CHAPTER XVI
ELSIE PUSHES HER SCHEME
The good Father Antonio returned from his conference with the cavalierwith many subjects for grave pondering. This man, as he conjectured,so far from being an enemy either of Church or State, was in fact inmany respects in the same position with his revered master,--as nearlyso as the position of a layman was likely to resemble that of anecclesiastic. His denial of the Visible Church, as represented by thePope and cardinals, sprang not from an irreverent, but from a reverentspirit. To accept _them_ as exponents of Christ and Christianity was toblaspheme and traduce both, and therefore he only could be counted inthe highest degree Christian who stood most completely opposed to themin spirit and practice.
His kind and fatherly heart was interested in the brave young nobleman.He sympathized fully with the situation in which he stood, and he evenwished success to his love; but then how was he to help him with Agnes,and above all with her old grandmother, without entering on the awfultask of condemning and exposing that sacred authority which all theChurch had so many years been taught to regard as infallibly inspired?Long had all the truly spiritual members of the Church who gave earto the teachings of Savonarola felt that the nearer they followedChrist the more open was their growing antagonism to the Pope and theCardinals; but still they hung back from the responsibility of invitingthe people to an open revolt.
Father Antonio felt his soul deeply stirred with the news of theexcommunication of his saintly master; and he marveled, as he tossed onhis restless bed through the night, how he was to meet the storm. Hemight have known, had he been able to look into a crowded assembly inFlorence about this time, when the unterrified monk thus met the newsof his excommunication:--
"There have come decrees from Rome, have there? They call me a son ofperdition. Well, thus may you answer: He to whom you give this namehath neither favorites nor concubines, but gives himself solely topreaching Christ. His spiritual sons and daughters, those who listento his doctrine, do not pass their time in infamous practices. Theyconfess, they receive the communion, they live honestly. This man giveshimself up to exalt the Church of Christ: you to destroy it. The timeapproaches for opening the secret chamber: we will give but one turnof the key, and there will come out thence such an infection, such astench of this city of Rome, that the odor shall spread through allChristendom, and all the world shall be sickened."
But Father Antonio was of himself wholly unable to come to such acourageous result, though capable of following to the death the masterwho should do it for him. His was the true artist nature, as unfit todeal with rough human forces as a bird that flies through the air isunfitted to a hand-to-hand grapple with the armed forces of the lowerworld. There is strength in these artist natures. Curious computationshave been made of the immense muscular power that is brought intoexercise when a swallow skims so smoothly through the blue sky; butthe strength is of a kind unadapted to mundane uses, and needs theether for its display. Father Antonio could create the beautiful; hecould warm, could elevate, could comfort; and when a stronger naturewent before him, he could follow with an unquestioning tendernessof devotion: but he wanted the sharp, downright power of mind thatcould cut and cleave its way through the rubbish of the past, whenits institutions, instead of a commodious dwelling, had come to be aloathsome prison. Besides, the true artist has ever an enchanted islandof his own; and when this world perplexes and wearies him, he can sailfar away and lay his soul down to rest, as Cytherea bore the sleepingAscanius far from the din of battle, to sleep on flowers and breathethe odor of a hundred undying altars to Beauty.
Therefore, after a restless night, the good monk arose in the firstpurple of the dawn, and instinctively betook him to a review of hisdrawings for the shrine, as a refuge from troubled thought. He tookhis sketch of the Madonna and Child into the morning twilight andbegan meditating thereon, while the clouds that lined the horizon wereglowing rosy purple and violet with the approaching day.
"See there!" he said to himself, "yonder clouds have exactly the rosypurple of the cyclamen which my little Agnes loves so much;--yes, Iam resolved that this cloud on which our Mother standeth shall be ofa cyclamen color. And there is that star, like as it looked yesterdayevening, when I mused upon it. Methought I could see our Lady's clearbrow, and the radiance of her face, and I prayed that some little powermight be given to show forth that which transports me."
And as the monk plied his pencil, touching here and there, andelaborating the outlines of his drawing, he sung,--
"Ave, Maris Stella, Dei mater alma, Atque semper virgo, Felix coeli porta!
