARD. 351 
 
 understood by the term had not been very happy, 
 though it had not been the reverse. She remem 
 bered chiefly the mere technicalities of society, so 
 to speak. She had enjoyed them after a fashion, 
 inveighing all the while against their emptiness 
 and vanity, and now when she looked back she saw 
 only a confused perspective of brilliantly lighted, 
 noisy parties, of more or less solemn dinners, of 
 endless visits to people who bored her, and of an 
 occasional cotillon with a *man she liked, in return 
 for numberless dances with individuals who seemed 
 to be trying to get dancing lessons gratis, or who 
 tore furiously up and down the room till she was 
 out of breath, or who caught their spurs in her 
 skirts, and scratched her arms with their decora 
 tions. She did not remember how she had enjoved 
 motion for motion s sake, and had rarely refused 
 to go out, in spite of the aforesaid annoyances. 
 She did not remember the little thrills of pleasure 
 she had felt, as Marcantonio was gradually at 
 tracted to her, till he was always the first to greet 
 her and to put his name on her card for a turn, 
 and was always the last to bid her good-night, de 
 voting himself to her mother when she was engaged 
 with some one else. She did not remember the 
 delight she had often experienced in discussing so 
 ciety with Mademoiselle Le Creux and Mademoi 
 selle Le Vide, bowling over institutions with a 
 phrase and destroying characters with an adjec 
 tive. There were many things Leonora did not re 
 member which had given her great pleasure a few 
 
352 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 months ago; but most of them reminded her of 
 her husband, and she did not want to be reminded 
 of him in the least. 
 
 There was continually a sort of unconscious com 
 parison going on between him and Julius Batis- 
 combe ; she could not help it, and it had been per 
 haps the earliest phase of her love. Even at the 
 moment when Marcantonio had offered himself to 
 her, Julius was standing in the doorway, and she 
 had wondered what he would have said if he had 
 been making the same proposal. She knew, now. 
 .She thought she knew the difference in the intona 
 tion of the man who loved, and the man who merely 
 wanted to marry. Ah if she had only known in 
 time, things would have been different. She would 
 have refused Marcantonio, after all his devotion, 
 and she would have married Julius. 
 
 She did not understand that Julius would never 
 have fallen in love with her then ; that the mere 
 possibility of being led into marriage reared an 
 impassable barrier between him and the whole of 
 youngladydom. He had made up his mind that 
 he would not marry, and young ladies said he was 
 the most obstinate bore they knew ; which was very 
 unkind, for he kept out of their way, and only 
 bored them when he was obliged to talk to them, 
 doing it systematically and successfully in self-de 
 fence. But Leonora innocently supposed that if 
 Julius had met her more intimately, in time, he 
 would have fallen in love with her just as he had 
 done now, and would have proposed after six weeks 
 
TO LEEWARD. 353 
 
 acquaintance, and they would have been happy for 
 ever after. She changed to think of this now, and 
 she sighed. 
 
 "What is the matter, sweetheart?" asked Julius. 
 
 " Nothing," said she, " I was thinking of some 
 thing, that is all." 
 
 " Tell me, dear," said he, bending towards her 
 She hesitated a moment, looking into his eyes. 
 
 " I was thinking," she said at last, " of some 
 thing that happened once. Do you remember, at 
 that ball, when you stood in the doorway and looked 
 so dreadfully bored, and I was sitting not far off 
 with with the marchese ? " 
 
 " Of course," said Julius, calmly, " I imagined 
 he was just proposing to you." 
 
 " Yes," said Leonora, in a low voice, " he was." 
 
 " I wish he had been at the bottom of the sea," 
 said Julius, fiercely. Indeed, the idea disgusted 
 him, being as much in love as he was. Neverthe 
 less, he thought she was a singular woman to refer 
 to the thing, so very soon. He had at first ex 
 pected that she would never wish to mention her 
 husband to him ; at least, not for very long ; but 
 she seemed rather to seek the subject than to avoid 
 it. He mused for a moment, looking out under his 
 half -closed lids, as was his habit when he was think 
 ing. Suddenly a smile came into his face. 
 
 " Do you remember, dear, when you and he 
 raced me in the boat on the bay, one afternoon, 
 ever so long ago? " It was not much more than 
 six weeks. 
 
 23 
 
TO LEEWARD. 
 
 Yes perfectly," said she. " Why ? " 
 
 "Have you any idea where I was going ? " as ked 
 Julius, laughing a little. 
 
 Not the least. You were not going anywhere ; 
 you were out for a row, I suppose, because you 
 wanted the air." She looked a little puzzled. 
 
 " If you had not overtaken me, I should never 
 have seen you again," he said, looking at her affec 
 tionately. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked, rather 
 startled. 
 
 " Simply this, I was running away. I was en 
 gaged to dine with you that evening, and I was go 
 ing to Naples to get out of it. I would have sent a 
 telegram about urgent business or anything." 
 
 " What an idea ! " she exclaimed, laughing. 
 "Why did you do that?" 
 
 "Because I knew what would happen if I 
 stayed," said he, softly. 
 
 I But you did not care for me then? " she asked, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I did," he answered ; and I knew I 
 should care a great deal more." His eyes burned 
 in the bright light of the afternoon. 
 
 "But I did not love you in the least then," 
 said Leonora, demurely. 
 
 No, of course not - and I did not flatter my 
 self that you would. But I knew I was going to 
 love you with all my heart." Again their hands 
 met for a moment, and a couple of sailors, who 
 watched them from a distance, nudged each other 
 and grinned. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 355 
 
 " When did you first begin to care, dear ? " he 
 said presently. 
 
 " Seriously ? What a silly question, Julius. How 
 can I tell ? " 
 
 " It was after I found you in the church, was it 
 not ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Ever so long after that ! " 
 
 " About two days ? " he suggested gravely. 
 
 " How absurd, Julius," she said with a little air 
 of offended dignity that was charming. " You 
 know it was ever so long." 
 
 " I wonder what you thought of me, when you 
 turned round and saw me looking at you in the 
 church," said he. He really had not an idea, and 
 was curious to know. 
 
 " I thought you were very rude," said she. " And 
 afterwards I thought you were very nice." 
 
 " I did not mean to be rude," said Julius, " but 
 I could not help going in. I was in love with you, 
 and I knew you were there." 
 
 44 In love already ? " asked Leonora. 
 
 "Why yes it was at least a week after I 
 tried to run away," said Julius innocently. 
 
 " It was exactly two days," said Leonora. They 
 both laughed, for it was quite true. It was very 
 pleasant to recall the beginnings of their love, for 
 it had all been sweet, and easy ; it seemed so to 
 them, at least, as the foreshore hid Sorrento from 
 their sight, and with it the scene of all they were 
 discussing. 
 
 It was a beautiful voyage, along the coast in the 
 
356 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 summer sea. There was always enough breeze in 
 the daytime, and there was the moon at night, and 
 they always felt that if they were quite alone, on 
 land, it would be even more charming, if possible. 
 It is a great thing in happiness to know that there 
 is to be more of it, and more and more, till at last 
 the heart has its fill of joy. 
 
 They reached Genoa, and rested themselves for 
 a day and a night in the glorious rooms of an old 
 palace, turned into an hotel by the profane require 
 ments of modern travellers. But it is very agree 
 able for travellers to sleep in palaces, by whatever 
 names they are called, and it is foolish to say that 
 moderns should build new buildings instead of 
 making use of old ones when they have them ready 
 to hand. 
 
 There is a set of people in the world who deal 
 in cheap sentiments, and get themselves a reputa 
 tion for taste by abusing everything modern and 
 kneeling in rows before everything that is old. 
 They grind out little mediaeval tunes with an ex 
 pression of ravished delight, and tell you there is 
 no modern music half so good, in fact, that there 
 is no modern music at all ! Or they garnish them 
 selves in queer white robes and toddle through a 
 vile travesty of some ancient drama ; or they build 
 houses of strange appearance and hideous compli 
 cation of style, having neither beauty without nor 
 comfort within : and last of all, they say to them 
 selves, Verily, we are the most artistic people in the 
 world ! 
 
TO LEEWARD. 357 
 
 One of these persons could not have passed an 
 hour in the old palace that the Genoese have turned 
 into an hotel. The bare idea of such profanity 
 would have produced artistic convulsions at once, 
 and untold suffering in the future by the mere 
 memory of it. But neither Batiscombe nor Leo 
 nora were people of that sort. Julius took a very 
 different view of life, believing to some extent in 
 the simple theory that useful things are good and 
 useless things are bad, and that everything that 
 really fulfils its purpose must have some beauty of 
 its own. Moreover, Julius had very little rever 
 ence, but a profound intelligence of the comforta 
 ble ; he would have slept as well in a king s tomb 
 as in an American hotel, provided the furniture 
 was to his taste in respect of length and breadth 
 and upholstery. As for Leonora, she had been 
 brought up chiefly in Italy, and never troubled 
 herself with the intricacies of the art question in 
 that country, taking everything to be natural so 
 long as she always had the very best of it. And 
 at present, being wholly in love, and having her 
 heart s desire, she would even have been willing to 
 pui up with less luxury than usual. Her talent 
 for supremacy, as Julius used to call it, had taken 
 a person for its object, and found the dominion 
 of a heart more interesting than the dominion of 
 fashionable luxury, the finest horses, or even Mr. 
 Worth. 
 
 " I used to hate hotels," said she to Julius, late 
 in the evening, " but they seem very pleasant after 
 
358 TO LEEWARD.* 
 
 all. There is never any fuss about anything ; and 
 I always seem to get just what I want." 
 
 " Oh hotels are very well, if one understands 
 them," he answered. He did not explain to her 
 that her comfort was chiefly due to his savoirfaire. 
 " You would soon find it a great bore, though," he 
 added. 
 
 " I am sure I should not," said she. " You are 
 so clever that you make everything seem easy for 
 me." 
 
 Julius laughed, out of sheer satisfaction. These 
 were just the little speeches he loved most from 
 women, and, most of all, from Leonora. It would 
 seem a harmless vanity of itself, but it leads to 
 doing acts of forethought and courtesy for the sake 
 of the praise instead of for the sake of the woman. 
 " It is very good of you to say so, my dear," he 
 answered, modestly. " But we will change all that, 
 by and by. When the heat is over we will go 
 away, and live in the Greek islands. There are 
 places worth going to, there." 
 
