CHAPTER XVI.
Giovanni was quite right in his prediction concerning Corona's conduct.He found her in her dressing-room, lying upon the couch near the fire,as he had found her on that fatal evening three weeks earlier. He satdown beside her and took her hand in his. She had not wholly recoveredher strength yet, but her beauty had returned and seemed perfected bythe suffering through which she had passed. In a few words he told herthe whole story, to which she listened without showing any greatsurprise. Once or twice, while he was speaking, her dark eyes soughthis with an expression he did not fully understand, but which was atleast kind and full of sympathy.
"Are you quite sure of all the facts?" she asked when he had finished."Are you certain that San Giacinto is the man? I cannot tell why, but Ihave always distrusted him since he first came to us."
"That is the only point that remains to be cleared up," answeredGiovanni. "If he is not the man he will not venture to take any stepsin the matter, lest he should be exposed and lose what he has."
"What will you do?"
"I hardly know. If he is really our cousin, we must give up everythingwithout a struggle. We are impostors, or little better. I think I oughtto tell him plainly how the deed is made out, in order that he mayjudge whether or not he is in a position to prove his identity."
"Do you imagine that he does not know all about it as well as weourselves?"
"Probably not--otherwise he would have spoken."
"The papers came back from Montevarchi to-day," said Corona. "It isgratuitous to suppose that the old man has not told his futureson-in-law what they contain. Yes--you see it yourself. Therefore SanGiacinto knows. Therefore, also, if he is the man he pretends to be, hewill let you know his intentions soon enough. I fancy you forgot thatin your excitement. If he says nothing, it is because he cannot provehis rights."
"It is true," replied Giovanni, "I did not think of that. NeverthelessI would like to be beforehand. I wish him to know that we shall make noopposition. It is a point of honour."
"Which a woman cannot understand, of course," added Corona, calmly.
"I did not say that. I do not mean it."
"Well--do you want my advice?"
"Always."
The single word was uttered with an accent implying more than meretrust, and was accompanied by a look full of strong feeling. ButCorona's expression did not change. Her eyes returned the glancequietly, without affectation, neither lovingly nor unlovingly, butindifferently. Giovanni felt a sharp little pain in his heart as herealised the change that had taken place in his wife.
"My advice is to do nothing in the matter. San Giacinto may be animpostor; indeed, it is not at all unlikely. If he is, he will takeadvantage of your desire to act generously. He will be forewarned andforearmed and will have time to procure all the proofs he wants. Whatcould you say to him? 'If you can prove your birth, I give you all Ipossess.' He will at once see that nothing else is necessary, and if heis a rogue he will succeed. Besides, as I tell you, he knows what thatdeed contains as well as you do, and if he is the man he will bring anaction against your father in a week. If he does not, you gain theadvantage of having discovered that he is an impostor without exposingyourself to be robbed."
"It goes against the grain," said Giovanni. "But I suppose you areright."
"You will do as you think best. I have no power to make you follow myadvice."
"No power? Ah, Corona, do not say that!"
A short silence followed, during which Corona looked placidly at thefire, while Giovanni gazed at her dark face and tried to read thethoughts that were passing in her mind. She did not speak, however, andhis guesswork was inconclusive. What hurt him most was herindifference, and he longed to discover by some sign that it was onlyassumed.
"I would rather do as you think best," he said at last.
She glanced at him and then looked back at the blazing logs.
"I have told you what I think," she answered. "It is for you to judgeand to decide. The whole matter affects you more than it does me."
"Is it not the same?"
"No. If you lose the Saracinesca titles and property we shall still berich enough. You have a fortune of your own, and so have I. The nameis, after all, an affair which concerns you personally. I should havemarried you as readily had you been called anything else."
The reference to the past made Giovanni's heart leap, and the colourcame quickly to his face. It was almost as though she had said that shewould have loved him as well had he borne another name, and that mightmean that she loved him still. But her calmness belied the hastyconclusion he drew from her words. He thought she looked like a statue,as she lay there in her magnificent rest, her hands folded upon herknees before her, her eyes so turned that he could see only thedrooping lids.