"Virgo singularis, Inter omnes mitis, Nos culpis solutos Mites fac et castos!
"Vitam praesta puram, Iter para tutum, Ut videntes Jesum Semper collaetemur!"[7]
[7] Hail, thou Star of Ocean, Thou forever virgin, Mother of the Lord! Blessed gate of Heaven, Take our heart's devotion!
Virgin one and only, Meekest 'mid them all, From our sins set free, Make us pure like thee, Freed from passion's thrall!
Grant that in pure living, Through safe paths below, Forever seeing Jesus, Rejoicing we may go!
As the monk sung, Agnes soon appeared at the door.
"Ah, my little bird, you are there!" he said looking up.
"Yes," said Agnes, coming forward, and looking over his shoulder at hiswork.
"Did you find that young sculptor?" she asked.
"That I did,--a brave boy, too, who will row down the coast and dig usmarble from an old heathen temple, which we will baptize into the nameof Christ and his Mother."
"Pietro was always a good boy," said Agnes.
"Stay," said the monk, stepping into his little sleeping room; "he sentyou this lily; see, I have kept it in water all night."
"Poor Pietro, that was good of him!" said Agnes. "I would thank him, ifI could. But, uncle," she added, in a hesitating voice, "did you seeanything of that--other one?"
"That I did, child,--and talked long with him."
"Ah, uncle, is there any hope for him?"
"Yes, there is hope,--great hope. In fact, he has promised to receiveme again, and I have hopes of leading him to the sacrament ofconfession, and after that"--
"And then the Pope will forgive him!" said Agnes, joyfully.
The face of the monk suddenly fell; he was silent, and went onretouching his drawing.
"Do you not think he will?" said Agnes, earnestly. "You said the Churchwas ever ready to receive the repentant."
"The True Church will receive him," said the monk, evasively; "yes, mylittle one, there is no doubt of it."
"And it is not true that he is captain of a band of robbers in themountains?" said Agnes. "May I tell Father Francesco that it is not so?"
"Child, this young man hath suffered a grievous wrong and injustice;for he is lord of an ancient and noble estate, out of which he hathbeen driven by the cruel injustice of a most wicked and abominable man,the Duke di Valentinos,[8] who hath caused the death of his brothersand sisters, and ravaged the country around with fire and sword, sothat he hath been driven with his retainers to a fortress in themountains."
[8] Caesar Borgia was created Duc de Valentinois by Louis XII. of France.
"But," said Agnes, with flushed cheeks, "why does not our blessedFather excommunicate this wicked duke? Surely this knight hath erred;instead of taking refuge in the mountains, he ought to have fled withhis followers to Rome, where the dear Father of the Church hath ahouse for all the oppressed. It must be so lovely to be the father ofall men, and to take in and comfort all those who are distressed andsorrowful, and to right the wrongs of all that are oppressed, as ourdear Father at Rome doth!"
The monk looked up at Agnes's clear glowing face with a sort ofwondering pity.
"Dear little child," he said,
"there is a Jerusalem above which ismother of us all, and these things are done there.
'Coelestis urbs Jerusalem, Beata pacis visio, Quae celsa de viventibus Saxis ad astra tolleris Sponsaeque ritu cingeris Mille angelorum millibus!'"
The face of the monk glowed as he repeated this ancient hymn of theChurch,[9] as if the remembrance of that general assembly and church ofthe first-born gave him comfort in his depression.
[9] This very ancient hymn is the fountain-head from which through various languages have trickled the various hymns of the Celestial City such as--
"Jerusalem, my happy home!"
and Quarles's--
"O mother dear, Jerusalem!"
Agnes felt perplexed, and looked earnestly at her uncle as he stoopedover his drawing, and saw that there were deep lines of anxiety on hisusually clear, placid face,--a look as of one who struggles mentallywith some untold trouble.
"Uncle," she said, hesitatingly, "may I tell Father Francesco what youhave been telling me of this young man?"
