After Dark

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER III.

  Before the servant could get to the priest's lodgings a visitor hadapplied there for admission, and had been immediately received by FatherRocco himself. This favored guest was a little man, very sprucely andneatly dressed, and oppressively polite in his manner. He bowed when hefirst sat down, he bowed when he answered the usual inquiries about hishealth, and he bowed, for the third time, when Father Rocco asked whathad brought him from Florence.

  "Rather an awkward business," replied the little man, recovering himselfuneasily after his third bow. "The dressmaker, named Nanina, whom youplaced under my wife's protection about a year ago--"

  "What of her?" inquired the priest eagerly.

  "I regret to say she has left us, with her child-sister, and their verydisagreeable dog, that growls at everybody."

  "When did they go?"

  "Only yesterday. I came here at once to tell you, as you were so veryparticular in recommending us to take care of her. It is not our faultthat she has gone. My wife was kindness itself to her, and I alwaystreated her like a duchess. I bought dinner-mats of her sister; I evenput up with the thieving and growling of the disagreeable dog--"

  "Where have they gone to? Have you found out that?"

  "I have found out, by application at the passport-office, that theyhave not left Florence--but what particular part of the city they haveremoved to, I have not yet had time to discover."

  "And pray why did they leave you, in the first place? Nanina is not agirl to do anything without a reason. She must have had some cause forgoing away. What was it?"

  The little man hesitated, and made a fourth bow.

  "You remember your private instructions to my wife and myself, whenyou first brought Nanina to our house?" he said, looking away ratheruneasily while he spoke.

  "Yes; you were to watch her, but to take care that she did not suspectyou. It was just possible, at that time, that she might try to get backto Pisa without my knowing it; and everything depended on her remainingat Florence. I think, now, that I did wrong to distrust her; but itwas of the last importance to provide against all possibilities, and toabstain from putting too much faith in my own good opinion of the girl.For these reasons, I certainly did instruct you to watch her privately.So far you are quite right; and I have nothing to complain of. Go on."

  "You remember," resumed the little man, "that the first consequence ofour following your instructions was a discovery (which we immediatelycommunicated to you) that she was secretly learning to write?"

  "Yes; and I also remember sending you word not to show that you knewwhat she was doing; but to wait and see if she turned her knowledgeof writing to account, and took or sent any letters to the post.You informed me, in your regular monthly report, that she nearer didanything of the kind."

  "Never, until three days ago; and then she was traced from her room inmy house to the post-office with a letter, which she dropped into thebox."

  "And the address of which you discovered before she took it from yourhouse?"

  "Unfortunately I did not," answered the little man, reddening andlooking askance at the priest, as if he expected to receive a severereprimand.

  But Father Rocco said nothing. He was thinking. Who could she havewritten to? If to Fabio, why should she have waited for months andmonths, after she had learned how to use her pen, before sending him aletter? If not to Fabio, to what other person could she have written?

  "I regret not discovering the address--regret it most deeply," said thelittle man, with a low bow of apology.

  "It is too late for regret," said Father Rocco, coldly. "Tell me how shecame to leave your house; I have not heard that yet. Be as brief as youcan. I expect to be called every moment to the bedside of a near anddear relation, who is suffering from severe illness. You shall have allmy attention; but you must ask it for as short a time as possible."

  "I will be briefness itself. In the first place, you must know that Ihave--or rather had--an idle, unscrupulous rascal of an apprentice in mybusiness."

  The priest pursed up his mouth contemptuously.

  "In the second place, this same good-for-nothing fellow had theimpertinence to fall in love with Nanina."

  Father Rocco started, and listened eagerly.

  "But I must do the girl the justice to say that she never gave him theslightest encouragement; and that, whenever he ventured to speak to her,she always quietly but very decidedly repelled him."

  "A good girl!" said Father Rocco. "I always said she was a good girl. Itwas a mistake on my part ever to have distrusted her."

  "Among the other offenses," continued the little man, "of which I nowfind my scoundrel of an apprentice to have been guilty, was the enormityof picking the lock of my desk, and prying into my private papers."

  "You ought not to have had any. Private papers should always be burnedpapers."

  "They shall be for the future; I will take good care of that."

  "Were any of my letters to you about Nanina among these private papers?"

  "Unfortunately they were. Pray, pray excuse my want of caution thistime. It shall never happen again."

  "Go on. Such imprudence as yours can never be excused; it can only beprovided against for the future. I suppose the apprentice showed myletters to the girl?"