 " Oh, of all things how delightful ! " cried Leo 
 nora, carried away by the new idea. " And have 
 a house by the sea, and a boat, and Greek servants, 
 how lovely ! " 
 
 " Meanwhile, dear," said Julius, " we will go 
 and be cool in the old Carthusian monastery. It 
 does not take long from here." 
 
 And so they left Genoa and reached Turin, 
 where Batiscombe found his box the one that 
 Marcantonio intended to watch so carefully and 
 
TO LEEWARD. 359 
 
 took it away ; thence they went to a place called 
 Cimeo, a little southwards by the railway, in the 
 Maritime Alps, which Leonora said were beautiful ; 
 and then they drove in an ancient diligence to the 
 Certosa di Pesio, an old Carthusian monastery, as 
 Julius had said, built over a wonderful mountain 
 torrent, and surrounded with ancient chestnut-trees. 
 Through the valley that opens away to northward 
 you can catch a glimpse of Monte Rosa, when the 
 setting sun gilds the snow, and the breeze brings 
 down with it the freshness of the Alps. Leonora 
 was enchanted with the place, with Batiscombe s 
 choice, with him, with everything. 
 
 " And to-morrow you will show me where you 
 used to catch fish, and write your articles on Italian 
 politics ? " said she, as they came in from a short 
 walk late in the evening. 
 
 That night Batiscombe despatched a letter to 
 Rome. 
 
 CERTOSA DI PESIO, CUNEO, 
 MARITIME ALPS, August 31. 
 
 The Marchese Carantoni will find Mr. Julius 
 Batiscombe at the above address, with a friend. 
 
 That was all, but it gave Julius infinite satisfac 
 tion to send it. He had grudged the days that had 
 passed before he could send Carantoni the infor 
 mation. As for the " friend," he had seen two 
 or three cavalry officers about the place as soon as 
 he arrived, and he knew that he could rely on the 
 assistance of some of them. Duels are easily ar 
 ranged in Italy. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WHEN Marcantonio met Diana in the morning, 
 she noticed at once the change in his appearance. 
 He was still very pale, and his face was drawn in a 
 peculiar expression ; but he did not look so wild, 
 and his eyes had regained their clearness. 
 
 Diana greeted him affectionately, but made no 
 remark about his health, thinking it would annoy 
 him. She herself had slept soundly and began the 
 day with a new supply of strength. 
 
 " You are still determined to go to Turin ? " she 
 said, with half a question in her voice, but as 
 though it were quite certain that he would answer 
 in the affirmative. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I am quite determined. It is 
 the best thing I can do." 
 
 " I was wondering this morning," said Diana, 
 " whether we ought not to let our uncle know. It 
 seems to me that he ought not to hear it from 
 strangers." 
 
 Marcantonio eyed her suspiciously. 
 
 " You cannot expect me to go and tell him now," 
 said he. " The train leaves in an hour there is 
 not time." 
 
 " Of course not," said Diana, seeing how quickly 
 he suspected her of wishing to interfere with his 
 
TO LEEWARD. 361 
 
 plan. " But, if you like, L will write and tell 
 him." 
 
 " We can write from Turin," said he moodily. 
 " No one knows yet." 
 
 He hurried her to the station, and got there long 
 before the hour of departure. He was determined 
 not to miss the train, and until he was seated in 
 the carriage and the train rolled out of the city he 
 could not feel sure that Diana would not stop him. 
 He was somewhat relieved when they passed the 
 first station on the way to Florence, and he saw 
 that he was fairly off. Donna Diana sat opposite to 
 him and watched him, thinking sadly of the last 
 journey they had made together, when he took her 
 to Sorrento by the night train. He looked quiet, 
 though, and she thanked Heaven things were no 
 worse ; he might so easily have done himself a mis 
 chief in the first outbreak of his solitary grief. 
 
 She still hoped for a chance of learning how 
 it had all happened, for she was very much in 
 the dark, and had no means of learning anything 
 except what he might choose to tell her. Perhaps 
 the intense inquiry in her mind reacted on his, as 
 often happens between brothers and sisters. At 
 all events, he began to speak before half an hour 
 had gone by. 
 
 "I have not told you anything about it yet, 
 Diana mia" he said. "I have been so busy, so 
 many things to do." He passed his hand over his 
 forehead as he spoke, as though trying to collect 
 himself. 
 
36*2 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " Of course," said .Diana gently. Do not tire 
 
 yourself now, dear boy. Another time will do just 
 
 as well. I know aU that is absolutely necessary." 
 
 Marcantonio laughed very slightly and a little 
 
 foolishly, and again put his hand to his head. 
 
 " Oh, no," he answered, " I shall not tire myself. 
 You do not know anything about the - the oc 
 currence." 
 
 " No," said she, " that is true." 
 < They went away at night," said Marcantonio 
 quickly, and then stopped. 
 
 ^ Pray do not tell me about it, dear brother," 
 said Diana, rising and seating herself near to him 
 on the opposite side of the carriage. She laid her 
 hand on his arm, trying to soothe him, for she feared 
 a return of his old state. 
 
 " But I must tell you," he said impatiently, and 
 she saw it was useless to protest. " They went 
 away at night," he continued, "in a boat. I heard 
 the dogs barking, just for a moment, and then they 
 stopped, and I went to sleep. I went to sleep, 
 Diana," he cried savagely, " when she was running 
 away with him, and I could have killed him as 
 easily as possible. I could have killed them both 
 - oh, so easily ! " He groaned aloud and clenched 
 his thin hands. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Diana, softly. 
 
 " I could have killed them as easily as he killed 
 
 the dogs and stopped their barking," he went on ; 
 
 " he killed them both, wrung their necks pove- 
 
 rini as though they were not right to call me. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 363 
 
 And I never guessed anything though I heard 
 them ! " 
 
 He was working himself into a frenzy, and Diana 
 was afraid he would go mad then and there. She 
 tried to draw his mind to another part of the story. 
 She was a woman of infinite tact and resource. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " I am sure you could. But 
 how long was it before you telegraphed to me ? " 
 
 " How long ? I do not know," he said ; and he 
 seemed trying to recollect himself. 
 
 " Was it in the afternoon ? " asked Diana, glad 
 to fix his attention on a detail. 
 
 " Let me see yes. I meant to send it from 
 Castellamare the despatch, I mean ; and instead 
 I stopped the carriage at a little town on the way 
 I forget the name, but there was a telegraph of 
 fice there and so I sent it sooner." 
 
 "Yes," said Diana. "I got it at about seven 
 o clock. My husband was very quick and got a 
 carriage, and brought me as far as Genoa." 
 
 " How good of him ! " exclaimed Marcantonio. 
 " How is he ? And the children, dear little things ; 
 are they all well ? " 
 
 His face changed again, and a pleasant smile 
 showed that he had forgotten his troubles for a mo 
 ment. Diana was surprised at the ease with which 
 she could distract his attention, and she determined 
 to make use of her power to the utmost. It would 
 be something gained if she could keep him quiet 
 during the journey. She began immediately to 
 speak of her children, a boy and girl of four and 
 
364 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 three years old. She told him about their games, 
 their appearance, their nursery maids, and their 
 French governess. She branched off into a disser 
 tation on the beauties of the Riviera, and still he 
 listened and made intelligent answers, and talked 
 as though nothing had happened to him and they 
 were travelling for their amusement. Seeing that 
 she was accomplishing her object, she went on from 
 one subject to another, telling him all manner of 
 details about her life in France, in Austria, and 
 other places where her husband s official duties had 
 called him, during the five years since her mar 
 riage. Only about Rome she would not speak, 
 fearing lest the smallest reference to the scenes he 
 had recently passed through might take his mind 
 back to his great grief. 
 
 And all the while she marvelled at his calmness, 
 and at the ease with which she could amuse him. 
 For he was really amused, there could be no doubt. 
 He laughed, talked in his natural way, and seemed 
 enjoying himself very well, smoking a cigarette now 
 and then, and commenting on the weather, which 
 was abominably hot. 
 
 " Of course," said he, " we shall find it much 
 cooler in Pegli." 
 
 Diana started quickly, and then looked away to 
 hide her astonishment. 
 
 " Of course," she answered, " it is very much 
 cooler there." 
 
 Did he really fancy he was going to Pegli ? Had 
 he forgotten Turin and his errand ? Was he gone 
 
TO LEEWARD. 365 
 
 stark mad ? She could not tell, and was frightened. 
 It might have been a slip of the tongue, but he 
 said it so quietly, as though he were anticipating 
 the delights of the climate. Nevertheless, she did 
 not dare to pause, and she talked bravely on in the 
 heat and the dust. 
 
 At one of the stations the train stopped ten 
 minutes for refreshments. Marcantonio said he 
 would get out and buy a sandwich and a bottle of 
 wine. He sprang nimbly from the step, and Diana 
 watched him as she sat by the open door of the 
 carriage. He looked more like his old self than 
 
 O 
 
 she had seen him since the catastrophe, and she 
 watched with loving eyes, wondering how he would 
 bear what was to come, and for the first time wish 
 ing that he might be kept always in this state, 
 without the necessity of a meeting with Batiscombe. 
 
 Presently he returned with the provisions, a 
 rough-looking brace of sandwiches, and a bottle of 
 wine. 
 
 " It is the best I could do," he remarked. " It 
 is the last paese in the world." He still looked 
 cheerful and entirely himself. Diana watched him 
 closely, hoping and praying with all her might that 
 he would remain so forever, even if he were 
 out of his mind. Anything would be better than 
 to see him suffer as he was suffering that morning. 
 She began to talk again, eating a little of the sand 
 wich, for she was tired, and needed all her strength. 
 lie ate, too, and drank some of the wine, but he 
 no longer listened as he had done before, and he 
 
366 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 did not answer nor make a remark of any kind. 
 Diana had taken up what he said about the station, 
 and was talking about travelling in France. 
 
