The Patriot Part 35

Luisa had decided to start when the gondola should have arrived opposite S. Mamette. She now returned to the hall.

Maria had obeyed her mother's orders, and had not moved from the chair where Luisa had left her, but noticing that the Professor was speaking with animation and at great length to Ester, she had asked:

"Are you telling her a story?"

At this point Luisa entered.

"Yes, dear," said Ester, laughing. "He is telling me a story."

"Oh, tell it to me also! To me also!"

A m.u.f.fled peal of thunder resounded. "Go, Maria dear," said Ester. "Go to your room and pray the Lord not to send a terrible thunderstorm or hail."

"Oh, yes, yes! I will pray to the Lord!"

The little one went out, and entered the alcove-room, serious and dignified, as if in that moment the safety of the whole Valsolda depended upon her prayer. Prayer to her was always a solemn matter; it was a point of contact with mystery which always made her a.s.sume a grave and attentive air, as did also certain tales of enchantment and magic.

She mounted a chair and said the few prayers she knew, and then a.s.sumed the att.i.tude she had seen the most pious women of town a.s.sume in church, and began moving her lips as they did, repeating a wordless prayer.

Seeing her thus one acquainted with the terrible secret of the next hour would have felt that the guardian angel of little children was standing beside her at that moment, and admonis.h.i.+ng her to pray for something besides the vineyards and olive-groves of Valsolda, for something nearer to her, something the angel did not name, and she neither knew nor could put into words. The onlooker would have felt also that in these, her inarticulate whisperings, there was an element of occult tenderness, and tragedy, the docile surrender of a sweet soul to the admonitions of its guardian angel, to the mysterious will of G.o.d.

At half-past two the great lowering clouds above Carona belched forth another peal of thunder, to which the other great clouds above Boglia and the Zocca d'i Ment immediately responded. Luisa ran out to the terrace. The gondola was opposite S. Mamette, and was making straight for the Calcinera. She could see quite plainly that the boatmen were pulling hard. As Luisa laid aside the telescope the first gust of wind swept through the loggia, banging doors and windows. Terrified by a feeling that she would be too late, she hastily closed both doors and windows, pa.s.sed swiftly through the hall, seized an umbrella and went out, without telling any one she was going, and without closing the house-door behind her. She started towards Albogasio Inferiore. Just beyond the cemetery, on the spot they call Maine, she met Ismaele.

"Where are you going in such weather, Signora Luisa?"

She answered that she was going to Albogasio, and pa.s.sed on. When she had gone about a hundred paces she remembered that she had not let Veronica know she was going out, that she had not told her to close the windows in the bedrooms, and look after Maria. She might send word by Ismaele. But he had already disappeared round the corner of the cemetery. In her heart she felt an impulse to go back, but there was not time. The rumbling of the thunder was continuous; great, infrequent drops were striking here and there on the maize; gusts of wind swept at intervals through the mulberry-trees, forerunners of the whirlwind of the _Caronasco_. Luisa opened her umbrella and hastened forward.

A furious downpour overtook her in the dark lanes of Albogasio. But she never thought of taking refuge in a doorway, and pushed on undaunted.

She met a troop of children who were running away from the rain, after waiting in vain on the church-place of the Annunciata for the pa.s.sing of the Marchesa in the litter. While she was crossing the short s.p.a.ce between the town-hall of Albogasio and the church, the wind turned her umbrella inside out. She began to run, and reached the strip of ground behind the church that overlooks the path leading down to the Calcinera. There, protected by the church from the driving rain, she righted her umbrella as best she could, and looked over the parapet.

The Annunciata rests upon the summit of a cliff, spa.r.s.ely covered with brambles and wild fig-trees, which rises from the foot of the Boglia and juts out over the lake, shutting in the narrow path to Calcinera on the west. The strip of ground where Luisa stood runs along that part of the cliff's brow. From here she could have followed the course of the boat from the waters of Cressogno as far as the landing-stage, but now that the rain was pouring down in sheets, a white mist hid all things from view. However, unless the Marchesa returned to Cressogno, she must certainly pa.s.s that way, no matter where she landed, for there, at the foot of the cliff, where it juts out with the coast, the narrow stairway starts upwards, leading from the Calcinera to the church-place, and this is the only way of reaching Albogasio Superiore either from the landing-stage below, or from S. Mamette, Casarico, or Cadate.