"No, my little one,--it were not best. In fact, dear child, there bemany things in his case impossible to explain, even to you;--but he isnot so altogether hopeless as you thought; in truth, I have great hopesof him. I have admonished him to come here no more, but I shall see himagain this evening."
Agnes wondered at the heaviness of her own little heart, as her kindold uncle spoke of his coming there no more. Awhile ago she dreaded hisvisits as a most fearful temptation, and thought perhaps he might comeat any hour; now she was sure he would not, and it was astonishing whata weight fell upon her.
"Why am I not thankful?" she asked herself. "Why am I not joyful? Whyshould I wish to see him again, when I should only he tempted to sinfulthoughts, and when my dear uncle, who can do so much for him, has hissoul in charge? And what is this which is so strange in his case? Thereis some mystery, after all,--something, perhaps, which I ought not towish to know. Ah, how little can we know of this great wicked world,and of the reasons which our superiors give for their conduct! It isours humbly to obey, without a question or a doubt. Holy Mother, may Inot sin through a vain curiosity or self-will! May I ever say, as thoudidst, 'Behold the handmaid of the Lord! be it unto me according to Hisword!'"
And Agnes went about her morning devotions with fervent zeal, and didnot see the monk as he dropped the pencil, and, covering his face withhis robe, seemed to wrestle in some agony of prayer.
"Shepherd of Israel," he said, "why hast Thou forgotten this vine ofThy planting? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, the wild beastof the field doth devour it. Dogs have encompassed Thy beloved; theassembly of the violent have surrounded him. How long, O Lord, holy andtrue, dost Thou not judge and avenge?"
"Now, really, brother," said Elsie, coming towards him, andinterrupting his meditations in her bustling, business way, yetspeaking in a low tone that Agnes should not hear, "I want you tohelp me with this child in a good common-sense fashion: none of yourhigh-flying notions about saints and angels, but a little good commontalk for every-day people that have their bread and salt to look after.The fact is, brother, this girl must be married. I went last night totalk with Antonio's mother, and the way is all open as well as anyliving girl could desire. Antonio is a trifle slow, and the high-flyinghussies call him stupid; but his mother says a better son neverbreathed, and he is as obedient to all her orders now as when he wasthree years old. And she has laid up plenty of household stuff for him,and good hard gold pieces to boot: she let me count them myself, and Ishowed her that which I had scraped together, and she counted it, andwe agreed that the children that come of such a marriage would comeinto the world with something to stand on. Now Agnes is fond of you,brother, and perhaps it would be well for you to broach the subject.The fact is, when I begin to talk, she gets her arms round my old neckand falls to weeping and kissing me at such a rate as makes a fool ofme. If the child would only be rebellious, one could do something; butthis love takes all the stiffness out of one's joints; and she tellsme she never wants a husband, and she will be content to live with meall her life. The saints know it isn't for my happiness to put her outof my old arms; but I can't last forever,--my old back grows weakerevery year; and Antonio has strong arms to defend her from all theseroystering fellows who fear neither God nor man, and swoop up youngmaids as kites do chickens. And then he is as gentle and manageable asa this-year ox; Agnes can lead him by the horn,--she will be a perfectqueen over him; for he has been brought up to mind the women."
"Well, sister," said the monk, "hath our little maid any acquaintancewith this man? Have they ever spoken together?"
"Not much. I have never brought them to a very close acquaintance; andthat is what is to be done. Antonio is not much of a talker; to tellthe truth, he does not know as much to say as our Agnes: but the man'splace is not to say fine things, but to do the hard work that shallsupport the household."
"Then Agnes hath not even seen him?"
"Yes, at different times I have bid her regard him, and said to her,'There goes a proper man and a good Christian,--a man who minds hiswork and is obedient to his old mother: such a man will make a rightgood husband for some girl some day.'"
"And did you ever see that her eye followed him with pleasure?"
"No, neither him nor any other man, for my little Agnes hath no thoughtof that kind; but, once married, she will like him fast enough. AllI want is to have you begin the subject, and get it into her head alittle."