 Suddenly Marcantonio s color changed ; he grew 
 pale again, his eyes stared, and he dropped the 
 bread he was eating. Diana was terrified, brave 
 as she was, for she knew that his mind had gone 
 back .to his trouble, how, she could not tell; 
 but it was clear that for a space he had wholly for 
 gotten it. He seemed to take up the thread of his 
 terrible narration at the point where he had been 
 led away from it. 
 
 " Temistocle brought me the key," he said, and 
 his voice sounded hollow again and far away. " He 
 had told the servants she had gone to Rome before 
 daybreak, and that I had gone with her, ha! 
 ha ! he is a cunning fellow. I gave him some 
 thing for himself, I think I did, I am not 
 quite certain." Again his ideas seemed to wander, 
 and he tried to remember the detail that had es 
 caped his grasp. Quick as thought Diana seized 
 the opportunity. 
 
 " Did you give it to him in the evening ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I am not sure. I am not quite sure that I did 
 give it to him after all. Oh, I cannot remember 
 anything any more." He clasped his hands to his 
 head as though striving to compress his brain and 
 to compel it to action. The train moved away 
 from the station. 
 
 " You can send it to him in any case," suggested 
 
TO LEEWARD. 367 
 
 Diana, in an agony of sympathy and suspense. 
 Sha would have added " from Pegli," if she had 
 dared ; but she was not sure he would remember 
 his stray remark, or whether he had meant it. In 
 a moment it was too late. 
 
 " Of course," cried Marcantonio, delighted with 
 the idea. " I can send it from Turin. He de 
 serves it well. There will be time," he hesitated 
 and spoke slowly, " there will be time, yes, 
 there will be time, before I find him." His voice 
 fell almost to a whisper, barely audible to Diana in 
 the noise of the train as it gained speed in starting. 
 He seemed unconscious of her at the moment when 
 he said the last words, and she sat with clasped 
 hands and set lips, not knowing what to expect 
 next. In a little while he began again. She had 
 been too much struck by his quick change of man 
 ner to find the thing to say, in time to lead him 
 off. 
 
 " I went into her room," he said. He stopped 
 and fumbled in his pockets, producing at last the 
 cross of sapphires and diamonds. " I found this," 
 he added, showing it to Diana. She would have 
 taken it, but he held it nervously in his hand, more 
 than half concealed. " Do you know it ? " 
 
 "Yes," said she as quietly as she could. "It be 
 longed to our mother." 
 
 " It is beautifully made," he said suddenly, look 
 ing closely at it. "It is most beautifully made, 
 and the stones are very valuable. Should you not 
 think that they are worth a great deal ? " 
 
368 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " They must be the sapphires are a very good 
 color and the brilliants are large," said Diana, hu 
 moring him. " I wonder where it was made ? " 
 
 "I do not care where it was made," said Marc- 
 antonio rougldy. " I have got it again. I will give 
 it back to her she must have missed it." He 
 looked at Diana with a strange pathetic inquiry in 
 his weary eyes. 
 
 "Leonora?" asked Diana, in surprise. Marc- 
 antonio started as though he had been stung. He 
 had thought of his dead mother. 
 
 " Leonora? Ah ! " he cried with a sort of muffled 
 scream. " It belonged to Leonora Ugh ! " With 
 a quick movement he flung the jewel at the window. 
 It chanced that the pane was raised to keep out the 
 smoke on that side. The heavy cross cracked the 
 plate glass and knocked a small piece out of the 
 middle, but fell to the floor. 
 
 Marcantonio remained in the very act, as he had 
 thrown it, for one instant. Then his head sank on 
 his breast and his hands fell to his sides helplessly. 
 
 "Oh, Diana, Diana," he moaned piteously, "I 
 am mad." Then he began to rock himself back 
 ward and forward as though in pain. 
 
 It was no time to break down in horror or grief, 
 and Diana was not the woman to waste idle tears. 
 The cross had fallen at her feet. She had instantly 
 stooped and picked it up and hid it away, lest he 
 should see it again. Then she heard him say that 
 he was mad, and she made a desperate effort. She 
 took him strongly in her arms, almost lifting him 
 
TO LEEWARD. 369 
 
 from the ground, and laid his head upon her breast 
 and supported it, and took his hand. He was quite 
 passive ; she could do anything with him for the 
 moment he might have been a child. 
 
 Diana bent down as she held him in her arms and 
 kissed him tenderly on the forehead and breathed 
 soft words. It was a prayer. 
 
 Poor woman ! what could she do? Driven to the 
 last extremity of agony and horror, sitting by and 
 seeing her brother going mad raving mad be 
 fore her very eyes, unable to soothe his grief or to 
 strengthen his soul by any words of her own, not 
 knowing but that at any moment he might turn 
 upon herself poor woman, what could she do? 
 She breathed into his ear an ancient Latin prayer. 
 What a very foolish thing to do ! She was only a 
 woman, poor thing, and knew no better. 
 
 O woman, God-given helpmate of man, and no 
 blest of God s gifts and of all created things is 
 there any man bold enough to say that he can make 
 praises for you out of ink and paper that shall be 
 worthy to rank as praise at all by the side of your 
 good deeds ? You, who bow your gentle heads to 
 the burden, and think it sweet, out of the fulness of 
 your own sweet sympathy you, whose soft fingers 
 have the strength to bind up broken limbs and 
 rough, torn wounds you, who feel for each living 
 thing as you feel for your own bodily flesh, and 
 more you, who in love are more tender and faith 
 ful and long-suffering than we, and who, even err 
 ing, err for the sake of the over-great heart that 
 
370 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 God has given you is it not enough that I say of 
 you, " You are only women, and you know no bet 
 ter "? What greater, or higher, or nobler thing 
 can I say of you, in all humbleness and truth, than 
 that you are what you are, and that you know no 
 better ? What better things can any know, than 
 to bear pain bravely, to heal the wounded, to feel 
 for all, even for those who cannot feel for them 
 selves, and to be tender and faithful and kind in 
 love ? And even, being given of Heaven and loved 
 of it, that you should turn in time of need and 
 trouble and say a prayer for strength and knowl 
 edge, even that is a part of you, and not the least 
 divine part. So that when the man who cannot 
 suffer what you can suffer, nor do the good that 
 you can do, sneers and scoffs at your prayers and 
 your religion, I could wring his cowardly neck to 
 death. Even poor Leonora, praying philosophical 
 prayers to a power in which she did not in the 
 least believe, was not ridiculous. She was pathetic, 
 mistaken, miserable, perhaps, but not ridiculous. 
 
 Perhaps Diana had done the best thing, out of 
 pure despair. The long familiar words, spoken in 
 her soothing voice, at the very moment when he 
 was conscious that he was on the verge of insanity, 
 chained his faculties and gradually brought him to 
 a calmer state. Perhaps, also, the strong magnetic 
 power of his sister acted more forcibly on him from 
 the moment when he suddenly abandoned himself 
 to her influence. Like many people who possess 
 that strange gift, she was wholly unconscious of it, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 371 
 
 and she sometimes wondered why it was that those 
 about her yielded so easily to her will. Be that a3 
 it may, Marcantonio lay quite still in her arms, 
 and at last his eyelids drooped, his limbs relaxed, 
 and he foil into a deep sleep. The hot hours wore 
 on, and the train rolled by the towns and hamlets 
 and castle-crested hills towards Florence, and still 
 he slept, and Diana tenderly supported him, though 
 her arm ached as though it must break, and her 
 eyes were dimmed from time to time with the sight 
 and consciousness of so niuch misery. 
 
 At length, as they entered the station, she waked 
 him. He was quite calm again, and collected, but 
 very sad, as she had seen him that morning. 
 
 " Have I slept like this so long ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, dear boy," said Diana. 
 
 " Dear, dear Diana, how good you are," he ex 
 claimed, and he kissed her hand gratefully. " We 
 have an hour here, to dine, before the train starts." 
 
 " Will you go on at once? " she asked. She had 
 vainly hoped that he might be induced to stay in 
 Florence. But he had recovered himself enough 
 to know perfectly well what he was doing. 
 
 "Yes certainly," said he. "We shall arrive 
 in the morning." She dared not object nor make 
 a suggestion, not knowing how soon lie might break 
 out again, in some fresh burst of madness. 
 
 " Very well," she answered, as a station porter 
 took their handbags and smaller properties, "let 
 us dine at once." 
 
 She watched him and saw that he ate with a 
 
372 TO LEEWARD* 
 
 good appetite. She had heard that lunatics always 
 eat well, and she would almost rather have seen 
 him too sad to care for his food ; nevertheless she 
 thought it would do him good. 
 
 There is probably nothing more wearing, more 
 racking to the nerves, than the care of an insane 
 person. To be ever on the watch, expecting al 
 ways an outbreak or a painful incoherence, to at 
 tempt to follow the sensible nonsense that madmen 
 talk, always endeavoring to distract the attention 
 from the forbidden subject, are efforts requiring 
 the highest tact and the greatest coolness. Diana 
 could accomplish much by sheer common sense and 
 endurance, and more, perhaps, by the strong affec 
 tion that had always existed between her brother 
 and herself. But she felt instinctively that she was 
 not equal to the task, even while she hoped that 
 Marcantonio was not really mad. 
 
 She was mistaken, however, as any indifferent 
 person would have seen in a moment. He was in 
 sane, and on the verge of becoming violent. Noth 
 ing but her wonderful courage and strong will had 
 kept him within any bounds, and he might at any 
 moment become wholly uncontrollable. 
 
 She would have stopped in Florence if it had 
 been possible, but it seemed dangerous to thwart 
 him at present, and she felt sure that in Turin she 
 could get the help of some first-rate physician. So 
 she submitted once more, and in an hour they were 
 off again, in a reserved carriage, as before, flying 
 northwards towards the mountains, where the road 
 
TO LEEWARD. 373 
 
 winds so wonderfully through a hundred tunnels, 
 in its rapid ascent. 
 
 It was a very long night for Diana. In all her 
 many journeys she had never felt fatigue such as 
 this. Marcantonio would sleep for an hour, and 
 then start up suddenly and begin to talk, some 
 times asking questions and sometimes volunteering 
 remarks that showed how his mind was wandering. 
 Once or twice he showed signs of returning to the 
 account of his doings after Leonora had left him, 
 but Diana was able to check him in time, for he 
 was growing tired and yielded more easily to her 
 will than in the daytime. 
 