"A personal affair!" he exclaimed suddenly, in a bitter tone. "It wasdifferent once, Corona."
For the first time since they had been talking her face betrayed someemotion. There was the slightest possible quiver of the lip as sheanswered.
"Your titles were never anything but a personal affair."
"What concerns me concerns you, dear," said Giovanni, tenderly.
"In so much that I am very sorry--sincerely sorry, when anythingtroubles you." Her voice was kind and gentle, but there was no love inthe words. "Believe me, Giovanni, I would give all I possess to spareyou this."
"All you possess--is there not a little love left in your all?"
The cry came from his heart. He took her hand in both of his, andleaned forward towards her. Her fingers lay passively in his grasp, andthe colour did not change in her dark cheeks. A moment ago there hadbeen in her heart a passionate longing for the past, which had almostbetrayed itself, but when he spoke of present love his words had nopower to rouse a responsive echo. And yet she could not answer himroughly, for he was evidently in earnest. She said nothing, therefore,but left her hand in his. His love, which had been as fierce and strongas ever, even while he had doubted her faith, began to take newproportions of which he had never dreamt. He felt like a man strugglingwith death in some visible and tangible shape.
"Is it all over? Will you never love me again?" he asked hoarsely.
Her averted face told no tale, and still her fingers lay inert betweenhis broad hands. She knew how he suffered, and yet she would not soothehim with the delusive hope for which he longed so intensely.
"For God's sake, Corona, speak to me! Is there never to be any loveagain? Can you never forgive me?"
"Ah, dear, I have forgiven you wholly--there is not an unkind thoughtleft in my heart for you!" She turned and laid the hand that was freeupon his shoulder, looking into his face with an expression that wasalmost imploring. "Do not think it is that, oh, not that! I wouldforgive you again, a thousand times--"
"And love me?" he cried, throwing his arms round her neck, and kissingher passionately again and again. But suddenly he drew back, for therewas no response to his caresses. He turned very pale as he saw the lookin her eyes. There were tears there, for the love that had been, forhis present pain, perhaps, but there was not one faint spark of thefire that had burned in other days.
"I cannot say it!" she answered at last. "Oh, do not make me say it,for the sake of all that was once!"
In his emotion Giovanni slipped from the low chair and knelt beside hiswife, one arm still around her. The shock of disappointment, in thevery moment when he thought she was yielding, was almost more than hecould bear. Had not her heart grown wholly cold, the sight of hisagonised face would have softened her. She was profoundly moved andpitied him exceedingly, but she could not do more.
"Giovanni--do not look at me so! If I could! If I only could--"
"Are you made of stone?" he asked, in a voice choking with pain.
"What can I do!" she cried in despair, sinking back and hiding her facein her hands. She was in almost as great distress as he himself.
"Love me, Corona! Only love me, ever so little! Remember that you lovedme once--"
"God knows how dearly! Could I forget it, I might love you now--"
"Oh, forget it then, beloved! Let it be undone. Let the past beunlived. Say that you never loved me before, and let the new life beginto-day--can you not? Will you not? It is so little I ask, only thebeginning. I will make it grow till it shall fill your heart. Sweetlove, dear love! love me but enough to say it--"
"Do you think I would not, if I could? Ah, I would give my whole lifeto bring back what is gone, but I cannot. It is dead. You--no, notyou--some evil thing has killed it. Say it? Yes, dear, I would sayit--I will say it if you bid me. Giovanni, I love you--yes, those arethe words. Do they mean anything? Can I make them sound true? Can Imake the dead alive again? Is it anything but the breath of my lips?Oh, Giovanni, my lost love, why are you not Giovanni still?"
