nor proud, nor capricious, nor insensible. Ah! the happiness of giving this happiness!
But hold a moment! Was it solely duty and gratitude towards Paolo Vanni, and respect for his wishes, that had governed her conduct towards Beppo? Why had she felt at supper time, when he had misunderstood, or affected to misunderstand, her unlucky speech about her wish always to live at Bella Luce,—why had she then felt as if she wished the earth to gape and swallow her up? Surely that was not all because the old farmer seemed to suspect her of ungratefully opposing herself to his will! If he had accused her of any other form of ingratitude, would she have felt the same? No! assuredly she would not. There was some other feeling then at work, to stir her heart so powerfully and painfully?
She honestly then set to work to discover the nature of this other feeling.
Like to live at Bella Luce! She, the poor, portionless, destitute orphan! No doubt!—said old Paolo Vanni. And oh, what agony it had been to hear and see his sneer, as he spoke the words! Would nobody else say and think the same? If she were to suffer dear, honest Beppo to love her, would not the world also sneer, and say, that she liked to live at Bella Luce,—especially as its mistress? And could she endure that? Would not men tell each other, that the worst day’s work old Paolo Vanni ever did, was when he brought the orphan girl home to be received into his family? Would it be tolerable that such things should be said? Would not the women say, that she laid herself out for poor simple Beppo’s admiration,—had baited the hook with smiles, and who knows what else, and cleverly caught her fish? Could, oh! could she bear that? And for all the family, and the friends and relatives to look on her as an unwelcome intruder, who had pushed her way among them by Oh, it made her turn sick, and a cold shiver pass over her, to think of the filling up that would be supplied to that blank!
Like to live at Bella Luce, would she? I dare say! And poor Beppo too! Lord bless you, he never suspected anything!
No! no! no! she could not bear it! Death rather, a thousand times rather than such agony!
Bless you, sir, she snared him like a bird in a springe! He had no chance with her—there, in the same house with him! And he so simple and honest too! Ah, she was a cunning one! Love! don’t tell me! Yes, I dare say, she was in love with the broad acres of Bella Luce. Ah, it was a bad day for the Vannis when that sly baggage came into the house;—and she without a smock to her back. Why, if it had not been for her wiles and lures, Beppo might have had old Sandro Bartoldi’s daughter; and what a match that would have been!
And then the women would smile, and cast their eyes down, and say that a woman could always bring a man to her lure—if she chose to do so! Only it is not every woman, nor many women, thank Heaven! who would do it.
No! These things should never, never be said of her. No! Though her heart broke in the struggle. No! Though she should be obliged to keep a smiling face to-morrow, while her heart was dropping tears of blood. Ay, to-morrow! it would be a hard task that morrow,—and the day after! A hard and difficult task.
Poor Beppo, too! How he would be pained! How she must torture him! Avoid all possible meeting! That was the only way! No good-byes! No leave-takings! That would never do! She would not answer for herself, if on the eve of parting, those honest, loving eyes got a chance of looking full into hers, while Beppo asked her if she had no word for him,—if all his many years’ faithful love must go for nothing? How could she trust herself to answer that? No, no! no leave-takings!—no last words!
“Good-bye, Beppo!” with a nod and a saucy smile, as she turned on her heel to go.
She acted the scene as the thoughts passed through her mind, and burst afresh into passionate and bitter tears in the midst of it.
Sudden as a flash of lightning the thought dashed through her brain, “Could Beppo have understood these horrid words, at dinner, as his father understood them? Did he, too, think that living at Bella Luce might mean” She started to an upright position, and put her hands to her forehead, as if to help her mind to answer this question. And the answer came from the depth of her own heart, with assurance of its truth. No! No such thought would have found entrance into Beppo’s heart. He was too good, too frank, too honest,—and—and—and loved her far too well!
And to leave him with the pain in his great loving heart without a word!
But no doubt he would soon console himself! There were plenty who would like to live always at Bella Luce. Was there not Lisa Bartoldi, a city lady, as fair and dainty as snow, and as rich as a Jew, ready to give him all the love of her heart! Oh! no fear of his pining!
And then she told herself that it was a lie—a wicked lie to say so! She knew that Beppo would never love Lisa Bartoldi. She knew that he would not console himself. She knew that none other than she could console him. She knew that he could love no other! And yet she must be mute, and say no word. She must be hard—hard as marble! cold, indifferent, gay as ever!
Oh! would to Heaven that these next two days were over! Would to Heaven that it were all over!
And then she cried herself to sleep.
The next morning la padrona would have availed herself of the priest’s hint, and sent Giulia to the parsonage to be out of the way, had it not been that the question of “the things” was still pressing too heavily on her. So she kept that resource in reserve for the next day, the Saturday, before the Sunday fixed for Giulia’s departure; and determined to keep her under her own eye all that day, assisting in the work of getting ready. Giulia acquiesced more than willingly in the commands of Sunta, to this effect. She was very glad to escape any meeting with Beppo that morning. As it was, she never went down-stairs till after the men had gone out to their work in the field.