 At last they were safe in the hotel, and Marc 
 antonio was in his room, intending to dress, he 
 said, before going out. Diana was no sooner as 
 sured that she was free from the responsibility of 
 watching him for a few minutes than she sent for 
 the proprietor of the hotel, inquired for the ad 
 dress of the best physician in Turin, and despatched 
 a messenger with a very urgent request for his at 
 tendance. 
 
 The apartment she had taken with her brother 
 consisted of a large sitting-room, with a bedroom 
 on each side of it. Marcantonio s room had but 
 that one door, which she could watch as she lay on 
 the sofa, awaiting the arrival of the doctor. 
 
 When he came at last, breathless in his haste to 
 put himself at the service of the great lady who sent 
 for him, he talked very learnedly for half an hour, 
 after listening to all Diana told him with grave at- 
 
374 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 tention. He could not see the patient of course, 
 and the interview took place in a small antecham 
 ber, from which he could escape if Marcantonio 
 were heard moving within. He was of opinion 
 that it was not a case of insanity, but of temporary 
 derangement of the faculties from the severe strain 
 they had received. The sudden manifestations of 
 violence were natural enough to an Italian, if it 
 had been the case of an Englishman, it would have 
 been different, because, as the doctor said, half 
 in earnest and half in jest, Inglesi were generally 
 mad to begin with, and anything beyond that made 
 them furious maniacs. He had a man, he said, 
 long accustomed to dealing with lunatics. He 
 would send him disguised as a servant, and he could 
 be in constant attendance, thus relieving Diana of 
 the care of watching the marchese. He himself 
 would call every day and inquire, and would be 
 ready at a moment s notice to remove him to a 
 place of safety. In his present state, he said, to 
 shut him up, and treat him as though he were in 
 sane, might very likely make a permanent madman 
 of him. 
 
 The doctor retired, leaving Diana somewhat re 
 assured. All that he had said seemed reasonable, 
 and she would strictly follow his advice. Mean 
 while, she went to her own room, feeling sure that 
 she could hear Marcantonio s door open, if he fin 
 ished dressing and came out. But Marcantonio 
 rang his bell at the end of an hour, and sent word 
 to his sister that he felt tired and had gone to bed, 
 and would not rise till midday. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 375 
 
 Poor fellow she was pleased at the intelli 
 gence, but the fact was that his mind had strayed 
 again ; he had forgotten the object of his journey, 
 and being worn out had gone to bed like a tired 
 child. The new place, the strange room, and the 
 necessity of unpacking his clothes himself had con 
 fused him, and driven everything else out of his 
 head. 
 
 Before he awoke, the confidential man had ar 
 rived, arrayed in the ordinary dress of an hotel ser 
 vant, lie was a quiet individual, with strong hands 
 and iron-gray hair, neat in his appearance, and a 
 little hesitating in his speech; but his eyes were 
 keen and searching, and he moved quickly. Diana 
 was pleased with him, and understood that the doc 
 tor had given her good advice, and that Marc- 
 antonio would be safely watched. The man said 
 he would serve them in their own sitting-room, and 
 perform the offices of valet for Marcantonio, and 
 be altogether in the position of a private servant, 
 which, however, was not his profession, as he took 
 care to add. 
 
 When at last Diana and Marcantonio met, each 
 rested and refreshed, he looked the less weary of 
 the two. Diana had suffered too much to be en 
 tirely herself, and for the first time in her life felt 
 as though she had taxed her strength too severely. 
 Moreover, the strain was not removed, but in 
 creased hourly. Her woman s instinct told her 
 that, in spite of the doctor s opinion, her brother 
 was actually out of his mind, perhaps past all re- 
 
376 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 covery. His sudden cheerfulness was horrible to 
 her, and made her shudder when she thought of the 
 magnitude of what he was forgetting. 
 
 " Let us take a carriage and see Turin, Diana 
 mia" he suggested gayly, as they finished their 
 lunch and he lit a cigarette. " I have never been 
 in Turin with you. There are some very pretty 
 things to see." 
 
 " By all means," said she readily. " Let us go 
 aj; once." 
 
 The confidential servant was despatched for a 
 carriage. The idea of seeing sights with his sister 
 pleased Marcantonio, and he never relapsed into 
 his sadder self during the afternoon. Diana did 
 not know whether to be glad or sorry ; his forget- 
 fulness was terrible, but his memory was worse. 
 She remembered the scene with the cross on the 
 previous day, in the railway-carriage, and she 
 thought that if insanity brought peace it was better 
 to be insane. 
 
 They drove about and saw what was to be seen, 
 the . great squares, the memorial statues, the 
 armory, where the mail-clad wooden knights sit si 
 lently on their mail-clad wooden horses, and they 
 drove out at last to Moncalieri, in the cool of the 
 evening. The confidential servant sat on the box 
 and directed the driver, pointing out to Diana and 
 Marcantonio the various objects of interest, so that 
 Carantoni suspected nothing. The man acted his 
 part perfectly. 
 
 " How charming it is here ! " exclaimed Marc- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 377 
 
 antonio, admiring the trees, and the life, and the 
 gay colors at Moncalieri. " Why did we not think 
 of coming here before, ma chere ?" He spoke in 
 French, which he rarely did with his sister, though 
 he had always done so with his wife. Diana hardly 
 noticed it at the moment, she was obliged to an 
 swer something. 
 
 " It was hardly the right season for it before 
 this, I suppose," said she. " But now we can stay 
 as long as we please." 
 
 " Oh yes," said he, in his old way, " if it is 
 agreeable to you, I ask nothing better. It is infi 
 nitely more pleasant than Sorrento. I never liked 
 Sorrento, I cannot tell why. It never wholly agreed 
 with you, mon ange riest-ce-pas ? " 
 
 " I was always well there, well enough, at 
 least," answered Diana, puzzled at this new phase 
 of his humor. 
 
 " Ah no, you were never well after Diana left 
 us. She is so good, she makes every one well ! " 
 He spoke pleasantly and naturally. 
 
 It was horrible, and Diana started with a new 
 realization of his state. He no longer recognized 
 persons, he took her for Leonora ! 
 
 But some new object attracted his attention, and 
 he cnattered on, almost to himself, almost child 
 ishly, but with a sweet smile on his pale, delicate 
 face. Diana could scarcely restrain her tears, 
 she who had not wept for years until lately ! 
 
 Poor Diana! Batiscombe and Leonora were 
 sinfully, wholly, happy with each other, Batis- 
 
378 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 combe selfishly so, perhaps, but none the less for 
 that, and Leonora with a wild delight in her new 
 life, that swallowed up the past and gilded the 
 present. Even poor, crazy Marcantonio, chattering 
 and making small French jokes about the people s 
 dresses at Moncalieri, was happy for the moment. 
 Only Diana, the brave woman who had fought for 
 the right so well, seemed cut off from it all, bearing 
 the whole burden on her shoulders, and silently 
 bowing her queenly head to the storm of woe and 
 grief and destruction. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. - 
 
 DIANA would have taken her brother away from 
 Turin if she could, but there was a danger that 
 the mere suggestion might revive the fixed idea 
 that had driven him mad. His illusions had not 
 the absolutely permanent character that is the most 
 hopeless. For instance, on the evening of the very 
 day when he had called his sister by his wife s 
 name, he had known Diana perfectly well, and had 
 sat for an hour talking about old times with her. 
 Whether, at such moments, he had any recollection 
 of recent occurrences, would be hard to say; and 
 the doctor advised for the present that he should 
 have perfect quiet and should be allowed to amuse 
 himself and to be amused in any way which seemed 
 best. In the course of a day or two the doctor saw 
 him, coming on pretence of seeing Madame de 
 Charleroi. He felt now, he said, from Marcan- 
 tonio s manner, that he would recover before long, 
 though his memory concerning the circumstances of 
 the time when he was insane would probably be 
 very uncertain. 
 
 But Diana felt relieved at this and devoted her 
 time to her brother from morning till night, read 
 ing to him, driving with him, or talking to him as 
 the case might be. She could do nothing more for 
 
380 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 the present. Turin is a pleasant city enough, the 
 weather was not excessively hot, and the hotel was 
 large and comfortable. In the course of time it 
 would be possible to move Carantoni and take him 
 to Paris, but at present any sudden change of place 
 or surroundings was to be deprecated. 
 
 A week passed in this way, and Diana grew pale 
 with the constant strain of anxiety, and the great 
 dark rings circled her gray eyes. But she bore 
 bravely up, and rose each day with strength to do 
 what lay before her. She wrote to her husband, 
 and he offered at once to come and help her to take 
 care of Marcantonio, but she would not let him 
 come, fearing the effect of a new face, even that 
 of an old friend like Charleroi. She received all 
 the letters that came to her brother, and was sur 
 prised that there were no communications from the 
 detectives he had employed. The fact was that 
 Marcantonio had given a separate address to them, 
 and as they discovered nothing, after the manner 
 of most detectives, they only systematically tele 
 graphed that they had confidence of being on the 
 track. The telegrams were addressed to another 
 hotel, and were dropped into the box for unclaimed 
 letters and were never heard of again. Diana knew 
 that business communications woidd be harmless in 
 Marcantonio s present state, and when any came 
 she let him have them. He would read them over 
 and often discuss with her the information they 
 contained, and at last he would let her answer 
 them, saying it was very good of her to save him so 
 much trouble. 
 
TO LEE WARD. 381 
 
 All these letters came from Rome, being for 
 warded by the steward who lived at- the Palazzo 
 Carantoni and managed the business of the house 
 hold. Others came, re-directed over the original 
 address, from friends in different parts of the 
 country, and these Diana carefully put aside un 
 opened, fearing always that some passing refer 
 ence or message to Leonora might disturb him and 
 bring on a fresh outbreak. She could always distin 
 guish the business letters, because they were either 
 directed in the handwriting of the steward, or they 
 bore the outward and visible printed address of 
 the lawyer, farmer, or merchant, from whom they 
 came. 
 