Again his arms went round her and he pressed her passionately to hisheart. She turned pale, and though she tried to hide it, she shrankfrom his embrace, while her lips quivered and the tears of pain startedin her eyes. She suffered horribly, in a way she had never dreamed ofas possible. He saw what she felt and let her fall back upon thecushions, while he still knelt beside her. He saw that his mere touchwas repugnant to her, and yet he could not leave her. He saw howbravely she struggled to bear his kisses, and how revolting they wereto her, and yet the magic of her beauty held his passionate natureunder a spell, while the lofty dignity of her spirit enthralled hissoul. She was able to forgive, though he had so injured her, she waswilling to love him, if she could, though he had wounded her socruelly; it was torture to think that she could go no further, that heshould never again hear the thrill of passion in her voice, nor see thewhole strength of her soul rise in her eyes when his lips met hers.
There was something grand and tragic in her suffering, in herrealisation of all that he had taken from her by his distrust. She sankback on her couch, clasping her hands together so tightly that theveins showed clearly beneath the olive skin. As she tried to overcomeher emotion, the magnificent outline of her face was ennobled by herpain, the lids closed over her dark eyes, and the beautiful lips setthemselves sternly together, as though resolved that no syllable shouldpass them which could hurt him, even though they could not formulatethe words he would have given his soul to hear.
Giovanni knelt beside her, and gazed into her face. He knew she had notfainted, and he was almost glad that for a moment he could not see hereyes. Tenderly, timidly, he put out his hand and laid it on her claspedfingers, then drew it back again very quickly, as though suddenlyremembering that the action might pain her. Her heavy hair was plaitedinto a thick black coil that fell upon the arm of the couch. He bentlower and pressed his lips upon the silken tress, noiselessly, fearingto disturb her, fearing lest she should even notice it. He had lost allhis pride and strength and dominating power of character and he felthimself unworthy to touch her.
But he was too strong a man to continue long in such a state. BeforeCorona opened her eyes, he had risen to his feet and stood at somedistance from her, resting his arm upon the chimney-piece, watching herstill, but with an expression which showed that a change had takenplace in him, and that his resolute will had once more asserted itself.
"Corona!" he said at last, in a voice that was almost calm.
Without changing her position she looked up at him. She had beenconscious that he had left her side, and she experienced a physicalsensation of relief.
"Corona," he repeated, when he saw that she heard him, "I do notcomplain. It is all my fault and my doing. Only, let it not be hate,dear. I will not touch you, I will not molest you. I will pray that youmay love me again. I will try and do such things as may make you loveme as you did once. Forgive me, if my kisses hurt you. I did not knowthey would, but I have seen it. I am not a brute. If I were, you wouldput something of the human into my heart. It shall never happen again,that I forget. Our life must begin again. The old Giovanni was yourhusband, and is dead. It is for me to win another love from you. Shallit be so, dear? Is it not to be all different--even to my very name?"
"All, all different," repeated Corona in a low voice. "Oh, how could Ibe so unkind! How could I show you what I felt?"
Suddenly, and without the least warning, she sprang to her feet andmade two steps towards him. The impulse was there, but the reality wasgone. Her arms were stretched out, and there was a look of supremeanguish in her eyes. She stopped short, then turned away once more, andas she sank upon the couch, burying her face in the cushions, the longrestrained tears broke forth, and she sobbed as though her heart mustbreak.
Giovanni wished that his own suffering could find such an outlet, butthere was no such relief possible for his hardy masculine nature. Hecould not bear the sight of her grief, and yet he knew that he couldnot comfort her, that to lay his hand upon her forehead would only adda new sting to the galling wound. He turned his face away and leanedagainst the heavy chimney-piece, longing to shut out the sound of hersobs from his ears, submitting to a torture that might well haveexpiated a greater misdeed than his. The time was past when he couldfeel that an unbroken chain of evidence had justified him in doubtingand accusing Corona. He knew the woman he had injured better now thanhe had known her then, for he understood the whole depth and breadth ofthe love he had so ruthlessly destroyed. It was incredible to him, now,that he should ever have mistrusted a creature so noble, so infinitelygrander than himself. Every tear she shed fell like molten fire uponhis heart, every sob that echoed through the quiet room was a reproachthat racked his heart-strings and penetrated to the secret depths ofhis soul. He could neither undo what he had done nor soothe the paininflicted by his actions. He could only stand there, and submitpatiently to the suffering of his expiation.
