Part 13 (1/2)
”There are magicians who pretend to do such things,” she answered softly.
”I would there were!” he sighed.
”But those who come to them for help tell all, else the magician has no power. Would you call a physician, if you were ill, and tell him that the pain you felt was in your head, if it was really-in your heart?”
She had paused an instant before speaking the last words, and they came with a little effort.
”How could the physician cure you, if you would not tell him the truth?” she asked, as he said nothing. ”How can the wizard work miracles for you, unless he knows what miracle you ask? How can your best friend help you if-if she does not know what help you need?”
Still he was silent, leaning against the tree, with bent head. The pain was growing worse, and harder to bear. She spoke so softly and kindly that it would have been easy to tell her the truth, he thought, for though she could never love him, she would understand, and would forgive him. He had not dreamed that friends.h.i.+p could be so kind.
”Am I right?” she asked, after a pause.
”Yes,” he answered. ”When I cannot bear it any longer, I will tell you, and you will help me.”
”Why not now?”
The little question might have been ruinous to all his resolution, if Zorzi had not been almost like a child in his simplicity-or like a saint in his determination to be loyal. For he thought it loyalty to be silent, not only for the sake of the promise he had given in return for his life, but in respect of his master also, who put such great trust in him.
”Pray do not press me with the question,” he said. ”You tempt me very much, and I do not wish to speak of what I feel. Be my friend in real truth, if you can, and do not ask me to say what I shall ever after wish unsaid. That will be the best friends.h.i.+p.”
Marietta looked across the garden thoughtfully, and suddenly a chilling doubt fell upon her heart. She could not have been mistaken yesterday, she could not be deceived in him now; and yet, if he loved her as she believed, she had said all that a maiden could to show him that she would listen willingly. She had said too much, and she felt ashamed and hurt, almost resentful. He was not a boy. If he loved her, he could find words to tell her so, and should have found them, for she had helped him to her utmost. Suddenly, she almost hated him, for what his silence made her feel, and she told herself that she was glad he had not dared to speak, for she did not love him at all. It was all a sickening mistake, it was all a miserable little dream; she wished that he would go away and leave her to herself. Not that she should shed a single tear! She was far too angry for that, but his presence, so near her, reminded her of what she had done. He must have seen, all through their talk, that she was trying to make him tell his love, and there was nothing to tell. Of course he would despise her. That was natural, but she had a right to hate him for it, and she would, with all her heart! Her thoughts all came together in a tumult of disgust and resentment. If Zorzi did not go away presently, she would go away herself. She was almost resolved to get up and leave the garden, when the door opened.
”Zorzi!” It was Beroviero's voice.
Aristarchi already stood in the doorway taking leave of Beroviero with, many oily protestations of satisfaction in having made his acquaintance. Zorzi went forward to accompany the Greek to the door.
”I shall never forget that I have had the honour of being received by the great artist himself,” said Aristarchi, who held his big cap in his hand and was bowing low on the threshold.
”The pleasure has been all on my side,” returned Beroviero courteously.
”On the contrary, quite on the contrary,” protested his guest, backing away and then turning to go.
Zorzi walked beside him, on his left. As they reached the entrance to the corridor Aristarchi turned once more, and made an elaborate bow, sweeping the ground with his cap, for Beroviero had remained at the door till he should be out of sight. He bent his head, making a gracious gesture with his hand, and went in as the Greek disappeared. Zorzi followed the latter, showing him out.
Marietta saw the door close after her father, and she knew that Zorzi must come back through the garden in a few moments. She bent her head over her beads as she heard his step, and pretended not to see him. When he came near her he stood still a moment, but she would not look up, and between annoyance and disappointment and confusion she felt that she was blus.h.i.+ng, which she would not have had Zorzi see for anything. She wondered why he did not go on.
”Have I offended you?” he asked, in a low voice.
Oddly enough, her embarra.s.sment disappeared as soon as he spoke, and the blush faded away.
”No,” she answered, coldly enough. ”I am not angry-I am only sorry.”
”But I am glad that I would not answer your question,” returned Zorzi.
”I doubt whether you had any answer to give,” retorted Marietta with a touch of scorn.
Zorzi's brows contracted sharply and he made a movement to go on. So her proffered friends.h.i.+p was worth no more than that, he thought. She was angry and scornful because her curiosity was disappointed. She could not have guessed his secret, he was sure, though that might account for her temper, for she would of course be angry if she knew that he loved her. And she was angry now because he had refused to tell her so. That was a woman's logic, he thought, quite regardless of the defect in his own. It was just like a woman! He sincerely wished that he might tell her so.