 In the week they had spent in Turin there had 
 been already twenty or thirty communications of 
 various kinds. Poor Marcantonio never knew that 
 his sister sorted the mail for him. It was brought 
 to him by the confidential servant, and he always 
 took it and went to his room with an air of reat 
 
 O 
 
 importance to " get through his business," as he ex 
 pressed it. He was evidently proud of doing it, 
 showing that unaccountable vanity in small things 
 which characterizes so many lunatics. Indeed, he 
 had always been proud of his attention to details, 
 and now it became a sort of passion, though he was 
 never able to carry out his intentions, and always 
 left the unfinished work to Diana. 
 
 On the fourth of September Julius Batiscombe s 
 letter, directed to Marcantonio in Rome, had come 
 back to Turin. Julius had marked it " very 
 
382 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 urgent," and the steward had looked at it, had 
 thought Batiscombe s handwriting indistinct, and 
 to secure greater certainty had put it into another 
 envelops and directed it in his own business-like 
 way. The consequence was that it was mistaken 
 for a common business letter, and handed to Marc- 
 antonio with the rest. 
 
 It seemed to be the last blow that an evil fate 
 could strike at the unhappy man, and it was a 
 terrible one in itself and in its consequences. 
 
 He sat at his table by the window, opening one 
 letter after another, and looking over the contents 
 with a pleased expression, a little vacant perhaps, 
 but not altogether without intelligence. There was 
 a lacuna in his mind, and sometimes he was con 
 scious of being confused by faces and things about 
 him, but he was still capable of understanding the 
 questions about his estates, and farms, and build 
 ings, though he always seemed to lack the energy 
 to write the directions with his own hand. 
 
 He turned over the sheets and folded each one 
 neatly and put it back into its particular envelope. 
 Then he opened the one from the steward, and 
 found in it a letter directed to Rome in a strange 
 hand. 
 
 He held it in his fingers with a puzzled look for 
 a moment ; it seemed as though one letter had sud 
 denly become two. Then he understood and smiled 
 a little sadly at his own weakness of comprehen 
 sion, and broke the seal. 
 
 The effect was not instantaneous. He read it 
 
TO LEEWARD. 383 
 
 over again, and a third time, his face still vacant, 
 and he put his hand to his head trying and striving 
 with all his might to remember. The week of in 
 sanity had done its work and Diana need not have 
 feared that he would be easily recalled to an under 
 standing of the past. But it was not wholly gone 
 yet ; he would try to remember. He rose to his 
 feet, and perhaps the slight physical effort helped 
 to stir his dull mind. 
 
 Suddenly he trembled violently from head to foot, 
 and his color changed from the natural complexion 
 it had taken of late to a deadly pallor. For an 
 instant his whole nature seemed to be convulsed, 
 he reeled to and fro and caught himself by the 
 heavy frame of his bedstead, staring wildly about, 
 and fell backwards across the pillows, clutching 
 the counterpane to right and left of him with his 
 two hands, his face distorted and horrible to see. 
 
 It only lasted for a moment, and he regained his 
 feet, stood still for a few seconds, and passed his 
 hands across his eyes and seemed at once to recover 
 his faculties. He took Batiscombe s letter agfain 
 
 O 
 
 and read it over, as though fixing the few words 
 and the address in his mind. The vacant expres 
 sion of ten minutes ago had changed to a look of 
 supernatural intelligence and cunning. He put 
 the letter in J^is pocket and sat down at the table. 
 He opened some of the envelopes again and scat 
 tered the papers about, eying the effect rather 
 critically. He then took his dressing-case, opened 
 it, and removed one small tray, and then a second. 
 
384 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 In the bottom of the box was a revolver, bright 
 and ready, with all its appurtenances, a few cart 
 ridges lying loose in their little compartment. The 
 weapon was loaded, but he carefully opened it and 
 examined each chamber, turning it round slowly 
 by the light. It was not a large pistol, and when 
 he was sure that it was in order, he put it carefully 
 into the inside pocket of his coat, and surveyed the 
 effect in the glass. No one would have suspected 
 that he was armed. 
 
 He saw that his hat was ready in its place, and 
 he rang the bell and sat down at his table once 
 more, holding a letter in his hand, as though read 
 ing. The confidential servant appeared. 
 
 " Will you please to bring me a lemonade ? " 
 said Marcantonio, with perfectly^ natural intona 
 tion. The man bowed and retired to execute the 
 order. His master seemed better than usual, he 
 thought ; the appearance of the papers and Caran- 
 toni s bland smile had completely deceived him. 
 
 As soon as he was alone he took his hat, felt 
 that he had his purse in his pocket, and opened the 
 door to the sitting-room. Diana was not there, for 
 she generally wrote her own letters until Marcan 
 tonio appeared with his correspondence, asking her 
 to answer it for him. The servant was gone to get 
 the lemonade and Marcantonio slipped quietly out 
 on tiptoe. 
 
 Once upon the main staircase of the hotel he ran 
 nimbly down, humming a little tune in a jaunty 
 fashion, to show everybody that he was at his ease. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 385 
 
 Of course the people in the house had no idea that 
 he was insane. It had been Diana s chiefest care 
 to conceal the fact from every one ; and Marcaiito- 
 nio walked calmly past the porter s lodge into the 
 street, and took a cab. It was nearly midday and 
 the thoroughfares were less crowded than in the 
 morning and evening; the cab flew rapidly over 
 the smooth pavement to the station. 
 
 There are many trains to Cuneo in the summer 
 season, and before very long Carantoni found him 
 self in a smoking-carriage with three or four men, 
 all reading the papers and smoking long, black 
 cigars with straws in them. He lit a cigarette, 
 bought a paper just as the guard was closing the 
 doors, and he rolled out of the station, looking just 
 like anybody else. He pretended to read, and no 
 one noticed him. 
 
 When the servant returned with the lemonade 
 and found that Marcantonio was gone, he did not 
 suspect what was the matter, but put the glass on 
 the table and went back to the antechamber and 
 waited at his post. He waited a few minutes and 
 then knocked at Diana s door, and asked if the 
 signore were with her. 
 
 " No," said Diana quickly, and came out into the 
 sitting-room in her loose morning gown. " Whero 
 is he ? Is he not in his room ? He never comes 
 into mine." 
 
 She went to his door and knocked. 
 
 " He is not there," said the man, who by this 
 time was thoroughly frightened. " He sent me for 
 
 25 
 
38G TO LEEWARD. 
 
 a lemonade. He looked better than usual, and was 
 sitting just there, at his table, reading his letters. 
 When I came back he was gone. He seemed en 
 tirely himself, better than I have ever seen him." 
 
 Diana was frightened and puzzled. After all it 
 was quite possible that Marcantonio had taken it 
 into his head to go out by himself. He had never 
 suggested such a thing yet, and always seemed un 
 willing to cross the threshold alone ; but since he 
 was so much better that day, he might have gone 
 out. It was possible. She would not have believed 
 that without some immediate cause he could have 
 fallen back into a remembrance of his troubles ; 
 for she had studied his moods very carefully, and 
 was convinced that, as the doctor said, there would 
 always be a blank in his mind now, destroying the 
 memory of those three or four days. She glanced 
 hastily over the papers on the table. They were 
 all of the usual sort, for Marcantonio had taken 
 Batiscombe s letter* with him. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was very much frightened, and 
 was angry with the confidential servant for not 
 having sent some one else to get the lemonade. 
 She lost no time in despatching him to make in 
 quiries. He was really an active man, and under 
 stood his business thoroughly, but Marcantonio s 
 manner had completely deceived him, and he had 
 conscientiously thought his charge perfectly safe. 
 Maniacs have more than once deceived their keep 
 ers, and their doctors, and Marcantonio seemed to 
 have fallen into a very different sort of madness 
 
TO LEEWARD. 887 
 
 rather foolish and gentle than cunning and dan 
 gerous. . 
 
 The servant soon discovered that Marcantonio 
 had passed the porter s lodge and had taken a cab, 
 not many minutes before ; but no one had heard the 
 order he gave to the driver. There were no more 
 carriages on the stand. The man lost no time but 
 ran down the street till he found one, and was 
 driven to the station, as he was, bareheaded and 
 clothed in a dress-coat and a white tie, after the 
 manner of hotel servants in the morning. His ex 
 perience told him that crazy people generally made 
 for the railway when they escaped. But he was 
 too late. A train had just left he made anxious 
 inquiries of every one, describing Marcantonio s 
 clothes and jewelry, which he knew by heart. No 
 one had noticed him. He might not have come to 
 the station after all. 
 
 But a dirty little boy elbowed his way through 
 the crowd of railway porters and guards that soon 
 surrounded the man, and the boy listened. 
 
 " Had that signorc a great ring on his finger, 
 with a black stone in it, and a red one on each 
 side ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," cried the confidential servant. "You 
 have seen him ? " He seized the small boy by the 
 arm and held him fast. 
 
 " Yes," said the little fellow ; " but you have no 
 need to pinch me like that. I sold him a paper, 
 and he gave me a silver half-franc, and I noticed 
 his fingers and his ring." 
 
388 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 The servant released him. 
 
 Some one else had noticed the ring, which was 
 very large and brilliant, a great sapphire with a 
 ruby on each side of it. The individual remem 
 bered hearing the gentleman ask for the train to 
 Cuneo. The confidential servant rushed back to 
 the hotel, after ascertaining that there would not 
 be another train for two hours. 
 
 He told Diana what he had learned, and she 
 listened attentively. She was pale and quiet, and 
 she did not reproach the man again. It was of no 
 use now. She had dressed herself, and she sent 
 for a cab ; and then she also was driven to the sta 
 tion, the man accompanying her. She did not 
 speak except to give her orders. 
 
 She went at once to the station-master, an ex 
 tremely civil individual with a great deal of silver 
 lace. 
 
 " Can you give me a special train to Cuneo at 
 once ? " she asked. 
 
 The station-master was in despair, he said. There 
 was only a single track, and it would be impossible 
 to arrange the line at such short notice. He bowed, 
 and looked grave, and put everything in the station 
 at the disposal of the magnificent lady who ordered 
 special trains as other people order cabs. But he 
 could do nothing. Diana hesitated. Something 
 must be done at once. 
 