The passionate outburst subsided at last, and Corona lay pale andsilent upon her cushions. She knew what he felt, and pitied him morethan herself.
"It is foolish of me to cry," she said presently. "It cannot help you."
"Help me?" exclaimed Giovanni, turning suddenly. "It is not I, it isyou. I would have died to save you those tears."
"I know it--would I not give my life to spare you this? And I will.Come and sit beside me. Take my hand. Kiss me--be your own self. It isnot true that your kisses hurt me--it shall not be true---"
"You do not mean it, dear," replied Giovanni, sadly. "I know how trueit is."
"It shall not be true. Am I a devil to hurt you so? Was it all yourfault? Was I not wrong too? Indeed--"
"No, my beloved. There is nothing wrong in you. If you do not love me--"
"I do. I will, in spite of myself."
"You mean it, darling--I know. You are good enough, even for that. Butyou cannot. It must be all my doing, now."
"I must," cried Corona, passionately. "Unless I love you, I shall die.I was wrong, too, you shall let me say it. Was I not mad to do thethings I did? What man would not have suspected? Would a man be a manat all, if he did not watch the woman he loves? Would love be lovewithout jealousy when there seems to be cause for it? Should I havemarried you, had I thought that you would be so careless as to let medo such things without interfering? Was it not my fault when I cameback that night and would not tell you what had happened? Was it notmadness to ask you to trust me, instead of telling you all? And yet,"she turned her face away, "and yet, it hurt me so!"
"You shall not blame yourself, Corona. It was all my fault."
"Come and sit here, beside me. There--take my hand. Does it tremble? DoI draw it away? Am I not glad that it should rest in yours? Look atme--am I not glad? Giovanni--dear husband--true love! Look into myeyes. Do you not see that I love you? Why do you shake your head andtremble? It is true, I tell you."
Suddenly the forced smile faded from her face, the artificialexpression she tried so pathetically to make real, disappeared, andgave place to a look of horror and fear. She drew back her hand andturned desperately away.
"I am lying, lying--and to you!" she moaned. "Oh God! have mercy, for Iam the most miserable woman in the world!"
Giovanni sat still, r
esting his chin upon his hand and staring at thefire. His hopes had risen for a moment, and had fallen again, ifpossible more completely than before. Every line of his strongly-markedface betrayed the despair that overwhelmed him. And yet he was nolonger weak, as he had been the first time. He was wondering at thehidden depths of Corona's nature which had so suddenly become visible.He comprehended the magnitude of a passion which in being extinguishedcould leave such emotions behind, and he saw with awful distinctnessthe beauty of what he had lost and the depth of the abyss by which hewas separated from it. Only a woman who had loved to distraction couldmake such desperate efforts to revive an affection that was dead; onlya woman capable of the most lofty devotion could sink her pride and herown agony, in the attempt to make the man she had loved forgivehimself. He could have borne her reproaches more easily than the sightof her anguish, but she would not reproach him. He could have borne herhatred almost better than such unselfish forgiveness, and yet she hadforgiven him. For the first time in his life he wished that he mightdie--he, who loved life so dearly. Perhaps it would be easier for herto see him dead at her feet than to feel that he must always be nearher and that she could not love him.
"It is of no use, dear," he said, at last. "I was right. The oldGiovanni is dead. We must begin our life again. Will you let me try?Will you let me do my best to live for you and to raise up a new lovein your heart?"
"Can you? Can we go back to the old times when we first met? Can you?Can I?"
"If you will--"
"If I will? Is there anything I would not do to gain that?"
