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I would rather not dwell upon the details of Annunziata's illness. Bythe mercy of Providence, she got well in the end; but in the mean timethose details were sufficiently painful. John, for example, found itmore than painful to hear her cry out piteously, as she often would inher delirium, that she did not wish to be turned into a monkey; he hunghis head and groaned, and cursed the malinspired moment which had giventhat chimaera birth. However, he had his compensations. Maria Dolores,whom he had thought never to see again, he saw every day. "Let us hopethat you and she may never meet again." In his despairing heart thewords became a refrain. But an hour later the news of trouble at thepresbytery had travelled to the pavilion, and she flew straight toAnnunziata's bedside. Ever since, (postponing those threatened nuptialsat Mischenau), she had shared with John, and the parroco, and Marcellathe cook, the labours of nurse. And though it was arranged that the men,turn and turn about, should watch by night, and the women by day, John,by coming early and leaving late, contrived to make a good part of hisvigil and of hers coincident. And the strange result is that now,looking backwards upon that period of pain and dread, when from minuteto minute no one knew what awful change the next minute mightbring,--looking backwards, and seeing again the small bare room,cell-like, with its whitewashed walls, its iron cot, its Crucifix, itsnarrow window (through which wide miles of valley shone), and then thelittle white face and the brown curls tossing on the pillow, and thewoman of his love sitting near to him, in the intimacy of a common careand common duties,--the strange result is that John feels a glow in hisheart, as at the memory of a period of joy.
"Oh, do not let them turn me into a monkey. Oh, Holy Mother, I am soafraid. Oh, do not let them!" Annunziata cried, shuddering, andshrinking deeper into bed, towards the wall.
John hung his head and wrung his hands. "My God, my God!" he groaned.
"You should not blame yourself," Maria Dolores said in a low voice,while she bathed the child's forehead, and fanned her face. "Yourintention was good, you could not foresee what has happened, and it maybe for the best, after all,--it may strengthen her 'will to live,' whichis the great thing, the doctor says."
She had spoken English, but Annunziata's next outcry was like aresponse.
"Oh, to live, to live--I want to live, to live Oh, let me live!"
But at other times her wandering thoughts took quite a different turn.
Gazing solemnly up into Maria Dolores' face, she said, "He does not evenknow her name, though he fears it may be Smitti. I thought it was MariaDolores, but he fears it may be Smitti."
John looked out of the window, pretending not to hear, and praying, Iexpect, that Maria Dolores' eyes might be blinded and her counseldarkened. At the same time, (Heaven having sent me a laughing hero), Iwon't vouch that his shoulders didn't shake a little.
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