 " My brother," she said, " took the last train to 
 Cuneo, and I desire to stop him. He he is 
 
TO LEEWARD. 389 
 
 It was a hard thing to have to tell a stranger, a 
 railway official, and Diana was whiter than death 
 as she said it. She would rather have put a knife 
 into her heart. 
 
 The station-master was graver and more polite 
 than ever. He could telegraph to all the stations 
 to have the passengers watched as they descended. 
 AVould she give him a description, the name, 
 perhaps ? 
 
 It had to be done. She gave the details, and 
 the telegram was sent. Meanwhile she sat in the 
 station-master s private office, to wait for more than 
 an hour until the next train should be ready. 
 
 The consequence of all this was that when Marc- 
 antonio finally reached his destination, he was po 
 litely asked, in company with the other passengers, 
 whether he had seen or heard of an insane gentle 
 man called the Marchese Carantoni. But his new 
 ly-found cunning did not desert him. He shrugged 
 his shoulders, and said he did not know the gentle 
 man. He himself looked so quiet and dignified, 
 that no one could have suspected him of being the 
 person, and the short description telegraphed would 
 have answered to hundreds of Italians all over the 
 country. He had, of course, expected to be pur 
 sued, as lunatics often do, and he was prepared to 
 baffle every attempt. His quiet look and frank 
 smile were a perfect passport. He even inquired 
 of a porter at the station how he could best reach 
 the Certosa di Pesio ; and the man told him it was 
 an hour s drive or more, and got him a little car- 
 
390 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 riage for the journey, and received a few sous for 
 Iris pains. 
 
 Marcantonio leaned back against the moth-eaten 
 cushions and smoked a cigarette and looked at the 
 scenery. He hummed a little tune occasionally, 
 and, when the dirty driver was not looking, he put 
 his hand into his breast pocket, and felt that his 
 pistol was in its place, and then the cunning smile 
 passed over his features. 
 
 He had managed it all so well, there could be 
 no mistake about it. He chuckled as he thought 
 
 o 
 
 how Batiscornbe would expect to receive the visit 
 of a third party, and would thus be suddenly 
 brought face to face with the principal. He thought 
 he could anticipate just how Batiscombe would look, 
 and he revelled for a while in the contemplation of 
 his hatred. He had forgotten nothing now, except 
 that he had ever forgotten his vengeance for a mo 
 ment. 
 
 On and on he rolled in his rattling little cab. 
 Through a long and gradually-ascending valley, 
 thickly clothed with chestnut trees of mighty growth. 
 By the roadside ran a stream, that gradually be 
 came a torrent as the inclination of its course grew 
 steeper, and the road wound up towards the source. 
 Here and there the water fell over a natural weir 
 of dark-brown rock, forming a deep pool below, 
 where the trout lurked in the shadow. Again the 
 thick woods receded a little on each side, and the 
 bed of the stream, now shallow from the summer 
 heat, grew broad and stony ; and further on there 
 
TO LEEWARD. 391 
 
 was a bit of grassy bank overhung with many trees, 
 and the small river swept smoothly round. 
 
 Suddenly the carriage drew up before an old 
 stone gateway that seemed to start out of the fo 
 liage, and there was a noise as of a deep fall of 
 water, at once wild and smooth. Marcantonio had 
 reached the Carthusian monastery at last. His 
 purpose was almost accomplished. 
 
 It is a strange building in a marvellous situation. 
 Those old monks knew where to live, as they have 
 always known in all ages and countries, from 
 the priests of Egypt to the monks of Buddha, from 
 the Benedictines of Subiaco to the holy men of 
 ancient Mexico, they have all reared spacious dwel 
 lings in chosen sites, where the body might live in 
 peace and the soul be raised, by contemplating the 
 beauties of the earth, to the imagination of the 
 beauties of heaven. They were wise old men ; some 
 of them were good, and some bad, as happens in all 
 communities in the world ; but they were men who 
 did the earth good in their day, and found out the 
 places that have often become cities in our times, 
 whereby hundreds of thousands of souls have 
 profited by their choice. 
 
 The Certosa di Pesio, where Julius and Leonora 
 had taken up their abode for a time, is turned into 
 an establishment for cold-water cures. There are 
 generally some fifty or sixty people there from 
 Turin and the neighborhood who take the baths, or 
 not, as they please, and lead a pleasant life for 
 a few months in the great cloistered courts, and 
 
392 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 the bright gardens, and out in the endless chest 
 nut woods. A cool breath of the Alps blows down 
 the valley, and the rush of the water, dammed up 
 by a strong weir of ancient masonry, and contin 
 ually pouring down in a steady, musical roar, per 
 vades all the cool rooms and the sounding halls and 
 passages. It is an ideal place for the summer, 
 almost unknown to foreigners. It is no wonder 
 that Julius had thought it the very spot for Leo 
 nora to rest in until the heat was over. A little 
 way from the buildings, up the valley, a dilapidated 
 summer-house overhangs the stream. Sitting there 
 you can see the whole wonderful outline of the 
 convent buildings, crowned with chimneys which 
 the old monk-architects seem to have delighted in 
 greatly, giving them a variety of strange and gro 
 tesque shapes such as I never saw anywhere else. 
 Julius and Leonora used often to come to the old 
 summer-house in the afternoon, with their books, 
 which were seldom called into requisition, and they 
 would sit side by side for hours, till the evening 
 sun warmed the colors of the pine-trees on the 
 heights to a green-gold, and reddened the far-off 
 snows of Monte Kosa with the last, loving touch 
 of his departing light. 
 
 An obsequious individual came forward from 
 the archway as Marcantonio drove up to the gate. 
 Marcantonio eyed him, and perceived that he was 
 a functionary of the pension. 
 
 "Is there an English gentleman here?" he 
 asked, "a certain Signor Giulio Batiscombe ? " 
 
TO LEEWARD. 393 
 
 His voice was very calm, and had a certain suavity 
 in its tones ; he smiled, too, as he asked the ques 
 tion. 
 
 " Si, signore," answered the man, bowing and 
 gesticulating toward the building. " Certainly. A 
 handsome signore, with his wife both Inglesi. 
 They arrived on the thirty-first of last month 
 five days. Will the signore do the favor to come 
 in ? I will inquire whether the English gentleman 
 is at home." 
 
 The slightest shade passed over Marcantonio s 
 face at the mention of the wife in the case. But 
 the man would not have noticed it. Marcaiitonio 
 felt sure he had not betrayed himself. 
 
 " I will wait here," said he, " while you inquire." 
 
 The man disappeared, and Marcantonio was 
 alone. He looked up at the windows in the gray 
 walls, and saw no one. Nevertheless, at any mo 
 ment Batiscombe might appear from the house 
 or from the woods he might be taking a walk. 
 It seemed a very long time to wait. 
 
 He put his hand into his breast pocket. The 
 stock of the revolver just curved over the edge of 
 the cloth inside his coat ; he could get at it without 
 trouble. He longed to take it out and examine it ; 
 to see whether it were still in perfect order ; and 
 he peeped in when the driver was not looking, just 
 to catch a sight of the lock and the bright barrel. 
 Then he smiled to himself, and hummed a tune, as 
 suming an air of quiet indifference acting all the 
 time, as only madmen can act, as though he were 
 
394 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 on the stage before a great audience. It was only 
 for the benefit of the driver of his little carriage, a 
 rough fellow, who had not shaved for a week, and 
 wore a dirty linen jacket, his hands black and his 
 eyes red with the wine of the night before that 
 was the audience ; but Marcantonio acted his part 
 with as much care as though he were in the pres 
 ence of Batiscombe himself. There must not be 
 the smallest chance of an interruption to his plan. 
 
 At last the man returned, bowing with renewed 
 zeal. He came forward with one hand extended, 
 as though to help Marcantonio to alight. 
 
 " The English signore is in the garden," he said. 
 Marcantonio smiled more sweetly than ever and got 
 out of his conveyance. 
 
 " You can wait," he said to the driver, and the 
 latter touched his battered straw hat. 
 
 Marcantonio followed the man through a great 
 court, where there were trees, into a long, tiled pas 
 sage that seemed to run through the house, and, on 
 the other side, he emerged into a garden, thick with 
 laurel-trees and geraniums. The man led the way. 
 Marcantonio s hand crept stealthily into his breast 
 pocket underneath his coat, ,and raised the lock of 
 the revolver very slowly. The man in front did 
 not hear the small, sharp click. 
 
 " Where is he ? " asked Marcantonio, very gently, 
 still smiling an unnaturally sweet smile. The ser 
 vant had stopped and was looking about. 
 
 " I was told they were here," said he ; " but they 
 must be in the summer-house outside." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 395 
 
 Again he led the way to a small door in the gar 
 den wall. It was open. 
 
 " There they are, signore," said he, pointing with 
 his finger and standing aside to let Marcantonio 
 pass. 
 
 He looked, and saw two people sitting in the 
 dilapidated old bower above the water, not twenty 
 yards from where he stood. 
 
 It was five o clock in the afternoon. Diana had 
 taken the train at two, and could not reach Cuneo 
 till six. Even then she would not know where to 
 go without many inquiries. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LEONORA S utter recklessness of delight could 
 
 o 
 
 not last very long. It was a strange mood, as un 
 natural and uncontrollable at first as her husband s 
 madness. She could not help enjoying to the ut 
 most the new life that .had so suddenly begun for 
 her. She knew in her heart that she had bought 
 it at a great price, and she knew that she must 
 make the most of it, or she would have to reproach 
 herself with the bargain. 
 
 It was easy enough at first. The quick change 
 had thrown all her thoughts into a new channel. 
 From the midnight departure she had no more 
 time to think, until the long, quiet days at Pesio. 
 There were moments when she was on the verge of 
 
 O 
 
 thinking, of remembering the past, and wondering 
 how her husband had acted. But she felt that it 
 would be very unpleasant to reflect on these things. 
 It might take her a long time to get out of the 
 train of thought, as it used to do long ago when 
 ever she had one of her fits of philosophical de 
 spair ; she was able to put it off, and she seemed 
 to be saying to herself, " I shall have time to think 
 about it, and to satisfy my conscience by feeling 
 the proper amount of regret by and by." 
 