Father Antonio was puzzled how to meet this direct urgency of hissister. He could not explain to her his own private reasons forbelieving that any such attempt would be utterly vain, and only bringneedless distress on his little favorite. He therefore answered,--
"My good sister, all such thoughts lie so far out of the sphere of usmonks, that you could not choose a worse person for such an errand. Ihave never had any other communings with the child than touching thebeautiful things of my art, and concerning hymns and prayers and thelovely world of saints and angels, where they neither marry nor aregiven in marriage; and so I should only spoil your enterprise, if Ishould put my unskillful hand to it."
"At any rate," said Elsie, "don't you approve of my plan?"
"I should approve of anything that would make our dear little one safeand happy, but I would not force the matter against her inclinations.You will always regret it, if you make so good a child shed oneneedless tear. After all, sister, what need of haste? 'Tis a young birdyet. Why push it out of the nest? When once it is gone, you will neverget it back. Let the pretty one have her little day to play and singand be happy. Does she not make this garden a sort of Paradise with herlittle ways and her sweet words? Now, my sister, these all belong toyou; but, once she is given to another, there is no saying what maycome. One thing only may you count on with certainty: that these deardays, when she is all day by your side and sleeps in your bosom allnight, are over,--she will belong to you no more, but to a strange manwho hath neither toiled nor wrought for her, and all her pretty waysand dutiful thoughts must be for him."
"I know it--I know it," said Elsie, with a sudden wrench of thatjealous love which is ever natural to strong, passionate natures. "I'msure it isn't for my own sake I urge this. I grudge him the girl. Afterall, he is but a stupid head. What has he ever done, that such goodfortune should befall him? He ought to fall down and kiss the dust ofmy shoes for such a gift, and I doubt me much if he will ever think todo it. These men think nothing too good for them. I believe, if oneof the crowned saints in heaven were offered them to wife, they wouldthink it all quite natural, and not a whit less than their requirings."
"Well, then, sister," said the monk, soothingly, "why press thismatter? why hurry? The poor little child is young; let her frisk likea lamb, and dance like a butterfly, and sing her hymns every day likea bright bird. Surely the Apostle saith, 'He that giveth his maid inmarriage doeth well, but he that giveth her not doeth better.'"
"But I have opened the subject already to old Meta," said Elsie; "andif I don't pursue it, she will take it into her head that her son islightly regarded, and then her back will be up, and one may lose thechance; and on the whole, considering the money and the fellow, I don'tknow a safer way to settle the girl."
"Well, sister, as I have remarked," said the monk, "I could not ordermy speech to propose anything of this kind to a young maid; I should sobungle that I might spoil all. You must even propose it yourself."
"I would not have undertaken it," said Elsie, "had I not beenfrightened by that hook-nosed old kite of a cavalier that has beensailing and perching round. We are two lone women here, and the timesare unsettled, and one never knows, that hath so fair a prize, but shemay be carried off, and then no redress from any quarter."
"You might lodge her in the convent," said the monk.
"Yes, and then, the first thing I should know, they would have got heraway from me entirely. I have been well pleased to have her much withthe sisters hitherto, because it kept her from hearing the foolish talkof girls and gallants,--and such a flower would have had every wasp andbee buzzing round it. But now the time is coming to marry her, I muchdoubt these nuns. There's old Jocunda is a sensible woman, who knewsomething of the world before she went there,--but the Mother Theresaknows no more than a baby; and they would take her in, and make her aswhite and as thin as that moon yonder now the sun has risen; and littlegood should I have of her, for I have no vocation for the convent,--itwould kill me in a week. No,--she has seen enough of the convent forthe present. I will even take the risk of watching her myself. Littlehas this gallant seen of her, though he has tried hard enough! Butto-day I may venture to take her down with me."
