Clara Vaughan, Volume 3 (of 3), Page 2

  CHAPTER XI.

  "Six long months to be away from Lily! And perhaps forget her, and findsome lovelier maiden."

  "By Lily's side, all maids are burdocks. And yet what if I do?"

  She showed a small stiletto toy with a cross upon the handle, and groundher pearly teeth together.

  "Will it be for me, or her?"

  "Both; and Lily afterwards."

  "Oh you wholesale little murderer! Three great kisses directly, one forevery murder."

  "Only if you promise, on the relics, never to look twice at a prettymaiden."

  And so we spent the precious time,--ten days allowed me to prepare myyacht--in talking utter nonsense, and conning fifty foolish schemes, tomake us seem together. I was for departing at once, that the periodmight begin to run; but Lily was for keeping me to the last possiblemoment, and of course she had her way. It was fixed that I should sailon the 10th day of September. My little boat, now called the "Lilyflower," was brought from Calvi, and moored in a secluded cove, where mylove could see it from her bedroom window. It was no longer Corsican lawthat I should live in the castle. The privileges of a guest were gone;and the rigorous code of suitorship began. But to me and my own darlingit made very little difference. I never left Vendetta tower, as Ilightly named it, until my pet was ordered off to bed; and every morn Iclimbed the heights, after a long swim in the sapphire ripple, and metmy own sweet Lily sparkling from the dew of her early toilet. How sheloved me, how I loved her; which more than other let angels say; for wecould not decide. That ancient Corsican her father, albeit littleversed in books, was as upright and downright a gentleman as ever knewwhen his presence was not required. Therefore he took my word of honourfor his Lily's safety; and left her to her own sweet will; and her sweetwill was to spend with me all her waking hours. For her as yet therewas no fear of the blood-avenger. According to their etiquette theycannot shoot the daughter, until they have shot the father. As to thesons the restriction does not hold. The feud we were concerned in hadlasted now 120 years, and cost the lives of 130 people. It lay betweenthe ancient races of Della Croce, and De Gentili, and owed its origin tothe discovery of a dead mule on the road to church. The question waswhich family should be exterminated first. For many years the house ofDella Croce had been in the ascendant, having produced a long successionof good shots and clever bushmen. At one time all the hopes of the DeGentili hung upon one infant life, which was not thought worth thetaking. Fatal error--that one life had proved a mighty trump. Oneafter one the Della Croce fell before that original artist, who inventeda patent method of trunking himself in olive bark and firing from aknot-hole. Many a story Lily told me of his devilish wiles; and inthose stories I rejoiced, because she clung around my neck, and trembledso that I must hold her. Happily now this olive-branch was dead, havingreceived his death-wound while he administered one to Lily's youngestbrother. Ever since that, the feud had languished, and strict etiquetterequired that the Della Croce should perpetrate the next murder. Buther father, said my Lily, with her sweet head on my breast and her softeyes full of fire, her father did not seem to care even to shoot thecousin of the man who had shot her brothers.

  Darling Lily, my blood runs cold, even with your beauty in my arms, tohear you talk of murder so. Own pet, I shall change you. You heavenmeant for love, and softness, and delight: human devilry has taintedeven you. It was not an easy task to change her. Of all human passionsrevenge is far the strongest. Clara, how your eyes flash. You ought tohave been a Corsican. It was not an easy task; but love lovesdifficulties. In my ten short days of delicious wretchedness, almost Itaught Fiordalisa to despise revenge. And what do you think availed memost? Not the Bible. No, her mind and soul were swathed by Popery inthe rags of too many saints. What helped me most, and the only thingthat helped me at all, except caresses, was the broad and free expanseof the ever changing sea. Her nature was all poetry, her throbbingbreast an Idyl. Upon my little quarter-deck I had a cushioned niche forher, and there we sat and steered ourselves while the sailors sleptbelow. Alone upon the crystal world, pledged for life or deathtogether, drinking deepest draughts of passion and thirsting still formore, what cared we for petty hatreds, we whose all in all was love?How she listened as I spoke, how her large eyes grew enlarged.