 Of course she did not say so much in so many 
 
TO LEEWARD. 397 
 
 words, but the unconscious excuse for what she 
 knew an unprejudiced outsider would call her 
 heartlessness went on presenting itself whenever 
 she felt the beginning of a regret. Deeper even 
 than that, and almost hidden in the sea of self- 
 deception, and passion, and riotous love of life, lay 
 the reef on which the ship of her happiness would 
 some day go to pieces the ultimate knowledge of 
 the wrong she had done, and of her own cruelty to 
 Marcantonio and weakness to herself. 
 
 But in Pesio the time came ; terribly soon, she 
 thought, though her suffering was only at its be 
 ginning. Each morning brought a dull sense of 
 pain, that came in her dreams and became the 
 terror of her waking. She knew before she opened 
 her eyes that it was there, and the first returning 
 consciousness was the certainty of sorrow. It soon 
 wore away, it is true, but she grew to dread it as 
 she had never dreaded anything in her short, luxu 
 rious life. It needed all her strength and energy 
 to shake off the impression, and it required all 
 Batiscombe s love and thoughtful care to make it 
 seem possible to live the hours until the evening. 
 
 That was in the morning, in the brief moments 
 when Leonora, like most of us, had not yet silenced 
 her soul, and trodden it under for the day ; and it 
 spoke bitter truth and scorn to her, so that she 
 could hardly bear it. Then, at last, she was honest. 
 There was no more self-deception then, no more 
 possibility of believing that she had done well in 
 leaving all for Julius ; she could no longer say that 
 
398 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 for so much love s sake it was right and noble to 
 spurn away the world, for the world came to 
 mean her husband, her father and her mother, and 
 she saw and knew too clearly what each and all 
 of them must suffer. Their pale faces came to her 
 in her dreams, and their sad voices spoke to her 
 the reproach of all reproaches that can be uttered 
 against a woman. Her husband she bad never 
 loved ; but in spite of all her reasoning she knew 
 that he had loved her, and she understood enough 
 of his pride and single-hearted nobility to guess 
 what he must suffer while she dragged his ancient 
 name in the dust of dishonor. Her father was 
 never to her mind ; for he was a Philistine of the 
 kind that have hard shells and very little that is 
 soft or warm within them ; but she knew that he 
 had treasured her as the apple of his eye, and that 
 his old heart would break for his daughter s shame. 
 Her mother was a worldly woman, loving Leonora 
 because she had obtained a success in society, and 
 upbraiding her with never making the most of it ; 
 but Leonora knew hjw her mother s vanity must 
 be bowed and trampled down by the deep disgrace, 
 and that her vanity was almost all she had of hap 
 piness. 
 
 And so it came to pass that after a little time 
 the old tax-gatherer, Remorse, began to put Leo 
 nora in distress for his dues, and she was forced to 
 pay them or have 110 peace. He came in the gray 
 of the morning, when she was not yet prepared, 
 and he sat by her head and oppressed it with heavi- 
 
TO LEEWARD. 399 
 
 ness and the leaden cowl of sorrow : and each day 
 she counted the minutes until he was gone, and 
 each day they were more. 
 
 Julius saw and pondered, for he guessed what 
 she suffered, and understood now her terrible reck 
 lessness at the first. All that a lover could do he 
 did, and more also, employing every resource of his 
 great mind to fight the enemy, and always with 
 success. He could always bring the smile and the 
 brightness of glad life to her face at last, and when 
 once his dominion was established there was no re 
 turn of sorrow possible for that day ; his stupendous 
 vitality and brilliant, overflowing strength fought 
 down the shadows and chased them out. 
 
 On the morning of the fourth of September, Leo 
 nora and Julius were walking together in the chest 
 nut woods near the monastery. She had been less 
 sad than usual at her first waking, and Julius hoped 
 that the time was coming when she could at last 
 feel accustomed to her new position and would 
 cease to be troubled with the ghosts of the past. 
 He was over-confident, and thought he understood 
 her better than he really did. He was laughing 
 and talking gayly enough, enjoying her happy mood 
 and the freshness and beauty of the bountiful na 
 ture around him. 
 
 Julius stopped from time to, time and picked a 
 few wild flowers that grew amongst the moss and 
 the grass of the wood. Leonora loved flowers, and 
 loved best those that grew wild. It was one of the 
 few simple tastes she possessed. 
 
400 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 " It is not much of a nosegay," said Julius, as he 
 put the sweet blossoms together, and tied them with 
 a blade of grass. " It is too late for the best wild 
 flowers here." He gave her the little bouquet with 
 one hand, and the other stole about her waist and 
 drew her to him. 
 
 She smelled the flowers, and looked up at him 
 over them, a little sadly. 
 
 "The time will come, I suppose," said she, " when 
 there will be no more flowers at all." 
 
 " Never for you, darling," he answered lovingly. 
 "There will always be flowers for you every 
 where, till the end of time." 
 
 " What is the end of time, Julius? " she asked 
 softly. 
 
 " Time has no end for us, dear," he said. " For 
 time is measured by love, and nothing can measure 
 ours." 
 
 They were near an old tree whose roots ran out 
 and then struck down into the ground. The moss 
 and the grass had grown closely about the great 
 trunk s foot, and made a broad seat. They sat 
 down, by common accord. 
 
 " Can there be no end to our love ever ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " Should we be where we are, if either of us 
 thought it possible?/ he asked. 
 
 " It must be whole it must be endless in 
 deed it must," she answered clinging to the 
 thought which gave her most comfort. 
 
 " Do you doubt that it is ? " asked Julius, the 
 
TO LEE WARD. " 401 
 
 strong earnestness of his passion vibrating in his 
 deep tones. 
 
 " No, darling," she answered ; " I do not doubt 
 it only you must never let me." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, I never will ! " said he. He 
 meant what he said. Men are not all intentional 
 deceivers, but they forget. They are less faithful 
 than women, though they are often more earnest. 
 
 Is it not the very highest power of love not to 
 allow a doubt ? And how many men can say that 
 their lives have been so ordered toward the woman 
 they love best, that no doubting should be reason 
 ably possible in her mind? Few enough, I sup 
 pose. 
 
 " I have been thinking a great deal lately, Ju 
 lius," said Leonora presently. 
 
 "Tell me your thoughts, dear one," said he, 
 drawing her to him, so that her head rested on his 
 shoulder, and his lips touched her hair. 
 
 " You know, dear," said she, " what we have 
 done is not right at least " She stopped sud 
 denly. 
 
 " Who says it is not right?" asked Julius, with 
 a touch of scorn in his voice. 
 
 "Oh, everybody says so, of course; but that 
 makes no difference. Nobody would understand. 
 It is not what people say. It is the thing." She 
 stared out into the woods as she leaned against 
 him. 
 
 " How do you mean, sweetheart ? " he asked. 
 
 " It is not right, you know. I am sure of it." 
 26 
 
402 * TO LEEWARD. 
 
 She shook her head gently, without lifting it. Then 
 she added, " It is all my fault." 
 
 " You shall not say that, my own one," said 
 Julius, passionately. He was really grieved and 
 troubled beyond measure. 
 
 " Ah but I know it so well," said she. " You 
 must, help me to make it right quite right." 
 
 " It is right it shall be right ! I will make it 
 so," he answered. "Only trust me, darling, and 
 you shall be the happiest woman the world holds, 
 as you are the best. God bless you, dear one." 
 He kissed her tenderly, but she tried to turn away 
 from him. 
 
 " Oh, no, Julius God will not bless me. I 
 have only you left now. You must be everything 
 to me. Will you, dear ? Say you will ! " 
 
 "I do say it, my own darling," he answered fer 
 vently. " I will be everything to you, now and for 
 ever and ever." 
 
 He was astonished and puzzled by the sudden 
 outbreak. She had never spoken like this to him 
 before, though he had expected it at first, and had 
 wondered at her indifference. But now it seemed 
 to have come upon her suddenly with a great force, 
 and she would not be comforted. 
 
 "And I say it, too," she said, passionately. "I 
 will be everything to you, now and forever and 
 ever. We will give our lives to each other, and 
 make it right." She wound her arms about him, 
 and hid her face against his coat. 
 
 " How can true love, like ours, not be right ? " 
 
TO LEEWARD. 403 
 
 said Julius, clasping her to him. " God has put 
 it into the world, dear, and into our hearts." 
 
 Oh, the blasphemy and the hollowness and the 
 cruelty of those words ! Even as Leonora lay in 
 his arms and felt his kisses on her hair, loving her 
 sinful love for him out to the last breath, she knew 
 that it was not true, what he said so fervently, 
 and she knew that he did not believe it, that no 
 man can believe a lie so great and wide and deep 
 and awful. 
 
 But the sun does not stand still in the heavens 
 for a man s lie ; he hears too many untrue speeches, 
 and sees too many false faces in his daily task of 
 shining alike upon the just and the unjust he is 
 used to it and goes on his way ; and time follows 
 him, striving to keep pace and to swell the puny 
 minutes of its pulse into an eternity. 
 
 Such moments when the rising sorrow and 
 sense of shame that a woman feels are choked 
 down and crushed by the overwhelming energy of 
 falseness in the man she loves are passionate, 
 even terrible ; and they may come often, but they 
 never last long. 
 
 Half an hour later, Julius and Leonora were 
 wandering on through the woods, and their talk 
 had taken again its ordinary course. The morn 
 ing was passing, and as Batiscombe talked and 
 amused and interested Leonora, her doubts and 
 fears disappeared, for the time at least, and her old 
 sense of enjoyment returned again, sweeter to her 
 now than ever before, in proportion as it was more 
 
404 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 difficult for her to attain it. She was happy again, 
 and the clouds were riven away and rent to shreds 
 by the strong breath of her stirring passion. 
 
