Part 30 (1/2)

The two sat down opposite to each other. Diana was tired and hungry; she had taken off her bonnet on arriving, and had gone straight to Marcantonio, 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 eyeb.a.l.l.s made his eyes look absolutely red.

They hardly spoke during the meal, for the servants came and went often, and they could not speak any language together that would not be understood.

After a time they were left alone, and they prepared 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-startled look.

”Of course,” said she, rea.s.suring him.

”Because,” he said, ”I told the detectives to telegraph 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?”

”Diavolo!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Marcantonio savagely, ”to find him, to be sure.”

”Batis...o...b.. 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. Batis...o...b.. ought to have let Marcantonio know his whereabouts, it was the least a brave man could do, and Batis...o...b.. was undeniably brave. Diana felt a sharp sense of pain; the idea that her brother was hunting down with detectives, like a common malefactor, 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 s.h.i.+eld 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, 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 ign.o.ble, 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 her with his head bent and his hands clasped together, so forlorn and forsaken and pitiful, the moment the sustaining force of his anger left him, that no human creature could have seen him without 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 suffered 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 outside her window, but it was always after the struggle was over, when she was alone. Moreover she had the advantage of a perfectly serene past 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 what she had to suffer. She went to bed and slept a dreamless sleep which 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 better in the long run than extremely active and physically energetic people.