Father Antonio felt a little conscience-smitten in listening to thesetriumphant assertions of old Elsie; for he knew that she would pourall her vials of wrath on his head, did she know, that, owing to hisabsence from his little charge, the dreaded invader had managed to havetwo interviews with her grandchild, on the very spot that Elsie deemedthe fortress of security; but he wisely kept his own counsel, believingin the eternal value of silence. In truth, the gentle monk lived somuch in the unreal and celestial world of Beauty, that he was by nomeans a skillful guide for the passes of common life. Love, other thanthat ethereal kind which aspires towards Paradise, was a stranger tohis thoughts, and he constantly erred in attributing to other peoplenatures and purposes as unworldly and spiritual as his own. Thus hadhe fallen, in his utter simplicity, into the attitude of a go-betweenprotecting the advances of a young lover with the shadow of his monk'sgown, and he became awkwardly conscious that, if Elsie should find outthe whole truth, there would be no possibility of convincing her thatwhat had been done in such sacred simplicity on all sides was not thebasest manoeuvring.
Elsie took Agnes down with her to the old stand in the gateway of thetown. On their way, as had probably been arranged, Antonio met them.We may have introduced him to the reader before, who likely enough hasforgotten by this time our portraiture; so we shall say again, that theman was past thirty, tall, straight, well-made, even to the tapering ofhis well-formed limbs, as are the generality of the peasantry of thatfavored region. His teeth were white as sea-pearl; his cheek, thoughswarthy, had a deep, healthy flush; and his great velvet black eyeslooked straight out from under their long silky lashes, just as do theeyes of the beautiful oxen of his country, with a languid, changelesstranquillity, betokening a good digestion, and a well-fed, kindlyanimal nature. He was evidently a creature that had been nourished onsweet juices and developed in fair pastures, under genial influencesof sun and weather,--one that would draw patiently in harness, ifrequired, without troubling his handsome head how he came there, and,his labor being done, would stretch his healthy body to rumination, andrest with serene, even unreflecting quietude.
He had been duly lectured by his mother, this morning, on the proprietyof commencing his wooing, and was coming towards them with a bouquet inhis hand.
"See there," said Elsie, "there is our young neighbor Antonio comingtowards us. There is a youth whom I am willing you should speak to;none of your ruffian gallants, but steady as an ox at his work, and askind at the crib. Happy will the girl be that gets him for a husband!"
Agnes was somewhat troubled and saddened this morning, and absorbedin cares quite new to her life before; but her nature was ever kindlyand social, and it had been laid under so many restrictions by hergrandmother's close method of bringing up, that it was always ready torebound in favor of anybody to whom she allowed her to show kindness.So, when the young man stopped and shyly reached forth to her a knotof scarlet poppies intermingled with bright vetches and wild bluelarkspurs, she took it graciously, and, frankly beaming a smile intohis face, said,--
"Thank you, my good Antonio!" Then fastening them in the front of herbodice, "There, they are beautiful!" she said, looking up with thesimple satisfaction of a child.
"They are not half so beautiful as you are," said the young peasant;"everybody likes you."
"You are very kind, I am sure," said Agnes. "I like everybody, as faras grandmamma thinks it best."
"I am glad of that," said Antonio, "because then I hope you will likeme."
"Oh, yes, certainly, I do; grandmamma says you are very good, and Ilike all good people."
"Well, then, pretty Agnes," said the young man, "let me carry yourbasket."
"Oh, you don't need to; it does not tire me."
"But I should like to do something for you," insisted the young man,blushing deeply.
"Well, you may, then," said Agnes, who began to wonder at the lengthof time her grandmother allowed this conversation to go on withoutinterrupting it, as she generally had done when a young man was in thecase. Quite to her astonishment, her venerable relative, instead ofsticking as close to her as her shadow, was walking forward very fastwithout looking behind.
"Now, Holy Mother," said that excellent matron, "do help this young manto bring this affair out straight, and give an old woman, who has had aworld of troubles, a little peace in her old age!"