 They walked for a while, and then returned to 
 their midday breakfast and spent an hour over it 
 in the cool, darkened hall, which had once been 
 the refectory of the monastery, and was now the 
 dining-room of the people who came to the water- 
 cure. Julius had suggested to Leonora that they 
 should have their breakfast and dinner in their 
 own rooms, but she said she liked to see the peo 
 ple. It amused her to watch their faces and to 
 wonder about them and criticise them. They were 
 so unlike the people she had known hitherto, that 
 there was a freshness of amusement to her in learn 
 ing their ways. 
 
 And by and by they had their coffee in a little 
 sitting-room of their own that overlooked the tor 
 rent, and Julius smoked a cigarette and read the 
 papers a little, amusing her with his daring com 
 ments on the conduct of nations and individuals. 
 He was a man who was never afraid to say what 
 he meant not only to Leonora, over a cup of cof 
 fee in the summer, but to the world at large, in his 
 books and articles. That was one reason why the 
 world at large always said he was an uncommonly 
 fine fellow, with a great deal of pluck and judg 
 ment. For the world at large likes rough strength 
 and keen wit, always understanding that the strong 
 language is not applied to itself, but to its neighbor 
 next door. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 405 
 
 At four o clock Julius and Leonora went out 
 again. Julius carried a pair of shawls and a book 
 and Leonora s silk bag with the silver rings the 
 same she had used to bring her handkerchiefs when 
 she fled from Sorrento. They went into the gar 
 den and out among the laurels and the geraniums 
 for a few minutes, but Julius was sure there would 
 be more breeze outside, in the old summer-house 
 over the water ; for the garden was sheltered by 
 high walls all around, and the sun was still hot, 
 almost at its hottest at four o clock on the fourth 
 of September. 
 
 Accordingly Julius took the things in his hands, 
 and the two went out of the garden by the door in 
 the wall and left it open. They walked down the 
 short open path to the old summer-house, and Ju 
 lius made Leonora very comfortable with the shawls 
 for cushions upon the old, wooden bench, which 
 many generations of people had hacked with their 
 knives and adorned with the insignificance of their 
 unknown names. 
 
 Side by side they sat in the glory of the sum 
 mer s afternoon, and the birds perched on the gray 
 old ribs of the summer-house and hopped upon the 
 uiitrimmed creepers that grew thickly about it, 
 making their small comments to each other about 
 the two people who sat below them, and great 
 green and pink grasshoppers skipped into the open 
 space and out again, a perpetual astonishment in 
 their round, red eyes ; all nature was warm and 
 peaceful and happy. The lovers talked together 
 
406 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 a little, enjoying the sense that speech was not al 
 ways necessary or even desirable. 
 
 " How do you like the Principe ? " Julius 
 asked at last, glancing at the book that lay open 
 on Leonora s knee. He had given it to her to 
 read, because she said she knew so little of Italian 
 thought. 
 
 " I hardly know," she said. " It is very won 
 derful, of course. But I cannot quite believe that 
 Macchiavelli believed in it himself, or that any 
 one ever acted on the advice he gives. It is too 
 complicated and unhuman." 
 
 " It always seems to me," said Julius, taking up 
 the question, " that he wrote like a . man who in 
 ferred a great deal from his own experience a 
 great deal more than it is safe to infer. He knew 
 men and women very well. He might have been 
 a despotic lover." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Leonora. 
 
 " Do you notice that he always reckons, every 
 where and without exception, on the heart of the 
 people and on their personal affection for their 
 sovereign ? But he never takes into consideration 
 the possible affection of the sovereign for his sub 
 jects." 
 
 " That is true," said Leonora. " He was a very 
 heartless individual." 
 
 " Perhaps though I hardly think it," answered 
 Julius. " But he might have written a guide for 
 despotic lovers much better than a book of instruc 
 tion for tyrannical princes." 
 
TO LEEWARD. 407 
 
 " What an idea! " said Leonora, laughing. " But 
 I think he was heartless all the same. He only 
 believed in the people s hearts as a means for get 
 ting power." 
 
 "He never says so," said Julius. "I rather 
 think he loved the people, but knew them well 
 and he loved the ingenuities of his wit much bet 
 ter." 
 
 " If the heart does not come first, it never comes 
 at all," said Leonora thoughtfully. " If it does not 
 rule it is ruled, and might as well never exist at 
 all. Are you tyrannical, dear ? " She smiled at 
 him, knowing how he loved her. 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed," said Julius, laughing ; " but 
 only about love." 
 
 " But that is just the question," said Leonora. 
 " You ought not to be. Your heart ought to come 
 first." 
 
 " Yes, darling," he answered. " The heart 
 comes first, and the heart is a tyrant. Supposing 
 my heart says to yours, You shall love me ; I will 
 have it at any cost ; is not that tyranny ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," said Leonora, smiling and touching 
 his hand. " But then it is quite a mutual tyranny, 
 you know, because I say it to you, too, and you 
 do it." 
 
 " I always do everything you say, darling," he 
 answered lovingly. 
 
 " Always ? " 
 
 " Always ; and I always will, Leonora." 
 
 " Do you think, Julius it is a foolish question 
 
408 TO LEEWARD. . 
 
 do you think you would die for me, if it were 
 necessary? " 
 
 " You know I would, dear," he said quietly. 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure you would," she answered. 
 " Do you know ? I used to think that one ought 
 to be willing to die for those one loves ; and I like 
 to think that you would give your life for me. Of 
 course it could never happen but then Don t 
 laugh at me, Julius." 
 
 " Why should I laugh? " he said. " What you 
 say is serious enough, I am sure." 
 
 " No but I thought you might. You laugh at 
 so many things I am always afraid you will 
 laugh at my love " 
 
 It was five o clock. 
 
 Marcantonio, issuing from the door in the gar 
 den wall, saw Julius and Leonora some twenty 
 yards away, in the summer-house. He gave the 
 servant a franc for showing him the way, and the 
 man retired. He stood alone, watching the pair, 
 for he could see them very distinctly. They were 
 so placed that they would see him if they .turned 
 and looked upward, but they did not move, nor 
 hear him. Leonora was nearest to him, and was 
 leaning back a little, so that she could not see him ; 
 Batiscombe held her hand, and was looking at it, 
 and gently caressing the fair, white fingers as he 
 talked. 
 
 Marcantonio turned away for a moment, and got 
 out his revolver. It was clean and bright, and he 
 had examined it, but he would look once more, 
 
TO LEEWARD. 409 
 
 just to be sure there was a cartridge in each cham 
 ber, especially in that one beneath the barrels. One 
 could not be too certain of one s weapon. There 
 was no mistake, everything was in order. The 
 hour was come. 
 
 The hideous maniac smile played over his deli 
 cate features, and he stepped cautiously forward, 
 holding the pistol behind him. Every step he 
 gained before they observed him was an advan 
 tage. And besides, Leonora was between him 
 and Batiscombe. It was not a fair shot, and it 
 was too far. 
 
 He did not want to kill her ; he would take her 
 home with him, when he had killed Julius Bat 
 iscombe. He had ordered the little carriage to 
 wait for them. How happy she would be ! Cau 
 tiously he moved on, ready for action if they saw 
 him. He trod so softly, so softly, it was like vel 
 vet on the grass. 
 
 Then, as he came nearer, not ten paces off, 
 he brought his pistol before him and held it ready. 
 So softly he had crept to them that they had not 
 yet heard him, as the summer wind blew gently 
 through the long grasses and the vines about the 
 old bower, and made a sweet murmur of its own. 
 
 " I am always afraid you will laugh at my 
 love " - Leonora was saying, but the words that 
 were to follow were never spoken. 
 
 Some slight sound caught her quick woman s ear, 
 and she looked up in the direction whence it came. 
 There stood her husband, not ten paces from her, 
 
410 TO LEEWARD. 
 
 with an expression in his face that would have 
 frozen the marrow in the bones of a wild beast. 
 
 The clean polished barrel of the pistol was 
 pointed full at Batiscombe. Leonora saw that, 
 and saw that Marcantonio s eyes were fixed on her 
 lover and not on herself. Batiscombe saw it all as 
 well as she, one second later. But that one second 
 was enough. 
 
 With a spring and a clutching turn, as a tigress 
 will cover her young with herself and turn glaring 
 on her pursuers, Leonora threw her strong, lithe 
 body upon Julius, forcing him back to his seat, and 
 she turned and looked Marcantonio in the face. 
 Their eyes met for one moment. But it was too 
 late : the finger had pulled the trigger and the ball 
 sped true. 
 
 Without a sound, without a cry, she fell upon 
 her lover s breast. There she fell, there she died. 
 
 From the death wound the heart s blood fell in 
 great drops ; it fell down to the ground. 
 
 She died for his sake whom she loved ; she died, 
 she gave for him her life, the joy and the woe and 
 the love of it for his sake. 
 
 Do you ask what is the moral of this ? Ask it 
 of yourselves. 
 
 Ask it of that quiet man, with delicate features 
 and snow-white hair, who drives in the Villa 
 Borghese. He is well-known in Rome for his hon 
 esty, his honor, and his unaffected good sense. He 
 is the Marchese Carantoni, he is Marcantonio, and 
 he is not yet forty years of age. 
 
TO LEEWARD. 411 
 
 Ask it of that magnificent ambassadress, queen 
 of women and peer in all save royalty of the sov 
 ereigns before whom she represents the women of 
 her husband s country. She is Diana de Charleroi, 
 Duchesse de Charleroi now, for her husband has 
 succeeded to the elder title. Ask it of her, the 
 mother of brave boys and noble maidens. She has 
 her beauty still, she is as stately as of yore, and 
 grander in the crown of mature womanhood. But 
 there is a streak of gray even in her fair hair, and 
 a line of sorrow on her forehead, the masterly hand 
 writing of a mastering grief ; and her gray eyes are 
 softer and sadder than -they were ten years ago. 
 
 Ask it of Julius Batiscombe, but of him you 
 will ask in vain. He has the mark of a bullet in 
 his throat, Marcantonio s second shot, that was so 
 nearly fatal to him. He stood aside from the world 
 for a while, and lived a year or two among the 
 monks of Subiaco ; he manifested some devotion 
 for her sake who had died for him. And now he 
 is writing novels again, and smoking cigarettes 
 between the phrases, to help his ideas and to stim 
 ulate his imagination , 
 
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12 Works of Fiction. 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY