CHAPTER VIII
There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when theseparation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to startvery early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss Lydia thenight before--for he had no hope that she would disturb her indolenthabits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and grave. Sincethat conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been afraid she hadperhaps shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on the other hand, herjests, and more especially her careless tone, lay heavy on Orso's heart.At one moment he had thought the young Englishwoman's manner betrayeda budding feeling of affection, but now, put out of countenance by herjests, he told himself she only looked on him as a mere acquaintance,who would be soon forgotten. Great, therefore, was his surprise, nextmorning, when, as he sat at coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydiacome into the room, followed by his sister. She had risen at fiveo'clock, and for an Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, theeffort was so great that it could not but give him some cause forvanity.
"I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early," said Orso."No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and you musthate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!"
"No," said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so thather father might not hear her, "but you were somewhat sulky with meyesterday, because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you carryaway an unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What terriblepeople you are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet soon, Ihope."
And she held out her hand.
A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side,led him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone,showing him something she held under her _mezzaro_.
"Mademoiselle," said Orso to Miss Nevil, "my sister is anxious to giveyou a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer--exceptour affection--which time never wipes out. My sister tells me you havelooked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient possessionin our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the belt of one ofthose corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your acquaintance. Colombathinks it so precious that she has asked my leave to give it to you, andI hardly know if I ought to grant it, for I am afraid you'll laugh atus!"
"The dagger is beautiful," said Miss Lydia. "But it is a family weapon,I can not accept it!"
"It's not my father's dagger," exclaimed Colomba eagerly; "it was givento one of mother's ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina willaccept it, she will give us great pleasure."
"Come, Miss Lydia," said Orso, "don't scorn a king's dagger!"
To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more preciousthan those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was astrong one, and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon wouldproduce laid out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James's Place.
"But," said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of onewho longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles onColomba, "dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not dareto let you depart thus, unarmed."
"My brother is with me," said Colomba proudly, "and we have the good gunyour father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?"
Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on_giving_ instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted onreceiving a soldo in payment.
A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss Nevil'shand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to the colonel,who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the window ofthe drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister mount theirhorses. Colomba's eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had neverremarked in them before. The sight of this tall strong creature, withher fanatical ideas of savage honour, pride written on her forehead,and curled in a sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying off the youngman with his weapons, as though on some death-dealing errand, recalledOrso's fears to her, and she fancied she beheld his evil genius dragginghim to his ruin. Orso, who was already in the saddle, raised his headand caught sight of her. Either because he had guessed her thought, ordesired to send her a last farewell, he took the Egyptian ring, which hehad hung upon a ribbon, and carried it to his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydiastepped back from the window, then returning to it almost at once, shesaw the two Corsicans cantering their little ponies rapidly toward themountains. Half an hour later the colonel showed them to her, throughhis glasses, riding along the end of the bay, and she noticed thatOrso constantly turned his head toward the town. At last he disappearedbehind the marshes, the site of which is now filled by a flourishingnursery garden.
Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked pale.
"What must that young man think of me," said she, "and what did I thinkof him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling acquaintance!. . . What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don't care for him!. . . No! no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . And Colomba . . .Fancy me sister-in-law to a _voceratrice_, who wears a big dagger!"
And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore's dagger in herhand. She tossed it on to her toilette table. "Colomba, in London,dancing at Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, toshow off! . . . Perhaps she'd make a great sensation! . . . He loves me,I'm certain of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have interrupted hisadventurous career. . . . But did he really long to avenge his fatherin true Corsican fashion? . . . He was something between a Conrad and adandy . . . I've turned him into nothing but a dandy! . . . And a dandywith a Corsican tailor! . . ."
[*] At this period this name was used in England for people who were the fashion because they had something extraordinary about them.
She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep--but that proved animpossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy,during which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signordella Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything toher.