I expected him to be amazed;but he showed no surprise at seeing me,though he showed another kind of feeling to an extent which dismayed me.I may have revealed something similar;but I struggled hard against all emotion,and as soon as I could I told him she had come.
He simply said 'Yes'in a low voice.
'You know it,Charles?'said I.
'I have just learnt it,'he said.
'O,Charles,'I went on,'having delayed completing your marriage with her till now,I fear--it has become a serious position for us.
Why did you not reply to our letters?'
'I was purposing to reply in person:I did not know how to address her on the point--how to address you.But what has become of her?''She has gone off with my father,'said I;'indignant with you,and scorning me.'He was silent:and I suggested that we should follow them,pointing out the direction which I fancied their gondola had taken.As the one we got into was doubly manned we soon came in view of their two figures ahead of us,while they were not likely to observe us,our boat having the 'felze'on,while theirs was uncovered.They shot into a narrow canal just beyond the Giardino Reale,and by the time we were floating up between its slimy walls we saw them getting out of their gondola at the steps which lead up near the end of the Via 22Marzo.When we reached the same spot they were walking up and down the Via in consultation.Getting out he stood on the lower steps watching them.I watched him.He seemed to fall into a reverie.
'Will you not go and speak to her?'said I at length.
He assented,and went forward.Still he did not hasten to join them,but,screened by a projecting window,observed their musing converse.
At last he looked back at me;whereupon I pointed forward,and he in obedience stepped out,and met them face to face.Caroline flushed hot,bowed haughtily to him,turned away,and taking my father's arm violently,led him off before he had had time to use his own judgment.They disappeared into a narrow calle,or alley,leading to the back of the buildings on the Grand Canal.
M.de la Feste came slowly back;as he stepped in beside me Irealized my position so vividly that my heart might almost have been heard to beat.The third condition had arisen--the least expected by either of us.She had refused him;he was free to claim me.
We returned in the boat together.He seemed quite absorbed till we had turned the angle into the Grand Canal,when he broke the silence.
'She spoke very bitterly to you in the salle-a-manger,'he said.'Ido not think she was quite warranted in speaking so to you,who had nursed her so tenderly.'
'O,but I think she was,'I answered.'It was there I told her what had been done;she did not know till then.'
'She was very dignified--very striking,'he murmured.'You were more.'
'But how do you know what passed between us,'said I.He then told me that he had seen and heard all.The dining-room was divided by folding-doors from an inner portion,and he had been sitting in the latter part when we entered the outer,so that our words were distinctly audible.
'But,dear Alicia,'he went on,'I was more impressed by the affection of your apology to her than by anything else.And do you know that now the conditions have arisen which give me liberty to consider you my affianced?'I had been expecting this,but yet was not prepared.I stammered out that we would not discuss it then.
'Why not?'said he.'Do you know that we may marry here and now?
She has cast off both you and me.'
'It cannot be,'said I,firmly.'She has not been fairly asked to be your wife in fact--to repeat the service lawfully;and until that has been done it would be grievous sin in me to accept you.'
I had not noticed where the gondoliers were rowing us.I suppose he had given them some direction unheard by me,for as I resigned myself in despairing indolence to the motion of the gondola,I perceived that it was taking us up the Canal,and,turning into a side opening near the Palazzo Grimani,drew up at some steps near the end of a large church.
'Where are we?'said I.
'It is the Church of the Frari,'he replied.'We might be married there.At any rate,let us go inside,and grow calm,and decide what to do.'
When we had entered I found that whether a place to marry in or not,it was one to depress.The word which Venice speaks most constantly--decay--was in a sense accentuated here.The whole large fabric itself seemed sinking into an earth which was not solid enough to bear it.Cobwebbed cracks zigzagged the walls,and similar webs clouded the window-panes.A sickly-sweet smell pervaded the aisles.
After walking about with him a little while in embarrassing silences,divided only by his cursory explanations of the monuments and other objects,and almost fearing he might produce a marriage licence,Iwent to a door in the south transept which opened into the sacristy.
I glanced through it,towards the small altar at the upper end.The place was empty save of one figure;and she was kneeling here in front of the beautiful altarpiece by Bellini.Beautiful though it was she seemed not to see it.She was weeping and praying as though her heart was broken.She was my sister Caroline.I beckoned to Charles,and he came to my side,and looked through the door with me.
'Speak to her,'said I.'She will forgive you.'
I gently pushed him through the doorway,and went back into the transept,down the nave,and onward to the west door.There I saw my father,to whom I spoke.He answered severely that,having first obtained comfortable quarters in a pension on the Grand Canal,he had gone back to the hotel on the Riva degli Schiavoni to find me;but that I was not there.He was now waiting for Caroline,to accompany her back to the pension,at which she had requested to be left to herself as much as possible till she could regain some composure.