Presently the violence of the downpour lessened, the dark phantoms of the mountains began to stand out against the white background. Luisa gazed down at the lake. There was no gondola on the lake, and no litter on the path; nothing was to be seen. This troubled her. Was it possible that the gondola had returned to Cressogno? The mist cleared rapidly, and Cadate became discernible, while at the door of the boathouse of the "Palazz" the prow of the gondola appeared, s.h.i.+mmering white in the thin, grey mist. Ah, the Marchesa had taken refuge at the "Palazz," and Pasotti with his bearers had done the same. The thunderstorm was now practically over and the litter would soon appear.

But instead, ten long minutes elapsed. Luisa kept her eyes fixed on the point where the path from Cadate turns into the Calcinera. No movement of thought was going on within her. Her whole soul was watching and waiting, that was all. People pa.s.sed her on the left going up to Albogasio or coming down, but each time she inclined her umbrella so that she was hidden from view, so that they might not recognise her, thus avoiding greetings and conversations.

At last a group of people appeared at the bend of the path. Luisa could distinguish the litter, and behind the litter Pasotti and Don Giuseppe, and the Marchesa's boatmen bringing up the rear. Still she did not move, but followed the litter with her eyes as it slowly advanced. Presently she closed her umbrella, for the rain had almost ceased. Five or six children from Albogasio reappeared. She ordered them off sharply. They hesitated to obey, but a sudden downpour of rain, unaccompanied by wind or thunder, put them to flight. The litter had now reached the foot of the steps. Luisa moved forward.

Her eyes glittered coldly, and she held herself very erect. Absorbed in one thought, she heeded not at all the pelting rain, which beat upon her head and shoulders, which surrounded her with a misty veil and loud noise. Perhaps she was glad of this outburst of pa.s.sion in the elements, which was in keeping with the pa.s.sion within her. She went slowly down, clasping the handle of her closed umbrella very tightly, as if it had been the handle of a weapon. There is a somewhat sharp bend in the stairway, and the bottom is not visible until this bend is reached. Upon arriving there she saw the litter had stopped. The two boatmen were taking the places of two of the bearers.

Luisa went down as far as the spot where a great walnut-tree spreads its branches above the stairs. Here she stopped just as the Marchesa's bearers began coming upwards. Everything was as Luisa wished. Pasotti and Don Giuseppe, bringing up the rear with open umbrellas, could not see her. The bearers, on reaching the spot where she stood, would be obliged to stop to let her pa.s.s.

As they drew nearer she recognised the two who carried the front of the litter; one was Ismaele's brother, the other a cousin of Veronica's.

When they were within a yard or two of her she ordered them, by an imperious gesture, to stop. They obeyed at once, and set the litter down, the two other bearers doing the same without knowing why. Pasotti raised his umbrella, and seeing Luisa, made a movement of astonishment, frowning blackly. Seizing Don Giuseppe, he drew him aside that she might pa.s.s, never dreaming that the meeting was intentional.

But Luisa did not move. "You did not think of meeting me, did you, Signor Pasotti?" she said in a loud voice. The Marchesa stuck her head out, caught sight of her, and withdrew it again, saying, with new strength in her usually lifeless voice:

"Go on!"

At that moment loud cries rang out from the top of the church-place above them. "_Sciora_ Luisa! _Sciora_ Luisa!" Luisa did not hear.

Pasotti had called angrily to the bearers: "Go on!" and they had resumed the poles.

"Go on if you like," said she, resolved to walk along beside the litter.

"I have only a few words to say."

If Pasotti and the old Marchesa had antic.i.p.ated tears and supplications this fierce glance and ringing voice must now have led them to expect something quite different.

"Words at present?" said Pasotti, coming forward almost threateningly.