"Our lives may become so different from what they now are, as to makeit more easy," said Giovanni. "Do you realise how everything will bechanged when we have given up this house? Perhaps it is better that itshould be so, after all."
"Yes--far better. Oh, I am so sorry for you!"
"Who pities, may yet love," he said in low tones.
Corona did not make any answer, but for many minutes lay watching thedancing flames. Giovanni knew that it would be wiser to say nothingmore which could recall the past, and when he spoke again it was to askher opinion once more concerning the best course to pursue in regard tothe property.
"I still think," answered Corona, "that you had better do nothing forthe present. You will soon know what San Giacinto means to do. You maybe sure that if he has any rights he will not forget to press them. Ifit comes to the worst and you are quite sure that he is the manyou--that is to say, your father--can give up everything without asuit. It is useless to undertake the consequences of a misfortune whichmay never occur. It would be reckless to resign your inheritancewithout a struggle, when San Giacinto, if he is an honest man, wouldinsist upon the case being tried in law."
"That is true. I will take your advice. I am so much disturbed aboutother things that I am inclined to go to all extremes at once. Will youdine with us this evening?"
"I think not. Give me one more day. I shall be stronger to-morrow."
"I have tired you," exclaimed Giovanni in a tone of self-reproach.Corona did not answer the remark, but held out her hand with a gentlesmile.
"Good-night, dear," she said.
An almost imperceptible expression of pain passed quickly overGiovanni's face as he touched her fingers with his lips. Then he leftthe room without speaking again.
In some respects he was glad that he had induced Corona to expressherself. He had no illusions left, for he knew the worst and understoodthat if his wife was ever to love him again there must be a new wooing.It is not necessary to dwell upon what he felt, for in the course ofthe conversation he had not been able to conceal his feelings.Disappointment had come upon him very suddenly, and might have beenfollowed by terrible consequences, had he not foreseen, as in a dreamof the future, a possibility of winning back Corona's love. Theposition in which they stood with regard to each other was onlypossible because they were exceptional people and had both loved sowell that they were willing to do anything rather than forego the hopeof loving again. Another man would have found it hard to own himselfwholly in the wrong; a woman less generous would have either pretendedsuccessfully that she still loved, or would not have acknowledged thatshe suffered so keenly in finding her affection dead. Perhaps, too, ifthere had been less frankness there might have been less difficulty inreviving the old passion, for love has strange ways of hiding himself,and sometimes shows himself in ways even more unexpected.
A profound student of human nature would have seen that a mere returnto the habit of pleasant intercourse could not suffice to forge afreshsuch a bond as had been broken, where two such persons were concerned.Something more was necessary. It was indispensable that some new forceshould come into play, to soften Corona's strong nature and to showGiovanni in his true light. Unfortunately for them such a happyconclusion was scarcely to be expected. Even if the question of theSaracinesca property were decided against them, an issue which, at sucha time, was far from certain, they would still be rich. Poverty mighthave drawn them together again, but they could not be financiallyruined. Corona would have all her own fortune, while Giovanni was morethan well provided for by what his mother had left him. The blow wouldtell far more heavily upon Giovanni's pride than upon his worldlywealth, severe as the loss must be in respect of the latter. It isimpossible to say whether Corona might not have suffered as much asGiovanni himself, had the prospect of such a catastrophe presenteditself a few weeks earlier. At present it affected her very little. Thevery name of Saracinesca was disagreeable to her hearing, and the houseshe lived in had lost all its old charm for her. She would willinglyhave left Rome to travel for a year or two rather than continue toinhabit a place so full of painful recollections; she would gladly haveseen another name upon the cards she left at her friends' houses--eventhe once detested name of Astrardente. When she had married Giovannishe had not been conscious that she became richer than before. When onehad everything, what difference could a few millions more bring intolife? It was almost a pity that they could not become poor and beobliged to bear together the struggles and privations of poverty.
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