CHAPTER XXVI.
FAREWELL!
The resolution to return to Italy once made, the Count lost no time incarrying it out. His own preparations for departure did not cost him muchtrouble. He began by offering freedom to all the slaves in his household.The difficulty was in inducing them to accept it. So kind a master had hebeen--in spite of an occasional outburst of temper--and so uncertain werethe prospects of a quiet life in Britain, that very few felt any eagernessto be independent, and the boon had to be forced upon them or madeacceptable by a considerable bribe. With the free population that sincethe departure of the legions had gathered in increasing numbers about thevilla it was still more difficult to deal. Many of them were quitehelpless people whom it seemed equally difficult to take and to leavebehind. To all that were of Italian birth, or that had kinsfolk or friendson the Continent who might be reasonably expected to give them a home, theCount offered a passage. For others employment was found in Londinium andother towns. But, when all that was possible had been done, there was ahelpless remnant, about whom the Count felt much as the occupants of thelast boat must feel at the sight of the poor creatures whom they areforced to leave behind on a sinking ship.
Carna had quitted the villa very soon after her resolution to remain inBritain had been made. It was indeed too painful to remain there, for,though the Count had confessed that she was right, his daughter remainedunconvinced, and assailed her with incessant entreaties and reproacheswhich went very near to breaking her heart. She made her home with the oldpriest whose wife was a distant kinswoman of her own, and found, as suchtender hearts always will, a solace for her own sorrows in relieving thetroubles of others.
About the middle of September all was ready for a start. The twoserviceable ships that were left to the Count were loaded to their utmostcapacity with the persons and property of the departing colony. Theirsailing masters had indeed remonstrated as strongly as they dared.
"We _may_ get safely across," said the senior of them, "if all goes betterthan we have any right to expect. But if it comes on to blow we shallhardly be able to handle our ships; and if we meet with the pirates--well,a man might as well go into battle with his hands tied."
The Count refused to listen to these protests. Even the suggestion thatthe cargo should be divided, and part left for a second voyage he scouted,"It will not do," he said, "the poor people would fancy they were beingleft behind, and I am not at all sure that they would not be right. It isonly too likely that if we once get to the other side we should _not_ comeback. No! we will sink or swim together."
About an hour before noon on the fifteenth of the month, the crews wereready to weigh anchor. The Count and his daughter, who had just takentheir last view of the villa which had been their home for so many years,were standing on the little jetty, ready to step into the boat that was toconvey them to the ship. Carna and the old priest and his wife were withthem, and the hour of farewell had come. AElia, if she had not reconciledherself to separation from her sister, at least saw that it wasinevitable, and was resolved not to make the parting bitterer than it mustneeds be. She affected a cheerfulness which she did not feel.
"Good-bye, Carna," she cried, throwing her arms round the girl's neck."Good-bye! now we are going like swallows in the autumn, and very likelyshall come back like them in the spring. Meanwhile keep the nest as warmfor us as you can."
"Remember, Carna," said the Count, "that you have a home as long as eitherI or my daughter have a roof over our heads. You are doing your duty instaying, but there is a limit even to duty. As long as you can be ofservice, stop; I would not have it otherwise; but don't sacrifice yourselfand those that love you for nothing."
Carna's heart was too full to let her speak. She caught the Count's handsand kissed them. Then she turned to AElia, and taking her gold cross andchain--the only ornament that she wore--hung it round her sister's neck.When she had succeeded in choking down her sobs, she whispered, "Takethis, and, if you will give me yours, we will bear each other's crosses,and, perhaps, they will be a little lighter. But oh, how heavy!"
"Kneel, my children," said the old priest, and the little group kneltdown, while the rowers in the boat uncovered their heads. After repeatingthe paternoster and a few simple words of prayer, he raised his hand andblessed them, then fell on his knees beside them. After two or threeminutes of silent supplication the Count rose, and almost lifted hisdaughter into the boat, so broken down was she with the passion of hergrief. Carna remained on her knees, her face buried in her hands. To havelooked up and seen father and sister go was more than she dared to do. Forthe struggle that she fancied was over had begun again in her heart, andshe could not feel sure even then that duty would prevail. The Countgently laid his hand upon her head and blessed her, then stepped into theboat. As the rowers dipped their oars in the water, a gleam of sunshineburst through the clouds, and lighted as with a glory the head of thekneeling girl.