  "I infer as much; though why he should do so--"

  "Simpleton! Did you not say that he was in love with her (as you termit), and that he got no encouragement?"

  "Yes; I said that--and I know it to be true."

  "Well! Was it not his interest, being unable to make any impression onthe girl's fancy, to establish some claim to her gratitude; and try ifhe could not win her that way? By showing her my letters, he would makeher indebted to him for knowing that she was watched in your house. Butthis is not the matter in question now. You say you infer that she hadseen my letters. On what grounds?"

  "On the strength of this bit of paper," answered the little man,ruefully producing a note from his pocket. "She must have had yourletters shown to her soon after putting her own letter into the post.For, on the evening of the same day, when I went up into her room, Ifound that she and her sister and the disagreeable dog had all gone, andobserved this note laid on the table."

  Father Rocco took the note, and read these lines:

  "I have just discovered that I have been watched and suspected eversince my stay under your roof. It is impossible that I can remainanother night in the house of a spy. I go with my sister. We owe younothing, and we are free to live honestly where we please. If you seeFather Rocco, tell him that I can forgive his distrust of me, but that Ican never forget it. I, who had full faith in him, had a right to expectthat he should have full faith in me. It was always an encouragementto me to think of him as a father and a friend. I have lost thatencouragement forever--and it was the last I had left to me!

  "NANINA."

  The priest rose from his seat as he handed the note back, and thevisitor immediately followed his example.

  "We must remedy this misfortune as we best may," he said, with a sigh."Are you ready to go back to Florence to-morrow?"

  The little man bowed again.

  "Find out where she is, and ascertain if she wants for anything, and ifshe is living in a safe place. Say nothing about me, and make no attemptto induce her to return to your house. Simply let me know what youdiscover. The poor child has a spirit that no ordinary people wouldsuspect in her. She must be soothed and treated tenderly, and we shallmanage her yet. No mistakes, mind, this time! Do just what I tell you,and do no more. Have you anything else to say to me?"

  The little man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  "Good-night, then," said the priest.

  "Good-night," said the little man, slipping through the door that washeld open for him with the politest alacrity.

  "This is vexatious," said Father Rocco, taking a turn or two in thestudy after his visitor had gone. "It was bad to have done the child aninjustice--it is worse to have been found out. There is not
hing for itnow but to wait till I know where she is. I like her, and I like thatnote she left behind her. It is bravely, delicately, and honestlywritten--a good girl--a very good girl, indeed!"

  He walked to the window, breathed the fresh air for a few moments, andquietly dismissed the subject from his mind. When he returned to histable he had no thoughts for any one but his sick niece.

  "It seems strange," he said, "that I have had no message about her yet.Perhaps Luca has heard something. It may be well if I go to the studioat once to find out."

  He took up his hat and went to the door. Just as he opened it, Fabio'sservant confronted him on the thresh old.

  "I am sent to summon you to the palace," said the man. "The doctors havegiven up all hope."

  Father Rocco turned deadly pale, and drew back a step. "Have you told mybrother of this?" he asked.

  "I was just on my way to the studio," answered the servant.

  "I will go there instead of you, and break the bad news to him," saidthe priest.

  They descended the stairs in silence. Just as they were about toseparate at the street door, Father Rocco stopped the servant.

  "How is the child?" he asked, with such sudden eagerness and impatience,that the man looked quite startled as he answered that the child wasperfectly well.

  "There is some consolation in that," said Father Rocco, walking away,and speaking partly to the servant, partly to himself. "My caution hasmisled me," he continued, pausing thoughtfully when he was left alone inthe roadway. "I should have risked using the mother's influence soonerto procure the righteous restitution. All hope of compassing itnow rests on the life of the child. Infant as she is, her father'sill-gotten wealth may yet be gathered back to the Church by her hands."

  He proceeded rapidly on his way to the studio, until he reached theriver-side and drew close to the bridge which it was necessary to crossin order to get to his brother's house. Here he stopped abruptly, asif struck by a sudden idea. The moon had just risen, and her light,streaming across the river, fell full upon his face as he stood by theparapet wall that led up to the bridge. He was so lost in thought thathe did not hear the conversation of two ladies who were advancing alongthe pathway close behind him. As they brushed by him, the taller of thetwo turned round and looked back at his face.

  "Father Rocco!" exclaimed the lady, stopping.