  At last those eyes, pure wells of love, were troubled with hot tears.The fatal day was come. Tokens we had interchanged, myriad vows, andcountless pledges, which even love could scarce remember. With all thepassion of her race, and all the fervour of the clime, she bared herbeautiful round arm, the part that lay most near the heart and touchedit with the keen stiletto, then she threw her breast on mine, and I laidthe crimsoned ivory on my lips. How the devil--excuse me, Clara--howthe devil I got away, only phlegmatic Englishmen can tell. No Frenchman,or Italian, would have left that heavenly darling so. We put it off tothe last moment, till it was quite dangerous to pass the rocky jaws. Asmy bad luck would have it, there was a purpling sunset breeze. My ownlove on the furthest point, her white feet in the water, growing smallerand smaller yet, and standing upon tiptoe to be seen for another yard;my own darling love of ages, she loosed her black hair down her snowyvest, for me to know her from the rocks behind; then she waved and wavedher sweet palm hat, fragrant of my Lily,--I had kissed every single inchof it,--until she thought I could not see her; and then, as my telescopeshowed me, back she fell upon a ledge of rocks, and I could see or fancyher delicious bosom heaving to the fury of her tears. We glided pastthe cavern mouth, and the silver beach beyond it, whence we had oftenwatched the sunset; and then a beetling crag took from me the last viewof Lily.

  However long the schoolboy may have bled from some big coward'sbullying, or the sway of the rustling birch and the bosky thrill thatfollows, however sore he may have wept while hung head-downwards throughthe midnight hours, with a tallow candle between his teeth, or in thepang of nouns heteroclite and brachycatalectic dinners; yet despitethese minor ills, his fond heart turns through after life to the sceneof foot-ball and I-spy, to the days when he could jump or eat any mortalthing. And so it is with bygone love. Even the times of separation orof bitter quarrel, the aching heart whereon the keepsake lies, thespasms of jealousy, the tenterhooks of doubt; remembrance looks uponthem all as treasures of a golden age.

  Over the darkening sea, we bore away for Sardinia. Hours and hours, Igazed upon the cushions, where my own pet darling used to lean and loveme. To me they were fairer than all the stars, or the phosphorescentsea. From time to time our Corsican pilot kept himself awake, bychanting to strangely mournful airs some of the voceros or dirges, theburden of many ages in that lamenting land. Fit home for Rachel, Niobe,or Cassandra, where half a million gallant beings, twice the number ofthe present population, have fallen victims to the blood-revenge. SoCorsican historians tell; a thousand violent deaths each year, for thelast five centuries. Sometimes the avenger waits for half a lifetime,lurking till his moment comes. Before his victim has ceased to quiver,or the shot to ring down the rocky pass, he is off for the bush or themountains, and leads thenceforth a bandit's life.

  They tell me, Clara, that things are better now, and this black stain ona chivalrous race is being purged by Christian civilization. Be it asit may, I love the island of my Lily still; and hope, please God, to seeit once more, before I go to her.

  Banished though I was, for the present, from the only place I cared for,it seemed still greater severance to go further than I could help.Therefore instead of returning to England, I spent the winter incruising along the western coast of Italy, and the south of Spain; andcoasted back to Genoa. To Seville, and other places famed for beautifulwomen, I made especial trips, to search for any fit to compare with myown maiden. Of course I knew none could be found; but it gave me someemployment, and bitter pleasure, to observe how inferior were all. Tomy eyes, bright with one sweet image, no other form had grace enough tobe fit pillow for my charmer's foot. How I longed and yearned for somefresh token
of her: all her little gifts I carried ever in my bosom, butnever let another's eyes rest one moment on them. Not even would I tellmy friends one word about my love; it seemed as if it would grow commonby being talked about. To Peter Green I wrote, resigning my commission,although I did not tell him that I had found the olives. No, friendPeter, those olives are much too near my Lily; and I won't have you orany other stranger there. I know she would not look at you; still Iwould rather have you a thousand miles away. Free trade, if you like,when I have made my fortune; which by the bye is somewhat the maxim ofthat school. My fortune, not in olives, oil, or even guineas--all thatrubbish you are welcome to--but my fortune where my heart and soul areall invested, and now, no more my fortune, but my certain fate in Lily.

  At length and at last my calendar--like a homesick pair at school, wehad made one for each other, thanking God that it was not aleap-year--my calendar so often counted, so punctually erased, began toyield and totter to the stubborn sap of time. My patience long ago hadyielded, my blood was in a fever. Another thing began to yield, alas itwas my money. Green, Vowler, and Green had behaved most liberally; butof course the expenses of my vessel had been heavy on me; and now mysalary had ceased. Peter Green wrote to me in the kindest and mosthandsome manner, pressing me, if tired (as he concluded) of thosemurderous Corsicans, to accept another engagement in Sardinia. Evenwithout imparting my last discovery, I had done good service to thefirm. I smiled at the idea of my being weary of Corsicans: even now themere word sends a warm tide to my heart.