Agnes found herself, therefore, quite unusually situated, alone in thecompany of a handsome young man, and apparently with the consent ofher grandmother. Some girls might have felt emotions of embarrassment,or even alarm, at this new situation; but the sacred loneliness andseclusion in which Agnes had been educated had given her a confidingfearlessness, such as voyagers have found in the birds of brightforeign islands which have never been invaded by man. She looked up atAntonio with a pleased, admiring smile,--much such as she would havegiven, if a great handsome stag, or other sylvan companion, had steppedfrom the forest and looked a friendship at her through his large liquideyes. She seemed, in an innocent, frank way, to like to have himwalking by her, and thought him very good to carry her basket,--though,as she told him, he need not do it, it did not tire her in the least.
"Nor does it tire me, pretty Agnes," said he, with an embarrassedlaugh. "See what a great fellow I am,--how strong! Look,--I can bendan iron bar in my hands! I am as strong as an ox,--and I should likealways to use my strength for you."
"Should you? How very kind of you! It is very Christian to use one'sstrength for others, like the good Saint Christopher."
"But I would use my strength for you because--I love you, gentle Agnes!"
"That is right, too," replied Agnes. "We must all love one another, mygood Antonio."
"You must know what I mean," said the young man. "I mean that I want tomarry you."
"I am sorry for that, Antonio," replied Agnes, gravely, "because I donot want to marry you. I am never going to marry anybody."
"Ah, girls always talk so, my mother told me; but nobody ever heard ofa girl that did not want a husband; that is impossible," said Antonio,with simplicity.
"I believe girls generally do, Antonio; but I do not: my desire is togo to the convent."
"To the convent, pretty Agnes? Of all things, what should you wantto go to the convent for? You never had any trouble.
You are young,and handsome, and healthy, and almost any of the fellows would thinkhimself fortunate to get you."
"I would go there to live for God and pray for souls," said Agnes.
"But your grandmother will never let you; she means you shall marry me.I heard her and my mother talking about it last night; and my motherbade me come on, for she said it was all settled."
"I never heard anything of it," said Agnes, now for the first timefeeling troubled. "But, my good Antonio, if you really do like me andwish me well, you will not want to distress me?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, it _will_ distress me very, very much, if you persist in wantingto marry me, and if you say any more on the subject."
"Is that really so?" said Antonio, fixing his great velvet eyes with anhonest stare on Agnes.
"Yes, it is so, Antonio; you may rely upon it."
"But look here, Agnes, are you quite sure? Mother says girls do notalways know their mind."
"But I know mine, Antonio. Now you really will distress and trouble mevery much, if you say anything more of this sort."
"I declare, I am sorry for it," said the young man. "Look ye, Agnes,I did not care half as much about it this morning as I do now. Motherhas been saying this great while that I must have a wife, that she wasgetting old; and this morning she told me to speak to you. I thoughtyou would be all ready,--indeed I did."
"My good Antonio, there are a great many very handsome girls who wouldbe glad, I suppose, to marry you. I believe other girls do not feel asI do. Giulietta used to laugh and tell me so."
"That Giulietta was a splendid girl," said Antonio. "She used to makegreat eyes at me, and try to make me play the fool; but my mother wouldnot hear of her. Now she has gone off with a fellow to the mountains."
"Giulietta gone?"
"Yes, haven't you heard of it? She's gone with one of the fellows ofthat dashing young robber-captain that has been round our town so muchlately. All the girls are wild after these mountain fellows. A good,honest boy like me, that hammers away at his trade, they think nothingof; whereas one of these fellows with a feather in his cap has only totwinkle his finger at them, and they are off like a bird."
The blood rose in Agnes's cheeks at this very unconscious remark; butshe walked along for some time with a countenance of grave reflection.
They had now gained the street of the city, where old Elsie stood at alittle distance waiting for them.
"Well, Agnes," said Antonio, "so you really are in earnest?"
"Certainly I am."
"Well, then, let us be good friends, at any rate," said the young man.
"Oh, to be sure, I will," said Agnes, smiling with all the brightnessher lovely face was capable of. "You are a kind, good man, and I likeyou very much. I will always remember you kindly."
"Well, good-by, then," said Antonio, offering his hand.
"Good-by," said Agnes, cheerfully giving hers.
Elsie, beholding the cordiality of this parting, comforted herself thatall was right, and ruffled all her feathers with the satisfied pride ofa matron whose family plans are succeeding.
