Part 83 (1/2)

He held her pa.s.sionately. But she did not feel she needed protecting. It was all wonderful and amazing to her. She could not understand why he seemed upset and in a sort of despair. To her there was magnificence in the l.u.s.trous stars and the steepnesses, magic, rather terrible and grand.

They came down to the level valley bed, and went rolling along.

There was a house, and a lurid red fire burning outside against the wall, and dark figures about it.

”What is that?” she said. ”What are they doing?”

”I don't know,” said Ciccio. ”Cosa fanno li--eh?”

”Ka--? Fanno il buga'--” said the driver.

”They are doing some was.h.i.+ng,” said Pancrazio, explanatory.

”Was.h.i.+ng!” said Alvina.

”Boiling the clothes,” said Ciccio.

On the cart rattled and b.u.mped, in the cold night, down the high-way in the valley. Alvina could make out the darkness of the slopes.

Overhead she saw the brilliance of Orion. She felt she was quite, quite lost. She had gone out of the world, over the border, into some place of mystery. She was lost to Woodhouse, to Lancaster, to England--all lost.

They pa.s.sed through a darkness of woods, with a swift sound of cold water. And then suddenly the cart pulled up. Some one came out of a lighted doorway in the darkness.

”We must get down here--the cart doesn't go any further,” said Pancrazio.

”Are we there?” said Alvina.

”No, it is about a mile. But we must leave the cart.”

Ciccio asked questions in Italian. Alvina climbed down.

”Good-evening! Are you cold?” came a loud, raucous, American-Italian female voice. It was another relation of Ciccio's. Alvina stared and looked at the handsome, sinister, raucous-voiced young woman who stood in the light of the doorway.

”Rather cold,” she said.

”Come in, and warm yourself,” said the young woman.

”My sister's husband lives here,” explained Pancrazio.

Alvina went through the doorway into the room. It was a sort of inn. On the earthen floor glowed a great round pan of charcoal, which looked like a flat pool of fire. Men in hats and cloaks sat at a table playing cards by the light of a small lamp, a man was pouring wine. The room seemed like a cave.

”Warm yourself,” said the young woman, pointing to the flat disc of fire on the floor. She put a chair up to it, and Alvina sat down.

The men in the room stared, but went on noisily with their cards.

Ciccio came in with luggage. Men got up and greeted him effusively, watching Alvina between whiles as if she were some alien creature.

Words of American sounded among the Italian dialect.

There seemed to be a confab of some sort, aside. Ciccio came and said to her:

”They want to know if we will stay the night here.”

”I would rather go on home,” she said.