  It was not for the beauty of the scene, or the works of art, that Iremained in Genoa; but because it was the likeliest place to see theNegro's head. As we lay at the end of the mole, my glass commanded allthat entered; and every lugger or xebec that bore the sacred emblem--offmy little dingy pushed from our raking stern, and with one man, now myfriend because a thorough Corsican, I boarded her, at all hazards ofimprisonment; and craved for tidings of the sacred land. Although, ofcourse, I would not show the nest of all my thoughts, yet by beatingabout the bush, I got some scraps of news. The great Signor wasflourishing, and had harvested an enormous crop of olives: his lovelydaughter, now becoming the glory of the island, had been ill ofsomething like marsh-fever, but was now as blooming as the roses. Theydid say, but the captain could not at all believe it, that she had beenbetrothed to some foreign olive-merchant. What disgrace! The highestblood and the sweetest maid in Corsica, to be betrayed to an oilman!Plenty of other news I gathered--the good people are great gossips--butthis was all I cared for. Meanwhile your father, Clara dear, repliedmost warmly to my letter, sending me a sum on loan, which quite relievedme from cheese-paring. And now the wind was in the north, and it wasalmost time to start for the arms of Lily. If I waited any longer, Ishould be too mad to bear the voyage. At the break of day we left themagnificent harbour, and the cold wind from the maritime Alps chilledall but the fire of love. Up and down the little deck, up and down allday and night; sleep I never would again, until I touched my Lily. Onthe evening of the 8th of March, we were near Cape Corso; next day wecoasted down the west to the lively breeze of spring, and so upon the9th we moored to the tongue of Calvi. At midnight we were under way, andwhen the sun could reach the sea over the snowy peaks, we glided pastthe mountain crescent that looks on the Balagna. In the early morningstill, when the dew was floating, we rounded the gray headland of SignorDezio's cove, and I climbed along the bowsprit to glance beyond thecorner.

  What is that white dress I see fluttering at the water's edge? Whose isthat red-striped mandile tossed on high and caught again? And there theflag-staff I erected, with my colours flying! Only one such shape onearth--only two such arms--out with the boat or I must swim, or run theyacht ashore. The boat has been towing alongside for the last sixhours: Lily can't wait for the boat any more than I can. From rock torock she is leaping; which is the nearest one? Into the water she runs,then away in blushing terror--she forgot all about the other men. But Iknow where to find her, she has dropped her little shoe, she must be inmy grotto.

  There I press her to my heart of hearts, trembling, weeping, laughing,all unable to get close enough to me.

  "Sweetest mine, ten thousand times, I have been so wretched." Her voiceis like a silver bell.

  "My own, I am so glad to hear it. But how well you look!"

  If she were lovely when I left her, what shall I call her now? There isnot one atom of her but is pure perfection. I hold her from me for onemoment, to take in all her beauties. She has a most delicious fragrancethat steals upon my senses. Toilet bottles she never heard of; what shehas is nature's gift, and unperceived except by love. I have often toldher of it, but she won't believe it. It is not your breath, youdarling; your breath is only violets; it comes from every fibre of you,even from your hair; it is as when the wind has kissed a lily of thevalley.

  The ancient Signor being a man of very keen observation, did not delayour wedding any longer than could be helped. That evening we hauleddown the family fusileer, gave him a goblet of wine, and sent him abouthis business: for one night we would take our chance even of Vendetta.At supper-time the Signor was in wonderful spirits, and drank our healthwith many praises of our constancy and obedience. One little fact hementioned worth a thousand propinations; his daughter's fever had beencured by some chance news of me. He even went away to fetch a bottle ofchoicest Rogliano, when he saw how I was fidgetting to get my arm roundLily. Then after making his re-entrance, with due clumsiness at thedoor, he quite disgraced himself, while drawing the cork, by evenwinking at me, as he said abruptly,

  "Fiordalisa, when would you like to be married?"

  My Lily blushed, I must confess, but did not fence with the question.

  "As soon as ever you please, papa. That is, if my love wishes it." Butshe would not look at me to ask. In the porch she whispered to me, thatit was only from her terror of the bad Lepardo coming. Did the lovingcreature fancy that I would believe it?

  Once more we sailed together over the amethyst sea; she was as fond ofthe water as a true-born Briton. In her thoughts and glances wasinfinite variety. None could ever guess the next thing she would say.Thoroughly I knew her heart, because I lived therein, and sweeterlodgings never man was blessed with. But of her mind she veiled as yetthe maiden delicacies, strictly as she would the glowing riches of herfigure. What amazed me more than all, was that while most Corsicangirls are of the nut-brown order, no sun ever burned the snowy skin ofLily: she always looked so clear and clean, as if it were impossible foranything to stain her. Clara, you are always talking of your lovelyIsola. I wonder where she got her name: it is no stranger to me.Something in your description of her reminds me of my Lily. I long tosee the girl: and you must have some reason for so obstinatelypreventing me.