Part 50 (1/2)
”What then?”
”He is a fine man. I think you could hear an echo to the love you cherished for Martel, if you but listened.”
Vittoria gazed at her foster-sister with a look half tender and half stern. Her voice had lost some of its languid indifference when she replied:
”Any feeling I might have would indeed be no more than an echo. I--am not like other women; something in me is dead--it is the power to love as women love. I am like a person who emerges from a conflagration, blinded; the eyes are there, but the sight is gone.”
”Perhaps you only sleep, like the princess who waited for a kiss--”
Vittoria interrupted impatiently: ”No, no! And you mistake his feelings. I attract him, perhaps, but he loves Miss Warren and has asked her to marry him. What is more, she adores him and--they were made for each other.”
”She adores him!” echoed the other. ”Che Dio! She only plays at love.
Her affections are as s.h.i.+fting as the winds.”
”That may be. But he is in earnest. It was he who gave her this social triumph--he made her Queen of the Carnival. He even bought her dresses. It was that which caused her to send for me this afternoon.
Heaven knows I was in no mood to listen, but she chattered like a magpie. As if I could advise her wisely!”
”She is very dear to you,” Oliveta ventured.
”Indeed, yes. She shares with you all the love that is left in me.”
”I think I understand. You have principles, my sister. You have purposely barred the way to your fairy prince, and will continue sleeping.”
Vittoria's brow showed faint lines, but whether of pain or annoyance it was hard to tell.
Oliveta sighed. ”What evil fortune overhangs us that we should be denied love!”
”Please! Let us speak no more of it.” She turned her face away and for a long time her companion soothed her with silent ministrations.
Meanwhile the dusk settled, the golden flames died out of the western windows, the room darkened. Seeing that her patient slept, Oliveta arose and with noiseless step went to a little shrine which hung on the wall. She knelt before the figure of the Virgin, whispering a prayer, then lit a fresh candle for her sister's pain and left the room, partly closing the door behind her.
She had allowed the maid-servant to go for the afternoon, and found, upon examination, that the day's marketing had been neglected. There was still time, however, in which to secure some delicacies to tempt Vittoria's taste so she flung a shawl over her dark hair and descended softly to the street.
A little earlier on this same afternoon, as Norvin Blake sat at work in his office, the telephone bell roused him from deep thought. He seized the instrument eagerly, hoping for any news that would relieve the tension upon his nerves. For uncertainty as to Maruffi's whereabouts had weighed heavily upon him, especially in view of the possible danger to the woman he loved and to her devoted companion.
The voice of O'Neil came over the wire, full-toned and distinct:
”h.e.l.lo! Is this Blake?”--and then, ”We've got Maruffi!”
”When? Where?” shouted Norvin.
”Five minutes ago; at his own house. Johnson and Dean have been watching the place. He went with them like a lamb, too. They've just 'phoned me that they're all on their way here.”
”Good! Do you need me?”
”No! See you later. Good-by!”
The Acting Chief slammed up his receiver, leaving his hearer stunned at the suddenness of this long-awaited denouement.
Maruffi taken! His race run! Then this was the end of the fight! A ferocious triumph flooded Norvin's brain. With Belisario Cardi in the hands of the law the spell of the Mafia was broken. Savigno and Donnelly were as good as avenged. He experienced an odd feeling of relaxation, as if both his body and brain were cramped and tired with waiting. Then, realizing that the Countess and Oliveta must have suffered an even greater strain, he set out at once to give them the news in person.