As she sat crouched up in her misery, fighting the hardest battle of her life, the bell in the campanile of the village church began to ring.It was twelve o'clock.All through the land, in remembrance of the hour when the true meaning of love and sacrifice was revealed to the human race, there swept now the music of church bells, bidding the people to pause in their work and pray.Many a peasant raised his thoughts for a moment from sordid cares or hard labor, and realized that there was an unseen world.And here in the Roman amphitheatre, where a conflict more painful than those physical conflicts of old time was going on, a soul prayed in agony for the wisdom to see the right and the strength to do it.
When at length Erica lifted her face she found that Brian was no longer beside her, he was pacing to and fro in the arena; waiting had grown unbearable to him.She went down to him, moving neither quickly nor hurriedly, but at the steady "right onward" pace which suited her whole aspect.
"Brian," she said in a low voice, "do you remember telling me that day that I must try to show them what the Father is? You must help me now, not hinder.You will help me just because you do indeed love me?""You will give me no promise even for the most distant future?""I can't," she replied, faltering a little as she saw him turn deadly white."If there were any engagement between us, I should have to tell my father of it; and that would only make our trouble his and defeat my whole object.Oh, Brian, forgive me, and just leave me.I can have given you nothing but pain all these years.
Don't let me spoil your whole life!"
His face caught something of the noble purpose which made hers shine in spite of the sadness.
"Darling," he said quickly, "I can thank God for you though you are never to be mine.God bless you, Erica."There was a moment's pause; he still kept her hands in his.
"Tell your father I've gone for a walk over to those hills that Ishall not be home till evening." He felt her hands tremble, and knew that he only tortured her by staying."Will you kiss me once, Erica?" he said.
She lifted a pale steadfast face and quivering lips to his, and after that one long embrace they parted.When he turned away Erica stood quite still for a minute in the arena listening to his retreating footsteps.Her heart, which had throbbed painfully, seemed now only to echo his steps, to beat more faintly as they grew less audible.At last came silence, and then she crept up to the place where she had left her sketch book and paint box.
The whole world seemed sliding away aching desolation overwhelmed her.Brian's face with its passion and pain rose before her dry, burning eyes.Then darkness came, blotting out the sunshine; the little stream trickling into its stony basin seemed to grow into a roaring cataract, the waters to rush into her ears with a horrid gurgling; while the stones of the amphitheatre seemed to change into blocks of ice and to freeze her as she lay.
A few minutes later she gasped her way painfully back to life.All was very peaceful now; the water fell with its soft tinkling sound, there was a low hum of insects; beside her stony pillow grew some stars of Bethlehem, and in between their delicate white and green she could see the arena and the tiers of seats opposite, and out beyond the green encircling hills.Golden sunshine lighted up the dark pines and spirelike cypresses; in the distance there was an olive garden, its soft, gray-green foliage touched into silvery brightness.
The beauty of the scene, which in her struggle had seemed to weaken and unnerve her, stole now into her heart and comforted her; and all the time there rang in her ears the message that the bells had brought her "Who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross.""Taking a siesta?" said a voice above her.She looked up and saw her father.
"I've rather a headache," she replied.
"Enough to give you one, my child, to lie there in the sun without an umbrella," he said, putting up his own to shelter her."Such a May noonday in Italy might give you a sunstroke.What was your doctor thinking of to allow it?""Brian? Oh, he has gone over to those hills; we are not to wait for him, he wanted a walk.""Quite right," said Raeburn."I don't think he ought to waste his holiday in Italian cities, he wants fresh air and exercise after his London life.Where's your handkerchief?"He took it to the little stream, put aside the overhanging bushes, dipped it in the water, and bringing it back laid it on her burning forehead.
"How you spoil me, PADRE MIO," she said with a little laugh that was sadder than tears; and as she spoke she slipped down to a lower step and rested her head on his knee, drawing down one of his strong hands to shade her eyes.He talked of his sketch, of his word-skirmish with the basket women, of the view from the amphitheatre; but she did not much hear what he said, she was looking at the hand that shaded her eyes.That strong hand which had toiled for her when she was a helpless baby, the hand to which she had clung when every out her support had been wrenched away by death, the hand which she had held in hers when she thought he was dying, and the children had sung of "Life's long day and death's dark night."All at once she drew it down and pressed it to her lips with a child's loving reverence.Then she sat up with a sudden return of energy.
"There, now, let us go home," she exclaimed."My head aches a little still, but we won't let it spoil our last day but one in Florence.Didn't we talk of San Miniato for this afternoon?"It was something of a relief to find, on returning, an invitation to dinner for that evening which Raeburn could not well refuse.
Erica kept up bravely through the afternoon, but when she was once more alone her physical powers gave way.She was lying on her bed sick and faint and weary, and with the peculiarly desolate feeling which comes to most people when they are ill in a hotel with all the unheeding bustle going on around them.Then came a knock at her door.
