Part 95 (2/2)
”I believe the old woman was ready to faint with delight when you praised her currant-wine, and asked how she made it. You have a wonderful way of getting round people--whether by fair means or otherwise I don't know. Do you think if it had been anybody else but you who went to Von Zoesch in Genoa, he would have let Calabressa come with us to America?”
”Poor old Calabressa!” she said, laughing; ”he is very brave now about the sea; but he was terribly frightened that bad night we had after leaving Queenstown.”
Here some one appeared in the dusky recess at the top of the companion-stairs, and stepped out into the open.
”Are you people never coming below at all?” he said. ”I have to inform you, Miss Natalie, with your mamma's compliments, that she can't get on with her English verbs because of that fat girl playing Strauss; and that she is going to her cabin, and wants to know when you are coming.”
”Now, at once,” said Natalie, getting up out of her chair. ”But wait a moment, Evelyn: I cannot go without bidding good-night to Calabressa.
Where is Calabressa?”
”Calabressa! Oh, in the smoking-room, betting like mad, and going in for all the mock-auctions. I expect some of them will sit up all night to get their first sight of the land. The pilot expects that will be shortly after daybreak.”
”You will be in time for that, Natalie, won't you?” Brand asked.
”Oh yes. Good-night, Evelyn!” and she gave him her hand.
Brand went with her down the companion-stairs, carrying her rugs and shawls. In the corridor she turned to bid him good-night also.
”Dearest,” she said, in a low voice, ”do you know what I have been trying all day--to get you to say one word, the smallest word, of regret?”
”But if I have no regret whatever, how can I express any?”
”Sure?”
He laughed, and kissed her.
”Good-night, my darling!”
”Good-night; G.o.d bless you!”
Then he made his way along the gloomy corridor again and up the broad zinc steps, and out into the moonlight. Evelyn was there, leaning with his arms on the hand-rail, and idly watching, far below, the gleams of light on the gray-black waves.
”It is too fine a night to go below,” he said. ”What do you say, Brand--shall we wait up for the daylight and the first glimpse of America?”
”If you like,” said Brand, taking out his cigar-case, and hauling along the chair in which Natalie had been sitting.
They had the whole of this upper deck to themselves, except when one or other of the officers pa.s.sed on his rounds. They could talk without risk of being overheard: and they had plenty to talk about--of all that had happened of late, of all that might happen to them in this new country they were nearing.
”Well,” he said, ”Evelyn, that settlement in Genoa clinched everything, as far as I am concerned. I have no longer any doubt, any hesitation: there is nothing to be concealed now--nothing to be withheld, even from those who are content to remain merely as our friends. One might have gone on as before; for, after all, these death-penalties only attached to the officers; and the great ma.s.s of the members, not being touched by them, need have known nothing about them. But it is better now.”
”It was Natalie's appeal that settled that,” Lord Evelyn said, as he still watched the s.h.i.+ning waves.
”The influence of that girl is extraordinary. One could imagine that some magnetism radiated from her; or perhaps it is her voice, and her clear faith, and her enthusiasm. When she said something to old Anton Pepczinski, on bidding him good-bye--not about herself, or about him, but about what some of us were hoping for--he was crying like a child!
In other times she might have done great things: she might have led armies.”
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