  "Donna Brigida!" cried the priest, looking surprised at first, butrecovering himself directly and bowing with his usual quiet politeness."Pardon me if I thank you for honoring me by renewing our acquaintance,and then pass on to my brother's studio. A heavy affliction is likely tobefall us, and I go to prepare him for it."

  "You refer to the dangerous illness of your niece?" said Brigida. "Iheard of it this evening. Let us hope that your fears are exaggerated,and that we may yet meet under less distressing circumstances. I have nopresent intention of leaving Pisa for some time, and I shall always beglad to thank Father Rocco for the politeness and consideration which heshowed to me, under delicate circumstances, a year ago."

  With these words she courtesied deferentially, and moved away to rejoinher friend. The priest observed that Mademoiselle Virginie lingeredrather near, as if anxious to catch a few words of the conversationbetween Brigida and himself. Seeing this, he, in his turn, listened asthe two women slowly walked away together, and heard the Italian say toher companion: "Virginie, I will lay you the price of a new dress thatFabio d'Ascoli marries again."

  Father Rocco started when she said those words, as if he had trodden onfire.

  "My thought!" he whispered nervously to himself. "My thought at themoment when she spoke to me! Marry again? Another wife, over whom Ishould have no influence! Other children, whose education would not beconfided to me! What would become, then, of the restitution that I havehoped for, wrought for, prayed for?"

  He stopped, and looked fixedly at the sky above him. The bridge wasdeserted. His black figure rose up erect, motionless, and spectral, withthe white still light falling solemnly all around it. Standing so forsome minutes, his first movement was to drop his hand angrily on theparapet of the bridge. He then turned round slowly in the direction bywhich the two women had walked away.

  "Donna Brigida," he said, "I will lay you the price of fifty new dressesthat Fabio d'Ascoli never marries again!"

  He set his face once more toward the studio, and walked on withoutstopping until he arrived at the master-sculptor's door.

  "Marry again?" he thought to himself, as he rang the bell. "DonnaBrigida, was your first failure not enough for you? Are you going to trya second time?"

  Luca Lomi himself opened the door. He drew Father Rocco hurriedly intothe studio toward a single lamp burning on a stand near the partitionbetween the two rooms.

  "Have you heard anything of our poor child?" he asked. "Tell me thetruth! tell me the truth at once!"

  "Hush! compose yourself. I have heard," said Father Rocco, in low,mournful tones.

  Luca tightened his hold on the priest's arm, and looked into his facewith breathless, speechless eagerness.

  "Compose yourself," repeated Father Rocco. "Compose yourself to hear theworst. My poor Luca, the doctors have given up all hope."

  Luca dropped his brother's arm with a groan of despair. "Oh, Maddalena!my child--my only child!"

  Reiterating these words again and again, he leaned his head against thepartition and burst into tears. Sordid and coarse as his nature was, hereally loved his daughter. All the heart he had was in his statues andin her.

  After the first burst of his grief was exhausted, he was recalled tohimself by a sensation as if some change had taken place in the lightingof the studio. He looked up directly, and dimly discerned the prieststanding far down at the end of the room nearest the door, with the lampin his hand, eagerly looking at something.

  "Rocco!" he exclaimed, "Rocco, why have you taken the lamp away? Whatare you doing there?"

  There was no movement and no answer. Luca advanced a step or two, andcalled again. "Rocco, what are you doing there?"

  The priest heard this time, and came suddenly toward his brother, withthe lamp in his hand--so suddenly that Luca started.

  "What is it?" he asked, in astonishment. "Gracious God, Rocco, how paleyou are!"

  Still the priest never said a word. He put the lamp down on the nearesttable. Luca observed that his hand shook. He had never seen his brotherviolently agitated before. When Rocco had announced, but a few minutesago, that Maddalena's life was despaired of, it was in a voice which,though sorrowful, was perfectly calm. What was the meaning of thissudden panic--this strange, silent terror?

  The priest observed that his brother was looking at him earnestly."Come!" he said in a faint whisper, "come to her bedside: we have notime to lose. Get your hat, and leave it to me to put out the lamp."

  He hurriedly extinguished the light while he spoke. They went down thestudio side by side toward the door. The moonlight streamed through thewindow full on the place where the priest had been standing alone withthe lamp in his hand. As they passed it, Luca felt his brother tremble,and saw him turn away his head.

  . . . . . . . .

  Two hours later, Fabio d'Ascoli and his wife were separated in thisworld forever; and the servants of the palace were anticipating inwhispers the order of their mistress's funeral procession to theburial-ground of the Campo Santo.

  PART THIRD.