"_Sciora_ Luisa! _Sciora_ Luisa!" a voice cried close at hand in a tone of anguish, while with the cries was mingled the noise of hastening steps. But Luisa did not appear to hear anything. "Yes, at present!" she said, addressing Pasotti with indescribable haughtiness. "I am generous enough to wish to warn this lady that----"

"_Sciora_ Luisa!"

This time she was forced to pause and look round. Three or four women were upon her, distraught, dishevelled, sobbing: "Come home at once!

Come home at once!" These faces, these tears, these voices, detached her from her pa.s.sion, from her purpose, at one blow.

She rushed in among the women, exclaiming: "What is the matter?" and they could only repeat, their eyes starting from their heads: "Come home, come home at once!"

"But what has happened, you stupid things?"

"The child, the child!"

"Maria? Maria? What is it, what is it?" she shrieked like a mad woman.

Amidst their sobbing she caught the word _lake_, and uttering a great cry, she dashed them out of her path like a wild beast, and rushed up the stairs. The women could not keep up with her, but on the church-place there were others waiting in spite of the rain, and they were also crying and sobbing.

Luisa felt herself growing faint, and fell to the ground on reaching the last step.

The women ran to her, many hands seized her and lifted her up. She shrieked: "Good G.o.d! Is she dead?" Some one answered: "No, no!" "The doctor?" she gasped. "The doctor?" Many voices answered that he was already there.

Once more she appeared to regain all her energy, and sprang eagerly forward. Eight or ten people hastened after her, but only two could keep up with her. She flew! At the cemetery she met Ismaele and another man, and cried out as soon as she caught sight of them:

"Is she still alive? Is she alive?" Ismaele's companion turned and ran back to tell them that the mother was coming, but Ismaele was weeping, and could only answer: "Good G.o.d! _Sciora_ Luisa!" as he tried to detain her. Luisa pushed him wildly aside and rushed on, followed by the boatman who had now quite lost his head and was calling out to her as she ran: "Perhaps it is nothing! Perhaps it is nothing, after all!" But the pelting, ceaseless, even downpour, seemed to be contradicting his words with its wail.

Gasping for breath, she reached the square by the church of Oria, and had the strength to call out: "Maria! My Maria!" The window of the alcove-room was open. She heard Cia crying and Ester chiding her.

Several people, among them Professor Gilardoni, came out to meet her.

The Professor, as pale as a ghost, was weeping silently with clasped hands. The others whispered: "Courage, there is still hope!" In her exhaustion she came near falling. The Professor encircled her waist with one arm and drew her up the stairs, which were crowded with people, as was also the corridor of the first floor.

As Luisa pa.s.sed, the Professor almost carrying her, voices laden with words of comfort murmured: "Courage! Courage! Who can tell? Who can tell?" At the door of the alcove-room she freed herself from the Professor's arm, and went in alone.

They had been obliged to light a lamp, because it was already dark in the alcove, owing to the rain. Poor, sweet little Maria lay naked upon the bed, her eyes half open, and her lips slightly parted. Her face was still tinged with pink, but her lips were discoloured and her body was deathly pale. The doctor, with Ester's help, was trying to induce artificial breathing, alternately raising the tiny arms above the head and stretching them along the sides, and compressing the abdomen.

"Doctor! Doctor!" Luisa sobbed.

"We're doing all we can," the doctor answered gravely. She flung herself face downwards upon her baby's little icy feet, and covered them with wild kisses. Ester began to tremble. "No, no!" the doctor exclaimed.

"Courage! Courage!" "Help!" shrieked Luisa. The doctor checked her by a gesture, and motioned to Ester to pause in her work. He bent over Maria's little face, placed his mouth upon hers and having breathed deeply several times, raised his head again. "But she is still rosy, she is still rosy!" Luisa gasped softly. The doctor sighed gently, struck a match and held it close to Maria's lips.

Three or four women who were praying on their knees, rose and approached the bed, holding their breath in suspense. The door leading into the hall was open, and other faces appeared there, all silent and intent.

Luisa, kneeling beside the bed, kept her eyes fixed on the flame. A voice murmured:

"It quivers!"