"After all," she said to herself, "brother was right,--best let youngfolks settle these matters themselves. Now see the advantage of such aneducation as I have given Agnes! Instead of being betrothed to a good,honest, forehanded fellow, she might have been losing her poor sillyheart to some of these lords or gallants who throw away a girl as onedoes an orange when they have sucked it. Who knows what mischief thiscavalier might have done, if I had not been so watchful? Now let himcome prying and spying about, she will have a husband to defend her. Asmith's hammer is better than an old woman's spindle, any day."
Agnes took her seat with her usual air of thoughtful gravity, hermind seeming to be intensely preoccupied, and her grandmother, thoughsecretly exulting in the supposed cause, resolved not to open thesubject with her till they were at home or alone at night.
"I have my defense to make to Father Francesco, too," she said toherself, "for hurrying on this betrothal against his advice; but onemust manage a little with these priests,--the saints forgive me! Ireally think sometimes, because they can't marry themselves, they wouldrather see every pretty girl in a convent than with a husband. It'snatural enough, too. Father Francesco will be like the rest of theworld: when he can't help a thing, he will see the will of the Lord init."
Thus prosperously the world seemed to go with old Elsie. Meantime, whenher back was turned, as she was kneeling over her basket, sorting outlemons, Agnes happened to look up, and there, just under the arch ofthe gateway, where she had seen him the first time, sat the cavalieron a splendid horse, with a white feather streaming backward from hisblack riding-hat and dark curls.
He bowed low and kissed his hand to her, and before she knew it hereyes met his, which seemed to flash light and sunshine all throughher; and then he turned his horse and was gone through the gate, whileshe, filled with self-reproach, was taking her little heart to taskfor the instantaneous throb of happiness which had passed throughher whole being at that sight. She had not turned away her head norsaid a prayer, as Father Francesco told her to do, because the wholething had been sudden as a flash; but now it was gone, she prayed,"My God, help me not to love him!--let me love Thee alone!" But manytimes in the course of the day, as she twisted her flax, she foundherself wondering whither he could be going. Had he really gone to thatenchanted cloud-land, in the old purple Apennines, whither he wanted tocarry her,--gone, perhaps, never to return? That was best. But was hereconciled with the Church? Was that great, splendid soul that lookedout of those eyes to be forever lost, or would the pious exhortationsof her uncle avail? And then she thought he had said to her, that, ifshe would go with him, he would confess and take the sacrament, and bereconciled with the Church, and so his soul be saved.
She resolved to tell this to Father Francesco. Perhaps hewould--No,--she shivered as she remembered the severe, withering lookwith which the holy father had spoken of him, and the awfulness of hismanner,--he would never consent. And then her grandmother--No, therewas no possibility.
Meanwhile Agnes's good old uncle sat in the orange-shaded garden,busily perfecting his sketches; but his mind was distracted, and histhoughts wandered,--and often he rose, and, leaving his drawings, wouldpace up and down the little place, absorbed in earnest prayer. Thethought of his master's position was hourly growing upon him. The realworld with its hungry and angry tide was each hour washing higher andhigher up on the airy shore of the ideal, and bearing the pearls andenchanted shells of fancy out into its salt and muddy waters.
"Oh, my master! my father!" he said, "is the martyr's crown of fireindeed waiting thee? Will God desert His own? But was not Christcrucified?--and the disciple is not above his master, nor the servantabove his lord. But surely Florence will not consent. The whole citywill make a stand for him;--they are ready, if need be, to pluck outtheir eyes and give them to him. Florence will certainly be a refugefor him. But why do I put confidence in man? In the Lord alone have Irighteousness and strength."
And the old monk raised the psalm, "_Quare fremunt gentes_," and hisvoice rose and fell through the flowery recesses and dripping grottoesof the old gorge, sad and earnest like the protest of the few andfeeble of Christ's own against the rushing legions of the world. Yet,as he sang, courage and holy hope came into his soul from the sacredwords,--just such courage as they brought to Luther and to the Puritansin later times.