Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ with the old man at the door; ‘but when I tell you that I am as poor and as friendless in the world as on that same night when Signor Gabriel found me beside the lake – ’

      ‘Not a whit poorer or more alone in the world than the rest of us,’ said Pippo good-naturedly. ‘We have all a rough journey before us in life, and the least we can do is to help one another.’

      The youth grasped the old man’s hand and pressed it to his heart.

      ‘Besides,’ continued Pippo, ‘all your gratitude is owing to Signor Gabriel himself. Any little comforts you have had here have been of his procuring. He it was fetched that doctor from Bolseno, and his own hands carried the little jar of honey from St. Stephano.’

      ‘What a kind heart he has!’ cried Gerald eagerly.

      ‘Well,’ said Pippo, with a dry, odd smile, ‘that’s not exactly what people say of him; not but he can do a kind thing too, just as he can do anything.’

      ‘Is he so clever, then?’ asked Gerald curiously.

      ‘Is he not!’ exclaimed Pippo; ‘where has he not travelled, what has he not seen! And then the books he has written – scores of them, they tell me: he’s always writing still – whole nights through; after which, instead of going to his bed like any one else, he is off for a plunge in the lake there, though I’ve told him over and over, that the water that kills fish can never be healthy for a human being!’

      ‘What a strange nature his must be! And what brings him here?’

      ‘That’s his secret, and it would be mine too, if I knew it; for, I promise you, he ‘s not one it’s over safe to talk about.’

      ‘Where does he come from?’

      ‘He ‘s French, and that’s all I can tell you.’

      ‘It can’t be for the chasse he comes here,’ said Gerald musingly. ‘There’s no game in these mountains. It can scarcely be for seclusion, for he’s always rambling away to some village or town near. It’s now more than a week since we have seen him. I wish I could make out who or what he is!’

      ‘Would you indeed?’ cried a deep voice, as a large, heavy hand fell upon his shoulder; ‘and what would the knowledge benefit you, boy?’ Gerald looked up, and there stood Gabriel. He was dressed in a loose peasant’s frock, and seemed by his mien as if he had come off a long day’s march.

      ‘Go in, Pippo, and make me a good salad. Grill me that old hen yonder, and I’ll give you a share of a flask of Orvieto that was in the bishop’s cellar last night.’

      He threw off his knapsack as he spoke, and removing his hat, wiped his heated forehead, and then turning to the youth at his side, he said: ‘So, boy, I am a sort of mystery to you, it seems – mayhap others share in that same sentiment – at least I have heard as much. But whence this curiosity on your part? You were a stranger to me, and you are so still. What can it signify to either of us what has happened before we met and knew each other? Life is not a river running in one bed, but a series of streams that follow fifty channels – some pure and limpid, some, perchance, turbid and foul enough. What you have been gives no guarantee to what you may be, remember that!’

      He spoke with a tone of sternness that made his words sound like reproof, and the youth held down his head abashed.

      ‘Don’t suppose I am angry with you,’ continued the other, but in the self-same tone as before; ‘nor that I regard this curious desire of yours as ingratitude. You owe me nothing, or next to nothing, and you ‘re a rare instance of such in life, if within the next ten years the wish will not occur to you at least twenty times, that I had left you to die beside the dark shores of Bolseno!’

      ‘I can well believe it may be so,’ said Gerald with a sigh.

      ‘Not that this is my own philosophy,’ said the other, in a voice of powerful meaning. ‘I soon made the discovery that life was not a garden, but a hunting-ground, and that the wolves had the best of it! Ay, boy,’ cried he, with a kind of savage exultation, ‘there’s the experience of one whose boast it is to know something of his fellows!’

      Gerald was silent, and for some time Gabriel also did not speak. At last, looking steadfastly at the youth, he said: ‘I have been up to Rome these last three days. My errand there was to learn something about you.’

      ‘About me?’ said Gerald, blushing deeply.

      ‘Yes. It was a whim – (I am the slave of such caprices) – seized me to learn how you came among the Jesuit brothers, and why you left them.’

      ‘I thought I had told you why myself,’ said the youth proudly.

      ‘So you had; but I am one of those who can only build on the foundation their own hands have laid, and so I went myself to learn your history.’

      ‘And has the journey rewarded your exertions?’ said the boy, half mockingly.

      A sudden start, and a look of almost savage ferocity on Gabriel’s features, made Gerald tremble for his own rashness; and then, with a measured voice, he repeated the boy’s words:

      ‘The journey has rewarded my exertions.’

      ‘May I venture to ask what you have discovered?’ said Gerald timidly.

      ‘I went to satisfy my own curiosity, not yours, boy. What I have learned may suffice for the one, and not for the other. Here comes Pippo with pleasanter tidings than all this gossip,’ said he, rising, and entering the house.

      ‘Won’t you come in and have a bit of supper with us, Gerald?’ asked Pippo kindly.

      ‘No, I cannot eat,’ said the boy, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

      ‘Come and taste a glass of the generous Orvieto, however.’

      ‘No, Pippo; I could not swallow it,’ said he, in a half-choking voice.

      ‘Ah!’ muttered the old man with a sigh, ‘Signor Gabriel’s talk rarely makes one relish the meal they wait for,’ and with bent-down head he re-entered the house.

      The feeling Gerald had long experienced toward Gabriel was one of fear, almost verging upon terror. There was about the man’s look, his voice, his manner, something that portended danger. Do what he would, the boy never could make his sense of gratitude rise superior to his fear. He tried, over and over again, to think of him only as one who had saved his life, and to whom he owed all the present comforts he enjoyed; but above these thoughts there triumphed a terrible dread of the man, and a strange, mysterious belief that he possessed a sort of control over his destiny.

      ‘If it were indeed so,’ muttered he to himself, ‘and that his shadow were to be over me through life, I ‘d curse the day he carried me from the shore of the Lagoscuro!’

      Night was rapidly closing in, and the dreary landscape was every moment growing sadder and drearier. As the sun sank beneath the hills the heavy exhalations began to well up from the damp earth, till a bluish haze of vapour rested over the plains and even partly up the mountain side. An odour, oppressive and sickening, accompanied this mist, which embarrassed the respiration, and made the senses dull and weary; and yet there sat Gerald, drinking in these noxious influences, careless of his fate, and half triumphing in his own indifference as to life. A drowsy stupor was rapidly gaining on him, when he felt his arm violently shaken, and, looking up, СКАЧАТЬ